Half stunned, Raynor looked up in time to see Carson lowering the
reversed ensign. He staggered painfully to his feet. He was in time
to see the other schooner filling away again on her course as those
on board her saw the signal of distress lowered to the deck.
Carson paid no attention to Raynor till he had finished with the
ensign. Then, in bitter tones, he told him to follow him. Raynor had
no recourse but to obey.
The captain took him aft and opened the door of a small cabin. It
was not the one Raynor had been used to occupy.
“I’m going to lock you up in here,” he said, “for the time being.
I’ll decide what to do with you later.”
“Why can’t you let me go?” demanded Raynor, “I’m no good to you in
your poaching schemes and sooner or later you’ll have to free me.
Why not now?”
“Because you know too much,” was the answer. The captain turned on
his heel and slammed the door. Raynor heard a wooden bar fall into
sockets on the outside. He was a prisoner. No one came near him for
the rest of that day.
The room was lighted by a small port. By looking out of this Raynor
was able to make out that he was confined in the extreme stern of
the schooner. Right over the rudder, in fact.
When darkness came he stretched himself out on the single bunk which
ran along one side of the cabin. It boasted no bed clothes and he
was very cold. But youth, and his exhausted condition after the
excitements of the day, overcame him, and he was soon fast asleep.
In the morning he was scarcely awake before Pompey appeared with
some bread and a jug of water.
“Is that all I get to eat?” demanded Raynor who, despite his plight,
had his appetite.
“Das all,” said Pompey commiseratingly, “dat cap’n he say yo’ blood
need coolin’ wid light diet.”
“Do you know if I’m to be let out, Pompey?” asked Raynor with some
anxiety.
“Dat am a subjec’ upon which ah am discommoded by de captain
suppressed commands ter conversationalize,” rejoined Pompey. “I’se
mighty sorry, but ah jes’ got to keep quiet while ah’s in hyah.”
He shook his woolly head solemnly and then, having set down the
breakfast, if such it could be called, took his departure. Raynor
heard the confining bar fall as the door was locked. He groaned
aloud.
“Oh, what a fix,” he muttered, “out of the frying pan into the fire.
If I ever get out of this, catch me ever sitting on a steamer’s rail
with my legs swinging, for all my troubles come from that. Good old
Jack, if only I had heeded his advice. I wonder what he is doing
now?”
He broke off his reflections with a heavy sigh, and tackled the
uninviting-looking stale bread. First, however, he took a hearty
draught from the water pitcher, for he was very thirsty.
He was munching away at a dried crust when he suddenly saw some
object dangling in front of the cabin port hole. At first he thought
it was a sea bird. But the next instant he made it out as a parcel
hanging on the end of a string.
“Must be for me,” mused the lad, and reaching out an arm he drew in
the package. The string came with it, as whoever had lowered the
package from the stern deck above, released his grip.
Raynor tore away the wrappings and revealed what was to him just
then a banquet. There was a chicken wing, crisp fried potatoes,
pickles and a wedge of pie. Scrawled on the paper which contained
the meal was this message:
“Ete harty.”
“That’s good old Noddy,” cried Raynor to himself, his eyes growing
misty. “He’s stolen part of that chicken that was killed yesterday
for the captain’s dinner and risked punishment to help me out. What
a fine fellow he is for all his odd ways!”
With a good appetite Raynor fell to on the daintier fare that had
come to him by “air route.” In a short time not a crumb was left.
The day wore slowly away after that. At dusk Pompey appeared and
thrust a lantern inside the cabin. But he did not speak. From this
Raynor judged that Terror Carson was near at hand.
His captivity was wearing on him, even in the short time that he had
been confined. He had nothing to read, and had passed the long hours
of daylight gazing out of the port hole and watching the waves and
an occasional sea-bird that swooped in the schooner’s wake, alert
for scraps from the galley.
The lantern was a welcome companion at least. Raynor felt that he
could not have passed an entire night in the dark with only his
thoughts for company. He hung the lantern on a hook on the ceiling
and cast himself on his back on the bunk.
All at once he sat bolt upright with an exclamation.
“I can’t stand this any longer. I’ve got to find some way of
escape.”
But a brief survey of the tiny cabin showed that this was a much
easier thing to plan than to accomplish. The door was solid, so were
the walls and the ceiling. At last there remained only the floor. A
shabby worn strip of carpet was nailed on it.
“I might as well be thorough about this,” mused Raynor and he ripped
the flimsy fabric from the planks. Something met his eyes that made
them shine with delight.
“Eureka!” he cried, “I’ve found it.”
Under the shabby carpet was an iron ring let into what appeared to
be a small trap-door.
“Here’s where I fool Terror Carson,” murmured Raynor, as he inserted
his fingers in the ring and tugged with all his strength.