CAPTURED.
Tom Pagdin admitted afterwards that when he looked through the lantana on
the island, he wished he had borne with paternal corrections, and never
gone pirating.
Dave, who was in front, actuated by kindred sentiments, tried to push
past Tom; but the latter was ahead of him, and broke for the boat first.
They raced through the lantana, scratching their hands and faces and
tearing their clothes as they went.
Their craft was aground in the black mud among the mangroves, and when
they tried to shove her off they found the task beyond their strength.
Tom hurriedly led the way into a thick patch of jungle, and they crawled
under a low clump of young stinging trees, where it would be almost
impossible for a full-grown man to reach them, and held a whispered
consultation.
“It’s him,” said Dave.
“Yes,” agreed Tom, “there ain’t no doubt of it.”
“Do you think he seen us?” asked the second pirate.
“No;” replied Tom, “I don’t think so; he had his ugly mouth open like he
waz asleep.”
“What’s to do?” asked Dave.
“Dunno, ’less we leave everything an’ swim ashore. Then we might get
ketched with sharks, and if we wasn’t ketched with sharks, we’d most
likely be ketched be the traps.”
“I wouldn’t sleep ’ere a night,” cried Dave, “with that cove on the
island, not for anything.”
“I’d rather sleep on a jumper ant’s nest,” agreed Tom. “The only thing we
got to do is keep quiet, an’ wait till the tide rises. Then we’ll shove
the boat off quietly and go further down the river.”
Having decided on this plan, they felt more comfortable. After a while
Tom even got courage enough to sneak back to where he had dropped his
swag.
He returned to report that the black-bearded man was still sleeping. Tom
said he looked more awful and wicked than ever.
They munched some food quietly, and feeling almost secure in the heart of
the thicket wherein they had crawled, Nature asserted herself, and they
both fell asleep.
It was past noon when Tom started up and woke his mate.
“The tide’s up,” he whispered. “We better run the risk of bein’ seen from
the shore in the boat than stay ’ere and be killed by a cold-blooded
murderer like that.”
They crept through the scrub and lantana as quietly as they could.
Tom took a good look round, and announced that the coast was clear. The
water was well up astern, and they began to push at the bow of the boat
to launch her.
“Give ’er one more shove!” cried Tom, in a glad voice, “an’ we’re clear.”
Just then each boy felt a strong hand on his shoulder.
The convict had crept up behind them.
Slowly, dreading what they knew they were going to see, each turned his
head.
They met the inquiring gaze of Jean Petit. His face was adorned by a grin
which was intended to be amiable, but Tom and Dave felt that they had
never witnessed anything more hideous.
“Ah, ha!” cried Jean Petit, in his own peculiar English, “what are you
doing here, my children?”
“N—n—nothink, s—ir.” spluttered Tom, vainly trying to wriggle out of his
captor’s clutch.
Now, when an Australian boy uses the word “sir” he is certainly afraid.
“Aha!” cried Petit, in a rasping voice.
“N—n—nothink!” repeated Dave, wriggling in such a way as to create the
impression that he really did not mean to. “No, sir, n—nothink. We only
just landed ’ere.”
Tom gave his mate a look of gratitude.
“Yes,” he cried, “we only jist landed. You let—let us go an’ we’ll go
right away at once.”
But Petit was thoughtfully studying the boat.
“Does zat boat belong wiz you?” he asked.
“N—no,” replied Tom, in anguished tones, “we jist borryed ’er to come
acrost to the island after wild figs.”
“Borree,” repeated the escapee, “borree? I not understand.”
“Yes,” repeated Tom, “we jist borryed—took the loan of ’er, like—meanin’
to give her back again.”
“Ah!” said Petit, “you vat he call shake, steal it, eh?”
“No,” cried Tom; “we’re honest, we are! Dead honest. Neither of us never
shook nothink in our lives—leastwise, not that we knowed of.”
“Ah!” exclaimed Petit, “vat is your name?”
“My name’s Jack Stevenson. This cove’s name is Bill Stevenson. He’s my
cousin.”
Tom gave Dave another look to impress this fact on his memory.
“I’ll tell you how it is, without any lies,” he volunteered, in a tone of
utter confidence. “We borryed this boat off Bill’s father yesterday to
come up the river a piece fishin,’ an’ we stayed out too late, an’ was
caught in a fog. This mornin’ we started back, an’ we jist pulled in ’ere
to look for figs—that’s a solemn fact. We ain’t been ’ere more than a
half a hour at the outside. You kin ask ’im!”
Petit examined the boys, the boat, and the surroundings. He saw that they
were telling lies.
His natural instinct told him also that they were terribly frightened,
and his criminal method of reasoning put it down to the fact that they
had committed some offence against the law.
It occurred to Petit’s mind that the boys might be useful to him. His
grasp tightened on their shoulders till Tom winced with pain and Dave
cried out.
Then, holding them firmly in front of him, he put his face up to them and
said, in a terrible voice: “Eet is so; you have stolen zis boat!”
They were silent.
“For which,” he continued, “you air both liable to be put in ze prison!”
Jean Petit hissed the word “prison.”
“Suppose,” he continued, “I gif word to ze po-lice—”
When the escapee came to “police” he snarled viciously. “Vat zen?”
Neither youth ventured to speak.
“I tell to you—you go to chail!”
Petit put dreadful emphasis on the gaol.
“Oui—to chail. Zere you will be treat mos’ ill; you vill rot an’ starve
an’ die! You will starve an’ rot an’ die.”
“But, non,” resumed Petit, after allowing the picture time to soak in, “I
vill not gif you to chail. You air too young, too tendaire; I vill keep
you viz ME! Sacre!” he ejaculated, shaking them both violently, “I shall
be fazzair and mozzair vis you.”
This prospective parentage did not seem to fill either Tom or Dave with
gratitude and joy. Two more wretched-looking children of adoption it
would be difficult to see anywhere.
“Bud,” concluded Petit, “if you do not obey me vis all thinks——”
He threw them from him and drew his knife.
“Oh,” sobbed Tom, “No, don’t! Don’t kill us. I’ll do anythink you want me
to. Anythink as long as you don’t stick that knife into me.”
Dave shut his eyes and shuddered. Speech was beyond him.