CHAPTER SIXTEEN.
PRISONERS AGAIN.
Don's grasp tightened on the rope, and as he lay there, half on, halfoff the slope, listening, with the beads of perspiration gathering onhis forehead, he heard from below shouts, the trampling of feet andstruggling.
"They've attacked Jem," he thought. "What shall I do? Go to his help?"
Before he could come to a decision the noise ceased and all wasperfectly still.
Don hung there thinking.
What should he do--slide down and try to escape, or climb back?
Jem was evidently retaken, and to escape would be cowardly, he thought;and in this spirit he began to draw himself slowly back till, after agreat deal of exertion, he had contrived to get his legs beyond theeaves, and there he rested, hesitating once more.
Just then he heard voices below, and holding on by one hand, he rapidlydrew up a few yards of the rope, making his leg take the place ofanother hand.
There was a good deal of talking, and he caught the word "rope," butthat was all. So he continued his toilsome ascent till he was able tograsp the edge of the skylight opening, up to which he dragged himself,and sat listening, astride, as he had been before the attempt was made.
All was so still that he was tempted to slide down and escape for nosound suggested that any one was on the watch. But Jem! Poor Jem! Itwas like leaving him in the lurch.
Still, he thought, if he did get away, he might give the alarm, and findhelp to save Jem from being taken away.
"And if they came up and found me gone," he muttered, "they would takeJem off aboard ship directly, and it would be labour in vain."
"Oh! Let go!"
The words escaped him involuntarily, for whilst he was pondering, someone had crept into the great loft floor, made a leap, and caught him bythe leg, and, in spite of all his efforts to free himself, the man hungon till, unable to kick free, Don was literally dragged in and fell,after clinging for a moment to the cross-beam, heavily upon the floor.
"I've got him!" cried a hoarse voice, which he recognised. "Look sharpwith the light."
Don was on his back half stunned and hurt, and his captor, thesinister-looking man, was sitting upon his chest, half suffocating him,and evidently taking no little pleasure in inflicting pain.
Footsteps were hurriedly ascending; then there was the glow of alanthorn, and directly after the bluff-looking man appeared, followed bya couple of sailors, one of whom bore the light. "Got him?"
"Ay, ay! I've got him, sir."
"That's right! But do you want to break the poor boy's ribs? Get off!"
Don's friend, the sinister-looking man, rose grumblingly from hiscaptive's chest, and the bluff man laughed.
"Pretty well done, my lad," he said. "I might have known you twoweren't so quiet for nothing. There, cast off that rope, and bring himdown."
The sinister man gripped Don's arm savagely, causing him intense pain,but the lad uttered no cry, and suffered himself to be led down insilence to floor after floor, till they were once more in the basement.
"Might have broken your neck, you foolish boy," said the bluff man, as arough door was opened. "You can stop here for a bit. Don't try anymore games."
He gave Don a friendly push, and the boy stepped forward once more intoa dark cellar, where he remained despairing and motionless as the doorwas banged behind him, and locked; and then, as the steps died away, heheard a groan.
"Any one there?" said a faint voice, followed by the mutteredwords,--"Poor Mas' Don. What will my Sally do? What will she do?"
"Jem, I'm here," said Don huskily; and there was a rustling sound in thefar part of the dark place.
"Oh! You there, Mas' Don? I thought you'd got away."
"How could I get away when they had caught you?" said Don,reproachfully.
"Slid down and run. There was no one there to stop you. Why, I says tomyself when they pounced on me, if I gives 'em all their work to do,they'll be so busy that they won't see Mas' Don, and he'll be able toget right away. Why didn't you slither and go?"
"Because I should have been leaving you in the lurch, Jem; and I didn'twant to do that."
"Well, I--well, of all--there!--why, Mas' Don, did you feel that way?"
"Of course I did."
"And you wouldn't get away because I couldn't?"
"That's what I thought, Jem."
"Well, of all the things I ever heared! Now I wonder whether I shouldhave done like that if you and me had been twisted round; I mean, if youhad gone down first and been caught."
"Of course you would, Jem."
"Well, that's what I don't know, Mas' Don. I'm afraid I should havewaited till they'd got off with you, and slipped down and run off."
"I don't think you'd have left me, Jem."
"I dunno, my lad. I should have said to myself, I can bring them as 'udhelp get Mas' Don out; and gone."
Don thought of his own feelings, and remained silent.
"I say, Mas' Don, though, it's a bad job being caught; but the rope wasmade strong enough, warn't it?"
"Yes, but it was labour in vain."
"Well, p'r'aps it was, sir; but I'm proud of that rope all the same.Oh!"
Jem uttered a dismal groan.
"Are you hurt, Jem?"
"Hurt, sir! I just am hurt--horrible. 'Member when I fell down and thetub went over me?"
"And broke your ribs, and we thought you were dead? Yes, I remember."
"Well, I feel just the same as I did then. I went down and a lot of 'emfell on me, and I was kicked and jumped on till I'm just as if all thehoops was off my staves, Mas' Don; but that arn't the worst of it,because it won't hurt me. I'm a reg'lar wunner to mend again. Younever knew any one who got cut as could heal up as fast as me. See howstrong my ribs grew together, and so did my leg when I got kicked bythat horse."
"But are you in much pain now?"
"I should just think I am, Mas' Don; I feel as if I was being cut upwith blunt saws as had been made red hot first."
"Jem, my poor fellow!" groaned Don.
"Now don't go on like that, Mas' Don, and make it worse."
"Would they give us a candle, Jem, do you think, if I was to knock?"
"Not they, my lad; and I don't want one. You'd be seeing how queer Ilooked if you got a light. There, sit down and let's talk."
Don groped along by the damp wall till he reached the place where hiscompanion lay, and then went down on his knees beside him.
"It seems to be all over, Jem," he said.
"Over? Not it, my lad. Seems to me as if it's all just going tobegin."
"Then we shall be made sailors."
"S'pose so, Mas' Don. Well, I don't know as I should so much mind if itwarn't for my Sally. A man might just as well be pulling ropes aspushing casks and winding cranes."
"But we shall have to fight, Jem."
"Well, so long as it's fisties I don't know as I much mind, but if theyexpect me to chop or shoot anybody, they're mistook."
Jem became silent, and for a long time his fellow-prisoner felt not theslightest inclination to speak. His thoughts were busy over theirattempted escape, and the risky task of descending by the rope. Then hethought again of home, and wondered what they would think of him,feeling sure that they would believe him to have behaved badly.
His heart ached as he recalled all the past, and how much his presentposition was due to his own folly and discontent, while, at the end ofevery scene he evoked, came the thought that no matter how he repented,it was too late--too late!
"How are you now, Jem?" he asked once or twice, as he tried to piercethe utter darkness; but there was no answer, and at last he relieved theweariness of his position by moving close up to the wall, so as to leanhis back against it, and in this position, despite all his trouble, hishead drooped forward till his chin rested upon his chest, and he fellfast asleep for what seemed to him only a few minutes, when he startedinto wakefulness on feeling himself roughly shaken.
&
nbsp; "Rouse up, my lad, sharp!"
And looking wonderingly about him, he clapped one hand over his eyes tokeep off the glare of an open lanthorn.