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Cutlass and Cudgel

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<h3>Chapter Twenty.</h3> Raystoke looked round him for a weapon, but the only thing visible was a stone, and not feeling disposed to descend to such a barbarous means of offence or defence, he drew himself up, burning with indignation, but waiting for the others to commence speaking. He had not long to wait. “Hullo, sailor!” cried Ram; “like some milk?” “You rascal!” burst out Archy, taking a step toward the lad, but feeling directly a strong hand upon his arm to hold him back. “What’s the matter?” growled the owner of the hand. “The matter will be that you two will be hung at the yardarm some fine morning. How dare you shut me up in this hole?” “Hung for shutting you up here?” cried the boy. “We shall have to hang him then, Jemmy, after all.” “Ay, lad,” said the man. “When’ll we do it; now?” “Now!” cried the midshipman. “Do you think you are going to frighten me with such talk? Show me the way out of this place directly.” “Ram, lad,” said Jemmy Dadd, with a cackling laugh; “when yer ketches a wild thing, and puts him in a cage, he begins to bang hisself agen the sides, and knocks his head agen the bars, and if he could talk he’d go on just like that ’ere. Then you keeps quiet, and don’t give him nothing to eat, and after a day or two you can do what you like with him.” “Then we’d better take back the basket, Jemmy, eh?” “Ay, lad, that’s it. Leave him in the dark a bit to cool him down.” “You scoundrels!” cried the lad in frenzy. “If you do not show me the way out, I’ll shout for help, and when it does come, I’ll take care your punishment shall be ten times worse.” “Ah, do,” said Ram, laughing. “Won’t bring the roof down, will it, Jemmy?” “Nay, not it, lad. Come on.” “Wait a bit,” said Ram.—“I say, didn’t tell me whether you’d like a bottle o’ milk?” Archy felt as if he would like to fly at the boy, the very mention of the milk exasperating him to such an extent. But at every movement he felt himself more tightly held, and knowing from sad experience that it was waste of energy to contend with the iron-muscled fellow who gripped his arm, he smothered his anger. He did not speak, but as Ram held up the light, Archy’s countenance told tales of the passion struggling in his breast for exit, and the boy grinned. “I say, do have a bottle o’ milk,” he said; “it’s fresh and warm. Mother said it would do you good.” “Nay, lad, don’t give him none till he’s grow’d civil, and don’t talk about hanging on us.” “I brought you a bottle o’ new milk and some hot bread, on’y it’s getting cold now, and some butter and cold ham. Do have some.” Archy ground his teeth: he felt as if he would give anything for some food, and the very mention of the tasty viands made his mouth water, but he only stamped his foot and tried to shake himself free. “I am a king’s officer,” he shouted, “and order you to let me go!” “Hear that, Jemmy? Hold him tight.” “Ay! He’s tight enough!” cried the man, throwing a sturdy arm about the middy’s waist, and holding him back as he tried to get at Ram. “No good to give orders here,” said the latter, grinning. “You’re only a king’s officer when you’re aboard your little bit of a cutter.” “Will you let me out of this place?” “If I let you go will you tell your skipper about what you’ve seen?” “Yes,” cried Archy fiercely. “Then what a dumble head you must be to think we’ll let you go. Won’t do, little officer; will it, Jemmy?” “Do! Better chuck him off the cliff.” “What!” cried the midshipman fiercely. “Chuck you off the cliff. What do you mean by coming interfering here with honest men getting their living? We never did nothing to you.” “You scoundrel!” cried Archy, “how dare you say that? You know you are breaking the laws by smuggling, and you are doing worse by kidnapping me.” “Should have kep’ away then,” growled the man. “Don’t speak cross to him, Jemmy. He’s very sorry he came now, and if I let him go he’ll promise not to say a word about what he has seen; won’t you now, mate?” “No!” roared Archy. “Oh, well then, Jemmy’s right. We shall have to tame you down.” “Show me the way out of this.” “Come along then,” said Ram with a sneering laugh. “But you’d better promise.” “Show me the way out.” “Won’t you have some milk first?” “Do you hear me?” “And bread and butter, home-made?” “Will you show me the way out.” “Nor no ham? You must be hungry!” “You scoundrel!” cried Archy, who was exasperated almost beyond bearing. “Show me the way out.” “Oh, very well, this way, then. Hold him tight, Jemmy.” “Ay, ay, lad!” “This way, my grand officer without your fine clothes,” said Ram tauntingly, as he held down the lanthorn to show the rough stone floor. “Mind how you put your feet, and take care. Why don’t you come?” Archy made a start forward, but he was tightly held. “Why don’t you come, youngster?” cried Ram mockingly, as he held the lanthorn more closely. “There, now then, mind how you come.” Whang! The dull sound was followed by a faint clatter, and all was black darkness again, for raging with hunger and annoyance as the boy was, tightly held, the light down just in front of him, without any warning Archy drew back slightly, delivered one quick, sharp kick full at the lanthorn, and it flew right away into the darkness. “Well!” ejaculated Ram in his first moment of surprise. Then he burst into a roar of laughter which echoed from the roof. “You’re a nice un,” growled Jemmy. “Let him go, and come on,” cried Ram. A sudden thought struck the middy. “No, you don’t,” he muttered, as he wrenched himself round and clung to the man. “If you are going from here, I go too.” “Got the lanthorn, Ram, lad?” cried Jemmy. “No; and it’s smashed now. Come away.” “Let go, will you?” growled Jemmy. For answer the midshipman held on more tightly. “Do you hear? Come on!” cried Ram. “He won’t let go. He’s holding on legs, wings and teeth. Come and help.” “Get out: you can manage him. Put him on his back.” No sooner were the words uttered than, as he struggled there in the black darkness, Archy felt himself twisted up off his feet. There was a shake, a wrench, and as he clung tightly to the man, his arms were dragged, as it felt to him, half out of their sockets, and he was thrown, to come down fortunately on his hands and knees. For a few moments he felt half stunned by the shake, but recovering himself he leaped up and began to follow the retiring footsteps which were faintly heard. He knew the direction, and went on with outstretched hands to find the way, checked directly by their coming in contact with one of the great pillars of stone. But he felt his way round this, got to the other side, listened, made out which way the footsteps were going, followed on, and caught his feet against something which threw him forward on to a pile of broken stone. He got up again, and felt his way cautiously to the right, for the stones rose like a bank or barrier in his way, and he went many yards without finding a way through. Then feeling that he had taken the wrong turning, he retraced his steps as quickly as he could, going on and on without avail and never stopping. He was just in time to save himself from another fall as he heard a dull bang as if a heavy door were closed, followed by a curious rattling sound, as of large pieces of slate falling down and banging against wood. Then came a dull echoing, which died off in whispers, and all was perfectly still. “The cowards!” cried Archy, as he fully realised that his gaolers had escaped from him. “How brutal to leave a fellow shut up in a hole like this. ’Tis horrible; and enough to drive one mad. Ugh!” he now cried, “if I only could get out!” He sat down upon the rough stones, feeling weak, and perspiring profusely. It was many hours now since he had tasted food, and in his misery and despair he felt that he should be starved to death before his gaolers came again. “How dare they!” he cried passionately. “A king’s officer too! Oh, if I could only be once more along with the lads, and with a chance to go at them! I think I should be able to fight.” Then as he sat on the stones he began to cool down and grow less fierce in his ideas. In other words, he came down from pistols and sharp-edged cutlasses to fists, and felt such an intense longing to get at Ram, that his fists involuntarily clenched and his fingers tingled. “Wait a bit,” he said fiercely,—“wait a bit.” “Yes, I shall have to wait a bit,” he said sadly, as he rose from the stones. “Oh, how weak and hungry I am! It’s as if I was going to be ill. I wonder whether I could track where they went out.” “Not now,” he said,—“not now;” and with some faint hope of finding the place where he had been lying on the old sail, he began to move slowly and laboriously along, his mind dragged over, as it were, to the words of the boy as he taunted him about milk and bread and butter with ham. It was agonising in his literally starving condition to think of such things, and he tried to keep his mind upon finding the way out, meaning to work desperately after he had lain down for a bit to rest. But it was impossible to control his thoughts, strive how he would. Hunger is an overmastering desire, and he crept on step by step with outstretched hands, picturing in the darkness slices of ham, yellow butter, brown crusted loaves, and pure sweet milk, till, as he dragged his feet slowly along, half-fainting now with pain, weariness, and despair, his foot suddenly kicked against something which rolled over and over away from him. “The lanthorn!” he exclaimed eagerly, and planning at once how he could strike a light with a stone and his knife, and perhaps contrive some tinder, he went down on his hands and knees, feeling about in all directions till he touched the object which he had kicked, and uttered a cry of joy and excitement. It was not the lanthorn, but a round cross-handled basket with lid, and he trembled as he recalled Ram’s words about what his mother had sent. Was there truth in them, or were they the utterances of a malicious mind which wished to torture one who was in its power? Archy Raystoke hardly dared to think, and knelt there for a few minutes, with his trembling hands resting upon the basket, which he was afraid to open lest it should not contain that which he looked for. “Out of my misery at all events,” he cried; and he tore off the lid. <hr> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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