Jack Harkaway and His Son's Escape from the Brigands of Greece Part 129

"Come," said Jefferson, "it is growing late; let us settle it off-hand."

"What is the verdict?" said Harvey, "Let the men decide."

Their decision did not take long at arriving at. As if with a single voice, the men responded--

"Death!"

A sickening sensation stole over Hunston.

There was enough in that to appal the stoutest heart, it is true, and he now felt that it was all over.

"Very good," said Harkaway, "His fate is with you."

"String him up to the yardarm at once, then," suggested Sam Mason.

"Tie him up by the heels and let's shoot at him."

"Let him walk the plank."

"No; hanging is better fun. It's a dog's death that he has earned, so let him have his deserts."

A rope was got and the end of it was flung over the yardarm, and a running noose made in it.

Then rough hands were laid upon the doomed man.

This aroused him into lifting his voice in his own behalf.

"Harkaway," he said, "do you know that this is murder--cold-blooded murder?"

"So is every execution, even if sanctioned by law."

"But it is done upon ample proof."

"We have proof enough."

"You haven't a single witness against me," said Hunston, eagerly.

"Plenty."

"Where's one? Let go, I tell you," he cried frantically, at the men who were dragging him towards the rope. "This is murder; you'll hang for it, Harkaway; you'll--cowards! all of you upon one."

But they did not pay much heed to his ravings.

"Do you hear, Harkaway?" he cried, "This is murder, whatever you call it. It will hang you yet; at the least, it will transport you for life."

Harkaway smiled.

"I shall not soil my fingers in the matter."

"It is your work!" now yelled Hunston, struggling with mad desperation.

"Then we'll all have a hand in it," said Harkaway; "we'll all pull together, so that no one can fix it upon his fellow--"

"You'll not escape," yelled the miserable wretch. "You'll swing for it yourself; you will, I swear. You have no witnesses; these two sailors are notorious liars."

"Take that, you swab," cried Joe Basalt, dashing his fist in his face.

"They are greater curs than yourself," yelled Hunston; "such witnesses would swear away your own life for a gla.s.s of grog--witnesses indeed--"

He stopped short.

His glance fell upon two forms standing close by--young Jack and Harry Girdwood.

Both were dressed as he had last seen them in the mountain haunt of the brigands.

Hunston was still in ignorance of the rescue of the boys.

For all he knew, their bodies were rotting in their mountain grave in Greece.

They bent upon him the same sad and stern look which had been so efficacious before, and he cowered before them.

Appalled at the horrible phantoms come to mock him at his last moments, he clapped his hand to his eyes in the vain endeavour to shut out the sight.

Vain, indeed, for the sight possessed a horrible fascination for him, which no pen can describe.

"Down, and beg for mercy," said young Jack, solemnly.

"On your knees, wretch!" added Harry Girdwood.

"Hah!"

The two boys pointed together to the feet of Harkaway senior.

The condemned man caught at their meaning at once.

A wild cry of hope came from his lips, and he burst from the sailors who held him and threw himself at Harkaway's feet.

"Mercy, mercy, Harkaway!" he cried, piteously. "Have mercy, for the love of Heaven, as you hope for mercy yourself hereafter."

Harkaway gazed on him in silence.

"Look there," cried Hunston, wildly, pointing to where the two boys stood still in contemplation of the scene, "Look there; see, they are begging for mercy for me."

"Who? Where?" demanded Harkaway, in considerable astonishment

"Your own son, your own boy; don't you see him?" pursued Hunston, wildly,

"Look. No--It is my own fancy, my fear-stricken mind, which conjures up these horrible visions. Ugh!"