Jack Harkaway and His Son's Escape from the Brigands of Greece Part 25

Sunday and Monday, who had been keeping it up in the kitchen, were called and acquainted with the state of affairs.

"What, Ma.s.sa Petrus," said Sunday in surprise, "what you do here? Am you got dat black rascal pirate with you?"

"No; the pirate chief is dead. You will find his bones on the island-- Magic Island, as young Jack Harkaway named it. Yes, my revenge is complete. The pirate died as my slave; but now to explain to you my plan to punish the three brigands."

Sunday rolled his eyes fearfully, as he listened to the details of the plot.

"Gorra, ma.s.sa, I'd like to tar and feather dat big rascal."

"Tar!" said Petrus. "Ha, ha, ha! that is a good idea. Listen--but first show me the place where the gentlemen sleep."

The hotel-keeper led the way to the corridor, and pointed out the sleeping apartments of the Harkaway party.

Petrus then held another short consultation with the two black men and the hotel-keeper, the result of which was that the latter retired, leaving Sunday, Monday, and Petrus to work their will with the invaders when they appeared.

And then, as there was but little time to spare, they set to work with a will to make all the necessary preparations.

Over each door they screwed into the wall an iron hook, to which was attached a pulley and a cord.

Then they went into the lower regions and hunted through the store rooms.

The first place they lighted upon was a kind of paint shop, full of paints, oils and such-like things.

"Dis is jes de shop for to cook de goose ob dem willins," said Sunday.

"And here's de pots to cook 'em in," said Monday, pointing to some iron vessels resembling pails, but made so that the bottoms could be removed.

The pails, as we will call them, were something like sugar loaves, with the tops cut off and turned base upwards.

When full, the weight of the liquid kept the bottom in its place, but it was evident that if the bottom was removed, as it easily could be, the contents would escape.

Petrus, after an inspection, p.r.o.nounced them "just the thing," adding--

"Now we must fill them with tar."

"No, no," said Monday. "Put tar in one, wery hot; in nodder put dis here paint, also werry hot; and in de oder put water, bilin' hot."

"Good."

Then the three sat down by the large fireplace in the kitchen, and deliberately began their cooking.

Monday devoted his attention to the heating of several pounds of mixed paint.

Sunday boiled a barrel of tar, while Petrus attended to a large cauldron of water.

Ten minutes before the hands of the clock pointed to half-past twelve, all the cooks had completed their work.

The paint, tar, and water, all at boiling heat, had been placed in the iron pails with the movable bottoms, and one of these had been hung over each bedroom door.

The hot water over Harkaway's door, the paint over Harvey's, and the tar over that in which the two boys and Jefferson reposed.

A string was attached to each pail, and pa.s.sed over a pulley, the end being conveyed to a recess where the three watchers were concealed.

They were armed.

Sunday, Monday, and Petrus each had a six-chambered revolver, loaded.

Then came the clang of the old-fashioned clock as it proclaimed half- past twelve.

Breathless silence prevailed both inside the house and out.

"Lights out," whispered Petrus, when, after a short pause, a slight grating noise was heard at the back door.

In an instant all was darkness, except that the moon shone through a narrow window at the extreme end of the corridor.

A few minutes afterwards Petrus, who was watching, saw three dark figures come gliding into the long pa.s.sage.

The first was a tall, bulky figure--Toro.

The second the Greek, and the third was evidently Hunston.

A plan of operations had been agreed upon--that was quite certain; for Toro, without the least hesitation, proceeded to Jefferson's door, the Greek placing himself outside Harvey's apartment, while Hunston stationed himself at the room occupied by Harkaway.

Then they waited for a signal, evidently intending to rush in simultaneously.

"Now!" said Hunston, in a loud whisper.

"Now!" echoed Petrus.

Before the brigands could rush into the rooms occupied by those they sought to destroy, Petrus pulled the three strings he held in his hand, and, good Heaven! what a spluttering and swearing at once commenced.

Hunston was drenched and scalded.

"A million curses!" he roared.

"Help! Look here, Toro."

But Toro could not look.

A deluge of hot tar had streamed over his head, filling eyes, ears, nose, and mouth, saturating his hair and running down inside his clothing.

"Furies!" he screamed, "I'll have the life of the villain who has done this! Mathias, out with your knife, man."

But the poor Greek was utterly cowed; the paint had destroyed all his senses save that of feeling, which was fully exercised.

Hunston, although severely scalded, managed to keep a certain proportion of his wits about him.

"Come, lads--quick, as you value your lives!" he exclaimed. "Away! we must not risk capture."