The Adventures of Don Lavington Part 32

CHAPTER SIXTEEN.

PRISONERS AGAIN.

Don's grasp tightened on the rope, and as he lay there, half on, half off the slope, listening, with the beads of perspiration gathering on his forehead, he heard from below shouts, the trampling of feet and struggling.

"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 was perfectly 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 a great deal of exertion, he had contrived to get his legs beyond the eaves, and there he rested, hesitating once more.

Just then he heard voices below, and holding on by one hand, he rapidly drew up a few yards of the rope, making his leg take the place of another hand.

There was a good deal of talking, and he caught the word "rope," but that was all. So he continued his toilsome ascent till he was able to grasp 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 no sound suggested that any one was on the watch. But Jem! Poor Jem! It was like leaving him in the lurch.

Still, he thought, if he did get away, he might give the alarm, and find help to save Jem from being taken away.

"And if they came up and found me gone," he muttered, "they would take Jem off aboard ship directly, and it would be labour in vain."

"Oh! Let go!"

The words escaped him involuntarily, for whilst he was pondering, some one had crept into the great loft floor, made a leap, and caught him by the leg, and, in spite of all his efforts to free himself, the man hung on 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 hoa.r.s.e voice, which he recognised. "Look sharp with the light."

Don was on his back half stunned and hurt, and his captor, the sinister-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 a lanthorn, and directly after the bluff-looking man appeared, followed by a 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 his captive's chest, and the bluff man laughed.

"Pretty well done, my lad," he said. "I might have known you two weren't so quiet for nothing. There, cast off that rope, and bring him down."

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 in silence to floor after floor, till they were once more in the bas.e.m.e.nt.

"Might have broken your neck, you foolish boy," said the bluff man, as a rough door was opened. "You can stop here for a bit. Don't try any more games."

He gave Don a friendly push, and the boy stepped forward once more into a dark cellar, where he remained despairing and motionless as the door was banged behind him, and locked; and then, as the steps died away, he heard a groan.

"Any one there?" said a faint voice, followed by the muttered words,--"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 the far 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 to myself 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 to get right away. Why didn't you slither and go?"

"Because I should have been leaving you in the lurch, Jem; and I didn't want 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 should have done like that if you and me had been twisted round; I mean, if you had 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 have waited 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 'ud help 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 was made 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 the tub 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 'em fell on me, and I was kicked and jumped on till I'm just as if all the hoops 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. You never knew any one who got cut as could heal up as fast as me. See how strong my ribs grew together, and so did my leg when I got kicked by that horse."