Cormorant Crag Part 54

"To be sure. We mustn't go on burning that candle."

"But--"

"Look here, old chap," said Vince quietly: "there are only about two inches of it left. That wouldn't last long, and I'm sure it's better to put it out and save it for some particular occasion than to burn it now."

"But there's just enough to light us to the mouth of this terrible hole."

"And give ourselves up to old Jarks, as that fellow called him, whose pistol might go off by accident, or who might take us on board his vessel and let us fall overboard."

"That was only what the man said," argued Mike petulantly. "If we go boldly up to this smuggler captain and tell him that we only found out the caves by accident, and that we haven't touched any of the smuggled goods--"

"Pirates!"

"Smuggled."

"You stuck out it was pirates."

"But I didn't believe it then. Well, if we go to him and say that we have always kept the place a secret, and that we'll go on doing so, and swear to it if he likes, he will let us go."

"Go out boldly to him, eh?" said Vince.

"Yes, of course."

"Ah, well, I can't. I don't feel at all bold now. It all went out of me over the fight with the seals. That one which fastened on my jacket finished my courage."

"Now you're talking nonsense," said Mike angrily.

"Very well, then, I'll talk sense. If that captain was an Englishman perhaps we would do as you say; but as he's a Frenchman of bad character, as he must be, I feel as if we can't trust him. No, Ladle, old chap, I mean for us to escape, and the only thing we can do now is to wait till it's dark and then try. We mustn't run any risks of what Mr Jarks might do. Now then, you do as I've done before I put out the light."

"You're not going to put out the light."

"Yes, I am."

"I won't have it. It shall burn as long as I like. Besides, you couldn't light it again."

"Oh yes, I could. I've got the tinder-box, and it has always been too high up to get wet."

"I don't care," said Mike desperately; "it's too horrible to be here in the dark."

"Not half so horrible as to be in the dark not knowing that you could get a light if you wanted to. We could if I put it out. We couldn't if it was all burned."

"I don't care, I say once more--I say it must not be put out."

"And I say," replied Vince, speaking quite good-humouredly, while his companion's voice sounded husky, and as if he were in a rage--"and I say that if you make any more fuss about it I'll put it out now."

As Vince spoke he made a sudden movement, s.n.a.t.c.hed the lanthorn from where it stood by the wall, and tore open the door.

"Now," he cried, catching up a handful of sand, "you come a step nearer, and I'll smother the light with this."

Mike had made a dart to seize the lanthorn, but he paused now.

"You coward!" he cried.

"All right: so I am. I've been in a terrible stew to-day several times, but I'm not such a coward that I'm afraid to put out the light."

Mike turned his back and began to imitate his companion in stripping off his wet lower garments, wringing them thoroughly, and spreading them on the dry sand, with which he, too, filled his saturated boots.

Meanwhile Vince was setting him another example--that of raking out a hole in the softest sand, snuggling down into it and drawing it over him all round till he was covered.

"Not half such nice sand as it is in our cave, Ladle," he said.

There was no answer.

"I say, Ladle, don't I look like a c.o.c.k bird sitting on the nest while the hen goes out for a walk?"

Still there was no reply, and Mike finished his task with his wet garments.

"Sand's best and softest up here," said Vince, taking out the tinder-box from the breast of his jersey and placing it by the lanthorn.

Mike said nothing, but went to the spot Vince had pointed out, sc.r.a.ped himself a hollow, sat down in it quietly, and dragged the sand round.

"Feels drying, like a cool towel, doesn't it?" said Vince, as if there had been no words between them.

"You can put out the light," said Mike, for answer.

"Hah, yes," replied Vince, taking the lanthorn; "seems a pity, too. But we shan't hurt here. Old Jarks won't think we're in so snug a spot."

Out went the light, Vince closed and fastened the door, and then, settling himself in his sandy nest, he said quietly,--

"Now we shall have to wait for hours before we can start. What shall we do--tell stories?"

Mike made no reply.

"Well, he needn't be so jolly sulky," thought Vince. "I'm sure it's the best thing to do.--Yes, what's that?"

It was a hand stretched out of the darkness, and feeling for his till it could close over it in a tight, firm grip.

"I'm so sorry, Cinder, old chap," came in a low, husky voice. "All this has made me feel half mad."

There was silence then for a few minutes, as the boys sat there in total darkness, hand clasped in hand. Then Vince spoke.

"I know," he said, in a voice which Mike hardly recognised: "I've been feeling something like it, only I managed to stamp it down. But you cheer up, Ladle. You and I ought to be a match for _one_ Frenchman.

We're not beaten. We must wait."

"And starve," said Mike bitterly.

"That we won't. We'll try to get right away, but if we can't we must get something to eat and drink."

"But how?"