Commodore Junk Part 46

"Surely you cannot expect me to wish to stay here!"

"Why do you wish to go home to meet disgrace?"

Humphrey started at having his own words repeated.

"To be tried by court martial for the loss of your s.h.i.+p! Stay where you are, sir, and grow strong and well."

"If I stay here, sir, when I have full liberty to go, shall I not be playing the part of the coward you called me when I was beaten down?"

"You will not have full liberty to go, Captain Armstrong," said his captor, quietly. "You forget that you are a prisoner."

"You do not intend to kill me and my men?"

"We are not butchers, sir," was the cold reply.

"Then what is your object in detaining us. Is it ransom?"

"Possibly."

"Name the sum, then, sir, and if it is in my power it shall be paid."

"It is too soon to talk of ransom, Captain Armstrong," said his visitor, "you are weak and ill yet. Be patient, and grow well and strong. Some day I will talk over this matter with you again. But let me, before I go, warn you to be careful not to attempt to escape, or to encourage either of your men to make the attempt. Even I could not save you then, for the first man you met would shoot you down. Besides that risk, escape is impossible by land; and we shall take care that you do not get away by sea. Now, sir, have I listened to all you have to say?"

"One word, sir. I am growing stronger every day. Will you grant me some freedom?"

"Captain Armstrong is a gentleman," said his visitor; "if he will give his word that he will not attempt to escape, he shall be free to go anywhere within the bounds of our little settlement."

Humphrey sat thinking, with his brow knit and his teeth compressed.

"No," he said; "that would be debarring myself from escaping."

"You could not escape."

"I should like to try," said Humphrey, smiling.

"It would be utter madness, sir. Give me your word of honour that you will not attempt to leave this old palace, and you shall come and go as you please."

"No, sir, I will remain a prisoner with the chances open."

"As you will," said the buccaneer, coldly; and he rose and left the chamber, looking thoughtful and absent, while Humphrey lay back on his couch, gazing hard at the great stone idol, as if he expected to gain information from its stern mysterious countenance.

"Where have I seen him before?" he said, thoughtfully; and after gazing at the carven effigy for some time he closed his eyes and tried to think, but their last meeting on the deck of the sloop was all that would suggest itself, and he turned wearily upon his side.

"He seemed to have heard of our family, and his manner was strange; but I can't think now," he said, "I am hot and weak, and this place seems to stifle me."

Almost as he spoke he dropped asleep--the slumber of weakness and exhaustion--to be plunged in a heavy stupor for hours, perfectly unconscious of the fact that from time to time the great curtain was drawn aside and a big head thrust into the dim chamber, the owner gazing frowningly at the helpless prisoner, and then entering on tiptoe, to cross to the window and cautiously look out before returning to the couch, with the frown deepening as the man thought of how narrow the step was which led from life to death.

He had advanced close to the couch with a savage gleam of hatred in his eyes when Humphrey Armstrong moved uneasily, tossed his hands apart, and then, as if warned instinctively of danger, he opened his eyes, sprang up, and seized a piece of stone close by his side, the only weapon, within grasp.

"Well," said Bart, without stirring, and with a grim look of contempt, "heave it. I don't mind."

"Oh, it's you!" said the prisoner, setting down the stone and letting himself sink back. "I was dreaming, I suppose, and thought there was danger."

He laid his feverish cheek upon his hand, and seemed to fall asleep at once, his eyes closing and his breath coming easily.

"Trusts me," muttered Bart. "Poor lad! it ar'n't his fault. Man can't kill one as trusts him like that. I shall have to fight for him, I suppose. Always my way--always my way."

He seated himself at the foot of the couch with his features distorted as if by pain, and for hour after hour watched the sleeper, telling himself that he could not do him harm, though all the time a jealous hatred approaching fury was burning in his breast.

CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR.

THE PRISON LIFE.

"Not dying, Bart?"

"No, not exactly dying," said that worthy in a low growl; "but s'pose you shoots at and wings a gull, picks it up, and takes it, and puts it in a cage; the wound heals up, and the bird seems sound; but after a time it don't peck, and don't preen its plumes, and if it don't beat itself again' the bars o' the cage, it sits and looks at the sea."

"What do you mean?"

"What I says, captain; and, after a time, if you don't let it go, that gull dies."

"Then you mean that Captain Armstrong is pining away?"

"That's it."

"Has he any suspicion of who we are?"

"Not a bit."

"And you think he's suffering for want of change?"

"Course I do. Anyone would--shut up in that dark place."

"Has he complyned?"

"Not he. Too brave a lad. Why not give him and his lads a boat, and let them go!"

"To come back with a strong force and destroy us."

"Ah, I never thought of that! Make him swear he wouldn't. He'd keep his word."

"But his men would not, Bart. No; he will have to stay."

"Let him loose, then, to run about the place. He can't get away."

"I am afraid."