CHAPTER XLI.
YOUNG JACK'S CONFIDENCES—HOW TWO INNOCENT CONSPIRATORS
REPENTED—A CHANCE SHOT STRIKES HOME.
"Harry," said young Jack, as they walked up and down the deck arm in arm, "I must tell you something that has been upon my mind for days past."
Harry Girdwood turned round. Young Jack's serious manner impressed him.
"What is it, Jack?"
"I know you'll laugh," began Jack.
"Do you, Jack?" returned Harry Girdwood, promptly; "that being the case, tell me at once. I like to laugh, as you know."
"Well, Harry, it hasn't made me laugh. I was lolling half drowsily over the hatchway there, the other evening, when I suppose I dropped off asleep, and I dreamt of Hunston. I dreamt that I was going through all that ugly scene again, and while in the thick of the dream, something woke me."
"Yes."
"What do you think it was?"
"Can't say."
"Hunston's voice, moaning, groaning with pain apparently."
Harry Girdwood opened his eyes in wonder at this singular speech.
"What are you talking about?"
"Nonsense, rubbish; is it not? So I thought since. But you know that sort of dream when you wake up with the vivid effect of your vision so strongly upon you, that the dream-drama appears to continue after you're awake?"
"Yes."
"Well, that is exactly what happened to me. I heard Hunston when I was awake."
There was something strangely impressive in his manner as he said this, which caught Harry Girdwood's attention in spite of himself.
"Fancy," he said, with an assumption of indifference which he was far from feeling; "fancy, my dear Jack."
"Of course," answered young Jack; "but very strange."
"Not exactly strange, either, every thing considered, after all we have gone through. Why, Jack, you will hardly believe me when I tell you that I scarcely sleep without dreaming of Hunston. And what is there wonderful in that, after all that has taken place? It was enough to shake the strongest nerves, to startle the bravest man that ever lived."
"You allude to the attempted execution of ourselves?" said young Jack.
"Yes; and in spite of that brave brigand girl's assurances, there was great danger when we stood upon the brink of our grave with a firing party aiming at us."
"I felt a good deal of confidence in her," said Jack, "but I couldn't help thinking that an accident in her calculations might happen very easily."
"That's true. Supposing one of the bullets had been left in?"
"Why, then one of us would have been food for worms by now, unless the wolves or bears had rooted us up out of our graves and made dinner off us; but I haven't told you all about my vision yet, Harry."
"Did you dream again?"
"No."
"What more have you, then, to tell? Out with it. What else was it?"
"The moans I heard grew more distinct while I listened, and I followed the sounds—"
"In your sleep?"
"No, awake. I followed the sounds to the hold."
"Well?"
"They were plainer heard there. I pushed my way over the barrels and boxes, and nosed down in all the corners with my bull's eye lantern, when suddenly I heard a half-suppressed cry, a violent gasp rather, as if someone had too suddenly found himself on the edge of a precipice, or had seen a ghost."
"Well, well."
"Well, at that very moment a hand was placed upon my arm."
"Yes."
"I started back and drew my dirk, and then I found my self attacking—"
"Mole?"
"No. Joe Basalt."
Harry Girdwood burst out laughing at this.
"So it was Joe Basalt that was hiding and having a lark with you all the while?"
"I didn't say so," replied young Jack, thoughtfully.
"Why, then, what, in the name of all that's wonderful, do you think it could have been?"
"I don't know, but Joe Basalt chaffed me. He swore I was walking in my sleep; but I have come back upon my old opinion since I have thought the job over."
"You mean that you actually believe there is someone concealed in the hold?"
"Is—or was. Now, you watch Joe Basalt, Harry, and see if there is not some thing very strange in his manner."
"I will, if you like, but—good-morning, Tiller."
This was to Jack Tiller, who came up to them touching his forelock.
"Good-morning, Master Jack—morning, Master Harry. We've got a fishing party on, gentlemen, and thought as you might like to jine us."
"Who's going?"
"Me and Sam Mason, Tommy Shipwright and Bill Adams, Joe Basalt and old Higgy—only that lot among the common folk," added he, with a grin.
"And who among the superior class?" asked young Jack, laughingly.
"Mr. Mole."
"What, Mr. Mole! Why, what on earth is he going for?"
"That's exactly the p'int of it, young gentlemen,"
"How so?"
"We're going a-fishing with something new-fangled which Mr. Mole has inwented."
The two boys looked at each other and grinned.
"Larks are on, Jack," said Harry Girdwood. "I'm in it, for one."
"And I too."
"That's your sort," cried Joe Basalt. "Mr. Harvey's going, too, and Mr. Jefferson; now I go to Mr. Harkaway and ask his consent."
And Joe left them singing—
"Avast!" cries Jack, "do you suppose
I ain't a man my dooty knows?
For liberty afore we goes
To ax the skipper I propose."
And the well-disciplined sailor went to Harkaway's cabin and broached the question.
"All right, Basalt," said Harkaway; "only look sharp after the young gentlemen; you know what boys they are to get into mischief."
"All right, your honour; trust me."
"I do, Joe Basalt," responded Harkaway; "I do, for I know that there was never a straighter or truer man ever trod a deck than you are."
"Come, I say, your honour," remonstrated Joe Basalt, modestly, "draw it mild."
"No deceit about you, I know it; nothing underhand about Joe Basalt."
A sudden thought flashed through the sailor's head, and it brought up a very unpleasant reminder.
With it came a flush to his bronzed face.
He touched his forelock respectfully to Harkaway and ran up stairs.
As he went he muttered to himself—
"I felt like a miserable swab!" he muttered; "a d—d, deceitful son of a sea-cook—that's what you are, Joe Basalt, I wish I'd never had nothing to do with that precious stowaway."