CHAPTER XLIV.
HUNSTON'S TRIALS IN THE HOLD OF THE "WESTWARD HO!"—THE SHINE
WITH HIS PROTECTORS—A STRANGE REVELATION—TROUBLES.
Hunston was, meanwhile, getting into a very bad state of mind.
The mechanical arm was resuming its invidious advance—its mysterious yet none the less terrible attack.
"I feel that I am going off the hooks," he would mutter to himself, grimly, from time to time. "I shall put my old enemy Jack Harkaway to the trouble of burying me after all.
"Well, one good turn deserves another. I buried his brat, he shall bury me. Only he won't get as much for doing for me as I did for his son."
He little dreamt that both young Jack and Harry Girdwood were upon that ship.
He had seen young Jack once, and then his fears were so excited that they obtained a complete mastery over his cooler judgment.
He took him for his own apparition.
* * * * *
Joe Basalt and Jack Tiller felt unhappy.
They had long learnt to repent of their slyness in concealing the stowaway on board the "Westward Ho!"
Honest Joe Basalt and rough-and-ready Jack Tiller consulted daily over the dilemma into which they had fallen.
"Hark ye, Jack," said his pal Basalt, "we've bin an' made hasses of ourselves in getting that chap aboard, but our dooty is clear now."
"What's that?"
"To go and make a clean breast of it to the skipper."
"But the cove himself seemed so particular avarse to that."
"Cos why? Ain't he bin telling lies by the pint measure? He's been humbugging of us," persisted Basalt.
"Let's go and talk reasonable to him, then," said Tiller, "for this must come to an end. Damme, if I don't feel as if I'd been an' done a hanging job at the very least."
They went to the hold and found Hunston.
The appearance of the wretched stowaway was by this time something dreadful.
"We have come to the conclusion, mister," said Joe Basalt, "that there is nothing for it but to let the skipper know all."
Hunston pricked up his ears at this.
"Do what?" he exclaimed, violently. "Split upon me, would ye?"
"That's a rum word to use," said Joe Basalt. "You are precious feverish, and if you only was to see our skipper and let him know what you told us when we picked you out of the water, he would help you—"
"To a halter," muttered the castaway.
"Did you speak?"
"No, Tiller, not I: I was only saying that he wouldn't care to see me, so drop it."
"We can't"
"Can't," repeated Joe Basalt.
"Then listen to me," exclaimed Hunston, starting up with new energy; "if you tell a word about me to anyone it will be a breach of faith and I shall resent it."
"Resent! How?"
"Easily."
"Well, if you means threatening me. I may as well tell you I ain't afeared of no man, and when you gets round and pulls up your strength again, I shall be happy to have half an hour with you quiet and comfortable, and my pal, Jack Tiller, shall stand by and see fair play."
And honest Joe rolled up his shirt sleeves showing to the villain Hunston a pair of powerful and brawny arms.
"I don't mean that," said Hunston.
"But I do."
"And so do I," added Jack Tiller.
"I mean to say that if you betray me to Harkaway or to any of the party, I shall make a point of letting them know that you kept me snug here so long because you were well paid for it, and it may not please your master, perhaps, to learn that you are doing a little passenger traffic upon your own account; and what's better, sticking to the money you make over it."
This staggered the two sailors not a little.
"You lying, black-hearted swab," ejaculated Tiller, when he had got his breath. "Would you dare?"
Hunston curled his lip contemptuously.
"Dare!"
"Why, you sneaking, lying Judas," cried Basalt.
"Lying!" echoed Hunston; "is it not true?"
"No."
"Not true that I paid you for saving me and bringing me here?"
"Yes; but—"
"But—but—but pickles. The tale I shall tell will speak for itself."
"Then, damme, you shall try it on now," ejaculated the exasperated Joe Basalt, moving towards the companion ladder.
But before he could get any further, Hunston sprang before him, knife in hand.
"Hold!"
"Stand aside," cried Joe.
"When you have sworn not to utter a word; but not till then—not till then."
The two sailors stared at each other in surprise at this outburst.
"Well, Joe," exclaimed his comrade, "did you ever see such a black-hearted villain?"
"Not I. But put of the way with you, swab, or, damme, I'll make small biscuit of you."
So saying, he ran at Hunston, and knocked the knife out of his hand.
Hunston endeavoured to close with him.
But the temporary strength with which his fury had invested him vanished suddenly, and he fell to the ground, a dull, heavy load.
They ran to raise him.
To their dismay they discovered that he was breathless—lifeless.
"He's dead!"
"Is he? Then, by the Lord Harry, we must go and fetch the doctor, or we shall get into an awful mess. Stay here, Joe, awhile. I'll go up and see for the doctor."
"Stop a bit," said Joe Basalt, feeling the stowaway's chest. "He's not dead yet. I can feel something moving here. Yes, it's beating."
"He's only fainting, then."
"Yes."
"Quite enough, top. I'll go up and let them know, before he can go on again about it."
Up he ran.
Joe Basalt used his best exertions to bring the swooning man round.
* * * * *
Tiller found Harkaway on deck.
"Might I have half a word with your honour?"
"A dozen, if you like, Tiller," said old Jack, turning from the party of daring fishermen, who had been relating their deeds of daring with the sharks, and was quite elated with the narrations which they had been giving.
Jack Tiller hummed and ha'd, and looked uneasy, and so he pulled his forelock and spluttered out—
"Please, sir, I've been and gone on like a darned bad lot, your honour."
"Tiller!"
"Yes, your honour, I have. I've been and let a berth here on board, and stuck to the money—leastways, that's what the passenger himself says, though, the Lord help me, I hadn't the least idea of doing such a thing; not I. I took a poor drowning wretch in, and I put him below in the hold to keep him snug, and—"
Here Harkaway interrupted him with a cry of wonder and astonishment.
"What, Tiller, you mean to say you have a stowaway on board the 'Westward Ho?'"
"Yes, your honour," responded the frightened mariner.
"You have done very wrong, Jack Tiller," said Harkaway, "very wrong indeed."
"I know I have, though Lord help me if I thought of wronging any man. The poor devil in gratitude, offered me money, and I took it; and now I feel as if I had been robbing your honour, that's all. But I'll be glad to hand over the money, and so will my pal, Joe Basalt."
"Joe!"
"Yes."
"Is he in it?"
"Yes, sir."
"You surprise me."
"Devil a bit do I wonder at that, sir. We're a thieving, dishonest lot, sir, little as I thought it, sir."
Old Jack smiled at this.
"Well, well," he said, after a moment's reflection, "we'll go deeper into that question when we have seen your stowaway."
"This way, sir," said the worthy Tiller.
Old Jack followed him down below.
On reaching the hold, he found Joe Basalt kneeling up in a corner over the wretched stowaway, who was still in a deep swoon.
"How is he?" asked Tiller. "Any better yet?"
"No."
"Fainted again?"
"Yes—hush! don't make a row."
"Here's the governor, Joe," said Jack Tiller.
Joe Basalt turned round with a start, and hung his head abashed.
"It's all right, Joe," said Harkaway, "Don't worry any more about it; only you were wrong to conceal it from me, that's all. And now let us look at the patient. He is ill, Jack Tiller tells me."
"Yes, your honour."
"Turn your lantern upon his face."
The sailor opened his bull's-eye.
As its glare flashed upon the half swooning man, he opened his eyes.
The recognition was mutual—yes, and instantaneous.
The stowaway glared fiercely upwards, and uttered but one word—
"Harkaway!"
"Hunston!"