Knoulton put down his book, and went to the bedside of the injured man, who grasped and shook his hand gratefully.
“Ah! Walter, old chap, I’m pretty well done for. Haven’t much life left in me. But I’m thankful that they’ve allowed ye to be by my side, ’cause, ye see, we’ve always been friends since we first met—always!”
“I hope so, I’m sure,” returned Knoulton.
“Ay, but we have, there’s no gainsaying that—good friends and true. Oh, but it was a narrow squeak after all. If it had not been for my game leg, as deserted me when I most needed its service, I should by this time—long ere this—have been outside these accursed walls. Bad luck to the sodger who fired upon me at Dartmoor, may he be——!” He uttered an impious oath.
“Silence! you must not talk like that. It’s no use bearing malice against one who only did an act of duty.”
“I wish he had been throttled afore he fired on me. Had it not been for that all would have gone well.”
“You really must endeavour to be as calm as possible. Do not excite yourself.”
“Not excite myself!”
“No, certainly not; that is if you wish to recover.”
“Just Providence, think what I have suffered,” cried the pirate. “Nine long long years of misery, and now two months of cherished hopes are crushed in a moment. Shattered, maimed and almost done to death, here I am at the mercy of my gaolers, and the hope of liberty still further from me. Merciful heaven, but its terrible—horrible.”