Leaves from a middy's log

by Arthur Lee Knight

The bandage over my eyes was now removed and the gag taken from my mouth; but the lashings which secured my arms were, I need hardly say, not interfered with. With very unnecessary force, and before I had had time to look around me, I was pushed down into a corner of the cave, and two swarthy, cut-throat-looking rascals with loaded pistols in their hands were told off to guard me securely. The first thing these fellows did was to rob me of my silver watch and chain, and the small amount of money I had about me.

It was an impressive and weird tableau which met my gaze as soon as my eyes had got accustomed to the semi-gloom of the dimly-lighted cavern, the feeble illumination of which evidently came from natural fissures in the rocky roof, many of them being half-choked with vegetation.

This cave, in which I found myself a most unwilling prisoner, was vast in size and unequal in shape; but I could not see its whole extent from the spot where I lay. The sound of falling water was loud and continuous, and I fancied that there must be a cascade—invisible to me—falling through an orifice in the roof into a pool beneath. Notwithstanding this fact, the cavern appeared to me to be very dry.

My first impulse, of course, was to look for Mr. Triggs and Ned Burton. The former I could not see, and concluded that he had been placed in one of the invisible portions of the cave; but my coxswain was sitting leaning against the rough wall on the opposite side of our subterranean prison, a very angry and perturbed expression upon his bronzed face. Three armed men closely watched his every movement. Our eyes met, but we did not dare even to make a sign to each other for fear of the consequences.

As near as I could tell, there were about a score of Creole desperadoes grouped about in the cave. They were all well-armed, truculent-looking ruffians, and were, to my intense astonishment, arrayed in a sort of semi-nautical costume, consisting of a striped jersey, white-duck trousers, and sombrero hats, whilst some of them sported gay-coloured kerchiefs knotted around the throat. They were all young men, with the exception of one individual, who at this moment was seated upon a barrel smoking a cigar. He was a man of about fifty, with a fine physique and clearly-cut features; but the expression of his face was cruel, stern, and unbending. He wore a moustache and beard, the latter streaked with grey; and between his eyes some perpendicular lines had been deeply impressed. The dress of this chief—for so I deemed him to be—differed somewhat from that of his followers, as he wore a silk shirt fastened with elaborate studs and with a turn-down collar affixed to it, and a thin blue flannel pea-jacket with plain gilt buttons. He wore no hat, and his hair was curly, dark, and thick, except at the temples, where it was a little worn and tinged with grey. His weapons consisted of a handsome sword and a pair of beautifully-chased silver-mounted pistols; whilst a short cavalry carbine—evidently of the very best make—was reclining against the barrel on which he was seated. At his feet lay a large, fierce-looking Cuban bloodhound, possessed of muscular limbs and cruel-looking fangs. I could not resist shuddering when I looked at this animal, for I felt sure that at a sign from its master it would make short work of any one who had displeased him.

When my eyes first lighted upon this chieftain, of anything but prepossessing looks, I found that he was examining with great curiosity the weapons which had been taken from us by his followers, and his mind seemed specially exercised by the mechanism of the service-revolvers. I remember distinctly that although I was at the time fully expecting to be led away somewhere to be summarily executed, yet I felt nervous at the careless way the chief was handling weapons which were loaded in all their cylinders, and with the working of which he could have but a very slight acquaintance, if any.

There was a very large assortment of arms stored in every nook and cranny, and hung around the cavern’s rude walls, consisting chiefly of various kinds of swords, scimitars, and daggers. There was also a trophy of pistols and tomahawks, and another of boarding-pikes; whilst a goodly number of rifles and muskets were ranged in rough stands occupying two sides of the cave. The area of the latter appeared to be, as nearly as I could judge, fifty feet in length by thirty in width; but these measurements did not include, of course, those portions which were invisible to me. I could detect no exit from the spot where I lay except the rude steps by which we had descended, but I felt convinced that there was an outlet elsewhere.

Two or three of the chief’s followers were engaged in handing our appropriated weapons to him, and giving him—at least so I presumed—an account of our capture. The remainder of the gang were grouped about in various attitudes in different parts of the cave: some sprawling on mats or blankets spread carelessly on the sandy floor, and engaged in smoking and playing cards; others eating and drinking with ferocious appetites; whilst a few more industrious ones were polishing their weapons, or mending tattered clothes and boots, singing or whistling to themselves the while. I could see no signs of a fire or of cooking utensils, or, indeed, of any provisions. The men who were eating appeared to be devouring sausages and coarse bread, which they drew from their capacious pockets, and a strong and very disagreeable odour of garlic pervaded the close stagnant atmosphere of the cave. I was terribly thirsty, and the rushing sound of the waters of the invisible cascade very much aggravated the feeling. I longed to bury my burning lips in the sparkling clear pool that lay, I felt sure, beneath it.

Then the remembrance of the story of the valuable cargo of the Flying-fish flashed across my memory. According to the reports of the spies and guides, all this valuable booty which the mutineers had seized upon was stowed away in caves well known to their insurgent allies. Well, here was a cave big enough in all conscience to hold the cargo of an ordinary merchantman; but where in the name of all that was wonderful was this much-talked-of loot? I could see no traces of it, and I felt sure that my eye embraced the main portion of the giant cave. Stay! there might be other and smaller caverns opening from this one, in which the spoils might have been stowed for greater safety. I felt sure that this was the solution of the mystery, and longed to go on a voyage of exploration.

Oh that distressing feeling of burning thirst! I at length summoned up enough courage to say in an imploring tone to one of my guardians, “Agua, agua!”