Leaves from a middy's log

by Arthur Lee Knight

I heard the subdued buzz of many voices speaking in the distance, and felt a cold shiver go down my back. Then came the sound of many shuffling footfalls, the clang of weapons, and the louder tones of an excited troop of men. The guard that had been stationed outside rushed in to see that their prisoners were safe, and finding that we were in our respective corners, ran out again to meet their returning comrades. A few seconds later the whole gang came straggling into the cavern, threw themselves on the ground, and began talking rapidly in what I believed was a patois peculiar to themselves. The chief did not appear to be with them.

A few minutes later I was thankful to see some preparations made for supper, for I was ravenously hungry, and should have eaten heartily of a monkey pie or devilled crocodile at that moment. No fire was lit, but from some recess in the cave various comestibles were brought forth and placed on upturned cases and barrels. A few more torches had been lit, and though they were not enough to illuminate the cave properly, I could see distinctly what was going forward.

At this moment the chief, carrying his carbine over his shoulder, stalked in, followed closely by his immense dog, the latter—for some reason best known to himself—snarling and showing his long white fangs, whilst saliva dropped continuously from his heavy jowls. I had a mortal dread of this savage-looking animal, for I felt instinctively that if ever by good-fortune we should be enabled to make our escape from our present captors, the bloodhound would be put upon our trail to hunt us down. The reflection was a very disturbing one, and I strove to banish it, but in vain. Certainly no plan of escape seemed feasible, but a British midshipman is sanguine even when things look irretrievably dark, and, like the immortal Mr. Micawber, trusts that eventually something favourable will turn up.

The chief strode into the centre of the cavern and flung himself down on a pile of goatskins, his dog taking up a position at his feet, and keeping its eyes fixed upon those of its master. Its snarling now ceased, much to the relief of my overwrought nerves.

A man hurried forward to bring the leader some refreshment, and I was astonished to recognize in this servitor the mule-driver who had been the cause of Ned’s flogging. The reason I was astonished was that this fellow had completely changed his costume, and now wore the same nautical dress as the chief’s immediate followers.

I divined the truth at once. The cunning rascal had been told off to spy upon the movements of the naval brigade, and had enlisted as a camp-follower for that very purpose. On being relieved of his duties he had doubtless found some means of following us—himself unseen—and had been the actual moving spirit in the underhand arrangements for our capture; for he evidently owed allegiance to the chief, and was perfectly familiar with the life of the cavern.

Fresh sentries had been told off to guard us, and one or two of these fellows went off to procure us some food. By this time I was nearly fainting for want of nourishment. I glanced across to Ned’s corner, and fancied that he had been awoke by the noise in the cave, but I could not tell for certain.

Some sausage and coarse bread was brought to me on an earthenware platter, and my arms were unbound that I might eat, the sentries sitting down close to me with loaded pistols in their hands. As the reader may suppose, I ate ravenously and without stopping to consider what the sausage was made of; but I was very disappointed to see that Ned Burton was not disposing of his supper also. I quickly guessed the reason of this, however. It was evident that we were not all to be allowed to take our meals at the same time for fear of our making some desperate attempt at escape whilst our arms were free. Perhaps on the whole this was a wise precaution.

When my hunger was satisfied I took another pull at the water pannikin, and began to feel more myself again. Inferior as the food was, it instilled new life into my veins and raised my spirits wonderfully. My head still ached painfully, and the muscles of my arms were terribly stiff and sore; but I felt convinced that no serious harm had accrued from the blow I had received on the head, and that was something to be very thankful for.

I should have liked to prolong my meal as much as possible so as to allow of the muscles and sinews of my arms regaining some of their ordinary elasticity; but I was afraid that my doing so would still further postpone my coxswain’s supper hour, so I finished off as quickly as possible, and submitted quietly to the indignity of having my arms bound again.