Leaves from a middy's log

by Arthur Lee Knight

I had the great satisfaction a minute or two later of seeing Ned peg into his prison allowance as if he had not had anything to eat for a month. It was really a great relief to me, for I could not help feeling anxious as to the effect of the severe flogging he had so lately received at the hands of the mule-driver, for severe no doubt it had been. I could not see Ned’s face at all distinctly, as he was so much in the deep shadow, but I augured favourably from his apparently prodigious appetite.

My brief conversation with Mr. Triggs recurred to my memory as I lay ruminating upon the floor of the cave. The gunner had pooh-poohed the idea that the chief had effected our capture with the notion of making away with us, founding his belief on the length of time that had elapsed since we had been taken prisoners. It appeared to me doubtful whether much importance could be attached to that. I knew that the gunner was considered a man of sound judgment; but it also occurred to me that he had already made one fatal mistake in endeavouring to make a reconnaissance in a hostile country with an inadequate force, and he might even now be making mistake number two, and deceiving himself egregiously.

Yet it seemed the most plausible explanation of our capture, that a demand for a heavy ransom would be made to the Spanish or the British Government—that is, supposing that the chief and his followers were simple bandits and nothing more; and for all I knew to the contrary, they might be. But then it occurred to me that even if a ransom were paid and we were released, the subsequent extermination of the whole band by the Spanish troops and an English naval brigade would be a comparatively easy matter. Would bandits allow themselves to run this terrible risk? Had their stronghold been situated in the midst of inaccessible mountains far from the haunts of man, the case would have been different; but this cave—

My ruminations were suddenly cut short at this point by the loud baying of the Cuban bloodhound, which had arisen from its crouching position and was alternately sniffing the air and glancing at its master. The next moment a messenger arrived in a breathless condition and handed a note to the chief.

The latter took the missive without uttering a word, tore it open, and quickly mastered the contents. Then he gave one or two short sharp words of command, in response to which all his followers leapt to their feet and busied themselves in preparations for an immediate departure.

I was thunderstruck at this sudden resolve on the part of the chief, and wondered what it portended. I calculated that it must now be somewhere about midnight, though I could not tell for certain.

My thoughts were suddenly turned into a still more disagreeable channel; for the chief stalked up to me, in company with his ferocious four-footed satellite, and made the latter deliberately smell me all over. This repellent couple then crossed over and went through the same performance with Ned Burton. Then they disappeared around a corner of the cavern, doubtless in search of Mr. Triggs. I am ashamed to say that I felt in mortal terror when that fierce-looking dog came and poked his great jowl and snout against me, as if in search of a nice tender place in which to bury his fangs. There could be no doubt as to the reason of this strange procedure. The dog was to be familiarized with our scent, so that in the event of his being put upon our trail he would follow it up with more bloodthirsty zest.

It gave one a “creepy” feeling to think of it!

The chief now came hurriedly striding back into the main part of the cavern again, and pointing first at me and then at Ned Burton, issued some order in his usual domineering manner.

Immediately we were seized, lifted upon our feet, and blindfolded.