“Out of my misery at all events,” he cried; and he tore off the lid.
Chapter Twenty One.
“They only want to keep me a prisoner,” said the midshipman half an hour after, as he sat with his mouth full, steadily eating away as a boy of seventeen can eat—“a prisoner till they’ve got all their stuff safe away. They dare not hurt me. I’m not afraid of that, and it’s a very strange thing if I can’t prove myself as clever as that cunning young scoundrel who trapped me here. At all events, I’ll try. They dare not starve me: not they. Wait a bit, and I’ll show them that I’m not so stupid as they think. Shut me up here, would they? Well, we’ll see!”
He went on munching a little longer, then felt for the bottle, took out the tight cork, had a good long draught of the milk it contained, recorked and put it away in the basket with the bread, butter, and ham he had not consumed, shut down the lid, and laughed.
There was nothing very cheerful about his prison to make him laugh, but the reaction was so great—he felt so different after his hearty meal—that he was ready to look any difficulty in the face, and full of wonder at his despondency of a short time before.
There’s a good deal of magic in food to one who is fasting, and is blessed with health and a good appetite.
“Now then,” he said, rising with the basket in his hand, “the first thing is to find a place to stow you;” and he had no difficulty in finding ledge after ledge that would have held the basket, but he wanted one that would be easily found in the darkness.
At last he felt his way to a great mass of rock, upon which, about level with his head, was a projection upon which the basket stood well enough, and trusting to being able to find it again by means of the great block, he turned his attention to the lanthorn.