Cutlass and Cudgel

by George Manville Fenn

So light-hearted did he feel, as guiding the point of his knife by his fingers, he picked and scraped away, that he began to hum a tune over softly. It was as black now as it was in the deepest part of the ancient quarry, but that did not seem to matter, for it was only the darkness of evening, and if he waited there and kept on working, he would see, first of all, a long pallid ray that would grow brighter, and bring as it were some light and hope, while as soon as he could get out a stone he would be able to see the sea, perhaps even make out the cutter, and signal.

No: the boy had said that it was gone. But it would come back, and they would see his signals; a boat would come ashore, he would be fetched out of this miserable black hole; the smugglers would be captured, and he would have such a revenge on that boy Ram. It would be glorious.

But all depended upon little ifs—if he could get out the stone, if the hole happened to be opposite the spot where the cutter was moored, if they could see his signals.

It was discouraging to have such thoughts as these, but Archy Raystoke had been for days condemned to inactivity, and the opportunity of working at something definite which proffered a way of escape made him toil on with all his his might.

In fact, he was obliged to check himself, for his task needed care. Too much exercise of the strength which had been growing latent might mean breaking his knife, and the destruction of his hopes.

So he toiled on well into the night, picking and loosening tiny scraps of mortar, which, hard though it was, had fortunately for him been made of an exceedingly coarse sand, or rather very fine shingle, whose tiny pebbles formed each a point to work upon till it was loosened and fell.

Archy’s first thought was to work right on through the night, but the monotonous task in the darkness, and the fatigue and excitement, combined to produce their customary effect, and he found himself nodding and starting into wakefulness so many times over, that he resolved at last to go back to his starting-place, have a good meal, and then come back.

He left his task with reluctance, but nature would not be refused, and without much difficulty he found his way to the basket, ate heartily, sat still to think a few minutes, and thought too much, starting up suddenly and rubbing his eyes.

“How stupid of me!” he exclaimed. “I must have just nodded off to sleep. Nearly wasted a lot of time.”

Afraid to remain where he was, lest he should yield to the temptation again and fall dead asleep, he eagerly made his way back to the slope and the rough steps, to stand there wondering as he got to the top.