“But I belong to a schooner in the bay,” cried Jack.
“You belong to the King now, my lad.”
Jack Jeens glanced wildly at the speaker and then at the open window, where a face was seen dimly for a moment or two by the light shed by the lanthorns; and the next moment he would have flung off the men who held his arms to right and left, and rushing to the opening, have sprung out. But somehow at that moment the tight grasp of his young companion had the effect of making him feel that he could not leave the little fellow who had so strongly appealed to his better feelings, and he stood fast.
The next moment the chance was gone, for one of the gang ran to the window, shut it down with a bang, and fastened it securely.
“There, bring them along, my lads,” said the leader, and just then the man who seemed to be a warrant officer whispered something.
“Eh? What? No, he’s too little.”
“Powder monkey, sir; and he’ll grow.”
“To be sure. Of course,” cried the officer; “and it’s two instead of one. Bring him along.”
“Here, what yer going to do?” cried Jack, excitedly. “You mustn’t touch this boy; he’s—”
“That’ll do!” roared the officer, and at a sign from him a couple of the gang made a dash at the little fellow to separate them; but at the first touch the boy uttered a wild cry and clung tightly to his protector, who made a desperate effort to defend him, shouting the while for the landlady to come and take the little fellow.