"Courage, my man, courage!" squeaked my torturer. "There is no pain about this last sweet suit of clothes. It fits as neatly as my own.—Give him a jorum, Smith, to calm his troubled nerves."
Need I say that I accepted the offer, and drained the cup which the Smith held to my lips? He took that opportunity to murmur in my ear:
"I may have a chance to get back. I will forget the tools, anyway."
The liquor affected me no more than so much water. How I wished that the poor lad might also have swallowed some! However, perhaps it was better as it was. He had forgotten his misery. I felt them carry me to the niche and stand me there upon my feet; but this was mockery, as my toes only reached the narrow flooring. As the Smith riveted the chain, he whispered other consolatory sentences to me, such as, "I must make it strong enough to hold you, otherwise you would fall on your face." And then to the Admiral: "There, sir, how do you like Sir Popinjay now? Isn't he a dainty sight?" To me, "If you have friends near, they must hold you firmly as they draw out the bolts." To the Admiral, "He'll never move, sir, till the Day of Judgment." I must say that I was rather of his opinion. To me, "I'll let you down as low as I can." To the Admiral, "A dead weight, sir, a very dead weight."
"Get a new joke, Blacksmith, a new joke. That is as old as this hell of a cave itself."
Suddenly there was the sound of a gun. Then another. They came from the direction of the sea.
"Come! come!" said the Admiral. "There's the signal. You are slow, Pennock, slow, slow!"
"I must secure him well, sir."
"Perhaps they'll leave me behind," he whispered.
But though my heart rose with hope at the thought, such was not to be my good luck.