All this was witnessed by the scientific men in the cave through a couple of small pocket-telescopes, which brought the expression of Jones’s and Billy’s countenances clearly into view. At first Mr Queeker, with poetic fervour, started up, intent on rushing to the rescue of the oppressed; but Mr Larks, with prosaic hardness of heart, held him forcibly back, and told him to make his mind easy, adding that Mr Jones had no intention of doing the boy any further harm. Whereupon Queeker submitted with a sigh. The two friends then issued from the cave, shook hands, and bade each other goodbye with a laugh—the man with the keen grey eyes following the path that led to Broadstairs, while the lawyer’s clerk returned to Ramsgate by the beach.
Meanwhile the sun went down, and the lanterns of the Goodwin, the Gull, and the South sandhead floating lights went up. The shades of evening fell, and the stars came out—one by one at first; then by twos and threes; at last by bursts of constellations, until the whole heavens glowed with a galaxy of distant worlds. During all this time Mr Jones sat at the helm of his little boat, and held steadily out to sea. The wind being light, he made small progress, but that circumstance did not seem to trouble him much.
“You’d better have a bit supper, lad,” said Jones in a careless way. “Of course you’re welcome to starve yourself if ’ee choose, but by so doin’ you’ll only make yourself uncomfortable for nothing. You’re in for it now, an’ can’t help yourself.”
Billy was seated on one of the thwarts, looking very savage, with his right eye nearly closed by the blow which had caused him to succumb.
“P’r’aps I mayn’t be able to help myself,” he replied, “but I can peach upon you, anyhow.”
“So you can, my lad, if you want to spend eight or ten years in limbo,” retorted Jones, spitting out his quid of tobacco, and supplying its place with a new one. “You and I are in the same boat, Billy, whether ashore or afloat; we sink or swim together.”
No more was said for some time. Jones knew that the boy was in his power, and resolved to bide his time. Billy felt that he had at least the chance of being revenged if he chose to sacrifice himself, so he “nursed his wrath to keep it warm.”
About an hour afterwards a squall struck the boat, and nearly capsized it; but Jones, who was quite sobered by that time, threw her head quickly into the wind, and Billy, forgetting everything else, leaped up with his wonted activity, loosened the sail, and reefed it. The squall soon passed away, and left them almost becalmed, as before.
“That was well done, Billy,” said Jones, in a cheerful tone; “you’d make a smart sailor, my lad.”
Billy made no reply; and, despite his efforts to the contrary, felt highly flattered. He also felt the pangs of hunger, and, after resisting them for some time, resolved to eat, as it were, under protest. With a reckless, wilful air, therefore, he opened the tarpaulin bag, and helped himself to a large “hunk” of bread and a piece of cheese. Whereupon Mr Jones smiled grimly, and remarked that there was nothing like grub for giving a man heart—except grog, he added, producing a case-bottle from his pocket and applying it to his mouth.