“I will not answer any of your questions.”
“Oh, very well. I see you are determined to go hungry yourself. Until I am satisfied that there is more than sufficient for my friend and me, no prisoner in my charge gets anything to eat. That’s the sort of gaoler I am. The stubborn old beast!” he cried in English, turning to Drummond, “won’t answer my questions.”
“What were you asking him?”
“I want to know about the stock of provisions.”
“It’s quite unnecessary to ask about the grub: there’s sure to be ample.”
“Why?”
“Why? Because we have reached the beginning of winter, as I said before. There must be months when no boat can land at this rock. It’s bound to be provisioned for several months ahead at the very lowest calculation. Now, the first thing to do is to put this ancient Johnny in his little cell, then I’ll tell you where our chief danger lies.”
The Governor made neither protest nor complaint, but walked into Number Nine, and was locked up.
“Now, Johnny, my boy,” said Drummond, “our anxiety is the soldiers. The moment they find they are locked in they will blow those two doors open in just about half a jiffy. We can, of course, by sitting in front of the lower door night and day, pick off the first four or five who come down, but if the rest make a rush we are bound to be overpowered. They have, presumably, plenty of powder, probably some live shells, petards, and what-not, that will make short work even of those oaken doors. What do you propose to do?”
“I propose,” said Jack, “to fill their crooked stairway with cement. There are bags and bags of it in the armory.”