“I must inquire into the cause of this outbreak, when punishment will be awarded to the guilty,” said Don Lobo, as he stalked back to his quarters.
The unpleasant look which the governor cast on him made Edward feel that evil was intended. His suspicions were speedily confirmed, for instead of being taken to the chamber he had lately occupied, he was marched off to the prison in which he and his companions had at first been confined, and was thrust alone into a dark, close, foul dungeon, at a distance, he feared, from Lizard and his other men. He knew nothing of the jealous feelings which had sprung up in the bosom of Don Lobo, or his apprehensions would naturally have been greatly increased. The air of the dungeon was noxious and oppressive, and he had not been in it many hours before he began to feel its ill effects.
“A week or two in such a hole as this will bring my days to a close,” he said to himself as he surveyed, as far as the obscurity would allow, the narrow confines of his prison-house. “Alas! alas! my adventure has turned out ill indeed. My own Beatrice, for thy sake I left my native land, and thou wilt have, ere long, to mourn me dead. For thy sake, sweet girl, I pray that I may escape.”
In this strain he soliloquised for some time, as people in his circumstances are apt to do, and then he set to work to consider how, by his own exertions, he might be able to get free. He was fain to confess, that, unaided, he had not the slightest chance of escape. Of one thing, however, he was certain—that Dick Lizard would not rest day or night till he had made an attempt to help him. And he knew that Dick, with all a sailor’s bluntness and thoughtlessness, had a considerable amount of ready wit, and of caution too, where it was necessary for the accomplishment of an important object. Edward hoped also that his friends would prove true, and exert themselves in his favour.
All this time Don Lobo had resolved on his destruction, and only waited the best opportunity of accomplishing it. Knowing the character of the dungeon in which his prisoner was confined, he believed that he should have very little trouble about the matter. Edward’s constitution was, however, very sound, and though he certainly suffered in health, he did not break down altogether, as the governor expected would be the case. Don Lobo, therefore, announced publicly that he intended to bring the prisoners engaged in the late outbreak to a trial. This every one knew well would result in their being shot. Day after day passed by. Edward found his imprisonment more and more irksome, while he had not yet succeeded in communicating with Lizard, nor could he ascertain even where the honest fellow was shut up. His jailers were only conversable when they had any disagreeable news to communicate, and it is extraordinary how loquacious they became when the day of his trial was fixed, and the opinion as to his fate was formed. They seemed to take especial delight in taunting him and in annoying him in every way.
“Ah, senhor, many an honest man has been hung before now, and many a rogue, and neither seems to think it a pleasant operation,” remarked one of the fellows, imitating the contortions of countenance of a strangled person.
“To which class does the noble senhor belong, I wonder?” said another.
“Maybe to the last, if he will pardon me saying so,” observed a third with a grin.
“But, ah me! rogue or honest, there will be some fair ladies mourning for him in more ports than one,” cried another, who was considered the wit of the gang. “Permit me, senhor, to convey your last dying message to some or all of them. Maybe in your own land there is some fair young dame from whom you would not willingly be parted, eh? I thought that I should hit the right nail on the head.”
“Peace—peace, men!” exclaimed Edward. “For your own sakes, lest you should ever be in a like condition, allow me to be alone.”