“Now mind you,” he continued, “if you shout out or make any noise, we’ll gag you and leave you to starve; but if you keep quiet you shall have some food, and you won’t be worse off than when you were shut up before in the hold.”
“What are you going to do with me?” I asked.
“That’s not for you to know,” answered the boatswain. “We’re not going to kill you, for fear you should haunt the ship, not for any love to you. We could have made away with you long ago, if we had thought fit. We’re not going to let you go ashore, and let you give a bad name to the ship and us. We know who ’peached to the captain, and you may think yourself fortunate that you were not dropped overboard next night. Will you promise to keep quiet?”
I knew that I was in the hands of unscrupulous ruffians, whose fears alone prevented them from doing away with me; so there was no use holding out. I therefore said that I would make no noise if they would unlash my arms and legs and bring me some food. I found that I was in the place I had supposed—a big locker which had been cleaned out to make room for me. It smelt horribly of tar and rancid grease, and coils of small rope and balls of twine, mats, cans, pots, and brushes, up in the corners, showed me what was usually stowed in it.
“Shall we trust the young rascal?” asked the boatswain of his companion.
“He daren’t break his word,” answered Growles; “he knows what he’ll get if he does.”
Thereupon they unlashed my arms and legs. I considered for a moment whether I could spring past them and gain the deck. Perhaps they thought I might make the attempt; and before I had time to do more than think of it, they had shut the door and locked me in. I knew, from the quietness of the ship, that she was still at anchor, and I hoped that my friends might make inquiries about me that might lead to my discovery; and this idea kept me up. As I lay perfectly still I could hear the crew hoisting the remainder of the cargo out of the hold. The noise they made would have drowned my voice, even had I ventured to cry out. I guessed, also, that most of them knew of my imprisonment, and would not assist me. My only solace was the thought that Mr McTavish, who had been so friendly to me, would insist on searching the ship, and then I thought it probable a story would be told of my having fallen overboard. They would very likely say that I had got drunk with their wine, and been seen rolling along the deck, or something of that sort.
I did not, indeed, altogether despair of making my escape. As I lay in the ill-odorous locker I thought and thought of all sorts of plans. In spite of the smells I was getting hungry, and I wished that the boatswain or Growles would return with the food they had promised. If only one came I made up my mind to seize him by the throat, put my fingers into his eyes, spring up past him, and try to gain the deck. It would be hazardous in the extreme; for, if he caught me, he would not let me go, and in the struggle I should certainly be overcome, when he would not fail to punish me severely—perhaps to deprive me of life. Still, anything was better than to have again to endure the sufferings I had gone through in the hold. I nerved myself up for the undertaking I proposed. All was again silent in the hold. The crew had, I concluded, knocked off work; whether to go to dinner or for the day I could not calculate. After some time I heard the sound as of some one moving near me, the door opened, and the light of a lantern fell on my face. There were two heads instead of one. It would be madness to attempt to spring past them, so I lay quiet.
“Here’s the food I promised you,” said the voice of old Growles. “Eat it and be thankful; it’s more than you deserve.”
It consisted of biscuit and meat, and a cooked root of some sort. He placed also a can of water by my side.