“Don’t capsize it; for you’ll get no more,” he said, drawing my attention to it.
Wishing to soothe him and throw him off his guard, I answered and thanked him. Before I could finish the sentence he had shut to the door and left me to discuss my meal in the dark. I heard him and his companion go away. The air which had come in had revived my appetite, and I eagerly ate up the provisions and drank the water, supposing that I should have more in due time. As soon as I had finished my meal I tried to see if I could force open the door, but I could discover no tool of any description. I made up my mind therefore to wait patiently till the opportunity offered of getting out. Perhaps the next time old Growles or the boatswain would come alone, or they might send some one else; or, should my friends be searching the ship, I might make them hear me. While these thoughts were passing through my mind I again fell asleep.
It might be found wearisome were I to describe my thoughts and sensations, my hopes and fears, while I was awake, or to say how often I slept. Day after day passed. Old Growles and the boatswain invariably came together; they seemed to divine that should only one come I might in my desperation attempt to pass him.
As far as I could judge the crew were now taking cargo on board, as I could hear the bales descending into the hold. They consisted, I afterwards found, of skins and peltries. How much longer the ship would remain in harbour I could not tell, nor could I conjecture when I was to be set free. They would scarcely keep me a prisoner during the remainder of the voyage, as, shut up, I could do nothing, but if I were at liberty I could make myself useful. Drearily the time passed away. Fear still prevented me from shouting out; for, from the position I was in, I could certainly have made myself heard by the crew, although my voice would not have reached to the cabin. From the remarks that I had heard from the passengers, when we were approaching the Columbia River, I guessed that, having loaded with furs, we should cross the Pacific to China, where they would fetch a high price, and thence, as I knew beforehand, with the produce of that country, we should proceed to Australia, where we should load with wood for home. If I were kept a prisoner for the whole period I should lose my health, if not my life. How many days or nights I had been kept in confinement I could not calculate, when I heard the sounds of heaving up the anchor; a trampling of feet, as if sail was being made. Some time afterwards I was sensible of a movement in the ship, and presently she plunged into a heavy sea, and I could hear much rushing of water against her sides. Again she made a more furious plunge, and I guessed that we were crossing the bar. I knew that I was right, as shortly afterwards the ship glided on with a comparatively slight movement. All hope of being rescued by my friends was gone. I knew that we must have crossed the bar while it was light, but I was allowed to remain in prison for another night. At last the door was opened, and old Growles and the boatswain appeared.
“You may go on deck now, youngster,” said old Growles; “but remember, as you value your life, that you don’t tell the captain or any one else who put you down here. You played the stowaway once, and you must say you did so again, ’cos you didn’t want to go ashore and live among the injins. If he believes you or not, it doesn’t much matter; only you stick to it, and, mind yer, you’ll come to a bad end if you don’t.”
I made no answer, for although I wished to get out of the locker and enjoy the fresh air once more, I could not make up my mind to tell a falsehood, notwithstanding the threats of the old ruffian. Neither he nor the boatswain seemed to expect an answer. Perhaps they thought it mattered very little whether or not I promised to do as they ordered me, not believing that I would keep my word if it suited my convenience to break it; for, without saying another word, they bound my eyes, and one of them dragged me along among bales and other articles of cargo, which I could feel as I passed by.
“Stay here,” said the boatswain, “till it strikes four bells. You may then find your way on deck as you best can, and spin any yarn you like to account for yourself being there, only mind you don’t ’peach on us, or, as I said afore it’ll be the worse for you.”
As he spoke he took the bandage off my eyes, and I heard the men retiring. I was still in total darkness, but I had been so often accustomed to find my way about under such circumstances that I was not very anxious on that account. I thought it prudent, however, to remain seated until I heard four bells strike, when on feeling about I was almost convinced that I was on the spar-deck. I could distinguish the tramp of feet overhead as if sail was being made, and shortly afterwards, the hatchway being lifted up, daylight streamed down upon me. Pining for fresh air, and desperately hungry, I lost no time in making my way on deck.
There stood the captain and two mates. The ship was under all sail, gliding rapidly before a strong breeze over the ocean, while the blue outline of the land could dimly be seen astern. I stood irresolute whether to go at once up to the captain and get the worst over, or to run forward and ask the cook to give me something to eat. I was about to follow the latter course, when I heard the captain’s voice shouting, “Halloa, youngster, where on earth do you come from?”
“That’s more than I can exactly say, sir,” I answered.