“Non intende,” answered the gaoler.
“Not in ten days!” exclaimed Tom, even at that moment unable to refrain from a joke.
The gaoler, not being a bit the wiser for Tom’s reply, began to stamp and rave, and then repeated his questions in a louder voice, expecting that by so doing he should elicit an answer. At last, he and four of the soldiers went into Miss O’Regan’s room, and while two of them cross-questioned her and Polly as to what had become of the missing prisoners, the others searched the room in the hopes of discovering them. Their answers did not satisfy the men, for, like true women, having determined that they would not say what had become of their friends, nothing could induce them to acknowledge that they knew anything about the matter. Fortunately, the soldiers did not think of examining the bars, as it did not occur to them that the fugitives had escaped by the window; at last they came back, looking very disheartened. Four of the soldiers, roughly dragging the midshipmen into the passage, led them downstairs. They were then conducted into a courtyard, where a number of other prisoners were collected, some heavily-manacled, and others with their arms secured as theirs were, by ropes. They looked round, and, before long, recognised Colonel O’Regan, as also the masters, mates, and men of the two merchantmen. There were, besides, a number of prisoners in military uniform, whose countenances all wore an agitated and anxious expression, though some tried to hold up their heads and to look indifferent as to the fate awaiting them. All the Englishmen were manacled, as though their captors supposed that they would make an attempt to escape. The midshipmen would scarcely have known Colonel O’Regan had it not been for his dress and his tall, commanding figure, so pale and haggard had he become; their guards not stopping them, they made their way up to him. He recognised them with a smile of satisfaction.
“What are they going to do with us, Colonel O’Regan?” asked Tom, naturally beginning to feel more nervous than at first.
“To murder us, I fear,” answered the colonel, in a low voice; “for myself, I care not, but for her and for you my heart bleeds. Tell me, young gentlemen, where is she? How does she bear up against the cruel fate which has overtaken her? I have been unable to learn anything about her since I was shut up in that horrid den with these ruffians.”
The poor colonel was somewhat relieved at hearing that his daughter was not ill-treated, and that her black maid was allowed to remain with her. Tom told him also of the kindness of the gaoler’s wife.
“She is not ungrateful, then, for a slight service I once did her, little thinking at the time how it would be repaid,” he remarked. “Poor girl, these barbarians would not allow me even a last parting farewell with her.”
“But do you really suppose that there is no hope for us, Colonel O’Regan?” exclaimed Tom. “Surely they will not dare to shoot us!”
“For myself I certainly expect no mercy,” answered the colonel, gloomily. “I have, however, hopes that though they may not be influenced by pity for you and your companion, they will hesitate before they injure those clad in the uniform of the British navy. I do not, therefore, despair of your lives; and though I cannot plead for myself I will for you.”
Their conversation was cut short by the arrival of an officer, who gave orders to the guard to conduct the prisoners to the Campo outside the town.