“Then the young jackanapes of an officer may be shut up in prison again,” said the king.
Scarcely had the order been given when a Spaniard rushed with fierce gestures into the room. “Those English have killed some of our friends, and we are resolved to have our revenge,” he exclaimed, looking savagely at Jack, and handling his long knife.
“Don’t kill him yet, though,” said Don Diogo, with his usual coolness; “it will be time enough when he is of no further use. Take him away now.”
These were not exactly the words Jack heard used, but he made out that such was their tenor.
Poor Jack! He was thrust rudely back into his dark, dirty hut, and the only food he received was a bowl of the ill-dressed farina, of which he was getting heartily tired. His spirits began to fall lower than they had ever before done. He saw no hope of escape; for he was certain that should the English threaten to attack the town, that instant he would put be to death, even should he escape the long knives of some of the Spaniards who had evidently a hankering for his blood. At last he fell asleep. Midshipmen have a knack of sleeping under the most adverse circumstances. His powers in that way were very considerable. It was daylight when he awoke; but there were no sounds to indicate that the negro population was astir. He could not help fancying that some attempt would be made by Captain Lascelles and Captain Grant to rescue him; but the day passed on, and no one except the man who brought him his insipid farina came near him. If he had had any mode in which to employ himself, he could, he thought, have the better borne his imprisonment and the dreadful state of suspense in which he was placed. All he could do was to walk about or sit on his bed of leaves with his head resting on his knees. Now and then, as the evening approached and his weariness increased, he jumped up and thought that he would force his way out and make a run for it: but then the feeling that he would most certainly be killed if he made the attempt, besides recollecting not knowing where he should run to, induced him to sit down again and chew the cud of impatience. Night came again. He was more melancholy than ever. He thought that he was deserted, or that probably his friends fancied he was killed, and would not trouble themselves further about him. He had no inclination to sleep even after it grew dark. He listened to the various noises in the village, or rather city it should be called. They amused him somewhat—the odd tones of the negroes’ voices, the shouts, the laughter, the cries of babies, the barking of curs, the beating of tom-toms. At last, however, even they ceased, and he dozed away till he forgot where he was and everything that had happened. How long he had slept he could not tell; or rather, had he been asked he would have asserted that he had not been asleep at all, when he opened his eyes and saw by the light of the moon, which shone through a hole in the roof, the round face of a black boy looking down upon him with a friendly and compassionate expression.
Chapter Fifteen.
In Search of Jack.
Three of the Archer’s boats were manned, and under the command of Lieutenant Hemming, Murray having charge of one and Adair of the other, were about to shove off and proceed up the river to search for their missing shipmates, when a sail was seen from the mast-head standing down toward them. She was quickly made out to be a large ship, and in a short time little doubt remained that she was an English frigate. Captain Grant, therefore, ordered the boats to delay their departure that a more powerful expedition might be forthwith despatched to compete with any enemies with whom they might fall in. “Hurrah! she’s our own ship the Ranger,” exclaimed Adair, who had gone aloft to have a look at the stranger, and now came below to make his report to Hemming; “Captain Lascelles is just the man to back up Captain Grant; if he knows of any barracoons or slavers’ strongholds of any description, he will be for going in and blowing them all up without a moment’s delay.”