The Adventures of Don Lavington Part 20

Don felt more uneasy, for he saw that the point of a scabbard hung down below the last speaker's jacket, which bulged out as if there were pistols beneath, all of which he could dimly make out in the faint glow of the lanthorn.

"Come away, Jem, quick!" whispered Don.

"Here, what's your hurry, my lads?" said the youngish man in rather an authoritative way. "Come and have a gla.s.s of grog."

"No, thank ye," said Jem; "I've got to be home."

"So have we, mate," said the hoa.r.s.e-voiced man who had asked for a light; "and when a horficer asks you to drink you shouldn't say no."

"I knew it, Jem," whispered Don excitedly. "Officer! Do you hear?"

"What are you whispering about, youngster?" said the man in the pea jacket. "You let him be."

"Good-night," said Jem shortly. "Come on, Mas' Don."

He stepped forward, but the young man hurried on the men, who had now closed in round them; and as Jem gave one of them a st.u.r.dy push to get off, the thrust was returned with interest.

"Where are you shovin' to, mate?" growled the man. "Arn't the road wide enough for you?"

"Quiet, my lad," said the officer sharply. "Here, you come below here and have a gla.s.s of grog."

"I don't want no grog," said Jem; "and I should thank you to tell your men to let me pa.s.s."

"Yes, by-and-by," said the officer. "Now then, my lads, sharp."

A couple of men crowded on Jem, one of them forcing himself between the st.u.r.dy fellow and Don, whose cheeks flushed with anger as he felt himself rudely thrust up against the wall of one of the houses.

"Here, what are you doing of?" cried Jem sharply.

"Being civil," said one of the men with a laugh. "There, no nonsense.

Come quiet."

He might just as well have said that to an angry bull, for as he and his companion seized Jem by the arms, they found for themselves how strong those arms were, one being sent staggering against Don, and the other being lifted off his legs and dropped upon his back.

"Now, Mas' Don, run!" shouted Jem.

But before the words were well out of his lips, the party closed in upon him, paying no heed to Don, who in accordance with Jem's command had rushed off in retreat.

A few moments later he stopped, for Jem was not with him, but struggling with all his might in the midst of the knot of men who were trying to hold him.

"Mas' Don! Help, help!" roared Jem; and Don dashed at the gang, his fists clenched, teeth set, and a curious singing noise in his ears. But as he reached the spot where his companion was making a desperate struggle for his liberty, Jem shouted again,--

"No, no! Mas' Don; run for it, my lad, and get help if you can."

Like a flash it occurred to Don that long before he could get help Jem would be overpowered and carried off, and with the natural fighting instinct fully raised, he struck out with all his might as he strove to get to the poor fellow, who was writhing and heaving, and giving his captors a tremendous task to hold him.

"Here, give him something to keep him quiet," growled a voice.

"No, no; get hold of his hands; that's right. Serve this c.o.c.kerel the same. Down with him, quick!" cried the officer sharply; and in obedience to his words the men hung on to poor Jem so tenaciously that he was dragged down on the rough pavement, and a couple of men sat panting upon him while his wrists were secured, and his voice silenced by a great bandage right over his mouth.

"You cowards!" Jem tried to roar, as, breathless with exertion, bleeding from a sharp back-handed blow across the mouth, and giddy with excitement and the effects of a rough encounter between his head and the wall, Don made one more attempt to drag himself free, and then stood panting and mastered by two strong men.

"Show the light," said the officer, and the lanthorn was held close to Don's face.

"Well, if the boy can fight like that," said the officer, "he shall."

"Let us go," cried Don. "Help! He--"

A jacket was thrown over his head, as the officer said mockingly,--

"He shall fight for his Majesty the king. Now, my lads, quick. Some one coming, and the wrong sort."

Don felt himself lifted off his feet, and half smothered by the hot jacket which seemed to keep him from breathing, he was hurried along two or three of the lanes, growing more faint and dizzy every moment, till in the midst of a curious nightmare-like sensation, lights began suddenly to dance before his eyes; then all was darkness, and he knew no more till he seemed to wake up from a curious sensation of sickness, and to be listening to Jem Wimble, who would keep on saying in a stupid, aggravating manner,--"Mas' Don, are you there?"

The question must have been repeated many times before Don could get rid of the dizzy feeling of confusion and reply,--"Yes; what do you want?"

"Oh, my poor lad!" groaned Jem. "Here, can you come to me and untie this?"

"Jem!"

"Yes."

"What does it mean? Why is it so dark? Where are we?"

"Don't ask everything at once, my lad, and I'll try to tell you."

"Has the candle gone out, Jem? Are we in the big cellar?"

"Yes, my lad," groaned Jem, "we're in a big cellar."

"Can't you find the candle?" said Don, with his head humming and the mental confusion on the increase. "There's a flint and steel on the ledge over the door."

"Is there, my lad? I didn't know it," muttered Jem. "Jem, are you there?"

"Yes, yes, my lad, I'm here."

"Get a light, quick. I must have fallen and hurt myself; my face bleeds."

"Oh, my poor dear lad!"

"Eh? What do you mean? You're playing tricks, Jem, and it's too bad.

Get a light."

"My hands is tied fast behind me, Mas' Don," groaned Jem, "and we're pitched down here in a cellar."

"What?"

"Oh, dear! Oh, dear! I don't mind for myself," groaned Jem, in his despair, "but what will she do?"