The Adventures of Don Lavington Part 25

"Justly punished," he kept muttering; "justly punished, and now it is too late--too late."

"Here y'are, Mas' Don," cried Jem; "lots of 'em, and I can't help it, I must lie down, for my head feels as if it was going to tumble off."

Don heard him make a scuffling noise, as if he were very busy moving some sacks.

"There!" Jem cried at last; "that's about it. Now, Mas' Don, I've made you up a tidy bed; come and lie down."

"No, Jem, no; I'm not sleepy."

"Then I must," muttered Jem; and after a little more scuffling noise all was still for a few minutes, after which there was a regular heavy breathing, which told that the great trouble he was in had not been sufficient to keep Jem Wimble awake.

Don stood for some time in the darkness, but by degrees a wretched feeling of weariness came over him, and he sat down painfully upon the floor, drawing his knees up to his chin, embracing them, and laying his head upon them.

He wanted to think of his position, of his folly, and of the trouble which it had brought upon him. Jem's heavy breathing came regularly from somewhere to his left, and he found himself, as he crouched together there in the darkness, envying the poor fellow, much as he was injured.

"But then he has not so much on his mind as I have," thought Don. "Once let me get clear away from here, how different I will be."

CHAPTER THIRTEEN.

HOW TO ESCAPE?

_Rumble_! _b.u.mp_!

Don started and stared, for something had shaken him as if a sudden blow had been given against the floor.

What did it all mean? Where was he? What window was that through which the sun shone brightly, and why was he in that rough loft, in company with a man lying asleep on some sacks?

Memory filled up the vacuum directly, and he knew that his head was aching, and that he had been fast asleep.

_Crash_!

That was a bolt shot back, and the noise which awakened him must have been the big step ladder placed against the beam beneath the trap-door.

As Don watched he saw the trap, like a square piece of the floor, rise up slowly, and a rough, red face appear, framed in hair.

"s.h.i.+p ahoy!" shouted the owner of the face. "What cheer, messmates?

Want your hot water?"

Just then the man, whose hands were out of sight, and who had kept on pus.h.i.+ng up the trap-door with his head, gave it a final thrust, and the door fell over with a loud _flap_, which made Jem Wimble sit up, with his face so swollen and bruised that his eyes were half-closed; and this and his dirty face gave him an aspect that was more ludicrous than strange.

"What's the matter?" he said sharply. "Who are you? I--where--was--to me. Have I been a-dreaming? No: we're pressed!"

"Pressed you are, my lads; and Bosun Jones has sent you up some hot slops and soft tack. There you are. Find your own tablecloth and silliver spoons."

He placed a large blue jug before them, in which was some steaming compound, covered by a large breakfast cup, stuck in the mouth of the jug, while on a plate was a fair-sized pile of bread and b.u.t.ter.

"There you are, messmates; say your grace and fall to."

"Look here," said Don quickly. "You know we were taken by the press-gang last night?"

"Do I know? Why, didn't I help?"

"Oh!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Don, with a look of revulsion, which he tried to conceal. "Look here," he said; "if you will take a message for me to my mother, in Jamaica Street, you shall have a guinea."

"Well, that's handsome, anyhow," said the man, laughing. "What am I to say to the old lady?"

"That we have been seized by the press-gang, and my uncle is to try and get us away."

"That all?"

"Yes, that's all. Will you go?"

"Hadn't you better have your breakfuss?"

"Breakfast? No," said Don. "I can't eat."

"Better. Keep you going, my lad."

"Will you take my message?"

"No, I won't."

"You shall have two guineas."

"Where are they?"

"My mother will gladly give them to you."

"Dessay she will."

"And you will go?"

"Do you know what a bosun's mate is, my lad?"

"I? No. I know nothing about the sea."

"You will afore long. Well, I'll tell you; bosun's mate's a gentleman kep' aboard s.h.i.+p to scratch the crew's backs."

"You are laughing at me," cried Don angrily.

"Not a bit of it, my lad. If I was to do what you want, I should be tied up to-morrow, and have my back scratched."

"Flogged?"

"That's it."