Jack Harkaway and His Son's Escape from the Brigands of Greece Part 132

"Excuse me, sir," said the captain, "we have a duty to perform. I can understand that it is not pleasant to you, but--"

"Seven," sang out Joe Basalt, drowning every voice.

Down came the whip again.

And as the thongs struck the lacerated flesh of the wretched man he gave a piercing shriek.

It sounded more like the cry of some wild animal than the utterance of a human being.

"Eight."

"Fetch the doctor," exclaimed Harkaway.

Young Jack, who was secretly glad of an excuse to begone, ran off and brought the doctor up from below.

"Doctor Anderson," said Harkaway hurriedly, "I believe sincerely that this man has earned all he has had and a great deal more."

"Indeed he has," said Doctor Anderson.

"But I can't endure the lash. It is savage, it is unworthy of a civilised people--it must not go on. Stop it."

"How many has he had?"

The answer to this came at that identical moment from Joe Basalt's lips.

"Twelve."

As the lash came down, the body shook slightly, and then was quite still.

"Say that he can bear no more," said Harkaway. "They'll heed your report as the doctor."

"I shall only say the truth," said the doctor.

"You think so?"

"Of course. He has fainted. You'll kill him if you go on. Cast him loose, carry him to his berth."

CHAPTER L.

MR. MOLE'S TROUBLES AGAIN--AN ADVENTURE WITH NERO--LAND HO!-- THE FIRST VIEW OF AUSTRALIA.

Let us draw the curtain.

The particulars given in the preceding chapter must be as unpleasant to the readers as they were to Harkaway, to Jefferson, to d.i.c.k Harvey, and beyond all to Harry Girdwood and young Jack.

They are not agreeable matters to relate, and we gladly draw the veil upon such a scene.

Once in the care of Doctor Anderson, the prisoner was tended carefully, and the doctor's best skill was employed in bringing him back to health.

But his convalescence was a long time in being brought about, for not only was he cruelly maimed, but, to use the doctor's own expression--

"The scourge had knocked him to bits in health generally."

"What a capital sailor old Nero makes, Harry."

"Splendid."

"He only wants to know how to chew."

"And take grog like old Mole."

"True, and then he'd be an out-and-out sailor."

These words were part of a conversation which our two young comrades were indulging in one afternoon towards sun-down as they walked to and fro on deck.

They had rigged Nero out in full nautical costume, and taught him several sailor tricks of manner.

He hitched up his inexpressibles with a jerk that the late T. P. Cooke might have made studies from.

And his bow and sc.r.a.pe, although more like a stage sailor than the real thing itself, were ticked off so admirably, that you expected him to start off into a rattling hornpipe.

But perhaps the greatest treat of all was to see him pretending to take observations through a telescope.

"Nero," cried young Jack.

The monkey ran up at the word.

"Give us your arm, Nero."

And so drawing a paw under each of their arms, they promenaded the deck, these three young monkeys together, to the great amus.e.m.e.nt and delight of the sailors generally.

"Why, Joe!" said Sam Mason, "he looks as great a swell as the port admiral."

"Port admiral! As the first lord himself."

"Do you know, Joe, that Billy Longbow had a monkey once as would--"

"Now for a yarn."

"No, this is a born fact," persisted Sam Mason, stoutly. "Billy Longbow had a monkey on board s.h.i.+p as used to mock the bos'en, and one day when he see the bos'en take out his rattan to larrup one of the powder monkeys, Jocko went for to give the bos'en one for hisself."