Round the Fire Stories

A distant cry rang from out of the darkness, and then another one, shortand sharp like the wail of the curlew.

“It’s Enoch!” said my uncle, gripping my arm. “They’re killin’ poor oldEnoch.”

The cry came again, much nearer, and I heard the sound of hurrying stepsand a shrill call for help.

“They are after ‘im!” cried my uncle, rushing to the front door. Hepicked up the lantern and flashed it through the little shutter. Up theyellow funnel of light a man was running frantically, his head bowed anda black cloak fluttering behind him. The moor seemed to be alive withdim pursuers.

“The bolt! The bolt!” gasped my uncle. He pushed it back whilst I turnedthe key, and we swung the door open to admit the fugitive. He dashed inand turned at once with a long yell of triumph. “Come on, lads! Tumbleup, all hands, tumble up! Smartly there, all of you!”

It was so quickly and neatly done that we were taken by storm before weknew that we were attacked. The passage was full of rushing sailors. Islipped out of the clutch of one and ran for my gun, but it was only tocrash down on to the stone floor an instant later with two of themholding on to me. They were so deft and quick that my hands were lashedtogether even while I struggled, and I was dragged into the settlecorner, unhurt but very sore in spirit at the cunning with which ourdefences had been forced and the ease with which we had been overcome.They had not even troubled to bind my uncle, but he had been pushed intohis chair, and the guns had been taken away. He sat with a very whiteface, his homely figure and absurd row of curls looking curiously out ofplace among the wild figures who surrounded him.

There were six of them, all evidently sailors. One I recognized as theman with the earrings whom I had already met upon the road that evening.They were all fine, weather-bronzed bewhiskered fellows. In the midst ofthem, leaning against the table, was the freckled man who had passed meon the moor. The great black cloak which poor Enoch had taken out withhim was still hanging from his shoulders. He was of a very differenttype from the others—crafty, cruel, dangerous, with sly, thoughtful eyeswhich gloated over my uncle. They suddenly turned themselves upon me andI never knew how one’s skin can creep at a man’s glance before.

“Who are you?” he asked. “Speak out, or we’ll find a way to make you.”

“I am Mr. Stephen Maple’s nephew, come to visit him.”

“You are, are you? Well, I wish you joy of your uncle and of your visittoo. Quick’s the word, lads, for we must be aboard before morning. Whatshall we do with the old ‘un?”

“Trice him up Yankee fashion and give him six dozen,” said one of theseamen.

“D’you hear, you cursed Cockney thief? We’ll beat the life out of you ifyou don’t give back what you’ve stolen. Where are they? I know you neverparted with them.”

My uncle pursed up his lips and shook his head, with a face in which hisfear and his obstinacy contended.

“Won’t tell, won’t you? We’ll see about that! Get him ready, Jim!”

One of the seamen seized my uncle, and pulled his coat and shirt overhis shoulders. He sat lumped in his chair, his body all creased intowhite rolls which shivered with cold and with terror.

“Up with him to those hooks.”

There were rows of them along the walls where the smoked meat used to behung. The seamen tied my uncle by the wrists to two of these. Then oneof them undid his leather belt.

“The buckle end, Jim,” said the captain. “Give him the buckle.”

“You cowards,” I cried; “to beat an old man!”

“We’ll beat a young one next,” said he, with a malevolent glance at mycorner. “Now, Jim, cut a wad out of him!”

“Give him one more chance!” cried one of the seamen.

“Aye, aye,” growled one or two others. “Give the swab a chance!”

“If you turn soft, you may give them up for ever,” said the captain.“One thing or the other! You must lash it out of him; or you may give upwhat you took such pains to win and what would make you gentlemen forlife—every man of you. There’s nothing else for it. Which shall it be?”

“Let him have it,” they cried, savagely.

“Then stand clear!” The buckle of the man’s belt whined savagely as hewhirled it over his shoulder.

But my uncle cried out before the blow fell.

“I can’t stand it!” he cried. “Let me down!”

“Where are they, then?”

“I’ll show you if you’ll let me down.”

They cast off the handkerchiefs and he pulled his coat over his fat,round shoulders. The seamen stood round him, the most intense curiosityand excitement upon their swarthy faces.