CHAPTER XLVI.
HUNSTON'S PROGRESS--MISGIVINGS--THE WARNINGS FROM THEGRAVE.
"Mr. Harkaway."
"Doctor."
"A word with you, if convenient, sir."
"Certainly, doctor," returned old Jack.
And they walked on deck together.
"It is only concerning the patient."
"What of him?"
"There is something concerning that mechanical arm which completelybaffles me. It is poisoned, I fear."
"You astonish me," said Harkaway.
While they were talking this over, young Jack dropped into the cabin.Now, the boy knew better than anybody the history of the mechanicalarm.
It will not be forgotten by the reader that the death of RobertEmmerson occurred on board the pirate vessel during the captivity ofyoung Jack Harkaway and Harry Girdwood.
Although so many adventures have been gone through since then, you cannot have forgotten that during their captivity Hunston and Toro hadstriven might and main to compass the poor boy's destruction.
It is needless to recall to the reader's recollection that it wasduring that time that this wondrous work was perfected by RobertEmmerson, and that during that time his work was the indirect cause ofhis death.
The legend of the steel arm was not forgotten by the boys.
* * * * *
"This arm was made by the notorious Protean Bob," said young Jack tohis father. "You remember Protean Bob?"
"Yes."
"He was a highly-skilled mechanician, it appears, and that he gavehimself thoroughly up to the manufacture of this arm."
"It is certainly a marvellous piece of work," said Doctor Anderson.
"The strangest part of the story is," said young Jack, "that only theinventor knows the exact working of it, and that there is concealed inthe springs something deadly to avenge the inventor should the wearerof the arm ever prove wanting in gratitude. And Hunston, as you know--"
"Never troubled anyone with gratitude."
"No, indeed," said Doctor Anderson, reflectively; "the strangest partof that is, he never misses an opportunity of railing against you."
"Against me!" said Harkaway.
"Ungrateful ruffian!" exclaimed Harvey, who entered just as this wasspoken.
"He thinks when he gets well, you will take his life, for he is stillignorant of the boys being here, or of their lives being saved," saidthe doctor.
"I see, I see," said young Jack; "he doesn't know that we escaped thedeath which he fancied so sure. He ought to suffer for that."
"Hush!" said old Jack: "he is punished enough already."
"Not quite. I don't think he could be punished enough," said HarryGirdwood.
"Nor I."
"Stop, stop," said Harkaway, seriously; "I have suffered more than allof you, at the hands of this man, and if I can forgive him, surely youcan."
* * * * *
Now, as Hunston gained strength, his old evil passions returned intheir full force.
The nurses appointed to attend his bedside, were the two sailors whohad rescued him from a watery grave, honest Joe Basalt and his friendJack Tiller.
These two bluff tars had been appointed to the post for reasons whichthe reader will readily comprehend.
They had received a long lesson from old Jack and from the doctor too.
They were forbidden to mention certain matters, and although Hunstonwould wheedle and cross-examine with the skill of an Old Bailey lawyer,he quite failed to get any information from them.
"At any rate," exclaimed the patient, in utter despair, "you don't mindtelling me whither we are bound."
"Oh, yes, I do," returned Joe Basalt, who was on duty for the timebeing.
"Why?"
"Can't tell."
"You don't think that Harkaway means to--"
"Mister Harkaway, if you please," interrupted Joe Basalt, surlily.
"Well then, Mr. Harkaway," said Hunston, impatiently.
"That's better."
"You don't think that he means to hand me over to the authorities atthe nearest port, do you?"
Joe was mum.
"Eh?"
Not a word.
Hunston still remained in ignorance of the presence of the boys--aye,even of their very existence.
* * * * *
"Massa Jack," said Sunday to our youthful hero, one morning, "we oftengib poor old Daddy Mole a teasing, sir, a frightening."
Young Jack grinned.
"We have."
"Ought he not to get off easier dan dat dam skunk, dat Hunston fellar?"
"Yes, but you wouldn't recommend joking with him as we do with Mr.Mole?"
"No. I'd let it be no joke, Massa Jack; I'd just frighten him out ofhis darned skin, dat's all."
Harry Girdwood was taken into their confidence, and a fine plot wasagreed upon.
The only difficulty was the sailor nurse.
Joe Basalt was on guard again.
They gave Joe Basalt a good stiff tumbler of grog--and where is thesailor who could resist that?--and oh, wickedness! the grog washocussed.
In plainer language, that means drugged.
Not very long after drinking their healths in a bumper, old Joe feltdrowsy, and he fell asleep.
The patient slept, and would not have awakened probably for two hourshad not the two negroes Sunday and Monday set up a most unearthly,moaning noise.
The pitch was low but thrilling, and not the pleasantest thing for aman to hear with a conscience laden with guilt as was the wretched manHunston's.
The sick man was for some time oblivious of the sounds which were goingon for his special ear.
But after a certain delay it began to tell.
He moaned.
Then moved.
Then turned upon his back.
"Hunston! Hunston! oh, Hunston!" Sunday groaned. "Awake."
And then the two darkeys would groan together.
A responsive moan from Hunston was heard.
He opened his eyes, moaned and groaned, and awoke wakeful at once.
And when he awoke!
His startled eyes fell upon two awful and awesome figures.
The two boys, young Jack and Harry Girdwood, standing hand in hand,their faces bearing the ghastly pallor of the grave and their browssmeared with blood.
In the darkened cabin a flickering, phosphorescent light played uponthem, a hint which had perhaps been borrowed from the practical jokingin the chamber of the sham necromancer in Greece.
The two victims glared upon the sick man, while he could only stare infearful silence.
He stared.
Then he closed his eyes and rubbed them, and opened them again, as ifto assure himself that it was real.
But they never moved.
Never spoke.
He essayed to speak.
But his tongue refused to wag.
It stuck to the roof of his mouth.
The perspiration stood out upon his brow in thick beads.
Presently, when a sound came from him, it was a dull, hollow moan ofanguish, that sounded like the echo of some "yawning grave."
A sound which seemed to contain the pent-up agony of a whole lifetimeof suffering.
But his tormentors were merciless.
They did not budge.
"Away, horrible creatures!" gasped the miserable wretch, in tonesscarcely louder than a whisper. "Away, and hide yourselves!"
And he strove to drag the coverlet over his head.
But there was a fearful fascination in it which forced him in spite ofhimself to look again.
"I know you are unreal," he faltered. "I know my mind is wandering--thatI fancy it all--all. Begone! away!"
As well might he have invited them to shake him by the hand or toembrace him affectionately.
No.
There they stuck glaring upon him with eyes full of hideous menace.
"What brings
you here?" he said again. "Why do you come to torment menow? Rest in your graves. Away, I say, away!"
His manner grew more violent as he went on speaking.
"You had no mercy upon us," said young Jack; "and now remember whenlast we were upon earth."
A groan from Hunston was the only response.
"Beware!" said Harry Girdwood, in sepulchral tones. "Beware, I say!"
"Beware!" chimed in the others, as in one voice.
"I warned you that the time would come when you would beg for mercy ofmy father," pursued young Jack. "I told you that you should grovel inabject terror, and plead in vain--aye, in vain."
"Never!" retorted Hunston.
"To-morrow will show you."
"What?" cried Hunston, in feverish eagerness, while he dreaded to hear.
"Your fate."
"It is false."
"The rope is ready--the noose is run. You shall die a dog's death."
"And you shall die hard," added Harry Girdwood.
A groan, more fearful than any which had preceded, burst from theguilty wretch.
"But Harkaway will be merciful."
"As you were."
"No, no, no; he is full of forgiveness, I know."
"But not for crimes like yours."
"He could not pardon you, even if he would."
"Why not?" demanded Hunston, quickly.
"Because the crew would drag you piecemeal. No, no, no, Hunston; yourfate is sealed. The rope is ready--the noose is waiting for you. Intorment and in suffering you shall die the death of a rabid cur, thedeath of a loathsome reptile, of a poisonous thing of which it is truehumanity to rid the earth."
He could hear no more.
With a moan of incalculable terror he dived under the bedclothes toshut out the fearful vision.
When he ventured forth again, they were gone.
Vanished!
They had returned as noiselessly as they had come.
* * * * *
"Basalt."
"Hullo!"
The drugged sailor fought with the opiate which had been administeredto him and opened his eyes.
"There's no one here, is there, Basalt? Tell me."
"What are you muttering about now?" demanded Joe Basalt, in hissurliest tones.
"Are we alone?"
"Of course."
"I have had such an awful dream, my good friend," said Hunston, stillon the shiver.
"Then keep it to yourself," retorted Joe. "I don't care the value of aship's biscuit for your dream--yours nor anybody else's--so stow yourgaff. Close your peepers, and let me get a few winks, if I can, alwaysproviding as I'm not troubling your honourable self."
Not even honest old Joe's withering irony could affect the patient, soprofoundly pleased was he to find the supernatural visitorsgone--melted, as it were, into thin air.
Hunston turned on his side, muttering--
"If I had but the giant strength of Toro, I would soon take my revengeupon all this ship contains--yes, a deep and deadly revenge."
After a moment, he again muttered--
"I wonder if the brigand Toro is alive or dead, or if I shall ever havehis help to destroy my old and hated enemy Harkaway."
Jack Harkaway and His Son's Escape from the Brigands of Greece Page 47