CHAPTER VI.
THE VOICE IN THE DARK.
The forehold into which Nat was conducted proved to be a dark, musty smelling place. Stanchions, like the pillars of a church, held up the deck above them. By the hollow ring of his and his guardians' feet on the floor Nat could tell that there must be yet another hold below the one in which it seemed he was to be made prisoner.
The men, none too gently, secured him hand and foot to one of the stanchions. Then, without a word, they turned and left him, ascending the steep ladder by which they had entered the hold. The next instant the light which filtered into the hold through the hatchway was shut out as the aperture was closed with a bang.
Nat, weak, drenched, and half starved, and wounded moreover, found himself in total blackness. He could move neither hand nor foot, although the instant the light was excluded he could hear the scuttling of huge ship rats all about him.
Brave as the boy was who shall blame him if, for a few moments, he gave way utterly and shouted and raved at the top of his voice. But a calmer interval succeeded. That wonderful little lamp which we call hope, and which persists in lighting up the darkest places, still burned—though dimly—in Nat's heart.
"Come," he thought to himself, "giving way like a baby will do me no good. Perhaps some way will appear of escape from this situation. When I was Morello's prisoner in the fortress in the Sierras things looked almost as bad, but they came out all right in the end. All I can do is to keep on hoping, anyway. If it only wasn't for those horrible rats, I'd feel better."
The loathsome creatures scampered round Nat's feet and legs and occasionally he could almost feel them touch him.
"Scat!" he would cry out at such moments, but that only produced a temporary panic among the noisome vermin. The next instant they would be back again. And they grew bolder every time. It seemed to Nat almost as if they knew he was nothing but a helpless prisoner.
After what appeared ages of time had elapsed, the hatchway opened once more and Britt and Hicks reappeared. They brought with them two steaming dishes of food and a jug of water. Setting these down as they arrived at Nat's side, they loosened his arm bonds to allow him to eat. His legs, however, were still secured tightly to the stanchion.
"Don't see what the skipper wants ter give yer a thing ter eat fer," growled the man Britt, savagely glaring at Nat. "If I wuz him, I'd starve you to death."
"I don't doubt it," said Nat, cheerfully taking a long pull at the water pitcher. Then he proceeded to pitch into the two tin pans which proved to contain, one of them a sort of stew and the other some potatoes.
"If it hadn't bin fer you and them other whelps," snarled Hicks, "we'd a bin in ther Sierras right now, instid of bin aboard this old windjammer bound fer the South Seas. What's ther name uv ther place again, Britt?"
"Why, ther island is called Ho-dear-me, or some sich name. It's in the Mar-kiss-us group."
"Oh, dear me, eh?" snarled Hicks. "Wall, that'll be a good name fer it so far as this younker is consarned. I overheard Morello telling Dayton a while ago that he meant ter keep ther kid in suspense till we reached the island and then take his revenge on him in some novel sort of a way."
"And no more than he deserves, the sneaking, young cur," grated out Britt. "I'd keel haul him. That's what I'd do."
As may be imagined, this conversation interested as well as dismayed Nat. After he had finished his meal and the men, with curses, rebound him and then left the hold, he fell to thinking hard over what he had heard.
"Well, it's evident," mused Nat, "that Morello is seeking some safe asylum where he can hide from the long arm of the law. I guess from what those two fellows said the island he is bound for is some place down in the Marquesas Group, although what particular island Oh-dear-me, as they called it, can be I have no idea. If only I could see an atlas!"
As this thought flashed through his mind, Nat gave a sad smile. It had just occurred to him that if he could see an atlas, he would be free. He resumed his reverie. For one thing, by keeping his mind busy he managed to prevent himself from dwelling too much on the utter apparent hopelessness of his position, for another, it made the time pass more quickly.
One thing cast a ray of light into his gloomy state of mind, and that was that from what Britt and Hicks had said it seemed that he was not to meet his fate till they reached the island. Nat began to hope that between the present and that time some sort of opportunity to escape might present itself.
If only he could get some word to his friends, but that was an impossibility, so absolute as not to bear thinking about. No, whatever was to be accomplished would have to be carried out by Nat himself. That much was evident.
But a relapse came following his temporary accession of better spirits. How was he, a lad, alone among so many ferocious enemies, to accomplish anything? No, it was impossible. He had been a fool ever to think that there was a chance for him to escape. He would be slaughtered—perhaps tortured—he had heard of such things—by Morello and his men, and then cast into an unmarked grave in some desolate tropic isle. The thought was too much to bear.
"I won't die like that! I won't! I won't!" screamed Nat, in a perfect frenzy.
But he checked his outburst suddenly. A chill of horror crept over him. Was he beginning to lose his senses in the darkness?
For Nat could have sworn that through the gloom there had come a strange sound. The sound of a cautioning human voice. He strained his ears. Perhaps there would be a repetition of the sound. Yes, there it was again.
"Hi-i-i-s-t!"
"Who are you?" shouted Nat. "Are you a man, or am I delirious?"
"Donnervetter, I'm a man, all right," came the response, in a strong foreign accent; "undt up till lastdt night I voss captain. Budt who in der name of der great horn spoons voss you?"
"An unfortunate boy whom these rascals have made a prisoner and whom they are planning to kill," rejoined Nat, in an agitated voice.
"Voss," grunted the other; "dey is making prisoners of boys on my ship alretty! By Yupiter, I see vot I do aboudt dis if ever I get oudt uv dis scrape."
"Then you are in trouble, too?"
"You might say I voss in it up by mein ears alretty," was the doleful response; "but vait, I strike a light und den vee see each oder more betterer."
A scraping sound followed. Then came the sputtering glare of a match and that in turn was succeeded by the cheerful yellow glow of a candle. Oh, how blessed that light seemed to Nat and how thrice blessed the kindly, weather-beaten countenance that it illuminated, peering curiously at the tightly bound boy.
"So!" grunted the German gutterally, as his eyes fell on Nat's plight. "Der rascals treat you as badt as dey would have done me if I hadn't bin too much uv a sharpness fer them. Vait a minutes. I soon fix dose ropes."
He drew a big seaman's knife and rapidly slashed Nat's bonds. But the boy was so stiffened that he could hardly stand, even with his ropes off.
"Ach himmel! Dot is badt," muttered the other, looking at him concernedly. "Py der vay, I dond't tell it to you my name alretty yet. I vos Captain Nelsen."
"Captain Nelsen!" echoed the boy, in some astonishment.
"Yah, der captain uv dis schooner before dose rascals soak me by der headt und take her avay from me."
"Then you are a prisoner, too?"
"In a vay, yah; in annudder vay, nein. You see, dey is not much goot as navigatiners, dese loafers, so dey promise to spare my life if I work der schooner down to der Marquesasas for dem. Dey go to some island dere. I don't know yet yust vot island it vos."
"But how came you down here?" asked Nat, feeling very curious at this surprising turn of events.
For answer the captain raised one fat forefinger mysteriously.
"Hush," he said, "I dink me dot I findt out a vay to escape alretty."
As he spoke a sudden step sounded above them and the next instant the hatchway was jerked open by some unseen hand. Like a flash the captain puffed out the candle and in considerable apprehension Nat and his new-found friend waited in the pitch darkness for whatever was to come.