Frank Nelson in the Forecastle. Or, The Sportman's Club Among the Whalers. Castlemon Harry. Читать онлайн. Newlib. NEWLIB.NET

Автор: Castlemon Harry
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Жанр произведения: Зарубежная классика
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with a couple of you to get a stretcher."

      "Ay! ay! sir," replied a voice. "Step right this way, sir."

      Frank followed the speaker toward the forecastle, and when he came within sight of the ladder that led into it, was surprised to see that it was as dark as a dungeon below. Then for the first time the thought that things did not look just right began to creep through his mind. His companion descended the ladder, but Frank halted at the top. "Look here, my friend," said he; "if you want to get me below there you had better light up first."

      "Come on," said the man, in a tone of command.

      "Where's that sailor with the broken leg?" demanded Frank.

      "Are you going to come on?" asked the man.

      "Well, that depends – I want to hear from that man of ours first. If you are down there, Lucas, sing out!"

      There was no response. In an instant it flashed upon Frank that he and Dick had been led into a trap. The man in the battered plug hat was no captain at all. Probably he was a shipping-agent. Having persuaded Frank and the trapper to accompany him on board the ship, he made a very plausible excuse for separating them for a moment, so that they could not assist each other, and now they were to be overpowered and confined until the vessel was well out to sea, when they would be brought out and compelled to act with the crew. While Frank was thinking about it, his conductor, who had gone half way down the ladder, turned around and started to come back. Frank's ears told him this and not his eyes, for they were of no use to him in that intense darkness. "Avast, there!" he cried, with emphasis. "If you come a step nearer to me I'll send you down that ladder quicker than you ever went down before. You have picked up the wrong men this time. Where is that scoundrel who called himself the master of this ship?"

      "Here I am," replied that worthy, in tones very different from those he had thus far used in addressing Frank.

      "Well, if you are wise, you will undo this half-hour's work with the least possible delay. Call away that boat and leave us a clear road to get to it, or – "

      Frank was interrupted by the sounds of a fierce struggle which just then arose from the quarter-deck. He heard the sound of stamping and scraping feet, muttered oaths and blows, and then Dick's voice rang out clear above the tumult. "Keep off, the hul on you," said he, "fur I'm a leetle wusser nor a hul parsel of wild-cats!" And then followed a sound such as might be made by somebody's head coming in violent contact with the deck.

      "Stand your ground, Dick!" shouted Frank. "I'll be there in a minute!"

      With these words he sprang forward, intending to run to his friend's assistance; but before he had made half a dozen steps his heels flew up and he was sent at full length on the deck, which he no sooner touched than two men, whom he had not yet seen, sprang up from behind the windlass and threw themselves across his shoulders. He had been entirely deceived as to the number of enemies with whom he had to deal. He had seen but four men on deck and there proved to be a dozen of them – more than enough to render resistance useless. Almost before he realized the fact he was powerless, a pair of irons being slipped over his wrists and another about his ankles. When he was helped to his feet, he found that the struggle on the quarter-deck had ended in the same way. Dick Lewis was led up, and by the light of a lantern which one of the crew drew from under a tarpaulin, Frank saw that he was ironed like himself.

      The man who carried the lantern held it up so that its rays fell full on the prisoners, and gave them a good looking over, bestowing his attentions principally upon their arms and shoulders, as if trying to judge of the amount of muscle they might contain. "They'll do," said he, at last, "and now we're all ready to be off. Can you pull an oar?" he added, flashing his lantern in Frank's face.

      "I can," was the reply.

      "I can! Is that the way you talk to me? I am mate of this vessel and there's a handle to my name."

      "I did not know that you were an officer," replied Frank, "and neither am I aware that I am under any obligations to put a handle to your name."

      "Well, you'll find it out pretty sudden. It shall be my first hard work to teach you manners, my fine gentleman. Take 'em below."

      The mate handed the lantern to one of the crew, who moved toward the forecastle, followed by the prisoners, who never uttered a word of complaint or remonstrance. Frank knew it would do no good, and Dick was so bewildered that he could not have spoken if he had tried. He kept as close to his young companion as he could. He seemed to think that Frank, powerless as he was, could in some way protect him. They followed their conductor into the forecastle, and the latter, after hanging the lantern to one of the carlens, went on deck again, closing the hatch after him.

      Frank and the trapper looked about them before they spoke. The very first objects their eyes rested on were the two missing seamen, the coxswain and the boatswain's mate, who lay side by side in one of the bunks, snoring at the rate of ten knots an hour. They were there, sure enough – the bogus captain told the truth on that point – and Frank was glad to see that they were all right, or would be as soon as the effects of the drug they had swallowed had been slept off. There were three other men in the forecastle, and they were in irons like themselves. They lay in their bunks and looked sullenly at the new-comers. "What's the matter with you?" asked Frank. "What have you been doing to get yourselves in this fix?"

      "Trying to desert," growled one of the sailors, in reply. "What's the matter with you?"

      "Shanghaied," answered Frank. "What ship is this, and where is she bound?"

      "She's the Tycoon, and I expect she's off for the Japan station."

      Frank's heart seemed to stop beating. His situation was even worse than he had supposed. He recalled the story of the man he had seen desert that same ship on that very day, and shuddered when he thought of what might be in store for him.

      "What did you say was the matter with us, Master Frank?" asked the trapper, leaning against a bunk by his friend's side and speaking in a low voice.

      "I say we have been shanghaied – that is, kidnapped," replied Frank.

      "But what fur?" said Dick, who did not understand the matter at all. "We hain't been a doin' of nothing."

      "I know that; but you see – in the first place, Dick, there's no use in denying that we are in serious trouble. You might as well know it first as last and make up your mind to stand it, for there is no way of escape. This is the same ship that that man we picked up to-day deserted from, and that red-faced man in gray whom we saw in the whale-boat is the captain of her. He and his officers treat their men so harshly that they run away every chance they get. The captain must have men to handle his vessel, and as he can't get them in the regular way, he kidnaps them."

      "But what do I know 'bout a ship?" exclaimed Dick.

      "Nothing whatever; but that is no matter. You have good strong arms, and it will not take long to break you in."

      "Whar – whar – "

      The trapper could not ask the question he was most anxious to have answered. It seemed to stick in his throat.

      "I know what you mean," said Frank. "This man says we are bound for Japan, and that is nearly three thousand miles from here."

      Dick was frightened almost out of his senses. His face grew as pale as death, great drops of perspiration stood on his forehead, and he tugged and pulled at his irons with the strength of desperation. But they had been put on him to stay, and all his efforts to free himself were unavailing. Frank knew what he stood in fear of, and he knew, too, that anything he could say would not set the poor fellow's mind at rest. The wrong ideas he had formed of things and the ridiculous stories he had heard in the forecastle of the Stranger, had made an impression on him so deep and lasting that even Frank, in whom the trapper had every confidence, could not remove it. The real dangers he was likely to encounter would be but small things comparatively; but the imaginary evils which he would look for every day, would cause him much suffering. Frank thought more of his friend than he did of himself. How would Dick behave when he found himself dancing over the waves of the Pacific in a small boat in pursuit of a whale? What would he think if he saw one of those monsters of the deep – as Lucas, the boatswain's mate, said he had often seen them –