Freaks on the Fells: Three Months' Rustication by R. M. Ballantyne (top ten ebook reader .txt) đź“•
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- Author: R. M. Ballantyne
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“Oh for an axe!” gasped Jack.
The brute was within a few yards of us now. I was transfixed with horror. Suddenly an idea occurred to me.
“Your leg, Jack, your leg!”
He understood me. One sweep of his clasp-knife cut all the fastenings—the next moment he grasped the toe in both hands, and, swaying the heavy butt of the limb in the air, brought it down with all his force on the skull of the alligator. It rang like the sound of a blow on an empty cask. Again the limb was swayed aloft, and descended with extraordinary violence on the extreme point of the alligator’s snout. There was a loud crash, as if of small bones being driven in. The animal paused, put its head on one side, and turning slowly round waddled away into the noisome recesses of its native swamp.
Scarcely had we recovered from the effects of this, when we heard in the distance shouts and yells and the barking of dogs. Crouching in our nest we listened intently. The sounds approached, but while those who made them were yet at some distance we were startled by the sudden approach of a dark object, running at full speed. It seemed like a man, or rather a huge ape, for it was black, and as it came tearing towards us, running on its hind-legs, we could see its eyes glaring in the moonlight, and could hear its labouring breath. It was evidently hard pressed by its pursuers, for it did not see what lay before it, and had well-nigh run over our couch ere it observed Jack standing on one leg, with the other limb raised in a threatening attitude above his head. It was too late to turn to avoid the blow.
Uttering a terrible cry the creature fell on its knees, and, trembling violently, cried—
“Oh, massa! oh, massa, spare me! Me no runaway agin. Mercy, massa! mercy!”
“Silence, you noisy villain,” cried Jack, seizing the negro by the hair of the head.
“Yis, massa,” gasped the man, while his teeth chattered and the whites of his eyes rolled fearfully.
“What are you? Where d’ye come from? Who’s after ye?”
To these abrupt questions, the poor negro replied as briefly, that he was a runaway slave, and that his master and bloodhounds were after him.
We had guessed as much, and the deep baying of the hounds convinced us of the truth of his statement.
“Quick,” cried Jack, dragging the black to the edge of our log, “get under there; lie flat; keep still;” so saying he thrust the negro under the branches that formed our couch. We covered him well up and then sat down on him. Before we had well finished our task the foremost of the bloodhounds came bounding towards us, with its eyeballs glaring and its white fangs glittering in the dim light like glow-worms in a blood-red cavern. It made straight for the spot where the negro was concealed, and would have seized him in another instant, had not Jack, with one blow of his leg, beat in its skull.
“Shove him out of sight, Bob.”
I seized the dead hound and obeyed, while my comrade prepared to receive the second dog. But that animal seemed more timid. It swerved as the blow was delivered, received on its haunches, and fled away howling in another direction.
Jack at once laid down his leg and sat down on the negro, motioning me to do the same. Then pulling an old tobacco-pipe out of his pocket, he affected to be calmly employed in filling it when the pursuers came up. There were two of them, in straw hats and nankeen pantaloons, armed with cudgels, and a more ruffianly pair of villains I never saw before or since.
“Hallo! strangers,” cried one, as they halted for a few moments on observing us. “Queer place to camp. Fond o’ water and dirt, I guess?”
“You seem fond o’ dirt and not o’ water, to judge from your faces,” replied Jack, calmly, attempting to light his pipe, which was rather a difficult operation, seeing that it was empty and he had no fire. “Ah! my light’s out. Could you lend us a match, friend?”
“No, we can’t. No time. Hain’t got none. Did you see a nigger pass this way?”
“Ha! you’re after him, are you?” cried Jack, indignantly. “Do you suppose I’d tell you if I did? Go and find him for yourselves.”
The two men frowned fiercely at this, and appeared about to attack us. But they changed their minds, and said, “Mayhap you’ll tell us if ye saw two hounds, then?”
“Yes, I did.”
“Which way did they pass?”
“They haven’t passed yet,” replied Jack, with deep sarcasm, at the same time quietly lifting his leg, and swaying it gently to and fro; “whether they’ll pass without a licking remains to be seen.”
“Look ’ee, lads, we’ll pay you for this,” shouted the men as they turned away. “We’ve not time to waste now, but we’ll come back.”
I remonstrated with my friend. “You’re too rash, Jack.”
“Why? We don’t need to fear two men!”
“Ay, but there may be more in the woods.”
My surmise was correct. Half an hour after, the hound was heard returning. It came straight at us, followed by at least a dozen men. Jack killed the dog with one blow, and felled the first man that came up, but we were overwhelmed by numbers, and, in a much shorter time than it takes to tell it, both of us were knocked into the mud and rendered insensible.
On recovering from the stunning effects of the blow that had felled me, I found myself lying on a hard earthen floor, surrounded by deep impenetrable darkness.
“Are you there, Jack?” I sighed faintly.
“Ay, Bob, I’m here—at least, all o’ me that’s left. I confess to you that I do feel a queer sensation, as if the one half of my head were absent and the other half a-wanting, while the brain lies exposed to the atmosphere. But I suppose that’s impossible.”
“Where are we, Jack?”
“We’re in an outhouse, in the hands of planters; so I made out by what I heard them say when I got my senses back; but I’ve no notion of what part o’ the world we’re in. Moreover, I don’t care. A man with only one leg, no head, and an exposed brain, isn’t worth caring about. I don’t care for him—not a button.”
“Oh, Jack, dear, don’t speak like that—I can’t stand it.”
“You’re lying down, ain’t you?” inquired Jack.
“Yes.”
“Then how d’you know whether you can stand it or not?”
I was so overcome, and, to say the truth, surprised, at my companion’s recklessness, that I could not reply. I lay motionless on the hard ground, meditating on our forlorn situation, when my thoughts were interrupted by the grating sound of a key turning in a lock. The door of the hut opened, and four men entered, each bearing a torch, which cast a brilliant glare over the hovel in which we were confined. There was almost nothing to be seen in the place. It was quite empty. The only peculiar thing that I observed about it was a thick post, with iron hooks fixed in it, which rose from the centre of the floor to the rafters, against which it was nailed. There were also a few strange-looking implements hanging round the walls, but I could not at first make out what these were intended for. I now perceived that Jack and I were chained to the wall.
Going to the four corners of the apartment, the four men placed their four torches in four stands that seemed made for the purpose, and then, approaching us, ranged themselves in a row before us. Two of them I recognised as being the men we had first seen in the swamp; the other two were strangers.
“So, my bucks,” began one of the former,—a hideous-looking man, whose personal appearance was by no means improved by a closed eye, a flattened nose, and a swelled cheek, the result of Jack’s first flourish of his wooden leg,—“so, we’ve got you, have we? The hounds have got you, eh?”
“So it appears,” replied Jack, in a tone of quiet contempt, as he sat on the ground with his back leaning against the wall, his hands clasped above his solitary knee, and his thumbs revolving round each other slowly. “I say,” continued Jack, an expression of concern crossed his handsome countenance, “I’m afraid you’re damaged, rather, about your head-piece. Your eye seems a little out of order, and, pardon me, but your nose is a little too flat—just a little. My poor fellow, I’m quite sorry for you; I really am, though you are a dog.”
The man opened his solitary eye and stared with amazement at Jack, who smiled, and, putting his head a little to the other side, returned the stare with interest.
“You’re a bold fellow,” said the man, on recovering a little from his surprise.
“I’m sorry,” retorted Jack, “that I cannot return you the compliment.”
I was horrified. I saw that my poor friend, probably under the influence of madness, had made up his mind to insult and defy our captors to their teeth, regardless of consequences. I tried to speak, but my lips refused their office. The man grinned horribly and gnashed his teeth, while the others made as though they would rush upon us and tear us limb from limb. But their chief, for such the spokesman seemed to be, restrained them.
“Hah!” he gasped, looking fiercely at Jack, and at the same time pointing to the implements on the wall, “d’ye see these things?”
“Not being quite so blind as you are, I do.”
“D’ye know what they’re for?”
“Not being a demon, which you seem to be, I don’t.”
“Hah! these—are,” (he spoke very slowly, and hissed the words out between his teeth),—“torterers!”
“What?” inquired Jack, putting his head a little more to one side and revolving his thumbs in a contrary direction, by way of variety.
“Torterers—man-torterers! What d’ye twirl your thumbs like that for, eh?”
“Because it reminds me how easily, if I were unchained and had on my wooden leg, I could twirl you round your own neck, and cram your heels into your own mouth, and ram you down your own throat, until there was nothing of you left but the extreme ends of your shirt-collar sticking out of your eyes.”
The mention of this peculiarly complicated operation seemed to be too much for the men: setting up a loud yell, they rushed upon Jack and seized him.
“Quick—the screws!” cried the man with the flattened nose.
A small iron instrument was brought, Jack’s thumbs inserted therein, and the handle turned. I heard a harsh, grating sound, and observed my poor companion’s face grow deadly pale and his lips turn blue. But he uttered no cry, and, to my surprise, he did not even struggle.
“Stop!” I shouted in a voice of thunder.
The men looked round in surprise. At that moment a great idea seemed to fill my soul. I cannot explain what it was. To this day I do not know what it was. It was a mystery—an indescribable mystery. I felt as one might be supposed to feel whose spirit were capable of eating material food, and had eaten too much. It was awful! Under the impulse of this sensation, I again shouted—
“Stop!”
“Why?”
“I cannot tell you why, until you unscrew that machine. Quick! it is of the deepest, the most vital importance to yourselves.”
The extreme earnestness of my voice and manner induced the men to comply almost, I might say, in spite of themselves.
“Now, lad, what is it? Mind, your turn is coming; so don’t trifle with us.”
“Trifle with you!” I said, in a voice so deep, and slow, and solemn,—with a look so preternaturally awful,—that the four men were visibly impressed.
“Listen! I have a secret to tell you,—a secret that intimately
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