The night
was pitch dark, and there was no moon. The waves beat sullenly on the
foot of the tower and surged back upon themselves, like an enraged
enemy making an abortive attempt to storm the walls of a town. Not a
word was uttered, and the young men were intently listening, as if
expecting to hear some preconcerted signal.
Meanwhile, in one of the rooms or cells of the round tower, about
sixty feet above the level of the sea, Captain Littlestone, the
missionary, and the Pilot were engaged in a whispered conversation,
through which might be detected the dull sound of an oiled file
working against iron. The cell was ample in size, but the stone walls
were without covering of any kind. It was lighted during the day by
one of the apertures we have already described; the thickness of the
walls did not permit the rays of the sun to penetrate to the interior,
and at the time of which we speak the apartment was perfectly dark.
"I should like to see the warder," whispered Willis, "when he comes,
with his bundle of keys and his night-cap in his hand, to wish your
honors good morning, but, in point of fact, to see whether your
honors are in safe custody. How astonished the old rascal will be! Ho,
ho, ho!"
"My good fellow," said the missionary, "it is scarcely time to laugh
yet. It is just possible we may escape; but vain boasting is in no
case deserving of approbation.
Pages:
429
430
431
432
433
434
435
436
437
438
439
440
441
442
443
444
445
446
447
448
449
450
451
452
453