Part 28 (1/2)

”Don't frighten her away,” Francis said, laughing. ”She is the one pleasant thing I have in the day to look at.”

After some more talk the man retired, and Francis examined his prize. It was a thin blade of fine steel, and he at once hid it in the earth which formed the floor of the hut.

An hour later the guard opened the door suddenly. It was now dusk, and Francis was sitting quietly in a corner.

”Bring a light, Thomaso,” the guard shouted to his comrade outside. ”It is getting dark in here.”

The other brought a torch, and they carefully examined the floor of the cell.

”What is it that you are searching for?” Francis asked.

”I have dropped my dagger somewhere,” the man replied. ”I can't think how it fell out.”

”When did you see it last?”

”Not since dinner time. I know I had it then. I thought possibly I might have dropped it here, and a dagger is not the sort of plaything one cares about giving to prisoners.”

”Chained as I am,” Francis said, ”a dagger would not be a formidable weapon in my hands.”

”No,” the man agreed. ”It would be useless to you, unless you wanted to stick it into your own ribs.”

”I should have to sit down to be able to do even that.”

”That is so, lad. It is not for me to question what the captain says, I just do as I am told. But I own it does seem hard, keeping a young fellow like you chained up as if you were a wild beast. If he had got Pisani or Zeno as a prisoner, and wanted to make doubly sure that they would not escape, it would be all well enough, but for a lad like you, with one man always at the door, and the window barred so that a lion couldn't break through, I do think it hard to keep you chained like this; and the worst of it is, we are going to have to stop here to look after you till the captain gets back, and that may be three weeks or a month, who knows!”

”Why don't you keep your mouth shut, Philippo?” the other man growled. ”It's always talk, talk with you. We are chosen because the captain can rely upon us.”

”He can rely upon anyone,” Philippo retorted, ”who knows that he will get his throat cut if he fails in his duty.”

”Well, come along,” the other said, ”I don't want to be staying here all night. Your dagger isn't here, that's certain, and as I am off guard at present, I want to be going.”

As soon as he was left alone, Francis unearthed the dagger, feeling sure that no fresh visit would be made him that evening. As he had hoped, his first attempt showed him that the iron of the rivet was soft, and the keen dagger at once notched off a small piece of the burred end. Again and again he tried, and each time a small piece of metal flew off. After each cut he examined the edge of the dagger, but it was well tempered, and seemed entirely unaffected.

He now felt certain that, with patience, he should be able to cut off the projecting edges of the rivets, and so be able to free his hands. He, therefore, now examined the fastenings at the ankles. These were more heavy, and on trying them, the iron of the rivet appeared to be much harder than that which kept the manacles together. It was, however, now too dark to see what he was doing, and concealing the dagger again, he lay down with a lighter heart than he had from the moment of his capture.

Even if he found that the lower fastenings of the chain defied all his efforts, he could cut the rivets at the wrists, and so free one end of each chain. He could then tie the chains round his legs, and their weight would not be sufficient to prevent his walking.

Chapter 13: The Pirates' Raid.

As soon as it was daylight next morning, Francis was up and at work. His experiments of the evening before were at once confirmed. Three or four hours' work would enable him to free his wrists, but he could make no impression on the rivets at his ankles. After a few trials he gave this up as hopeless, for he was afraid, if he continued, he would blunt the edge of the dagger.

For an hour he sat still, thinking, and at last an idea occurred to him. Iron could be ground by rubbing it upon stone, and if he could not cut off the burr of the rivet with the dagger, he might perhaps be able to wear it down, by rubbing it with a stone.

He at once turned to the walls of his cell. These were not built of the unbaked clay so largely used for houses of the poorer cla.s.s in Northern Egypt, but had evidently been constructed either as a prison, or more probably as a strong room where some merchant kept valuable goods. It was therefore constructed of blocks of hard stone.

It seemed to Francis that this was sandstone, and to test its quality, he sat down in the corner where the guard had, the night before, placed his supply of food and water. First he moistened a portion of the wall, then he took up a link of his chain, and rubbed for some time against it. At last, to his satisfaction, a bright patch showed that the stone was capable of wearing away iron. But in vain did he try to twist his legs so as to rub the rivet against the wall, and he gave up the attempt as impossible.

It was clear, then, that he must have a bit of the stone to rub with. He at once began to dig with the dagger in the earth at the foot of the wall, to see if he could find any such pieces. For a long time he came across no chips, even of the smallest size. As he worked, he was most careful to stamp down the earth which he had moved, scattering over it the sand, of which there was an abundance in the corners of the room, to obliterate all traces of his work.