At that moment a loud, imperious voice from somewhere in front and above shouted, so that the rocks echoed:

"Hold hard below there!"

Nic involuntarily lowered his cudgel and stood panting, giddy, and sick, listening.

"Yah! never mind him," roared Humpy. "You, Pete, I'll pay you afterwards."

"Now, boys, down with you."

"The poachers' companions," cried one of Nic's men, and they stepped forward to the attack again, when a pistol-shot rang out and was multiplied by the rocky sides of the arena, making the combatants pause, so that the voice from above was plainly heard:

"Below there, you scoundrels! Surrender in the king's name. You are surrounded."

"Brag, my lads!" roared Humpy Dee. "Stand to it, boys, and haul the beggars out."

There was a moment's pause, just enough for the next words to be heard:

"At 'em, lads! You've got 'em, every man."

A roaring cheer followed, and Nic saw the torches through the cloud that seemed to be thickening around them. He could hear shouts, which grew louder and fiercer. There was the rattle of cudgels, savage yells seemed to be bellowed in his ears, and he felt himself thrust and struck and hauled here and there as a desperate fight went on for his possession. Then, close at hand, there was a deafening cheer, a tremendous shock, the rattle of blows, and he was down upon his knees.

Lastly, in a faint, dreamy way, he was conscious of the rush of cold water about his face, in his ears the thundering noise of total immersion, with the hot, strangling sense of drowning; and then all was blank darkness, and he knew no more.

CHAPTER TWELVE.

A STRANGE AWAKENING.

Another storm seemed to have gathered in Dartmoor--a terrible storm, which sent the rain down in sheets, which creaked and groaned as they washed to and fro, and every now and then struck against the rocks with a noise like thunder. Great stones seemed to be torn up and thrown here and there, making the shepherds shout as they tried to keep their flocks together under the shelter of some granite for, while down by the falls at the salmon-pool the water came over as it had never come before.

Nic had a faint recollection of his fight with Humpy Dee, and of some one coming to take his part, with the result that they were all tangled up together till they were forced beneath the water. This must have separated them, so that he was quite alone now, being carried round and round the pool, rising and falling in a regular way, till he came beneath the falls, when down came the tons of water upon his head, driving him beneath the surface, to glide on in the darkness, feeling sick and half-suffocated, while his head burned and throbbed as if it would burst.

It did not seem to matter much, but it appeared very strange; and this must be drowning, but it took such a long time, and went on and on, repeating itself in the same way as if it would never end.

That part of it was very strange, too--that light; and it puzzled Nic exceedingly, for it seemed to be impossible that he should be going round and round in the salmon-pool, to be sucked under the falls, and feel the water come thundering upon his head with a crash and creak and groan, and in the midst of it for a lanthorn to come slowly along till it was quite close to him, and voices to be heard.

After seeing it again and again, he felt that he understood what it was.

He had been drowned, and they were coming with a lanthorn to look for his body; but they never found it, though they came and stood talking about him over and over again.

At last he heard what was said quite plainly, but he only knew one voice out of the three that spoke, and he could not make out whose that was.

The voice said, "Better, sir, to-day;" and another voice said, "Oh yes, you're getting all right now: head's healing nicely. The sooner you get up on deck and find your sea-legs the better."

"Oh, I shall be all right there, sir."

"Been to sea before?"

"In fishing craft, sir--often. But would you mind telling me, sir, where we're going?"

"Oh, you'll know soon enough, my lad. Well: America and the West Indies."

"This must be a dream," thought Nic; and he was lying wondering, when the light was suddenly held close to him, and he could see over his head beams and planks and iron rings and ropes, which made it all more puzzling than ever.

Then a cool hand touched his brow, and it seemed as if a bandage was removed, cool water laved the part which ached and burned, and a fresh bandage was fastened on.

"Won't die, will he, sir?" said the voice Nic knew but could not quite make out.

"Oh no, not now, my lad. He has had a near shave, and been none the better for knocking about in this storm; but he's young and healthy, and the fever is not quite so high this morning.--Hold the light nearer, Jeffs.--Hallo! Look at his eyes; he can hear what we say.--Coming round, then, my lad?"

"Yes," said Nic feebly, "round and round. The falls will not come on my head any more, will they?"

_Crash_--_rush_! and Nic groaned, for down came the water again, and the young man nearly swooned in his agony, while a deathly sensation of giddiness attacked him.

"Head seems to be all right now," said the third voice.

"Yes, healing nicely; but he ought to have been sent ash.o.r.e to the hospital."

"Oh, I don't know. Bit of practice."

The roar and rush ceased, and the terrible sinking sensation pa.s.sed off a little.

"Drink this, my lad," said a voice, and Nic felt himself raised; something nasty was trickled between his lips, and he was lowered down again, and it was dark, while the burning pain, the giddiness, and the going round the pool and under the falls went on over and over in a dreamy, distant way once more. Then there was a long, drowsy s.p.a.ce, and the sound of the falls grew subdued.

At last Nic lay puzzling his weary, confused head as to the meaning of a strange creaking, and a peculiar rising and falling, and why it was that he did not feel wet.

Just then from out of the darkness there was a low whistling sound, which he recognised as part of a tune he had often heard, and it was so pleasant to hear that he lay quite still listening till it ended, when he fell asleep, and seemed to wake again directly, with the melody of the old country ditty being repeated softly close at hand.

"Who's that?" he said at last; and there was a start, and a voice--that voice he could not make out--cried:

"Hullo, Master Nic! glad to hear you speak zensible again."

"Speak--sensible--why shouldn't I?"

"I d'know, zir. But you have been going it a rum 'un. Feel better?"

"Feel--better. I don't know. Who is it?"

"Me, sir."

"Yes, yes," cried Nic querulously; "but who is it?"

"Pete Burge, sir."

"Pete--Burge," said Nic thoughtfully, and he lay very still trying to think; but he could not manage it, for the water in the pool seemed to be bearing him along, and now he was gliding up, and then down again, while his companion kept on talk, talk, talk, in a low murmur, and all was blank once more.

Then a change came, and Nic lay thinking a little more clearly.

"Are you there, Pete Burge?" he said.