"Well, let us think; what could we say?" "Ay, that's the rub! Suppose we tell them seriously that my wooden leg is a ghost, and that it haunts those who ill-treat its master, giving them perpetual bangs on the nose, and otherwise rendering their lives miserable?" I shook my head. "Well, then, suppose we say we've been sent by the Queen of England to treat with them about the liberation of the niggers at a thousand pounds a head; one hundred paid down in gold, the rest in American shin-plasters?" "That would be a lie, you know, Jack." "Come, that's good! You're wonderfully particular about truth, for a man that has just told such tremendous falsehoods about a secret that doesn't exist." "True, Jack," I replied, seriously, "I confess that I have lied; but I did not mean to. I assure you I had no notion of what I was saying. I think I was bewitched. All your nonsense rolled out, as it were, without my will. Indeed, I did not mean to tell lies. Yet I confess, to my shame, that I did. There is some mystery here, which I can by no means fathom." "Fathom or not fathom," rejoined my friend, looking at his watch again, "you got me into this scrape, so I request you to get me out of it. We have exactly twenty-five minutes and a half before us now." Jack and I now set to work in real earnest to devise some plan of escape, or to invent some plausible secret. But we utterly failed. Minute after minute passed; and, as the end of our time drew near, we felt less and less able to think of any scheme, until our brains became confused with the terror of approaching and inevitable death, aggravated by previous torture. I trembled violently, and Jack became again uproarious and sarcastic. Suddenly he grew quiet, and I observed that he began to collect a quantity of straw that was scattered about the place. Making a large pile of it, he placed it before us, and then loosened one of the torches in its stand. "There," said he, with a sigh of satisfaction, when all was arranged, "we shall give our amiable friends a warm reception when they come." "But they will escape by the door," said I, in much anxiety, "and we only shall perish." "Never mind that, Bob; we can only die once. Besides, they sha'n't escape; trust me for that." As he spoke we heard approaching footsteps. Presently the key turned in the lock, and the door opened. STORY TWO, CHAPTER 10. Punctually, to a minute, our jailors returned, and once again drew up in a row before us. "Now, lads, wot have ye got to say?"