When Charles the First was King by J.S. Fletcher

Now, what with the noise and confusion of the last few minutes, taken together with a somewhat hard blow that lighted upon the back of my head, I was so dazed and astonished that it was some moments before I fully recovered my senses. However, when I became master of myself, there I was, sure enough, in the cellar underneath the worthy magistrate's house. A remarkably dull and quiet place it was, and felt very damp and cold to my touch when I stretched out my hands and encountered the walls and floor on which we had been unceremoniously thrown. There was rather more than a little water trickling down those walls, and my fingers encountering it bred in me a feeling of much resentment against our captors for treating us in such scurvy fashion. Moreover, the hole was so dark that I could see nothing, and there was not a single ray of light penetrating through niche or crevice. A most disagreeable place it indeed was, and doubly so to me, who until that moment had never been curtailed of my lawful liberty.

While I was dimly recognising these matters, the rap on my head still troubling me somewhat, I was startled by a groan close at my left hand. This was succeeded by a succession of snorts and sniffs, as if some person were slowly awaking from a sound slumber, and presently my ears were saluted by the voice of Jack Drumbleforth, who had evidently been bundled into the cellar in a much more damaged state than myself.