CHAPTER THE THIRTY-FIRST
The little fellow screamed when Martin roused him, and started up in a fright.
“Hush! It’s all right,” said Martin. “The men have gone. We must get home and tell Gollop all about it. He will tell us what is best to be done.”
He reflected that if, as he supposed, the barge held stolen goods that were to form part of the cargo of theSanta Maria, it would take some time to row that clumsy craft against the tide, and it might still be possible to intervene before the vessel sailed. No doubt she would leave her moorings as soon as the tide turned, and make what headway she could against the east wind.
Martin had no idea what hour of the night it was, and he was surprised, before they had gone far on the homeward way, to notice signs of dawn in the sky. When they reached the house the sun was peering above the horizon, its beams competing with the glow of the Fire.
Descending into the basement, Martin found the old Frenchman in anxious consultation with the Gollops.
“Here’s Martin!” cried Lucy gleefully. “Oh, Iamglad you’ve come home. We’ve been in such a state about you.”
“Not a wink of sleep for any of us all night,” said Susan. “Why, bless me! Here’s the blackamoor too.”
Gundra had crept in timidly behind the elder boy.
“Now what have you to say for yourself?” the woman went on. “As if there weren’t worries enough without——”
“Peace, woman!” cried the constable. “Don’t rate the lad. He’s fair foundered, by the look of him. Sit you down, Martin, and tell us what has kept you out all night.”
Martin was glad enough to rest, and Lucy had already taken possession of Gundra, placed him in a corner of the settle, and was asking eager questions about the strange girdle he wore about his body.
Without wasting words Martin related how he had followed Mr. Slocum’s handcart, been trapped in the yard, and finally carried off to the disused warehouse; how he had escaped with Gundra, and got away on the barge.
“You’re a chip of the old block,” said Gollop delightedly; “and your poor father would be proud of you.”
“That Slocum’s a wretch,” said Susan. “I always said so. Now, what are you going to do, Gollop?”
“Do! What can I do?”
“There’s a man for you! Just as bad as the Lord Mayor. What can you do, indeed! Why, just set off after that barge this very minute and stop it before it’s too late.”
“Spoken like a woman,” responded Gollop. “You don’t understand the law, Sue. Before that barge can be stopped there must be a warrant drawn up proper, saying as how Richard Gollop, constable——”
“Fiddle-diddle!” Susan broke in scornfully. “Go out and get your warrant, then, instead of talking about it.”
“I’d get never a magistrate to listen to me; they can’t think of nothing but the Fire. But I’ll tell you what I will do: I’ll go down to the river and see this vessel,Santasomething or other; there’s plenty of time, for they’ve got to unload the barge. I’ll ask a question or two along the riverside, and if what I hear bears out the lad’s tale——”
“There! Get along with you,” cried his wife. “It’s a mercy the world isn’t all made of men.”
“What you can’t help, make the best of,” said Gollop, as he hurried away.
Susan quickly prepared a meal for the famished boys. While she did so she continued the conversation with Mounseer which Martin’s entrance had interrupted. It appeared that the Frenchman was becoming anxious about the safety of the house. On returning home about midnight the constable had reported that there were signs of the Fire’s working back against the wind. Already several houses eastward of Pudding Lane had been consumed by the flames, and although the danger was as yet not imminent, there was a risk that if the wind lulled or changed, the area of destruction would extend to the Tower and the adjacent streets.
“Keep your mind easy, Mounseer,” said Susan with comfortable assurance. “The neighbours will give us good warning if so be the Fire comes nigh, and you’ll have time to collect your belongings; not that you’ve got much to lose, so far as I know.”
Martin caught a strange look on the Frenchman’s face as he left the room to return to his own apartment.
“When you’ve eat your fill, Martin,” said Susan, “you’d better go to sleep. The blackamoor child has dropped off already, poor lamb!”
Martin lay down on his bed, but he found it impossible to sleep. His brain whirled with thoughts of the Fire, and the barge, and theSanta Maria; of Slocum, and Blackbeard, and the rest; and in spite of Susan’s confidence the mere suggestion that the Fire might spread to their own house and swallow it up filled him with alarm. He could not bear to think that the Gollops might presently be among the thousands of families that had lost their all.
Presently he could not endure inaction any longer. He sprang up.
“I am going out,” he said. “I must see for myself where the Fire has got to. I won’t be very long.”
At the top of the stairs he banged into Gollop, red-faced and panting through haste.
“Bless my eyes! Here’s a wonder!” gasped the man.
“What is it? Has the Fire got to us?” said Martin.
“The Fire! What’s the Fire to you? Martin, my lad, never did I think I’d live to see this day.”
“Tell me—what is it?” asked Martin in wonder.
“Why, call me a Dutchman if that there Portugal ship ain’t theMerry Maid, your father’s own vessel what never came home, to his ruin, poor old captain of mine. The moment I set eyes on her I rubbed ’em, ’cos I couldn’t believe it. But I knowed them lines; I knowed the pretty creature, though they’d done something to alter the look of her. She’s the captain’s ship as sure as I’m alive. And now you must come with me; we’ll go to the Lord Mayor or somebody and get a warrant. She’s ready to slip her moorings; we must arrest her; what’s your father’s is yours; that’s the law, and soon they’ll know it!”
Waiting just long enough to tell his wife of his amazing discovery, the constable hurried away with Martin in his quest of the Lord Mayor. But that magnate was not to be found; nor were any of the sheriffs discovered in the devastated city. Gollop, distracted, was beating his wits to recall the name and address of some magistrate in a district still untouched when Martin suddenly caught sight of Mr. Pemberton, the customer of Slocum’s whom he had met on two occasions. The gentleman was standing among a group of his friends, to whom he was pointing out the site of his own ruined dwelling.
“He must be a magistrate,” thought Martin, remembering how Mr. Pemberton had interfered when the crowd was molesting the Frenchman. “I’ll ask him.”
He ran up to the group, pushed his way among them without much ceremony, and said:
“Sir, may I speak to you?”
Mr. Pemberton stared at the eager boy, displeased at what appeared to be an unmannerly intrusion. Then his brow cleared; he smiled and said:
“My friend the fighter, isn’t it? Well, what have you been fighting about now?”
Martin coloured as he felt the eyes of the group focussed on him. But he recovered his composure in a moment, and began to pour out his story. At first the gentlemen listened with smiles of amusement or toleration, but as he proceeded their interest was awakened, and Mr. Pemberton himself watched him with keen attention.
“Stay,” he said at one point. “Your father was Reuben Leake?”
“Yes, sir, that was his name.”
“I have heard of him; a sound mariner. Go on.”
Martin continued his story, doing his best to make its complications clear.
“Now let me understand,” said Mr. Pemberton when he had finished. “This vessel, theSanta Maria, once theMerry Maid, is on the point of sailing with a cargo which you suspect to consist of stolen goods, some of them the property of the respected goldsmith Mr. Greatorex. You say that Mr. Slocum, Mr. Greatorex’s man, is concerned in this crime with the captain of the vessel, whom you call Blackbeard, and a man named Seymour. The crew is mainly foreign; they have held an Indian boy as a slave, and they kidnapped him when you had rescued him from them, and shut you up with him in a warehouse at Deptford. Have I the story right?”
“Yes, sir; all that is true.”
“Well, let me say—and my friends will agree with me—that you have shown uncommon intelligence and courage and resource. Your running off with the barge was an admirable device and deserved to succeed. And now I understand that you wish to have a warrant for the arrest of the vessel before she leaves the river. But you must have someone in authority to execute the warrant, and in the present state of the city——”
“There’s me, your worship,” broke in Gollop, who had stood at hand. “Being a man of law in the shape of a constable——”
“Ah! Well, we must lose no time. But I have no paper, no pen—— Stay, is that a half-burnt ledger I see among the ashes there?”
Martin leapt to the spot and picked up the book. Mr. Pemberton tore out a page, hurriedly wrote a few lines upon it with a pencil, and handed it to the constable.
“There, my man,” he said, “that is the best I can do for you. I cannot swear that the phraseology is absolutely in form, but it will serve. I don’t know what you will do if your Blackbeard shows fight. There is no available force to put at your disposal; you must do the best you can. I wish you success. I shall be glad to learn the issue of this strange affair.”
CHAPTER THE THIRTY-SECOND
Martin sat on a thwart side by side with Hopton, listening intently to the discussion that passed between Gollop and Boulter as they pulled the boat steadily downstream.
“She got away with the first of the ebb,” said the constable. “What’s the odds on our catching her?”
“That depends,” replied the waterman cautiously. “I reckon she’s got three or four hours’ start, but she won’t go faster than the tide.”
“Not so fast, against this wind,” said Gollop.
“True, but it ain’t blowing so hard, and it’s my belief it’ll drop to a calm afore night. Well then, she’ll hardly make Gravesend afore the turn of tide, and as she can’t beat up against the wind in the narrow reaches she’ll have to lay up when the ebb fails. For summat about three hours we ought to gain a bit on her, but not so much as to overhaul her, and then we’ll have the tide against us.”
“And be dead beat; I ain’t so handy with an oar as I was in my sea-going days.”
“Well, I’ve a friend or two in Woolwich, and if so be they ain’t saving the London folk’s goods I’ll get ’em to come aboard and take a spell while we rest. But suppose we catch the Portugal ship, what then, Gollop?”
“Why, I’ve got a warrant, ain’t I?”
“Much good that’ll be,” said Boulter scornfully. “They won’t care a fig for warrants or anything but swords and firelocks. You ought to have took a boatload of soldiers, that’s what I say.”
“Ay, it’s easy to say, but it couldn’t be done. Well, what you can’t help, make the best of. I tell you this: that Portugal ship, leastways theMerry Maid, shan’t get out of the river if I can help it.”
Martin was half-inclined to regard the pursuit as a wild-goose chase, and Hopton had nothing to say to encourage him; but uncertainty gave a spice to the adventure, and they felt a pleasant thrill of anticipation.
By the time they reached Woolwich the tide had turned, and Boulter thought it well to pull to the shore, partly for rest and food, partly to seek out his friends, enquire of them whether they had noticed the Portugal ship, and try to enlist their help. Luckily he came upon two watermen whom he knew well, and who were disengaged. From them he learnt that the vessel had passed about three hours before; she had tow boats out, towing her, and it was a matter of speculation on the riverside why her crew were putting themselves to so much exertion in such hot weather.
Gollop’s face fell when he heard this news. It was clear that Blackbeard expected pursuit, and was making all possible speed to evade it. Boulter’s friends agreed to join the expedition, under promise of a good reward if it proved successful, and the boat set off again after half an hour’s delay, the fresh oarsmen making good progress even against the tide. When all four men were pulling its pace was noticeably rapid, and at Erith, six miles beyond Woolwich, Gollop was delighted to learn on enquiry from an upgoing barge that theMerry Maidwas now little more than two hours ahead.
Hour after hour the rowers plied their oars, taking turns to rest in couples. Martin and the old Frenchman, who had been up all night, fell asleep on their seats, and when they awoke it was five o’clock in the afternoon, and the boat was approaching Gravesend. Here Gollop decided to go ashore, for as the day wore on he had become less confident, and recognised that if Blackbeard and his crew resisted the arrest of the ship the pursuers, hopelessly outnumbered, would not be able to enforce it unless they could engage a party adequately armed.
Both he and Boulter had acquaintances among the mariners of Gravesend, but some of these were absent from their usual haunts, having been drawn to London by the prospect of making money out of the Fire. Those who remained showed themselves distrustful and suspicious; they were not to be tempted to lend their services in a cause that might fail; and Gollop, angry and troubled, made his way to the office of the Customs officer of the port, and sought his aid as a brother man of the law. The officer appeared to resent this claim of relationship, and treated the constable very off-handedly.
“Let me see this warrant you talk of,” he said, and when Gollop produced the scrap of paper, creased, oddly-shaped, its edges frayed and scorched, he sniffed. “I cannot act on this,” he said. “It is not drawn up in proper form. TheSanta Mariahas cleared; she is bound for Lisbon, the port of an ally; she is beyond my jurisdiction.”
At this Gollop lost his temper.
“You and your long words!” he said. “That there vessel ain’t a Portugal ship; she’s English from stem to stern; don’t I know? You’re neglecting of your duty, master officer, and I’ll take good care that them above you hear about it and you’ll get a rough hauling, my fine fellow.”
“Get out of this,” cried the officer, losing his temper in turn. “You may be a constable; I don’t know; but you’ll find your legs in the stocks if you air your insolence on an officer of His Majesty’s Customs.”
“Come away, Dick,” said Boulter soothingly. “We ain’t done yet. And we can’t afford to lose any more time. If the craft weathers Hope Point she’ll have a clear run out and give us the slip altogether. Come on, man.”
Within a few minutes the boat was again under way. It was heavy work pulling her down Gravesend Reach, and heavier still when, in Lower Hope Reach, she came full in the teeth of the wind. An exclamation from Martin caused Gollop to fling a hasty look over his shoulder. Strung out along the lee shore three ships lay at anchor, evidently waiting for the tide.
“Easy all!” cried Gollop, shipping his oar. A look of triumph gleamed in his eyes. “The second o’ them vessels—she’s theMerry Maid, bless her heart!”
“Are you sure?” said Boulter. “She’s three-quarters of a mile away.”
“Sure! Am I sure I’ve a nose on my face? That there’s my dear old captain’s craft, one in a thousand. She’s safe for a few hours. We’ll go ashore and wet our whistles, my mates; this is a chance we’ve got to make the best of.”
They pulled in towards the shore, but lay a few yards off the mud flats to talk over the next step before they landed.
“We can’t fight ’em, that’s certain,” said Boulter, “being only seven all told, two of us just boys, and one a aged furriner.”
Mounseer smiled, and fingered his rapier.
“True for you, mate,” said Gollop. “Well, if you ain’t strong enough to fight, what do you do?”
“Speaking for myself, I plays a trick.”
“Spoke like a wise man. Now what trick could you play?”
“That depends,” said Boulter, scratching his head. “What about boring a hole in her hull?”
“Seeing as none of us is a sword-fish, that can’t be done without ’tis noticed. What about giving ’em a scare? Them furriners are easy frightened.”
“You couldn’t scare ’em into quitting the vessel. But you talk of furriners. Now I come to think of it, I’ve knowed furren gentlemen put aboard outgoing vessels in the river—gentlemen as want to get away secret, and pay well for it. If so be——”
He paused and looked at the Frenchman.
“If so be as our furren gentleman could go aboard as a passenger, maybe the rest of us could get aboard too, eh?”
“Well, what then?”
“Why, that’s the trick, d’you see? What I say is——”
“But perhaps Mr. Seymour’s aboard, and he knows Mounseer,” said Martin.
“So much the better,” cried Gollop, slapping his thigh. “But what does Mounseer say?”
“I do anything what please you,” said the Frenchman quietly.
Five minutes’ close discussion ensued. Then the boat’s head was turned upstream, and the little party, hopeful and elated, was speeding back to Gravesend.
CHAPTER THE THIRTY-THIRD
In Gravesend they spent a busy hour. While Boulter bought a small sea-chest at a marine store, Gollop purchased cutlasses for the watermen and a stout staff for Martin: Hopton fortunately had brought his club. A visit to a slop shop provided sea-jackets and hats for the two boys, and so disguised they might have been taken for cabin boys ashore. The cutlasses, wrapped in sacking, were laid in the chest.
“We’d better wait for the dusk,” said Gollop. “How about the tide, Boulter?”
“ ’Twill turn at dusk or thereabouts,” replied the waterman. “But the wind’s dropping, so we mustn’t bide too long or the barque will slip us.”
“True; but we’ll have time to fill our holds, which I mean to say our stomachs. An empty man’s only half a man, and every one of us will have to make two to-night, or I’m a Dutchman.”
Repairing to the Three Tuns inn, the little party made a good meal; then they returned to the wherry and set off on their adventure. The tide was still running up, but the force of the wind had sensibly diminished, and they made good progress toward their destination.
The sun was setting behind them, and a slight haze crept over the river. Presently theSanta Mariahove in sight.
“All’s quiet on deck,” said Gollop, looking eagerly ahead. “They feel pretty snug: so much the better.”
The approach of the wherry was apparently not noticed on board. It had drawn under the vessel’s quarter before Boulter raised a hail.
“Santa Mariaahoy!” he called.
A dark face showed itself above the gunwale.
“Captain aboard?” said Boulter.
The man nodded.
“I want a word with him,” the waterman continued.
There was no answer: the man simply stared.
“Speakee capitano,” said Boulter, as if obligingly suiting his language to the comprehension of a foreigner.
In a few halting words of broken English the man declared that the captain was at supper and must not be disturbed.
“What you want?” he concluded.
“Never you mind,” said Boulter. “Bring capitano: maybe he’ll understand plain English.”
After some further colloquy the man was prevailed upon to seek the captain, and Martin felt a cold trickle along his spine when he saw in the fading light the face of Blackbeard looking down from the poop. Instinctively he shrank down on his seat.
“What you want?” demanded the captain, with his foreign accent.
“A gentleman wishes a passage in your vessel, captain,” said Boulter, persuasively. “He must get aboard at once: a foreign gentleman, you understand: can pay well: fifty pounds, say.”
“It is impossible,” said Blackbeard bluntly. “There is not cabin room for passenger. No; impossible.”
Another face was peering over his shoulder, and Martin effaced himself more thoroughly as he recognised Slocum. The goldsmith threw a searching glance over the boat. Martin saw him start, pluck Blackbeard by the sleeve, and draw him out of sight.
“Did he see me?” thought Martin, quaking a little.
In a minute he was reassured. Blackbeard returned alone, and Martin noticed that his eyes at once sought Mounseer, who was sitting on a thwart next to Gollop.
“I have considered,” he said. “Perhaps for one. You said one?”
“Yes: one gentleman: a Frenchman,” said Boulter. “London is not safe for the French. He was beset in the street.”
“Very well; he shall come. And quick: soon will the tide turn.”
He called up a seaman, and bade him lower a rope-ladder from the waist. Mounseer got up, and staggered.
“He is old and weak,” said Boulter. “Some of you help him, there.”
According to the plan previously arranged, Martin and Gollop each took one of the Frenchman’s arms and led him to the ladder. Martin climbed nimbly to the deck, then turned to assist Mounseer, who ascended slowly, Gollop following. To all appearances the Frenchman was feeble, exhausted; he tottered and swayed between the others when all three were on board. Meanwhile Boulter’s two watermen friends were proceeding to carry up the sea-chest, which might be supposed to contain the passenger’s baggage.
“Come with me,” said Blackbeard. “We will make bargain.”
He led the way towards the round-house, a sort of cabin on the upper deck. Martin and Gollop led Mounseer between them. Slocum had disappeared; the only persons visible were Blackbeard, the dark-faced seaman, and some members of the crew who were lying outstretched on the planks, resting, no doubt, after their exertions in towing the vessel.
Martin looked curiously about the round-house as he entered. It contained a well-spread table, two chairs and two berths; the walls were lined with racks containing arms of all kinds: firelocks, picks, swords, pistols.
At a gesture from Blackbeard the Frenchman sank into one of the chairs.
“Now you go,” the captain commanded, turning to Martin and Gollop. “I will finish the bargain with this gentleman.”
“Begging your pardon, sir,” said Gollop quietly, “but afore I go it is in a manner of speaking——”
“What you mean?” said Blackbeard, truculently. “I say you go: there is no more for you: you have done; the business is with this gentleman.”
“So it is, to be sure,” returned Gollop unperturbed. “Leastways a part of it. But afore I go, it is in a manner of speaking my duty as an officer of the law to show you a dokyment——”
He had drawn from his pocket the warrant signed by Mr. Pemberton and was proceeding to unfold it. But something in his manner had aroused suspicion in the captain, who made a quick sidelong movement and snatched at a pistol in the nearest rack.
Then the Frenchman, who had appeared so weak and faint, showed a marvellous alacrity for a man of his years and impotence. He sprang up from his chair, whipped out his rapier from under his cloak, and had its point within an inch of Blackbeard’s throat while his hand was still closing over the pistol butt.
For a second or two there was silence as the men faced each other. Martin, quivering with excitement, took in the details of the scene: Gollop flourishing the paper in his hand; Blackbeard, his hand outstretched, his nostrils dilating, his eyes glaring; Mounseer cool, smiling, watching the other as a cat watches a mouse.
Then the silence was broken. The Frenchman, wearing his inscrutable smile, said gently, in a tone not above the conversational pitch:
“Monsieur recognises—is it not so?—that he must render himself?”
Blackbeard made no answer in words, but his eyes narrowed, his fingers tightened on the pistol, and he made an almost imperceptible movement. The Frenchman read the intention in his eyes. The smile disappeared, giving place to a look of grim resolution. One twist of the wrist, and the rapier point, an instant before at the man’s throat, flickered like a flash of lightning and pricked him in the forearm. He winced; the pistol fell clattering to the floor; and he let out a cry, a loud wild cry that must have rung through the ship from stem to stern: a rallying cry to his crew.
Next instant a door at the farther end of the round-house, which had stood ajar, was flung open, and a water-bottle hurtled across the room. It missed the Frenchman’s head by an inch, and crashed against the wall. Through the door rushed two men, one behind the other. In the foremost Martin recognised Mr. Seymour, the tenant of the upper floor whose dealings with Blackbeard had first awakened his suspicions. It was he who had thrown the bottle; the second man was for the moment hidden from view behind him.
Between the table and the wall on either side there was only a narrow gangway, partly obstructed by the chairs. As he dashed forward, Seymour snatched at a cutlass hanging above the rack of arms. He grasped it, but by the blade, for the hilt was higher than his head. To make effective play with it he must needs lift it from its nail and reverse it: even then the narrow gangway would allow him no room to swing it, nor the low roof space in which to bring it above his head: he could only give point.
But before he could reverse the weapon and grasp the hilt Gollop had found himself. Dropping his warrant, he flung himself forward with a leonine roar. Recalling the fight afterwards Martin wondered how the burly constable had managed to squeeze himself between the table and the wall to meet the attack. The chair went clattering along the floor; a blow from Gollop’s sledge-hammer fist, with sixteen stone of brawn behind it, caught Seymour clean between the eyes and sent him hurtling over the broken chair upon the man behind. He dropped; his companion staggered, recovered himself, and, shouting a furious curse, sprang forward cutlass in hand.
Protected in some degree by the huddled form of Seymour, he made a desperate lunge at Gollop, who had been carried forward by his own momentum, and could now neither advance nor retreat. At this critical moment Martin seized the second chair, and, gathering his strength, hurled it at Slocum. It took him at the level of his belt and doubled him up.
Then from without came a medley of shouts and the rustling thud of bare feet upon the boards.
CHAPTER THE THIRTY-FOURTH
The light of battle gleamed in Gollop’s eyes. He was no longer the constable, whose weapons were a staff and a rattle, but the boatswain of old, who had borne his part in many a fight with pirates in the days when he sailed the far seas with Captain Leake.
“I carries more flesh now than I did then,” he said afterwards, when telling the story to his cronies. “That’s what comes of marrying a good wife what looks after your vittles. Still, what you can’t help, make the best of; that’s what I always say.”
Bulky though he was, at this critical moment he showed himself astonishingly agile. He snatched two cutlasses from the stand of arms, and thrust one into Martin’s hand.
“Better than a stick, my lad,” he said. “Stand you guard over they two rascals”—he indicated Slocum and Seymour, who were sitting more or less disabled on the floor. “If they stir, touch ’em with the point.”
Then, rather breathlessly, he turned to meet the rush at the door.
Meanwhile the Frenchman was keeping an eye on Blackbeard. Disarmed and injured, the captain of theSanta Mariastood between the table and the wall, his dark face distorted with fury. Mounseer could not attack him again while he was unarmed, nor was there space or time for the duel that would have rejoiced the Frenchman’s heart. But he knew that if he took his eye off him for a moment he might expect a rush, and all that he could do was to shift his ground slightly so that he might be able to lend aid to Gollop if the crew made a determined assault through the door.
“You will have the goodness to retire yourself one step or two,” he said to Blackbeard, his tone icily polite. To give himself room it was necessary that the captain should move backward into the round-house.
Blackbeard muttered a curse under his breath, but refused to budge.
“Eh bien, voilà!” said the Frenchman, with a sudden deft movement pricking him with the point of his rapier.
The captain winced, shrieked out an oath, but made no more ado about obeying orders. Then Mounseer half turned, and stood so that he could either check Blackbeard if he showed fight, or move to Gollop’s help, as the occasion might demand.
Cutlass in hand, Martin stood over his prisoners, who had shown no sign of activity themselves, but were looking eagerly, hopefully, towards the door. Martin found it difficult to prevent his attention from being distracted by the fight that was now raging there. The crew of the vessel, headed by the officer whom Martin had seen once before, had surged in a yelling crowd towards the round-house, catching up as they ran any object that would serve as a weapon. Some had marline-spikes, one brandished a short spar, another a hanger; several had drawn evil-looking knives, and fat Sebastian wielded a meat chopper.
But there was no order or discipline among them. Shouting, gesticulating, they got in one another’s way in their struggle to reach the door, where Gollop coolly awaited their onset. His broad form blocked up the narrow entrance; the foreigners could attack only one at a time; and as they came on, one by one, each was put out of action by a sudden thrust or cut or lunge of the cutlass wielded by a master hand.
Martin glowed with admiration as he watched the swift movements of the big man. Planted firmly on his feet, his body scarcely swayed; but his sword-arm swept from side to side, and the furious yells of his opponents bespoke their sense of failure. Baffled, they fell back; they collected in a group to devise some plan whereby they might overcome this doughty defender of the door.
Suddenly there was a shout behind them.
“Ahoy! ahoy! Firk ’em! At ’em, my hearties!”
The startled group turned; there were a few moments of wild confusion. Martin, looking under Gollop’s arm, saw a welter of men, some bowled over like ninepins, others crawling away on hands and knees. The watermen, with George Hopton, taking their cue from the noises on deck, had swarmed up from the wherry and swept upon the foreigners from the rear. They burst through, irresistible; the crew scattered to right and left; and then Gollop issued forth from the doorway and joined his friends with a roar of welcome.
“Round ’em up! Round ’em up!” he cried, and striding ahead of his little party he chased the crew around the deck, across the waist, down the ladders, into every corner where they sought refuge. Bereft of their leaders they had no heart to fight. Within a very few minutes the foreigners had surrendered, and were herded into the forecastle.
A few minutes more, and the prisoners in the round-house were sitting in a disconsolate line against the wall, their hands and feet securely tied.
“A very pretty job,” said Gollop, looking approvingly at the watermen’s work. “I reckon they knots be firm enough, Mounseer; still, ’tis as well to make sure; so maybe you’ll stand over ’em with that steel of yours while we go and see what’s in them brass-bound boxes.”
The Frenchman smiled, and held his rapier at the salute.
CHAPTER THE THIRTY-FIFTH
Gollop was in a quandary.
He had got possession of theSanta Maria, which would henceforth be called by her old name, theMerry Maid: what was he to do with her? Night had fallen; the tide was running out again to the sea; it seemed necessary to wait for morning light and the turn of the tide before the vessel could be floated back to London. But the constable had left his duty without leave from his commanding officer, and though he had Mr. Pemberton’s warrant to produce in self-justification, he felt that if a strict judgment were passed upon his action, he was in danger of losing his livelihood.
“Seems to me I’d better leave you in command, lad,” he said to Martin, “the ship being yours, and row back to the city.”
“But you are tired,” replied Martin; “it would be a terribly hard pull against the tide, and we can’t spare anyone to go with you; we’re very few to hold the ship if the crew break out of the forecastle.”
“Besides, there’s them boxes,” Boulter put in. The boxes had been opened and examined: they were full of plate and jewellery. “I reckon they’re worth a good few thousands of pounds, and Mr. Greatorex is so much beholden to you that he’ll see you don’t lose by the night’s work.”
“Maybe; gratitude ain’t a partickler common virtue. Howsomever, what you can’t help, make the best of. I’ll bide here till morning, and then we’ll see. Martin, my lad, you’re dead beat; you’ve got old eyes; turn in, you and your friend, and sleep sound till I wake you.”
Martin was glad enough to stretch himself on the deck against the bulwark; his recent experiences had worn him out.
“Your Gollop’s a Trojan,” said Hopton as he threw himself beside him. “I say, I’ll go with you to Tyburn to see Slocum hanged.”
“I suppose hewillbe hanged?” said Martin sleepily.
“Certain sure. It will be a great show. I expect he’ll make a fine speech on the gallows.”
But Martin was already asleep.
When he awoke in the early morning he found that Gollop, in consultation with the watermen, had planned out his course of action. The vessel would be left in charge of the Customs officers, who would put a crew on board, and lodge the criminals, Slocum, Blackbeard, and Seymour, in jail; then the boarding party would return to the City, Gollop would report to his captain, and a posse of constables would no doubt be dispatched to convey the criminals to London for trial.
About half-past five Boulter’s wherry set off on its return journey to London. The party were well satisfied with the result of their expedition, but the pleasure of some of them was alloyed with anxiety. During the night the wind had fallen away; the air was still; and Gollop, equally with the Frenchman, was filled with foreboding as to the progress the Fire might have made during the twelve hours of his absence. Already, before his departure, the flames had worked back against the wind in the direction of the Tower, and now that there was not even the wind to check them, he was on tenterhooks lest they might have gained his house.
Mounseer, so calm and self-possessed during the scene in the round-house of theMerry Maid, was now a prey to nervous agitation, which increased minute by minute as the wherry neared its destination. He said nothing, but the twitching of his eyelids and the restless movements of his hands were clear signs of his perturbation of spirit. Martin wondered, for, like Susan Gollop, he had seen nothing of value in the old gentleman’s apartment, and such possessions as he had could be removed in a few minutes if the house were attacked by the Fire.
The watermen pulled in to the steps where Martin had first become suspicious of Slocum. There the party separated: Gollop to seek his captain, Hopton to return home, the watermen to resume their vocation; Martin and the Frenchman to regain their dwelling-house.
“If so be the house has caught, lad,” said Gollop at parting, “I trust to you to look after my Sue and the little one. I’ll come home the very first minute I can.”
Martin’s misgivings increased as he hurried with Mounseer through the streets.
“I’m sure that’s Clothworkers Hall in Mincing Lane,” he said, noticing a huge body of yellow flame rising high into the air some distance to the left.
He stopped a man who was hurrying past, and asked him how far the Fire had got.
“How far? Where have you been, then?” was the reply. “Paul’s Church is in ashes; so’s Fleet Street and——”
“I mean on this side.”
“Why, the Custom House by the river has gone, so’s a part of Tower Street, and Mincing Lane, and the parsonage of Barking Church——”
“Juste ciel!” cried the Frenchman. “Our house is near of that. Haste! haste!”
His mental distress, following on the fatigues of the night, rendered the old gentleman’s steps unsteady, and he clung to Martin’s arm for support. They hurried on, their alarm growing from moment to moment. Every now and then they heard a terrific explosion, and saw immense columns of smoke, dust, and fragments of wood spring into the air.
“What’s that?” asked Martin of a passer-by.
“Blowing up houses in Seething Lane,” the man replied.
“Mon Dieu! How close!” muttered the Frenchman. “For me it is ruin, ruin!”
At last they turned the corner from which their house could be seen. One glance was enough. Flames were bursting from the roof. It appeared that the house had caught fire at the top from floating sparks. People were running hither and thither in the street, carrying away their goods from the neighbouring houses. In the roadway before the house was a little group of three—Susan Gollop, Lucy, and the Indian boy, standing guard over the household gear piled in the roadway.
Susan’s set face relaxed as she saw Martin running towards her.
“Where’s Gollop? Where’s my man?” she cried.
“He’s quite safe; he’ll be here soon,” Martin replied. “Have you got everything out?”
“Everything but the copper. We couldn’t lift that. Come back, Mounseer; we’ve got your things too.”
The Frenchman had withdrawn his arm from Martin’s and was hurrying into the open doorway of the house. He paid no attention to Susan’s cry, but disappeared.
“Well I declare!’ cried Susan. “Did you ever know such a foolish old gentleman! Because he’s French, I suppose. Me and the blackamoor brought out all his bits of things with our own hands: here they are. But I suppose he wants to make sure we’ve got ’em all.”
“I’ll go and bring him back,” said Martin.
“No, no; bide here. He’ll see the room’s empty and come back himself in a twink. There’s no call for you to go into the smother.”
Martin allowed himself to be restrained. A knot of spectators had gathered, and stared up at the burning house. The flames were spreading from the roof downwards. Smoke was pouring out of the windows. Susan watched grimly; Lucy, her eyes wide with awe, clung convulsively to Gundra, who seemed the least concerned of all.
Minute after minute passed. There was no sign of the Frenchman. The window of his room was closed, but smoke was trickling out at the edges of the casement.
“Oh! where is my dear Mounseer?” cried Lucy, tearfully.
“Drat the man!” said Susan. “What in the world he’s doing I don’t know. He must have a bee in his bonnet. Here now—Martin—come back! Come back, I say!”
But Martin, unable to bear the suspense any longer, had broken away and dashed into the burning house to find his old friend.