CHAPTER THE TWENTY-SIXTH
Just inside the gate, on the right, was a small brick cabin, where during working hours the gatekeeper attended for the purpose of checking merchandise that entered or left the yard. It was now closed; its window was shuttered; but a streak of light shone between the door and the lintel.
Grasping Martin firmly with one hand, with the other the man unlocked the door, and pushed his prisoner in. An oil lamp stood on a table, and on a chair near it sat Mr. Slocum. He started up on seeing Martin.
“Heavens above! Have they caught you too?” he exclaimed, with an air of genuine surprise.
Martin glanced from him to his captor, and caught a fleeting grin on that man’s face.
“But how came you in this unhappy plight?” Slocum went on, speaking very rapidly. “Why should the wretches attack you? In my own case the explanation is simple. I set out to save Mr. Greatorex’s property from this disastrous Fire, with Jenks and Butler; you remember them? We were suddenly rushed upon by half a dozen footpads, hustled into the yard, and while I was shut up here the ’prentice lads were taken—who knows where?”
“Not far,” said the man, grinning again. “Not so very far. You can see ’em out in the yard there.”
He pointed through the open doorway. Shading his eyes against the light, Martin saw dimly two figures with their backs to the wall, and a big fellow apparently standing guard over them.
“You can cheer each other up,” said the man, going out and locking the door behind him.
“A monstrous outrage!” said Slocum. “But what have the villains against you?”
“I’d like to know that myself,” said Martin, cautiously.
“You were passing up from the waterside, no doubt?” said Slocum.
“No; I was going the other way.”
“Strange coincidence! You saw the ruffians attack me?”
“No, I did not.”
Martin’s answers were short. He guessed that the object of Slocum’s questions were to ascertain how much he knew, and though he had been almost taken in by Slocum’s manner, he now suspected that his surprise had been feigned, and that he was playing a part.
“Well, it is a gross attack on our personal liberty,” Slocum continued; “and I won’t stand it!”
He rose with an air of grim determination, and hammered sharply on the door. The man with the scar entered.
“Enough of this foolery!” said Slocum, elbowing the man from the doorway. “Let me out, fellow. I warn you that you are incurring punishment of the highest severity in holding two citizens in durance!”
“Take it easy; none of your shoving,” said the man. “You can’t go out without I get orders.”
“Orders! From whom do you get your orders?”
“That’s my look-out.”
“You are insolent, fellow! Don’t dare to use that tone to me! I will not put up with insolence from a ruffian and a gaol-bird!”
“Who are you a-calling a gaol-bird?” said the man, scowling fiercely.
Martin had already suspected that the men were play-acting. It now seemed that the captor had forgotten his part, and was taking Slocum’s expressions seriously. Slocum realised that he had gone too far with a person of limited intelligence, and hastened to reassure him by pantomimic signs which, slight as they were, did not pass unobserved by Martin.
“I demand to be taken outside,” Slocum went on. “I want air. What with the hot evening and the stinking lamp this place is suffocating.”
“Well, I’ve no orders to stifle you,” said the man. Thereupon, he took Slocum by the sleeve and marched him out into the yard. Martin was following, but the man turned at the door, thrust him back, and locked him in. “Your turn presently,” he said.
Martin sat down on the chair. He was convinced that Slocum and the man were acting in collusion, and supposed that their object was to retain him for an hour or two until the boat conveying Mr. Greatorex’s valuables had got away. Remembering that theSanta Mariawas to sail next day, he felt sure that those valuables would form part of her freight, the fruits of a conspiracy in which Slocum, Blackbeard, and Seymour were concerned.
Waiting in the hot, stuffy room soon became tedious and uncomfortable. Martin got up and tried the door and the window; both were securely fastened against him. Presently he heard voices outside, the creaking of the gate, and the rattle of wheels on the cobbles of the yard. A minute or two later the key was turned in the lock, the door was thrown open, and three men, one of them the man with the scar, who was now carrying a lantern, stamped into the room. They stood for a moment looking at Martin.
“Why not leave him here?” said one of them. “ ’Twill save trouble.”
“Won’t do,” said the man with the scar. “There’ll be folk about in the morning; he’ll be found, and then—you see he knows too much.”
“Well, then, why not shut his mouth? The river’s handy. With a stone round his neck——”
“Stow your gab, Bill,” interrupted the other irritably. “We can’t drown ’em all. Besides, orders is orders, so you’d better set about it.”
Martin had risen at their entrance, and stood facing them, his heart beating rather quickly and his cheeks flushing as he listened to this frank discussion of his fate. He was not prepared for what happened. The man who had wished to save trouble made a sudden pounce, flung his arm round Martin’s neck, and deftly slipped a gag into his mouth. He was then tripped up, and as he lay on the floor his hands were roped together, and he was shoved into a sack that covered him completely.
Thus bundled up, he was carried into the yard and dumped into the handcart, which had been brought empty from the quay. The cart jolted over the cobbles; he heard the gate slammed behind him, and wondered to what destination the men had orders to convey him.
The jolting did not last long. In a minute or two the legs of the handcart were let down with a bump, and Martin was hoisted out. His head being covered, he could not see where he had been brought, but he felt himself being carried downstairs, then flung down upon boards that rocked under his weight. He was in a boat.
He judged by their voices that two of the three men got into the boat after him. It moved away, and through the sack he heard the men talking of matters he knew nothing about. After a journey that seemed much longer than it was the boat stopped; he felt its side grate against stone. He was lifted out and carried up a few steps, then for some yards on the level.
Once more he was set down. There was a knock upon a door; after an interval of waiting the bolts were drawn; some words were exchanged between his bearers and the man who had opened; then he was carried along, up a flight of stairs, and finally dropped roughly to the floor.
“Cut the sack open,” said one of the men. “Better give him some air and take the gag out,” he added. “He won’t do no harm now.”
The string was cut, and the sack pulled down to his shoulders.
“Best tie him up,” said one.
“He can’t get away.”
“Never mind that; let’s make it sure.”
A rope was tied round the middle of the sack, and knotted to a staple in the wall.
“Now all’s snug,” said a man. “We’ve lost enough time over him; let’s get back to the City; we ought to be able to prig a thing or two out of those fine shops in Cheapside.”
CHAPTER THE TWENTY-SEVENTH
By the light of the lantern carried by the man with the scar Martin had made a hasty survey of his prison. It was a large, empty room, apparently part of a disused warehouse. When the men went away they took the lantern with them, leaving the place in complete darkness.
Martin was at once aware of sounds of movement on the floor above—sounds of heavy cases or bales being dragged over the boards. At intervals also he heard a creaking that suggested the lowering of goods over a rusty pulley.
“Where am I?” he thought.
The sounds lulled, and his ears caught a slight rustle in the room itself.
“Rats!” he said to himself. “I hope they won’t attack me.”
During the next pause in the louder sounds he heard another rustle somewhat more prolonged, a faint clanking, and he had the strange feeling that some human being besides himself was in the room. Startled, he called out quickly: “Who’s there?”
From some distant corner came a thin, piping voice:
“Me, Gundra.”
“Gundra!” He felt surprise and relief; the Indian boy was at least a friend. “Come and untie me.”
“Me no can,” was the reply.
“Why not?”
“Me tied, too.”
“How?”
“To thing in the wall. No can move it.”
“Your hands tied?”
“No; a band round me, tight.”
Martin guessed that the boy, like himself, was fastened to a staple, which was out of his reach. It was clear that neither could get to the other.
But Martin was not ready to admit that the situation was hopeless. His hands, it is true, were tied, so that he could not loose the knot at the staple, and he knew that if he strained on the rope he would only tighten the knot. It might be possible to jerk the staple from the wall. He made several attempts, but finding that there was no sound of tearing wood, no yielding of the metal, he bent his mind to considering another way.
There was only a few feet of rope between him and the staple. By a series of convulsive jerks he managed to wriggle over the floor until he lay at the foot of the wall. Supporting himself against it, he got on to his knees, and was then able to touch the rope with his mouth. He asked himself whether it would be easier to cut through it with his teeth, or to rise to his feet, trace the rope to the staple, and work away until he had loosed the knot.
Before he could make up his mind he heard heavy footsteps outside, growing louder as they approached. Instantly he dropped to the floor, wriggled back to his former position, and, when the door opened, lay on his elbow as though he were incapable of rising higher.
Through a door at the farther end of the room came Sebastian, the fat cook of theSanta Maria. From one hand swung a horn lantern; in the other he carried a large platter holding a pitcher of water and a hunk of bread. He crossed to the corner where Gundra lay, gave him a kick, set the platter beside him, then moved along to Martin, and leered down upon him, pouring out a stream of abuse in his own language. Having examined the staple and rope, he laughed maliciously, banged Martin’s head with the lantern, and left the room, locking the door behind him.
Martin had taken advantage of the lantern light to make a careful mental note of the position of the staple. As soon as the sound of Sebastian’s footsteps had died away he wriggled again to the wall, rose upon his knees, then upon his feet, and began to tug with his teeth at the knot about the staple.
For some time he toiled in vain, trying one part of the knot after another. Despairingly he felt that his teeth would yield before the hempen rope. But presently he was aware of a slight loosening, and taking heart, he continued to bite at the same coil. To his joy the knot grew looser and looser; the second coil was easier to undo than the first; now he felt the free end of the rope slipping out, and in a few more minutes it was clear of the staple and dropped on the floor.
His lips were sore, his jaw ached intolerably; and the uneasy posture he had had to maintain had strained his muscles to the point of extreme fatigue. For a while he lay quietly resting, not even telling Gundra that he was free. The noises still continued on the upper floor.
At length he started to jerk and worm his way across the floor.
“I’m coming to untie you,” he said in a low tone.
Moving only inch by inch, with frequent pauses for rest, he was a long time in reaching the Indian boy’s corner. When at last he rolled beside him he said:
“Now, your hands are free; untie the rope round the sack.”
Gundra groped with his fingers, and found the knot, but it had been so well tied that it was some minutes before he succeeded in loosening it. Then he pulled the sack away, and made a shorter job of untying Martin’s hands.
“Now to release you,” said Martin; “but I must wait until my hands are less cramped. What is this place, Gundra?”
“A big godown by the river,” replied the boy. “Plenty goods upstairs, belong forSanta Maria.”
Martin suddenly remembered that on the evening when he had rowed Blackbeard down the river his passenger had directed him at first to row towards a large warehouse on the bank, but had changed his mind. No doubt this was the very warehouse which had been chosen for the safe-keeping of the boys. It was plain, too, that it had been used as a place of storage for ill-gotten goods until the time came when they might safely be transferred to theSanta Maria.
“If only I can get out,” Martin thought, “I’ll be in time to put a spoke in Blackbeard’s wheel.”
He felt over Gundra’s body to ascertain how he was fastened. About his middle was a steel girdle, connected by a fine chain with the staple in the wall. Martin discovered in a few moments that it was impossible to detach the chain at either end; the links, though small, were of tough metal, and gave no sign of yielding under the strongest strain he could put upon them.
“This is thirsty work,” said Martin. “I’ll take a drink from your pitcher, Gundra. They haven’t brought me any water or food; I suppose they think they’ll tame me. They don’t starve you?”
“No; give food; not much.”
“And how long have you been here?”
Gundra explained that in the dead of Saturday night someone had come into the cupboard under the stairs, gagged him, and carried him out of the house. He had struggled hard.
“That accounts for Mr. Seymour’s button,” thought Martin. “But how am I to get Gundra free?”
He sat for a while considering, with his knees up and his chin on his hands. “I’ll try it,” he exclaimed at length.
The staple was driven deep into the wall, but Martin’s idea was that its setting might be loosened by picking at the wood around it, and that then a tug would wrench it away. Opening his clasp knife he began to scrape and chip at the wood, which being oak offered a considerable resistance to his rather blunt blade. More than once he pulled at the staple without detecting any sign of its yielding.
“What about a violent jerk?” he thought.
He explained to Gundra what he proposed to do. They both stood close to the wall. Martin got his hands firmly between Gundra’s body and the steel girdle; then at the same moment both he and the Indian made a sudden leap into the room. The staple was torn from its setting; the boys fell in a heap on the floor, and the metal rattled and clanged. Clasping each other, they listened breathlessly. Had the sounds been heard by the men above?
There were no cries, no sudden movement, no footsteps. Every now and then came the creaking of the pulley-block which had been going on at intervals ever since Martin had been brought into the room, and the exchange of a few words between the men who were presumably attending to the lowering of the goods. They were too much occupied with their task to notice the sounds in the room.
“Now to get out!” said Martin in a whisper. “I think I can find my way to the door.”
“Me come; no let go,” said Gundra, clinging to him.
They moved together in the direction of the door. The chain on the Indian boy’s girdle clanked.
“This won’t do,” said Martin. “Tuck it up inside the belt.”
When this was done they started again. Martin had taken his bearings by the light of the fat cook’s lantern, but in the pitch darkness he was at fault, and it was only by feeling round the wall that they at last reached the door. It was locked. There was no escape that way.
“Any windows?” asked Martin.
“No, sahib. But another door; oh, yes, over there.”
“You have seen it open?”
“No, but see light in crack.”
“Then we’ll make for that. Keep close to me.”
CHAPTER THE TWENTY-EIGHTH
The two boys groped across the room to find the second door. Suddenly Martin tripped and almost fell; he had stepped into a hole where the floor-boards were rotted away.
“Take care, Gundra,” he said, recovering himself.
He felt on the floor to ascertain the size of the gap, then led the Indian boy cautiously across it, and almost immediately touched a wall. Passing his hand along it, he came upon an iron bar.
“I think this is it,” he said.
Feeling along the bar and the wall behind it, he discovered a vertical crack.
“A folding door,” he thought. “Now to lift the bar and see if we can open the door and find out where it leads to.”
The bar was thick and heavy, and so well settled down into its sockets that it had evidently not been used for some time. Martin’s efforts to lift it at first had no success, but after much pulling and pushing it shifted upward suddenly with a loud squeaking noise.
The boys held their breath, wondering whether the sound had been heard in the room above. But the slow creaking still went on, and Martin ventured to raise the bar from its place and lay it gently on the floor.
There was an iron ring in one of the panels of the double door. Inserting his finger in this Martin pulled, and the panel, sticking at first, presently came inward with a squeak; clearly its hinges needed oiling. Inch by inch he drew it towards him. A strong breeze blew into the room, carrying with it a salt tang. The clear sky eastward was studded with stars, which kindled reflections in the river. Nearer at hand a reddish glow suffused the sky.
While they were gazing out there was a creak above them, much louder than they had heard before, and a large object dangling at the end of a rope passed slowly downward within a yard of their faces. It was plain that goods were being let down from the store-room above with some care to avoid noise, for there was no shouting, no giving and receiving directions, no cries of “Are you ready?” “Lower away!” such as were usual in operations of the kind.
Holding on by the door, Martin bent down and peered over the edge, careful to keep out of sight. The package that had been lowered rested on a sort of quay between the wall of the warehouse and the shored-up bank of the river. A man was disengaging it from the rope. When it was free he shook the rope as a signal that it might be drawn up, then hoisted the package on to a truck and wheeled it along the quay until he came to a short jetty. There he halted and lowered it over the side; evidently a boat was moored below. Apparently the tide was too low to allow of the boat’s drawing in nearer to the bank.
Meanwhile a second load came slowly down over the pulley, and reached the ground with a slight jolt. The man had not yet returned from the jetty with the truck. Martin wondered whether it would be possible to slide down the rope without attracting attention. The stars gave very little light, and the glow from the Fire was intercepted by the angle of the warehouse. The distance from the door to the ground was less than twenty feet.
Leaning out he cautiously tried the rope. It gave under a slight pull, showing that the man above was no longer holding it firmly. But he must have noticed the movement, for Martin heard a hoarse voice whisper, “Don’t pull the rope through the block, you fool!”
He shrank back into the room.
“Are you there?” whispered the voice again.
At this moment the man below reached the package on the ground.
“What’s the matter?” he growled.
“I said, don’t pull on the rope!” repeated the man above.
“Didn’t touch it!” responded the other gruffly.
There was an inaudible reply from the upper storey. The second load was discharged and trundled away, the rope again wound up, and by the time the man returned from the jetty a third package had been lowered.
By this time Martin had arrived at a conclusion. If he and Gundra were to escape by the rope, they must cling to it while it was descending weighted with a load, and while the man below was still absent at the jetty. There was the risk of their being discovered through the man at the pulley feeling the extra drag on the rope, or through the return of the other man while they were still suspended in the air. Even should they reach the ground safely, there was the further risk of their being intercepted, for they would have to pass the jetty on their left, and go through the lower floor of the warehouse, the quay on the right apparently ending at a high blank wall.
But it was clear that they must either face these risks, with a chance, however slight, of escaping, or remain as prisoners in the room, with the certainty that the breaking of their bonds would be discovered as soon as fat Sebastian paid them his next visit.
In rapid whispers Martin explained his plan to the Indian boy. Timid as Gundra had hitherto appeared, it was plain that ill-usage had not utterly broken his spirit, for he agreed eagerly to make the attempt, and promised to follow Martin’s instructions faithfully.
“I will go first,” said Martin, with the idea of giving Gundra confidence. “We can’t both go down with the same load. You must wait for the next, but don’t come down till you see I am safe.”
They waited, tingling with impatience and excitement, until once more a heavy package came swaying past the open door. As soon as it had descended below the sill, Martin took a firm hold of the rope and swung off. There was a louder creaking of the pulley above, a more violent oscillation of the load, a sudden quickening of the rate of descent; then the slow, even movement was resumed.
Martin glanced up. The pulley block hung from the wall above a similar door some twelve feet above. The man who operated the machine was not visible.
Martin slid down until his feet touched the package. The moment this reached the ground he slipped off and glided along the wall until he came to a shaded corner beyond the shore end of the jetty. There he drew back as far as possible into the shadow and waited.
“Are you there?” he heard the man in the upper room whisper huskily, and saw him lean over, holding on to the rope.
There was no answer. His mate was at that moment half-way back from the jetty, pushing the truck before him. A minute or so later, when he began to loose the package, the man above noticed the movement of the rope, and said:
“You there, Bob?”
“Ay! What’s up? In a hurry, ain’t you? You’ve got the easy job.”
“No call to be nasty! Have a care to stand from under when the loads are coming down. These old blocks are sticking. There was a mighty bad jolt just now. I don’t trust ’em.”
“All right; be there much more?”
“Half a dozen boxes or so.”
“I’m not sorry. The tide is making. I might as well wait a few minutes, then I can pull the barge up a bit and save all this hiking with the truck.”
Martin’s heart sank. If the man did as he suggested, Gundra would have no opportunity of escaping. But next moment he was reassured.
“ ’Tain’t safe,” said the man above. “Barge might stick in the mud, and tide take an hour or more to lift her. The sooner we get these things on board the better.”
While the men were talking the rope had been drawn up, and another load was fastened to it almost as soon as the man below had started to wheel the previous one away.
The pulley creaked, the package descended. Martin watched anxiously, wondering whether Gundra’s nerve would fail, whether the addition of his weight to the rope would cause the man this time to look over. He saw the slight form issue from the doorway and clutch the rope. Gundra was much lighter than Martin; the extra weight made scarcely any difference to the rate at which the rope descended. But Martin did not feel secure until the load bumped on the ground, and the Indian boy, running as lightly as a wild animal, reached his side.
CHAPTER THE TWENTY-NINTH
Both the boys were panting a little, as much from excitement as from exertion. For a few moments they remained, silent and still, in the shadowy recess. Martin’s thoughts were busy with the new problem, how to make good their escape. They were free, but they were not at large.
“Shall we wait until the loading is finished?” Martin asked himself. “There are only a few more loads to come down, then the barge will put off. No doubt these men will leave, too, and we shall be able to get away at leisure.”
But as he pondered the matter he decided for immediate action. Convinced that the goods now being removed were stolen property, he was bent on saving it if that were possible, and the only obvious means of saving it was to inform someone in authority who would send officers of the law to arrest both goods and men. There was very little time. To win complete freedom was a matter of urgency.
“Come along,” Martin whispered when the man was once more busy at the jetty.
They crept along by the wall to the door of the warehouse. It was shut and bolted. On each side of it was a window, but the shutters were up, and heavily barred. It would be impossible even to attempt to force an entrance without making a noise that would bring the man hot-foot upon them.
Martin glanced this way and that. The quay on the landward side was entirely enclosed. It seemed that there was no exit from it except through the warehouse, and that was shut. They were trapped after all.
But there was the river. Could they escape by that? Was there, below the jetty, a wherry or any kind of row-boat in addition to the barge that was being loaded? Martin could not see one. Nor could they seize an opportunity and dive into the river, for beneath the shore end of the jetty there was nothing at low tide but liquid mud, probably deep enough to engulf them.
All at once the man’s remark about pulling the barge up recurred to Martin. An idea struck him that made his heart bound and his nerves tingle. He whispered a few words to Gundra, and anyone who could have observed them would have noticed how they braced themselves up.
The result of Martin’s inspiration showed itself when the man next left the barge and wheeled the truck back along the jetty and across the quay. As soon as his back was turned, they quitted their hiding-place and, stooping low, made a dash for the jetty, the sound of their movements being drowned by the noise of the rumbling wheels.
At the place where the jetty sprang from the quay they stopped, lowered themselves over the side, and slipped on to one of the cross-beams that supported the planking. There they crouched breathlessly. It was a perilous position, for the timber was slippery with slime, and they had to hug it closely to prevent their sliding off. There, clinging and crouching, they remained until the man had again come and gone.
As soon as the man was at a safe distance, they clambered up to the jetty, and crept along it on all fours until they came just above the barge. This was now well afloat, but it was moored stem and stern to posts on the jetty, as they saw by the light of a small oil-lamp standing on a tub amidships. Boxes were piled fore and aft.
The two boys slid down on to the barge by the rope by which the man had lowered the goods. Martin ran to the stern and tried to cast the aft mooring rope loose; but the knot was firm and the rope hard, and he had not succeeded when he heard the rumbling of the truck wheels along the quay. There was not time to complete the job before the man arrived. The urgent necessity at the moment was to hide and hope that he would not see them.
Together they crouched down in the narrow space between the piled boxes and the gunwale. With beating hearts they heard the rumbling draw nearer; the heavy tramp of the man; his mutterings as he heaved his load from the truck and lowered it to the deck of the barge. They held their breath. Would the man follow it? No; he swung it almost over their heads, and it settled with a bump a few feet short of them.
The moment the man retreated, Martin dashed back to the aft rope, struggled with the knot until he managed to cast it off, hastened forward and cast off the rope there likewise. The barge swung free. Against its gunwale lay the long heavy sweeps with which it was propelled. Martin attempted to lift one of these, but found it impossible to do so without Gundra’s help.
The barge was already lurching shoreward on the tide. In a few moments, unless its motion was checked, it would strike the mud, and then all hope of escape was lost. Holding the sweep between them, the boys drove it against the beams that supported the jetty, and tried to push off.
Unused to the handling of so clumsy an implement, the boys were unable to prevent its end from glancing off the slimy timber, and it plunged with a splash into the water. But they had not let it go. Levering it up across the gunwale, they once more made the attempt, and by exerting all possible pressure were able to force the barge a yard or two from the jetty. Then they were almost undone by their own vigour, for the sweep slipped again as the barge sheered away, and they fell forward, striking against the gunwale, and dropping the sweep with a loud clatter.
They seized it just in time to save it from being carried overboard. Meanwhile the barge had lost the impetus they had given it, and was again drifting shoreward. It was clear that the noise they had made had been heard by the men. There was a shout and hurried footsteps on the quay, and Martin, looking up, could just see in the starlight the man at the upper door leaning out and making wild movements with his arms, evidently to urge on his mate below.
In a moment this man came in sight, running along the quay to the spot where he expected the barge to strike if it escaped the mud. Martin saw that the next few minutes would decide his fate.
“Catch hold!” he cried to the Indian boy. “Shove when I tell you.”
He pointed the sweep at the angle between two supporting beams, and with Gundra’s help drove it into the notch, and brought all his weight and strength to bear upon it. The barge sidled outward, slowly, too slowly. Martin realised that if the man had run on to the jetty, he could have jumped on board before the heavy vessel was out of range.
“Don’t let go,” Martin called, as the sweep dropped from its resting-place into the water.
Keeping a tight grasp on the pole, the boys pulled it slowly through the water. The barge swung about a little, and Martin saw with joy that the gap between it and the quay was wider. It was now too late for the man to attempt the leap. He stood on the quayside, shouting, cursing, gesticulating to his companions, two men who were running to join him. The second of them, lumbering along in the rear, Martin recognised as Sebastian the fat cook.
Unwieldy though the sweep was, Martin was learning under the stress of necessity how to manipulate it, his knowledge of oarsmanship assisting. Laboriously he and Gundra dragged it through the water, and at every stroke the barge forged a little farther from the quay.
The men there were in all the agitation of helpless rage. There was a flash, a crack; one of them had fired a pistol.
“You fool!” shouted one of his companions. “Do you want to bring all Deptford down upon us!”
The answer was inaudible on the barge. There the boys, panting and sweating from their exertions in the hot night, did not relax their efforts until the heavy vessel was clear of the jetty and had begun to drift upstream on the tide. Then, as they paused, they heard the same voice apparently giving an order, though the words could not be distinguished. Dimly they saw the three figures run along the quay, then they were lost to sight in the darkness. A few moments later there came the sound of rusty hinges creaking; somewhere a gate was opening.
“What are they about now?” thought Martin; and he noticed for the first time that Gundra’s eyes were wide with amazement and fright as they gazed upon the ruddy glow of the Fire.
CHAPTER THE THIRTIETH
Martin felt that he had been uncommonly lucky. The utmost he had hoped for was to escape with Gundra from the warehouse; it now seemed to his sanguine spirit that he would save the stolen property as well. The barge was slowly drifting upstream; there was no present sign of pursuit; and if his luck held, before long he would get assistance from friendly hands, and the evil schemes of Blackbeard, Slocum, and the rest would be brought to nought.
But he had pitched his hopes too high. The heavy barge moved only at the pace of the tide, and neither Martin nor the Indian had sufficient muscular strength to work the cumbersome sweep for more than a few minutes at a time. And they were soon aware that the pursuit had started. In the light from the glowing sky they caught sight of three or four men hurrying along the road that bordered the river. They were outstripping the barge; it was probably their intention to get well ahead, find a boat, and cut across the course of the fugitives.
They might be delayed by the fact that every serviceable boat had been engaged for the conveyance of householders’ goods, but sooner or later they would get some kind of craft, and then the end was inevitable.
The same dearth of boats operated against Martin. He hailed one or two that passed, but the watermen would not so much as wait to hear his explanations; they were reaping a golden harvest.
What could be done? The only chance seemed to be to run the barge across the river to the north bank, as near as possible to the stairs where Martin’s friends were wont to ply, and trust to finding one or other of them at hand and ready to help.
The barge was drifting broadside with the stream, and it was only by dint of great efforts and strenuous pulling at the sweep that the boys were able to bring her head in the desired direction. They had hardly begun to creep towards the north bank when they heard shouts ahead, and saw a wherry putting out from the southern shore and making to cross their bows.
The fiery aspect of the sky seemed to increase the heat of the summer night, and Martin felt the sweat pouring off him in streams as he tugged desperately at the sweep. He realised in a few moments the impossibility of gaining the stairs before the wherry overtook him. To save the goods was beyond hoping for; it would be as much as he could do to save himself and Gundra from capture. They must abandon the barge and swim for the shore, now perhaps some fifty yards distant. Could they do so without being seen and followed? Martin had little doubt that the pursuers would strain every nerve to capture them, and so ensure that the sailing of theSanta Mariashould not be interfered with.
“We must swim for it,” he said, dropping the sweep. “Come with me, and keep low.”
They crept behind the pile of cargo that had sheltered them when they first boarded the barge, and slipped over the gunwale into the water on the side remote from the pursuing wherry. Martin hoped to get at least half way to the shore before he was seen. With Gundra he struck out vigorously, but was soon conscious that his strength had already been overtaxed, and he would be unable to keep up his stroke for more than a minute or two.
It seemed that they had only left the barge a few seconds when they heard the wherry bump into its side, and the men scrambling on board, cursing as they searched for the fugitives. The search did not last long; one of the pursuers caught sight of the swimmers, who might perhaps have got away unseen but for the glare of the Fire.
“There they are!”
The shout caused Martin and Gundra to put all their remaining strength into their strokes. The pursuers rushed for their boat, and it was fortunate for the swimmers that it lay on the farther side of the barge. By the time it had been pulled round the stern the boys had entered shallow water, and were wading ashore in the mud.
And then the pursuers made a mistake. Had they continued on their course upstream and rowed across to the nearest stairs, or to one of the quays that broke the riverside, they could have landed well ahead of the boys and met them while they were still floundering in the mud flats. But in their haste and flurry, due no doubt to their wish to avoid drawing too much attention from passing boats, they swung round against the current and made toward the boys.
Ankle deep in slime, Martin and Gundra struggled on to gain the waste land that stretched up from the river bank. The pursuing boat rapidly approached them, and was only some twenty yards behind when its nose stuck in the mud, throwing the rowers forward over their oars. Cursing violently, the men strove to back water, but the boat was held fast, the oars were useless, and it was only after precious time had been wasted that the men decided to jump overboard and continue the pursuit on foot.
In the clinging mud their weight told against them. By the time they had dragged themselves on to the dry land the boys were already disappearing into the hedge-lined lane that wound north-westward in the direction of Spitalfields.
As they ran the chain by which Gundra had been fastened slipped from his steel girdle, and its clanking gave a clue to their line of flight. They heard the heavy feet of their pursuers thundering after them. Martin tucked the chain up as well as he could, scarcely changing his pace, and dragged Gundra along. In a minute or two they would reach houses, and among them, shadowed from the glare of the Fire, they might hope to elude further pursuit.
“No can run,” panted Gundra suddenly, placing his hand over his heart.
“A stitch,” thought Martin.
To lose time would be fatal. Without a moment’s hesitation he hauled the Indian through a thin place in the hedge.
“Lie flat,” he whispered. “Don’t make a sound.”
They lay beneath the hedge, trying to smother the sounds of their quick breathing. The pursuers came up, passed; their footsteps receded.
“Better wait and see if they come back,” thought Martin. “We are both dog-tired, and want a rest.”
Minutes passed. Martin listened for the sound of returning footsteps. Presently he heard them, slow, dragging. The men went by on the other side of the hedge; there was sullen rage in the tone of their voices. Martin waited until he could hear them no longer; then he turned to the Indian boy.
“We can go now,” he said. “The pain is gone, Gundra?”
Gundra was asleep.