CROWDED MOMENTS
Feverishly anxious not to be left alone with his thoughts, Errington was
glad to accept an invitation to dinner that evening with an Englishman
with whom he had lately become rather friendly. They were sitting over
their coffee when a third member of the little community came in.
"Sit down, Hamilton," said Errington's host, whose name was Stevens.
"Have a cigar? You look as if you'd hurried up. Anything wrong?"
"Same old thing. The rebels have licked the Government troops, and are
marching on Cheng Tu. The same performance will be gone through, I
suppose: riot and burning, a bit of a massacre, a scare among the
Europeans; then the Viceroy will take it in hand; he'll pay for the
capture of Su Fing; his head will fly, and then we'll have peace for a
year or two. All comes of education, Stevens; you don't agree with me,
I know; but if they weren't so desperately fond of examinations and
remained in their primal ignorance, I believe there'd be no rebellions.
Su Fing has passed more examinations than any other man in the
province."
"Well, let's be thankful they're so far away. They won't trouble us."
"I'm not so sure. You know young Burroughs of Sui-Fu? You know him, of
course, Errington?"
"Yes."
Errington had never spoken of Burroughs or his intimacy with him: the
subject was too sore.
"Well, that flying boat of his of which we've heard accounts has
disappeared. I don't know the particulars, but we got a wire an hour
ago asking us to keep a look-out."
"A trick of the river pirates, I suppose," said Mr. Stevens: "nothing to
do with the rebellion."
"Perhaps not; but Su Fing owes Burroughs a grudge for his interference
in that affair with Ting Chuh. By the way, weren't you in that too,
Errington?"
"I lent a hand."
"If Su Fing isn't in it himself, you may be sure some of his people are,
and it looks as if we shall have trouble all up the Min."
"You're not going, Errington?" said Mr. Stevens, as his guest rose.
"If you don't mind. I've a bit of a headache, and mean to turn in
early."
"Sorry. Well, come up to-morrow, and we'll have a rubber. Good-night."
The headache was not feigned, but Errington's principal reason for
leaving early was that he wished to think over the news he had just
heard. The flying boat had been stolen, then! He could hardly explain
to himself why he had said nothing of his discovery; unconsciously, no
doubt, he felt that to speak would have opened up the matter of his lost
friendship with Burroughs--a matter which he could not have discussed.
"What a fool I was not to bring it away!" he thought. "Yet why should I
bother myself? The Mole's no pal of mine now. Let him look after his
own property."
But this attitude did not last. The roots of the old comradeship
remained, though the leaves had withered. In the night recollections of
former days crowded upon his mind, and his thoughts of the Mole became
more kindly.
"Hanged if I don't fetch it, and send it back to him," he said to
himself.
He got up about four o'clock in the morning, called Lo San, and told him
to put some chapatties and soda water into the sampan.
"We're going to fetch Mr. Burroughs' flying boat," he said.
"No this time, sah," said the servant, anxiously. "No belongey
leason.[#] Plenty bad fellas longside ribber."
[#] It's unreasonable.
"Sa-ni kow-tow[#]!" cried Errington, using a phrase often employed by
the common people. "You no come, I go all-same alone. Savvy?"
[#] I'll cut off your head.
But Lo San, like most of his kind, had a sense of loyalty. He made no
further protest, but went sullenly about the preparations for the
journey.
Errington, now that he had made up his mind to get the flying boat,
determined to leave nothing undone to ensure success. He took a rifle
as well as his revolver, and gave similar weapons to his "boy." It
occurred to him that he would have done more prudently in enlisting help
among the other Englishmen; but he took a sort of grim pleasure in
setting out unaided; it would be heaping coals of fire on Burroughs'
head, he thought, to restore the flying boat to him. And he did not mean
him to know to whom he was indebted for its recovery.
They left the town before sunrise, when nobody was about. In his
pursuit of sport on the previous day Errington had been led on so
insensibly that he had not taken particular note of the course; and as
Lo San, with the China boy's usual indifference, had left everything to
his master, they were some hours in discovering the channel through the
swamp. Then, however, they proceeded rapidly, though with great
caution. On arriving at the broad pool, they moved slowly round it,
prying up and down the channels opening from it, to make sure that no
other craft was in sight. Then they crept into the tortuous passage to
the right among the reeds, and silently approached the shore where they
had seen the flying boat.
Errington had reason to bless his circumspection when, on rounding the
last curve, he caught sight of six or eight sampans drawn up on the
shoaling ground. He instantly checked his own craft and withdrew a few
yards into the reed-bed, where he could see, without being seen. Two or
three of the better shanties, which on the day before had been boarded
up, were now open. A wizened old Chinawoman was cooking fish at a small
stove in the open space in front--no doubt a late breakfast for the
crews of the sampans, who were resting after nocturnal prowlings.
Errington considered what he should do. In his decision impulse and
calculation had an equal share. An alarm would bring perhaps a score of
pirates after him, and it would be impossible to tow the flying boat
fast enough to escape the pursuit of the pirates' sampans. Even with
nothing in tow, he could not propel his craft so rapidly as these men
who lived on the river. Nor could he bring the boat away by its own
power, for the engine could not be started without noise; and supposing
he got away in time to escape the rifles of the pirates, he would almost
certainly stick in a reed-bed and fall an easy prey. Besides, the
engine might not be in working order. If the flying boat was to be
brought away, swiftness and silence were equally necessary. There was
little doubt that as soon as the meal was cooked, the Chinawoman would
rouse her employers.
The bow of the flying boat touched the shore, where, as Errington had
noticed on the previous day, it was held by a rope attached to a ruined
hut. The stern was partially concealed by a thin clump of rushes.
Errington made up his mind that he must get on board, approaching
through these rushes, and discover whether the engine was in working
order, and whether there was any petrol on board. If the engine was
workable, Lo San must tow the vessel out until he reached clear water,
while he himself got ready to run it under its own power.
It was a chilly morning, but Lo San was shivering rather with fright
than with cold. He looked aghast when his master told him in a rapid
whisper the plan he had formed. But he knew that his best chance of
saving his skin was to do as he was told, and at Errington's order he
gently propelled the sampan until it lay within the shelter of the reeds
near the stern of the flying boat. Telling him to remain perfectly
still, Errington let himself gently down over the side, carrying a rope;
then, keeping the flying boat as much as possible between himself and
the old Chinawoman, he waded the few yards that separated him from the
stern of the vessel. To this he made fast the rope; then, gently
lifting the matting a foot or two, he clambered as quietly as possible
over the side and into the hull.
A little light filtered through the meshes of the mats, but not enough
for his purpose. Accordingly he took out his knife and cut a slit in the
covering on the side away from the huts. Then, crouching low so that
the matting should not be disturbed by his movements, he crept to the
engine.
He found that the petrol tank was nearly empty, but luckily there were
two or three unbroached cans of the spirit. One of these he opened, and
poured the petrol in a slow noiseless trickle into the tank. It was
impossible without noise to test the machinery, but he examined it as
carefully as he could in the dim light: everything appeared to be in
order.
Now crawling into the fore part of the boat, he slipped his hand between
the matting and the gunwale, and cautiously cut through the
mooring-rope. It fell into the water with a dull splash; fortunately
the vessel was so low built that the rope had only a foot or two to
fall. Waiting until the unbroken silence without assured him that the
old woman had not taken alarm, he crept back again towards the stern,
lowered himself into the water as silently as he had raised himself
before, and began to haul very gently. The shore was soft, so that the
movement of the keel over it made no sound; on the other hand, the soil
clung to the keel, and to move the vessel required more force than
Errington expected. But it slid inch by inch towards the water, and
might have floated in absolute silence had Errington been able to see
what he was doing. But just at the critical moment, when the most
minute care was needed, he pulled a little harder than he should have
done, and the bow dropped into the water with a splash.
Errington, hidden behind the stern, did not see the little contretemps
which might have provoked a smile from Lo San, if he had had any sense
of humour, and had not been quaking with fright. At the splash the old
woman looked up from her cooking, in the direction of the waterway
through which the sampans had come. Seeing nothing there, she muttered
a malediction, and was turning to her stove again, when she happened to
notice that the mat-covered craft a few yards away was floating free,
and that the mooring-rope lay on the shore. Without any suspicion other
than that the vessel had somehow worked loose, she dropped the fish she
had been preparing, and hobbled down the shore with the intention of
tying the boat up again. Quickening her steps as she saw that it was
moving away, she leant forward to clutch it, missed her footing, and
plunged headlong into the water with a stifled scream.
Hitherto Errington had carefully kept out of sight; but at the double
sound of scream and splash he could not refrain from peeping round the
side of the boat. The old woman was floundering in the effort to regain
her feet. The water was no more than three feet deep, but the bottom
was muddy, and the woman, scared by what was probably the first
immersion of her life, could not stand up, but was still on hands and
knees, only her head showing. Errington had never heard such screaming.
Fearing that the old creature would be drowned, he rushed forward in his
impulsive way to help her.
His chivalry deserved a better reward. The old crone, as soon as she saw
him, let out a series of even more piercing shrieks than before, and,
finding her feet at last, scrambled ashore, and with a limping trot like
that of an aged cab-horse, fled towards the huts. "Fan-kwei!
Fan-kwei[#]!" she screamed, rubbing her wet face with her fishy fingers.
[#] Foreign devil.
Even as he had reached her, Errington repented of his impulse, for the
woman's shrieks had already drawn a grimy head to the entrance of one of
the huts. The pirate was presumably too sleepy, or too much confused at
the sudden awakening, to see clearly what was going on, for he gave
Errington time to dash back to the stern of the boat. Hauling it
through the reed-bed--and it required little force now that the vessel
was afloat---he fastened the stern to the sampan with a few turns of the
rope, telling Lo San to paddle with all his might towards the water-way.
The Chinaman needed no second bidding. The huts were already discharging
their fierce-eyed occupants. Lo San paddled with an energy of which he
had never shown himself capable in the service of his master. Errington
waded beside the flying boat, doing what he could to fend it off the
reed banks. He was already out of sight of the huts, but the yells and
execrations behind showed only too clearly that the pirates were
launching their sampans in pursuit. Had he got sufficient start of them
to gain the pool?
"Ossoty! ossoty[#]!" he cried to Lo San, and the panting Chinaman put
still more force into his strokes. Errington looked behind, but the
windings of the channel, and the encumbering reeds, prevented him from
seeing how near the pursuers had come. His momentary turn caused the
boat to jam against a clump of rushes, and a few seconds were lost while
he went to the bows and with a heave of the shoulder sent the vessel
once more into the stream.
[#] Make haste.
In a few seconds more, Lo San gave a jubilant shout of "Hai galaw!" He
had come to the pool. Instantly Errington sprang into the flying boat
and, telling the boy still to paddle hard, flung off the matting and
switched on the current. To his intense relief the sparking was
instantaneous.
"Stop!" he yelled.
Lo San dropped his paddle. The propeller was whirling round, and
Errington with his hand on the wheel turned the vessel towards the open
channel. A sampan shot out from the network of reeds behind them. The
man in it uttered a shout, threw down his paddle, lifted his rifle, and
fired. Lo San tumbled into the bottom of the sampan, which was now
being towed by the hydroplane. Errington did not see him; his eyes were
glued on the channel in front. He dared not as yet put the engine at
full speed; the reed-beds on either side projected here and there too
far into the water-way; if the propeller became entangled the game would
be up. More sampans emerged from the rushes; more shots were fired; but
the pirates' marksmanship was wild, and seeing that the hydroplane was
going at a slow pace, they ceased firing and paddled frantically on,
hoping to overtake the vessel before it came clear of the channel into
the main stream.
[Illustration: A CRITICAL MOMENT]
The foremost sampan was within a few yards of the little craft in which
Lo San, quite unhurt, lay cowering in the bottom, when Errington at last
considered it safe to open his throttle. The hydroplane shot forward at
a pace that seemed to snatch the following sampan out of the very hands
of the pursuers. From this time the chase was hopeless. The pirates
paddled on a short distance further, then stopped, yelling with rage,
and firing after their quarry with blind fury. Not a shot took effect.
The hydroplane was soon out of sight, if not out of range.
Errington looked behind. Lo San was not to be seen. With a qualm lest
the boy had been hurt, Errington slowed down, stopped, and waited
anxiously until the sampan came up by its own momentum.
"Are you hurt?" he cried, seeing the boy inert.
"No, sah: velly muchee funk," replied Lo San, without offering to rise.
"Then get up, you owl, and come aboard," said Errington. "Lug the
sampan up after you. First chop numpa one fightee man _you_ are."
"My no likee fightee pidgin," mumbled the boy, as he clambered up.
"You belongey chow-chow pidgin,"[#] said Errington. "Sit down."
[#] You're better at eating.
And starting the engine again he ran into the open river, and rushed
up-stream against a strong current at the rate of twenty-five knots.
On arriving below the town, he steered the vessel into a narrow
unfrequented creek, lowered the sampan, and finished the journey as he
had begun it.
"Don't say a word about this, or I'll sack you," he said to Lo San.
He walked up the town, to the office of the local agent of Mr.
Burroughs.
"Mr. Ted has lost his flying boat, I hear," he said unconcernedly.
"Yes," replied the agent. "It was stolen yesterday."
"Well, the thieves apparently didn't know what to do with it. You'll
find it in the creek just below Mr. Stevens' wharf."
"You don't say so, Mr. Errington! That's extraordinary. I'll wire to
Sui-Fu at once."
"You had better say that you'll send it down in tow of the first
steamer. That'll be safe enough, I think."
"I'll do that; but maybe Mr. Ted will come up and fetch it himself. I'm
glad it's so soon found, any way."
"Yes. And oh!--I say, you needn't mention me," said Errington as he
walked out of the office.
The agent telegraphed the bare news of the recovery of the vessel, and
asked for instructions. But thinking over the matter, he felt a little
puzzled at Errington's manner, and made a shrewd guess that he had
somehow gained possession of the stolen vessel. He wrote next day to
Burroughs, mentioning his suspicion.
Burroughs, who had himself housed the flying boat on the night preceding
the disappearance, and heard of the theft early next morning, was
naturally delighted to hear that his vessel had been recovered. But he
felt somewhat surprised that it had been found at such a distance up the
river. He had at once suspected that the theft was the work of river
pirates, but so far as he knew they were quite unfamiliar with the
working of a petrol motor, and they could hardly have towed the vessel
so far against a strong current in the time which had elapsed between
its loss and its recovery. He telegraphed to his agent to report how
much petrol there was on board, and the reply that the tank was nearly
full, and that there were two unopened cans besides, confirmed his
belief that the boat had not travelled under its own power.
This made him suspect that it had been carried up on some larger vessel;
but no steamer had gone in that direction, nor was it in any case likely
that the boat would have been put on board any of the regular
steamers--unless some one had purloined it for a joke. That was
inconceivable. He mentioned the matter to his comprador, Sing Wen, who
said that he would make inquiries.
Later in the day, the comprador reported that Reinhardt's motor launch
had been seen within a few miles of the port, shortly before dark on the
evening of the theft. A telegram to his agent brought the news that the
launch had passed Chia-ling Fu on the following morning. Putting these
two facts together, Burroughs came to the conclusion that the German had
been concerned in the theft, though for what motive he could not
imagine.
His agent's letter, suggesting that Errington had at least played some
part in its recovery, gave him a good deal of pleasure. The severance of
their friendship had troubled him, and Errington's complete silence
since his removal to Chia-ling Fu had inflicted a deep wound. To him,
looking back upon it, the cause of the quarrel appeared too trumpery to
justify a permanent breach; but knowing his old friend's temper, he had
hesitated to take the first step towards a reconciliation. And being
somewhat stiff-necked himself when he believed that he was in the right,
he could not bring himself to apologize for a wrong which he had not
done.
Now, however, there seemed to be an opening, and he wrote to Errington
the following note:--
"MY DEAR PIDGE,
"I've just heard that I owe the recovery of the old flier to you. Many
thanks. I'm burning to know more about it, and would run up if I
weren't too busy just now. When I can find time I shall come, and give
you a call. I hope you like your new quarters.
"Yours ever, "THE MOLE."
Errington read the note with a curling lip.
"He thinks I've forgotten, does he?" he thought.
And he tore the note across, and threw it petulantly into the
waste-paper basket.