Our heroes had all along had a presentiment that their troubles would
begin some time or other. They had expected it at the very start; but
it had been put off stage by stage throughout the day, until it really
seemed as if it must make haste, if it was to come at all.
And yet everything had gone so smoothly so far; the day had been so
successful, the match so glorious, the supper so gorgeous, that they
could hardly bring themselves to think Nemesis would really pounce upon
them.
That worthy lady, however, though she often takes long credit, always
pays her debts in the long run, and our heroes found her waiting for
them before Grandcourt was many miles behind them.
They had been baulked in their intention of getting back into the
friendly shelter of coach five at the outset, by the very awkward fact
that Mansfield would stand at the door of Grandcourt, talking to a
friend, until coach five had received its passengers, and started.
Coach six followed, and to the horror of our two skulkers the way was
still blocked. Things were getting desperate. The top of number _six_
was packed, and still Mansfield stood across the door.
Should they throw themselves on his mercy, or hurl themselves between
his feet, and overturn him, if haply they might escape in the confusion?
How they hated that Grandcourt fellow who talked to him. What business
had he to keep a Templeton fellow there catching cold? Why hadn't all
Grandcourt been ordered to bed directly after supper?
Horrors! Coach six shouted "All right!" and rattled off.
"We're done for," said Heathcote. "We may as well show up."
"Stay where you are," said Dick; "we shall have to hang on behind the
coach the Eleven go in."
"But, Dick, they're all monitors!"
"Can't be helped," said Dick, peremptorily.
The Eleven's coach drove up, and all Grandcourt turned out with a final
cheer for their conquerors. Mansfield shook hands with his friend, and
climbed up on to the box. The rest followed. Ponty rambled out among
the last. He looked up at the crowded roof, and didn't like it. It was
far too much grind for the dear fellow to swarm up there.
"I'll go inside, Cresswell. Come on; we'll get a seat each, and make
ourselves comfortable."
Cresswell laughed.
"If you hadn't made that catch, old man," said he, "I'd say you were the
laziest beggar I ever saw. But as you've a right to give your orders,
I'll obey. Lead on, mighty captain."
Our heroes shivered, and wondered if any sin in the calendar were equal
to that of sloth! With all the Eleven on the top, they had had a chance
yet of weathering "Mrs" Nemesis, and hanging on behind. But with the
captain and whipper-in inside, they might as well try and hang on a
lion's tail.
"All U P, old man," groaned Heathcote.
"Slip out sharp!" said Dick excitedly. "Our only chance is to get ahead
of them, and pick them up on the road."
Scarcely any one noticed the two dismayed little Templetonians, as they
squeezed out of the gate, with their caps drawn over their eyes, and
their heads diligently turned away from the coach of the Eleven. One
fellow, however, spotted them, and scared the wits out of them, by
saying "Hallo! here are two youngsters left behind. Get inside this
coach; there's lots of room. Look alive, they're starting."
"Oh, thanks!" said Dick, scarcely able to speak for the jumping of his
heart, "we're going to do a trot the first mile or so. Thanks awfully!
Good-bye." And to the amazement of the Grandcourtier, the small pair
started to run with their heads down and their fists up, at the rate of
seven miles an hour.
"By George," thought he to himself, "some of those Templeton kids go the
pace."
The pleasant village of Grandcourt was startled that evening, as the
shades of night fell, by the sight of two small boys trotting hard down
the High Street, side by side, some three hundred yards in advance of
the coach which carried the conquering heroes of Templeton; like eastern
couriers who run before the chaise of the great man. But those two
heeded neither looks nor jeers; their ears were deaf to the cry of "Stop
thief," and shouts of "Two to one on Sandy," stirred no emotions in
their fluttering breasts. Luckily for them the road began uphill, so
they were able to get a fair start by the time the village was clear.
When at last they pulled up breathless at the road-side, they could see
the lamp of the coach a quarter of a mile down the road, advancing
slowly.
"It's touch and go," said Heathcote, "if we do it without getting
nabbed. That wretched light shows up everything."
"Yes, I don't like it," said Dick; "we'd better lie down in the ditch,
Georgie, till it's got past. They'll trot as soon as they get up here
on to the level, and we must make a shot at the step. Those fellows
inside are sure not to be looking out."
It was an anxious few minutes as the light approached, and shot its rays
over the prostrate bodies of the boys in the ditch. They dared not lift
their faces as it passed, and it was only when, as Dick had predicted,
the walk changed into a trot, that they started from their lurking-
place, and gave chase.
"Why," groaned Heathcote, as they came up, "it's got no step!"
For once, Dick was gravelled. The idea that the coach was not like all
the other coaches had never once crossed his mind; and he felt beaten.
The two unhappy pursuers, however, kept up the chase, pawing the
forbidding coach door, very much as kittens paw the outside of a gold-
fish bowl.
Alas! there was nothing to lay hold of; not even a handle or a nail!
"Shall we yell?" gasped Heathcote, nearly at the end of his wind.
"Wait a bit. Is there anything underneath we could lay hold of?"
They groped, but, as it seemed, fruitlessly. Dick, however, stooped
again, and next moment turned round radiant.
"There's a bit of string," said he. "Keep it up, old man, and we'll get
hold of it."
With much diving he succeeded in picking up the end of a casual piece of
string that had somehow got its other end fastened to a nut underneath
the coach. As quick as thought he whipped out his handkerchief and
looped it on to the string. Then Heathcote whipped out his handkerchief
and looped it on to Dick's, and between them the two held on grimly, and
tried to fancy their troubles were at an end.
The support of a piece of stray string at the tail of a coach,
supplemented by two pocket-handkerchiefs, may be grateful, but for
practical purposes it is at best a flimsy stay, and had it not been for
occasional hills at which to breathe, our heroes might have found it out
at once.
As it was, they were carried three or four miles on their way by the
purely moral support of their holdfast until the last of the hills was
climbed, and the long steady slope which led down to Templeton opened
before the travellers and reminded the horses of corn and stable. Then
a trot began, which put the actual support of the extemporised cable to
the test.
Our heroes, worn out already, could not, try all they would, keep it
slack. Every step it became tauter and tauter, until at last you might
have played a tune upon it. They made one gallant effort to relieve the
strain, but, alas! it was no good. There was a crack of the whip ahead,
the horses, full of their coming supper, gave a bound forward, and that
moment on the lonely road, five miles from home, sprawled Heathcote,
with Dick in his lap, and two knotted pocket-handkerchiefs in the dust
at their feet. They had no breath left to shout, no energy to overtake,
so they sat there panting, watching the coach vanish into the night and
humbly wondering--what next?
"Here's a soak!" said Heathcote at last, recovering speech and slowly
untying his handkerchief from the cable in order to mop his face.
"Yes," said Dick, getting off his friend's lap and looking dismally down
the road; "our ride home didn't come off after all."
"We came off, though!" said Heathcote. But he corrected himself as he
saw Dick wearily round upon him. "I mean--I say, what must we do?"
"Stump it," said Dick. "It's about five miles."
Heathcote whistled.
"Pity we didn't cheek it into our own coach," said he. "I say, Dick,
what a row there'll be!"
"Of course there will," said Dick. "Have you only just found that out?
Come along; we'll be late."
Considering it was eight o'clock and they were yet five miles from home,
this last observation was sagacious.
They strolled on for half an hour in silence, mending their pace as they
recovered their wind, until at the end of that time they had settled
down into a steady three-and-a-half miles an hour, and felt rather more
like getting home than they had done.
"Another hour will do it," said Dick. "I say, we might smuggle in after
all, Georgie. What a crow if we do, eh?"
Georgie inwardly reflected that there would be a crow of some sort or
other whatever happened, but he prudently reserved his opinion and said,
"Rather!"
"We ought to come to the cross-roads before long," said Dick. "I hope
to goodness you know which one goes to Templeton."
"No, I don't; but there's bound to be a post."
There was a post, but, though they climbed up it and rubbed their eye-
lashes along each arm, they could get no guiding out of it. They could
see an L on one arm, and an N on another, and a full stop on each of the
other two, but, even with this intelligence, they felt that the road to
Templeton was still open to doubt, as, indeed, after their wanderings
round and round the sign-post, they presently had to admit was the case
with the road by which they had just come.
"We'd better make ourselves snug here for the night," said Heathcote,
who fully took in the situation.
"That would be coming to a full stop with a vengeance!" said Dick.
"Shut up; I let you off--and, by Jove, here's somebody coming!"
The red embers of a pipe, followed by a hulking nautical form, hove
slowly in sight as he spoke, and never did a sail cheer the eyes of
shipwrecked mariners as did this apparition bring comfort to Dick and
Heathcote.
"I say," said the former, advancing out of the shades and almost
startling the unsuspecting salt, "we've lost our way. Which road goes
to Templeton?"
The big sailor gave a grunt and lay to in an unsteady way, which
convinced our heroes, unlearned as they were in such matters, that he
wasn't quite sober.
"What d'yer want ter go ter Templeton fur?" demanded he.
"We belong to the school, and we've got left behind."
The sailor laughed an unsympathetic laugh and took his pipe out of his
mouth.
"Yer belong to the school, do yer, and yer've lost yer way?"
"Yes; can you put us right?"
"Yes, I can put yer right," said the brawny young salt, putting his pipe
back between his lips. "What'll yer stand?"
"We'll give you a shilling," said Dick.
"Yer will? Yer'll give me a sovereign apiece, or I'll bash yer!"
And he laid a hand on the arm of each of his victims, chuckling and
smoking as he looked down on their puny efforts to escape.
"Turn out yer pockets, nobs!" said he, giving them a slight admonitory
shake.
"I haven't got a sovereign," said Heathcote.
Dick did not even condescend to plead; he fell headlong on his huge
opponent, shouting, in the midst of his blows--
"Let us go, do you hear? I know your name; you're Tom White, the
boatman, and I'll get you locked up if you don't."
But even this valiant threat, and the still more valiant struggles of
the two boys, availed nothing with the nautical highwayman, who smoked,
and shook the bones of his wretched captives, till they were fain to
call for mercy.
The mercy was dearly bought. Dick's half-sovereign, Heathcote's twelve
shillings, the penknife with the gouge, among them did not make up the
price. One by one their pockets were turned inside out, and whatever
there took the fancy of the noble mariner went into the ransom.
Pencils, india-rubber, keys, and even a photograph of Dick's mother were
impounded; while resistance, or even expostulation only added bone-
shaking into the bargain; till, at last, the unhappy lambs were glad to
assist at their own fleecing, in order to expedite their release.
"There yer are," said Tom, when at last the operation was over, "that's
about all I want of yer, my hearties; and if yer want the road to
Templeton, that's she, and good-night to yer, and thank yer kindly.
Next time yer want a sail, don't forget to give an honest jack tar a
turn. Knows my name, do yer? Blessed if I ever see you afore."
"You're a beastly, low, tipsy thief," shouted Dick, from a respectful
distance, "and we'll get you paid out for this."
And not waiting for a reply, the two unfortunates, less heavily weighted
than ever, started down the road, snorting with rage and indignation and
full of thoughts of the direst revenge.
Nemesis was coming down on them at last with a vengeance!
Two miles they went before speech came to the relief of their wounded
feelings.
"It's transportation," said Heathcote.
"Cat-o'-nine-tails too," said Dick.
"Jolly good job," said Heathcote.
And they went on another mile.
Then it occurred to them this was not the road along which they had
driven in the morning; and once more the villainy of Tom White broke
upon them in all its blackness.
"He's sent us upon the wrong road!" said Heathcote, beginning at last to
feel that Nemesis was a little overdoing it.
Dick gulped down something, and walked on in silence.
"Where are you going? What's the use of going on?"
"May as well," said Dick, striding on. "It's bound to lead somewhere."
In which comfortable conviction they accomplished another half-mile.
Then to their satisfaction, and somewhat to Dick's self-satisfaction,
they heard a low noise ahead, which they knew must be the sea.
"I thought it would bring us out," said Dick. "When once we get at the
sea, we can't help finding Templeton."
"Unless we take a wrong turn to start with, and then we shall have to
walk all round England before we turn up."
"Shut up, Georgie, we've had foolery enough for one night."
Heathcote collapsed, and another mile brought the two wanderers to the
sea.
Luckily for them, the rising moon came to their rescue in deciding
whereabouts they were.
"Not far out," said Dick, "there's the Sprit Rock; two miles more will
do it."
"I shan't be sorry when I'm in bed," said Heathcote.
"I shan't be sorry when I see Tom White hung. I say, we may as well
have a dip before we go on."
So they solaced themselves with a plunge in the moonlit sea, which,
after their dusty labours, was wonderfully refreshing. Having dressed
again, all but their shoes and stockings, which they looped together and
hung over their shoulders, they tucked up their trousers, and started to
wade along the strand to their journey's end.
The tide had only just started to come in, so they had the benefit of
the hard sand, which, combined with the soft, refreshing water and the
bright moonlight, rendered their pilgrimage as pleasant as, under the
circumstances, they could have desired. Their talk was of Thomas White,
for whom it was well he was not within earshot. They arrested him,
tried him, sentenced him, flogged him, transported him, and yet were not
satisfied.
"You know, Georgie," said Dick, working himself into a fury, "he
collared my mother's photograph! the low cad! I'd be a beast if I
didn't pay him out."
"Rather! and I'll back you up, old man. I was going to get a tennis-bat
with that twelve bob; the blackguard!"
About a mile from home the lights of Templeton hove in sight; but still
our heroes' talk was of Tom White and the next assizes.
They had the beach to themselves, with only a few stranded boats for
company, over whose anchors they had to pick their way gingerly.
"The tide's coming in at a lick," said Dick. "Half an hour later, we
should have had to tramp on the soft sand-- Lookout, you duffer!"
The last remark was caused by Heathcote tripping over a rope, and coming
down all fours on the wet sand.
"Bother that rope," said he, "I never saw it. I say, it's rather a
small one for that big boat, isn't it?"
"It is," said Dick, walking round to the stern of the boat in question,
"its-- Hallo, I say, Georgie, look here!"
Georgie looked in the direction of Dick's finger, and read the words,
"'_Martha_,' _Thomas White, Templeton_" on the stern of the boat.
Both boys whistled. Then Dick marched resolutely up to the bows, over a
thwart in which the anchor rope was hitched in a loop.
"Tom White must have been drunk when he anchored this boat," said Dick.
"She'll never hold if the wind gets up."
"Good job, too," said Heathcote.
"So I think," said Dick, thoughtfully. "I say, Georgie," added he, with
his fingers playing on the end of the loop, "Tom White's a frightful
cad, isn't he?"
"Rather!"
"And a thief, too?"
"I should think so."
"It would serve him jolly well right if he lost his boat."
"He don't deserve to have a boat at all."
"This knot," said Dick, slipping the loop, "wouldn't hold against a
single lurch. Why, it comes undone in a fellow's hand--"
And the end dropped idly on the floor of the boat as he spoke.
Heathcote nodded.
"Think of the cad having robbed two juniors like us, and collared
mother's photograph, too, the brute!" said Dick, taking his friend's arm
and walking on.
They talked no longer of Thomas White, but admired the moonlight, and
wondered how soon the tide would be up, and speculated as to whether
there wasn't a breeze getting up off the land. Once they turned back,
and glanced at the black hull, lying, still aground, with the tide yards
away yet. Then they thought a trot would warm them up before they put
on their boots, and mounted the cliff to Templeton.
The clock struck half-past eleven as they knocked modestly at the
porter's lodge. The porter was up, and evidently expected them.
"Nice goings-on, young gentlemen," said he. "The Doctor wishes to see
you after chapel in the morning. In you go. I'm sorry for you."
With fluttering hearts they stole across the moonlit Quadrangle, and
gazed round at the grim windows that peered down on them from every
side. The housekeeper was up and ready for them, too.
"Bad boys," said she, as she opened the door; "go to bed quietly, and
make no noise. The Doctor will be ready for you the moment chapel is
over."
They mounted the creaking stairs, and crawled guiltily along the passage
to their dormitory.
The dormitory monitor was sitting up in bed ready for them, too.
"Oh, you have turned up, have you?" said he. "I hope you'll enjoy
yourselves with Winter in the morning. Most of the fellows say it's
expulsion; but I rather fancy a licking, myself. Cut into bed, and
don't make a noise."
And he curled himself up in his bedclothes, and slept the sleep of the
just, which was more than could be said for the fitful slumbers of our
heroes, which visions of Tom White's boat, and Ponty's pocket, and the
piece of string at the tail of the Eleven's coach, combined to make the
reverse of sound.
In the middle of the night Dick, as he lay awake, felt Heathcote's hand
nudging him.
"I say, Dick!" said the latter, "the wind's got up. Do you hear it?"
"Shut up, Georgie. I'm just asleep."
Nemesis handed in her last cheque to our heroes after chapel next
morning in the Doctor's study. I will spare the reader the harrowing
details of that serious interview. Suffice it to say that the dormitory
fag was right, and that Mrs Partlett was spared the trouble of packing
up the two young gentlemen's wardrobes.
But they emerged from the study wiser and sadder men. They knew more
about the properties of a certain flexible wood than they had ever
dreamed of before. They also felt themselves marked men in high
quarters, with a blot on their new boy's scutcheon which it would take a
heap of virtue to efface.
"By George!" said Dick that afternoon, "we got it hot--too hot,
Georgie."
"I think Winter might have let us down rather easier, myself," said
Georgie.
There was a pause.
"Was it windy last night?" asked Dick.
"Rather!" said Georgie.
"Anything new down town?"
"Couldn't hear anything."
"Hum! I wonder what that beast's done with mother's photograph? I say,
Georgie, what a howling brute he was!"
"He was; he deserves anything."
Strange, if so, that neither of our young heroes went to the police
station and informed against their man. On the contrary, they went up
on to the cliffs after school, and scanned the bay from headland to
headland, doubtless lost in the wonders of the deep, and wishing very
much they could tell what the wild waves were saying as to the
whereabouts of the _Martha_.