your brains away, my lad. Them brass boxes, now. There’s no telling what
mischief’s in them boxes. Still, what you can’t help, make the best of,
and I say no more for the present. When the Fire’s over maybe I’ll look
into things a bit: I’ve no time for it now—indeed, I must get back to
my duty.”
He went out hurriedly, before Martin had related what had happened to
the old Frenchman. Susan and Lucy, when that story was told, were both
indignant at the crowd’s treatment of their friend, and nothing would
satisfy the girl but that she must take him a bowl of syllabub to
comfort him, as she said.
Martin was too restless to remain indoors. The fascination of the Fire
drew him again into the streets, which were now still more congested,
the stream of fugitives hurrying to the fields meeting a stream of
countrymen whom the prospect of making money by hiring out their carts
had drawn to the City. The roar of the flames, the crash of falling
houses, the cries and oaths of the people struggling to save their
goods, the smells from burning oil and spices, the blazing flakes
fantastically whirling in the wind, made up a series of vivid
impressions that remained in Martin’s memory for many a day.
Towards evening he found himself again in the neighbourhood of Mr.
Slocum’s house. He had not gone there of set purpose, but had been drawn
there unconsciously, perhaps, by a vague recollection of Dick Gollop’s
remarks.
Going down the lane towards the back entrance, he was brought to a halt
by the sight of a large hand-truck at the door. The three ’prentices, in
their shirt sleeves, were loading it with boxes under the direction of
Mr. Slocum.
“He’s scared at last,” thought Martin. “But what a strange time to
choose for going away.”
He remained in a shady corner, watching. It was certainly high time that
the goldsmith’s valuables were removed, for the Fire had reached the
foot of the streets leading up to Cheapside.
The loading was finished a few minutes after Martin’s arrival, and the
’prentices put on their coats.
“Am I not to come, sir?” Martin heard Hopton say.
“No; you are to stay and guard the shop. Jenks and Butler can wheel the
truck. Too many of us would attract attention, and the dusk will bring
out the thieves.”
He threw a sheet over the truck, tying it down at the corners. So far as
appearance went, the load might have consisted only of household goods
like those which hundreds of citizens had been moving all the day.
The two younger ’prentices seized the handles of the truck and wheeled
it up the lane. Martin, shrinking back in his corner, noticed that Mr.
Slocum, walking close behind, had a pistol projecting from his pocket.
When they had turned into Cheapside, Martin went up to Hopton as he was
going back to the door.
“Hallo!” said Hopton. “Is the Frenchman in trouble again?”
“No; he won’t stir out again,” replied Martin. “So Slocum has moved at
last.”
“The lunatic! Why didn’t he go earlier? He’ll have to make a long round
to get to the Tower, and it will be nearly dark before he arrives: just
the time for footpads to attack him. There’s nobody left in the house,
or I’d follow and see that he gets there safely.”
“I’ll go,” said Martin, once more amused at Hopton’s idea of his own
importance.
Hopton gave a snort. “What could you do if they were attacked?” he
asked. “You’ve no weapons.”
“But I could shout.”
“Go, then. It’s no concern of yours, but you might raise a hullabaloo if
anything happens. I suppose I must kick my heels here until Slocum
releases me, though I promise you I won’t stay if the flames come
anywhere near.”
Martin set off, but during the minute or two he had been talking with
Hopton the barrow had passed out of sight among the thronging people.
Knowing that it must take a northerly direction in order to skirt the
Fire, he crossed Cheapside and dodged his way into Milk Street, the
nearest of the streets branching out of the main thoroughfare. There was
no sign of the barrow, yet it could not have got far, owing to the
crowd.
He struck into a by-lane and came to Wood Street. The crowd here was not
so thick, and he was able to move more quickly. At the corner of Silver
Street he stopped and looked round on all sides. The evening gloom was
already descending, though the glow in the sky lit up the over-arching
houses.
“I shall never find them now,” he thought. But just at that moment the
grinding of wheels on the cobbles drew his attention. He glanced round
and saw the barrow coming along from the direction of the Guildhall.
“They tried that way and couldn’t get through, I suppose,” he said to
himself, and slipped into the entrance of a yard until the barrow had
passed. “Now to keep them in sight.”
CHAPTER THE TWENTY-FIFTH
MARTIN FOLLOWS
Martin could hardly have explained why he felt so keenly interested in
the progress of the barrow. Mr. Slocum was only doing what most of the
goldsmiths had already done, and it was certainly his duty to save the
property of his master, Mr. Greatorex. But recent incidents had inspired
Martin with so deep a distrust of Mr. Slocum that he was determined not
to lose sight of him until the barrow had safely entered the portals of
the Tower.
He kept far enough behind not to be observed, yet close enough to run no
risk of missing the party again.
“I’m glad I’m not shoving the barrow,” he thought.
The air that summer evening was hot, and its oppressiveness was enhanced
by the pervasive smell of burning. Martin followed the toiling
’prentices into Aldersgate Street and turned after them into London
Wall, expecting them to swing to the right at Bishopsgate, and so finish
their long round to the Tower.
To his surprise, they took the eastward direction, and struck into a
winding lane that would bring them, certainly, to the river, but at a
point far away from their supposed destination. Martin was conscious of
a growing curiosity, even of excitement. The lane was narrow, and as the
dusk was deepening he lessened the distance between him and the barrow.
But a little farther on, where the lane made a sharp curve, he hung back
for a moment to give the party time to get well round the corner.
As he did so a man came suddenly round on the inside of the curve,
brushed past him, and continued his course up the lane towards the main
street. Martin glanced round; the man was fast disappearing into the
dusk, but there was something in his shape and gait that reminded Martin
vaguely of someone he had seen, he could not remember when or where. The
impression passed in a moment, and he hurried on, anxious not to lose
sight of his quarry.
Turning the corner, he found himself between parallel lines of tall
warehouses, some flush with the lane, others standing back behind small
yards in which goods were no doubt unloaded. He had not taken many steps
when he heard shrill cries ahead, and broke into a run, wondering why
thieves had been attracted to so quiet a spot, remote from the crowds.
Some thirty yards ahead the lane made another sharp twist. When Martin
reached the bend he was just in time to see, dimly in the fading light,
one of the ’prentices being shoved by a man through the gateway of a
warehouse yard. The barrow, Mr. Slocum, and the other ’prentice were
already out of sight.
Martin recognised the voice of the lad who was being roughly used as
that of Butler, and he dashed on at his topmost speed, shouting as he
ran. For a moment he had no other thought than to save the lad who had
been his fellow-'prentice from the hands of his assailant. But before he
gained the scene the wooden gate was banged to; he heard the grating of
a bolt and Butler’s protesting cries as he was lugged across the yard.
He looked up. The gate and the wall on either side of it were at least
ten feet high; their tops were studded with nails or jagged glass; even
if he found a foothold it would be impossible to scale them. He banged
at the door, still shouting; but there was no response. Work in the
warehouse was over for the day, and no doubt any workmen or loungers who
might ordinarily have been about were far away, watching the Fire. The
cries of Butler had ceased; within the yard all was silent.
Feeling that to knock or shout any longer here would merely be wasting
time, Martin wondered whether he could find admittance at the back of
the warehouse. He ran on a few yards and came upon a narrow passage
striking off at right angles to the lane. At a venture he turned into
this, and found himself within a few moments in a lane that evidently
ran parallel with the one he had left.
He had only just rounded the corner when he heard the rattling of cart
wheels on the cobbles at the river-end of the lane, and caught sight of
a few strange figures dimly outlined against the background of sky.
“Stop thief!” he shouted, dashing down the lane.
For some minutes he had been so confused that he only now guessed that
Mr. Slocum’s barrow had entered by the gateway through which Butler had
been forced; otherwise it could scarcely have disappeared so suddenly.
As he ran, calling for help, he noticed that a large gateway, with a
wicket beside it, stood wide open on his left. He rushed up to the first
man he overtook.
“There is villainy going on,” he said. “Help me!”
“I’m helping myself,” the man growled; and the strangeness of his figure
was accounted for by the huge bundle he carried on his back. He was one
of the fugitives who were conveying their possessions to the river in
the hope of finding a boat.
Martin ran on, and in the fast-gathering darkness cannoned into another
man laden almost as heavily.
“Mind your steps!” shouted the man; and with his free hand he dealt
Martin a blow that sent him staggering against the wall. Recovering
himself he dashed on, his cries to one and another going unheeded.
People were too much concerned with their own troubles to regard the
vague demands of a lad.
And then suddenly he found himself on the edge of a little quay
stretching into the river. There was a reddish glow reflected from the
water, and by this light he recognised, at the farther end of the quay,
the handcart he had lost sight of. It was standing deserted. A boat was
putting off, piled with boxes. The glow of the fire glinted on their
brass-bound corners and on the swarthy face of Blackbeard, who held the
tiller strings while two other men rowed steadily down stream.
Beyond the quay there were two or three other boats into which fugitive
citizens were dumping their goods.
“Row after that boat!” Martin cried to the watermen. “It contains stolen
goods.”
“Not the only one,” chuckled one of the men.
“Things of great value,” Martin persisted, looking round in vain to find
a waterman whom he knew. “The owner will reward you richly.”
“Out of my way,” cried the man with whom Martin had collided. “What’s
your fare, waterman?”
“Five shillings a mile,” the man replied.
“You’re a shark, making your profit out of other folk’s calamities. But
I suppose I must pay you, though ’tis five times the proper price. Take
this bundle.”
Seeing that the watermen were too intent on present gain to trouble
about a visionary reward, Martin turned away. And then he asked himself,
what had become of Slocum and the other ’prentice? They were certainly
not with Blackbeard in the boat. Was it possible that they too had been
carried prisoners into the warehouse?
He retraced his steps and came to the large gateway which he had guessed
to be the main entrance to the warehouse. It was now closed, as was also
the wicket at the side. He was trying the latch when a man came up
behind.
“Want to get in, eh? Well, so you shall.”
Martin turned hastily, and recognised with alarm the sinister face of
the man with the scar.
Before he could recover his wits he was seized in an iron grip. His
captor inserted a key in the lock of the wicket gate, turned it, and
snarling: “Oh, you shall get in, you shall,” pushed Martin before him
into the yard.
CHAPTER THE TWENTY-SIXTH
PRISONERS
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 the _Santa Maria_ was 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
MARTIN FINDS A WAY
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 the _Santa 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 for _Santa 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 the _Santa Maria_.
“If only I can get out,” Martin thought, “I’ll be in time to put a spoke
in Blackbeard’s wheel.”