“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.
CHAPTER THE THIRTY-FIRST
GOLLOP MAKES A DISCOVERY
The little fellow screamed when Martin roused him, and started up in a
fright.
“Hush! It’s all right,” said Martin. “The men have gone. We must get
home and tell Gollop all about it. He will tell us what is best to be
done.”
He reflected that if, as he supposed, the barge held stolen goods that
were to form part of the cargo of the _Santa Maria_, it would take some
time to row that clumsy craft against the tide, and it might still be
possible to intervene before the vessel sailed. No doubt she would leave
her moorings as soon as the tide turned, and make what headway she could
against the east wind.
Martin had no idea what hour of the night it was, and he was surprised,
before they had gone far on the homeward way, to notice signs of dawn in
the sky. When they reached the house the sun was peering above the
horizon, its beams competing with the glow of the Fire.
Descending into the basement, Martin found the old Frenchman in anxious
consultation with the Gollops.
“Here’s Martin!” cried Lucy gleefully. “Oh, I _am_ glad you’ve come
home. We’ve been in such a state about you.”
“Not a wink of sleep for any of us all night,” said Susan. “Why, bless
me! Here’s the blackamoor too.”
Gundra had crept in timidly behind the elder boy.
“Now what have you to say for yourself?” the woman went on. “As if there
weren’t worries enough without——”
“Peace, woman!” cried the constable. “Don’t rate the lad. He’s fair
foundered, by the look of him. Sit you down, Martin, and tell us what
has kept you out all night.”
Martin was glad enough to rest, and Lucy had already taken possession of
Gundra, placed him in a corner of the settle, and was asking eager
questions about the strange girdle he wore about his body.
Without wasting words Martin related how he had followed Mr. Slocum’s
handcart, been trapped in the yard, and finally carried off to the
disused warehouse; how he had escaped with Gundra, and got away on the
barge.
“You’re a chip of the old block,” said Gollop delightedly; “and your
poor father would be proud of you.”
“That Slocum’s a wretch,” said Susan. “I always said so. Now, what are
you going to do, Gollop?”
“Do! What can I do?”
“There’s a man for you! Just as bad as the Lord Mayor. What can you do,
indeed! Why, just set off after that barge this very minute and stop it
before it’s too late.”
“Spoken like a woman,” responded Gollop. “You don’t understand the law,
Sue. Before that barge can be stopped there must be a warrant drawn up
proper, saying as how Richard Gollop, constable——”
“Fiddle-diddle!” Susan broke in scornfully. “Go out and get your
warrant, then, instead of talking about it.”
“I’d get never a magistrate to listen to me; they can’t think of nothing
but the Fire. But I’ll tell you what I will do: I’ll go down to the
river and see this vessel, _Santa_ something or other; there’s plenty of
time, for they’ve got to unload the barge. I’ll ask a question or two
along the riverside, and if what I hear bears out the lad’s tale——”
“There! Get along with you,” cried his wife. “It’s a mercy the world
isn’t all made of men.”
“What you can’t help, make the best of,” said Gollop, as he hurried
away.
Susan quickly prepared a meal for the famished boys. While she did so
she continued the conversation with Mounseer which Martin’s entrance had
interrupted. It appeared that the Frenchman was becoming anxious about
the safety of the house. On returning home about midnight the constable
had reported that there were signs of the Fire’s working back against
the wind. Already several houses eastward of Pudding Lane had been
consumed by the flames, and although the danger was as yet not imminent,
there was a risk that if the wind lulled or changed, the area of
destruction would extend to the Tower and the adjacent streets.
“Keep your mind easy, Mounseer,” said Susan with comfortable assurance.
“The neighbours will give us good warning if so be the Fire comes nigh,
and you’ll have time to collect your belongings; not that you’ve got
much to lose, so far as I know.”
Martin caught a strange look on the Frenchman’s face as he left the room
to return to his own apartment.
“When you’ve eat your fill, Martin,” said Susan, “you’d better go to
sleep. The blackamoor child has dropped off already, poor lamb!”
Martin lay down on his bed, but he found it impossible to sleep. His
brain whirled with thoughts of the Fire, and the barge, and the _Santa
Maria_; of Slocum, and Blackbeard, and the rest; and in spite of Susan’s
confidence the mere suggestion that the Fire might spread to their own
house and swallow it up filled him with alarm. He could not bear to
think that the Gollops might presently be among the thousands of
families that had lost their all.
Presently he could not endure inaction any longer. He sprang up.
“I am going out,” he said. “I must see for myself where the Fire has got
to. I won’t be very long.”
At the top of the stairs he banged into Gollop, red-faced and panting
through haste.
“Bless my eyes! Here’s a wonder!” gasped the man.
“What is it? Has the Fire got to us?” said Martin.
“The Fire! What’s the Fire to you? Martin, my lad, never did I think I’d
live to see this day.”
“Tell me—what is it?” asked Martin in wonder.
“Why, call me a Dutchman if that there Portugal ship ain’t the _Merry
Maid_, your father’s own vessel what never came home, to his ruin, poor
old captain of mine. The moment I set eyes on her I rubbed ’em, ’cos I
couldn’t believe it. But I knowed them lines; I knowed the pretty
creature, though they’d done something to alter the look of her. She’s
the captain’s ship as sure as I’m alive. And now you must come with me;
we’ll go to the Lord Mayor or somebody and get a warrant. She’s ready to
slip her moorings; we must arrest her; what’s your father’s is yours;
that’s the law, and soon they’ll know it!”
Waiting just long enough to tell his wife of his amazing discovery, the
constable hurried away with Martin in his quest of the Lord Mayor. But
that magnate was not to be found; nor were any of the sheriffs
discovered in the devastated city. Gollop, distracted, was beating his
wits to recall the name and address of some magistrate in a district
still untouched when Martin suddenly caught sight of Mr. Pemberton, the
customer of Slocum’s whom he had met on two occasions. The gentleman was
standing among a group of his friends, to whom he was pointing out the
site of his own ruined dwelling.
“He must be a magistrate,” thought Martin, remembering how Mr. Pemberton
had interfered when the crowd was molesting the Frenchman. “I’ll ask
him.”
He ran up to the group, pushed his way among them without much ceremony,
and said:
“Sir, may I speak to you?”
Mr. Pemberton stared at the eager boy, displeased at what appeared to be
an unmannerly intrusion. Then his brow cleared; he smiled and said:
“My friend the fighter, isn’t it? Well, what have you been fighting
about now?”
Martin coloured as he felt the eyes of the group focussed on him. But he
recovered his composure in a moment, and began to pour out his story. At
first the gentlemen listened with smiles of amusement or toleration, but
as he proceeded their interest was awakened, and Mr. Pemberton himself
watched him with keen attention.
“Stay,” he said at one point. “Your father was Reuben Leake?”
“Yes, sir, that was his name.”
“I have heard of him; a sound mariner. Go on.”
Martin continued his story, doing his best to make its complications
clear.
“Now let me understand,” said Mr. Pemberton when he had finished. “This
vessel, the _Santa Maria_, once the _Merry Maid_, is on the point of
sailing with a cargo which you suspect to consist of stolen goods, some
of them the property of the respected goldsmith Mr. Greatorex. You say
that Mr. Slocum, Mr. Greatorex’s man, is concerned in this crime with
the captain of the vessel, whom you call Blackbeard, and a man named
Seymour. The crew is mainly foreign; they have held an Indian boy as a
slave, and they kidnapped him when you had rescued him from them, and
shut you up with him in a warehouse at Deptford. Have I the story
right?”
“Yes, sir; all that is true.”
“Well, let me say—and my friends will agree with me—that you have
shown uncommon intelligence and courage and resource. Your running off
with the barge was an admirable device and deserved to succeed. And now
I understand that you wish to have a warrant for the arrest of the
vessel before she leaves the river. But you must have someone in
authority to execute the warrant, and in the present state of the
city——”
“There’s me, your worship,” broke in Gollop, who had stood at hand.
“Being a man of law in the shape of a constable——”
“Ah! Well, we must lose no time. But I have no paper, no pen—— Stay,
is that a half-burnt ledger I see among the ashes there?”
Martin leapt to the spot and picked up the book. Mr. Pemberton tore out
a page, hurriedly wrote a few lines upon it with a pencil, and handed it
to the constable.
“There, my man,” he said, “that is the best I can do for you. I cannot
swear that the phraseology is absolutely in form, but it will serve. I
don’t know what you will do if your Blackbeard shows fight. There is no
available force to put at your disposal; you must do the best you can. I
wish you success. I shall be glad to learn the issue of this strange
affair.”
CHAPTER THE THIRTY-SECOND
THE PURSUIT
Martin sat on a thwart side by side with Hopton, listening intently to
the discussion that passed between Gollop and Boulter as they pulled the
boat steadily downstream.
“She got away with the first of the ebb,” said the constable. “What’s
the odds on our catching her?”
“That depends,” replied the waterman cautiously. “I reckon she’s got
three or four hours’ start, but she won’t go faster than the tide.”
“Not so fast, against this wind,” said Gollop.
“True, but it ain’t blowing so hard, and it’s my belief it’ll drop to a
calm afore night. Well then, she’ll hardly make Gravesend afore the turn
of tide, and as she can’t beat up against the wind in the narrow reaches
she’ll have to lay up when the ebb fails. For summat about three hours
we ought to gain a bit on her, but not so much as to overhaul her, and
then we’ll have the tide against us.”
“And be dead beat; I ain’t so handy with an oar as I was in my sea-going
days.”
“Well, I’ve a friend or two in Woolwich, and if so be they ain’t saving
the London folk’s goods I’ll get ’em to come aboard and take a spell
while we rest. But suppose we catch the Portugal ship, what then,
Gollop?”
“Why, I’ve got a warrant, ain’t I?”
“Much good that’ll be,” said Boulter scornfully. “They won’t care a fig
for warrants or anything but swords and firelocks. You ought to have
took a boatload of soldiers, that’s what I say.”
“Ay, it’s easy to say, but it couldn’t be done. Well, what you can’t
help, make the best of. I tell you this: that Portugal ship, leastways
the _Merry Maid_, shan’t get out of the river if I can help it.”
Martin was half-inclined to regard the pursuit as a wild-goose chase,
and Hopton had nothing to say to encourage him; but uncertainty gave a
spice to the adventure, and they felt a pleasant thrill of anticipation.
By the time they reached Woolwich the tide had turned, and Boulter
thought it well to pull to the shore, partly for rest and food, partly
to seek out his friends, enquire of them whether they had noticed the
Portugal ship, and try to enlist their help. Luckily he came upon two
watermen whom he knew well, and who were disengaged. From them he learnt
that the vessel had passed about three hours before; she had tow boats
out, towing her, and it was a matter of speculation on the riverside why
her crew were putting themselves to so much exertion in such hot
weather.
Gollop’s face fell when he heard this news. It was clear that Blackbeard
expected pursuit, and was making all possible speed to evade it.
Boulter’s friends agreed to join the expedition, under promise of a good
reward if it proved successful, and the boat set off again after half an
hour’s delay, the fresh oarsmen making good progress even against the
tide. When all four men were pulling its pace was noticeably rapid, and
at Erith, six miles beyond Woolwich, Gollop was delighted to learn on
enquiry from an upgoing barge that the _Merry Maid_ was now little more
than two hours ahead.
Hour after hour the rowers plied their oars, taking turns to rest in
couples. Martin and the old Frenchman, who had been up all night, fell
asleep on their seats, and when they awoke it was five o’clock in the
afternoon, and the boat was approaching Gravesend. Here Gollop decided
to go ashore, for as the day wore on he had become less confident, and
recognised that if Blackbeard and his crew resisted the arrest of the
ship the pursuers, hopelessly outnumbered, would not be able to enforce
it unless they could engage a party adequately armed.
Both he and Boulter had acquaintances among the mariners of Gravesend,
but some of these were absent from their usual haunts, having been drawn
to London by the prospect of making money out of the Fire. Those who
remained showed themselves distrustful and suspicious; they were not to
be tempted to lend their services in a cause that might fail; and
Gollop, angry and troubled, made his way to the office of the Customs
officer of the port, and sought his aid as a brother man of the law. The
officer appeared to resent this claim of relationship, and treated the
constable very off-handedly.
“Let me see this warrant you talk of,” he said, and when Gollop produced
the scrap of paper, creased, oddly-shaped, its edges frayed and
scorched, he sniffed. “I cannot act on this,” he said. “It is not drawn
up in proper form. The _Santa Maria_ has cleared; she is bound for
Lisbon, the port of an ally; she is beyond my jurisdiction.”
At this Gollop lost his temper.
“You and your long words!” he said. “That there vessel ain’t a Portugal
ship; she’s English from stem to stern; don’t I know? You’re neglecting
of your duty, master officer, and I’ll take good care that them above
you hear about it and you’ll get a rough hauling, my fine fellow.”
“Get out of this,” cried the officer, losing his temper in turn. “You
may be a constable; I don’t know; but you’ll find your legs in the
stocks if you air your insolence on an officer of His Majesty’s
Customs.”
“Come away, Dick,” said Boulter soothingly. “We ain’t done yet. And we
can’t afford to lose any more time. If the craft weathers Hope Point
she’ll have a clear run out and give us the slip altogether. Come on,
man.”
Within a few minutes the boat was again under way. It was heavy work
pulling her down Gravesend Reach, and heavier still when, in Lower Hope
Reach, she came full in the teeth of the wind. An exclamation from
Martin caused Gollop to fling a hasty look over his shoulder. Strung out
along the lee shore three ships lay at anchor, evidently waiting for the
tide.
“Easy all!” cried Gollop, shipping his oar. A look of triumph gleamed in
his eyes. “The second o’ them vessels—she’s the _Merry Maid_, bless her
heart!”
“Are you sure?” said Boulter. “She’s three-quarters of a mile away.”
“Sure! Am I sure I’ve a nose on my face? That there’s my dear old
captain’s craft, one in a thousand. She’s safe for a few hours. We’ll go
ashore and wet our whistles, my mates; this is a chance we’ve got to
make the best of.”
They pulled in towards the shore, but lay a few yards off the mud flats
to talk over the next step before they landed.
“We can’t fight ’em, that’s certain,” said Boulter, “being only seven
all told, two of us just boys, and one a aged furriner.”
Mounseer smiled, and fingered his rapier.
“True for you, mate,” said Gollop. “Well, if you ain’t strong enough to
fight, what do you do?”
“Speaking for myself, I plays a trick.”
“Spoke like a wise man. Now what trick could you play?”
“That depends,” said Boulter, scratching his head. “What about boring a
hole in her hull?”
“Seeing as none of us is a sword-fish, that can’t be done without ’tis
noticed. What about giving ’em a scare? Them furriners are easy
frightened.”
“You couldn’t scare ’em into quitting the vessel. But you talk of
furriners. Now I come to think of it, I’ve knowed furren gentlemen put
aboard outgoing vessels in the river—gentlemen as want to get away
secret, and pay well for it. If so be——”
He paused and looked at the Frenchman.
“If so be as our furren gentleman could go aboard as a passenger, maybe
the rest of us could get aboard too, eh?”
“Well, what then?”
“Why, that’s the trick, d’you see? What I say is——”
“But perhaps Mr. Seymour’s aboard, and he knows Mounseer,” said Martin.
“So much the better,” cried Gollop, slapping his thigh. “But what does
Mounseer say?”
“I do anything what please you,” said the Frenchman quietly.
Five minutes’ close discussion ensued. Then the boat’s head was turned
upstream, and the little party, hopeful and elated, was speeding back to
Gravesend.
CHAPTER THE THIRTY-THIRD
AT GRIPS AT LAST
In Gravesend they spent a busy hour. While Boulter bought a small
sea-chest at a marine store, Gollop purchased cutlasses for the watermen
and a stout staff for Martin: Hopton fortunately had brought his club. A
visit to a slop shop provided sea-jackets and hats for the two boys, and
so disguised they might have been taken for cabin boys ashore. The
cutlasses, wrapped in sacking, were laid in the chest.
“We’d better wait for the dusk,” said Gollop. “How about the tide,
Boulter?”
“’Twill turn at dusk or thereabouts,” replied the waterman. “But the
wind’s dropping, so we mustn’t bide too long or the barque will slip
us.”
“True; but we’ll have time to fill our holds, which I mean to say our
stomachs. An empty man’s only half a man, and every one of us will have
to make two to-night, or I’m a Dutchman.”
Repairing to the Three Tuns inn, the little party made a good meal; then
they returned to the wherry and set off on their adventure. The tide was
still running up, but the force of the wind had sensibly diminished, and
they made good progress toward their destination.
The sun was setting behind them, and a slight haze crept over the river.
Presently the _Santa Maria_ hove in sight.
“All’s quiet on deck,” said Gollop, looking eagerly ahead. “They feel
pretty snug: so much the better.”
The approach of the wherry was apparently not noticed on board. It had
drawn under the vessel’s quarter before Boulter raised a hail.
“_Santa Maria_ ahoy!” he called.
A dark face showed itself above the gunwale.
“Captain aboard?” said Boulter.
The man nodded.
“I want a word with him,” the waterman continued.
There was no answer: the man simply stared.
“Speakee capitano,” said Boulter, as if obligingly suiting his language
to the comprehension of a foreigner.
In a few halting words of broken English the man declared that the
captain was at supper and must not be disturbed.
“What you want?” he concluded.
“Never you mind,” said Boulter. “Bring capitano: maybe he’ll understand
plain English.”
After some further colloquy the man was prevailed upon to seek the
captain, and Martin felt a cold trickle along his spine when he saw in
the fading light the face of Blackbeard looking down from the poop.
Instinctively he shrank down on his seat.
“What you want?” demanded the captain, with his foreign accent.
“A gentleman wishes a passage in your vessel, captain,” said Boulter,
persuasively. “He must get aboard at once: a foreign gentleman, you
understand: can pay well: fifty pounds, say.”
“It is impossible,” said Blackbeard bluntly. “There is not cabin room
for passenger. No; impossible.”
Another face was peering over his shoulder, and Martin effaced himself
more thoroughly as he recognised Slocum. The goldsmith threw a searching
glance over the boat. Martin saw him start, pluck Blackbeard by the
sleeve, and draw him out of sight.
“Did he see me?” thought Martin, quaking a little.
In a minute he was reassured. Blackbeard returned alone, and Martin
noticed that his eyes at once sought Mounseer, who was sitting on a
thwart next to Gollop.
“I have considered,” he said. “Perhaps for one. You said one?”
“Yes: one gentleman: a Frenchman,” said Boulter. “London is not safe for
the French. He was beset in the street.”
“Very well; he shall come. And quick: soon will the tide turn.”
He called up a seaman, and bade him lower a rope-ladder from the waist.
Mounseer got up, and staggered.
“He is old and weak,” said Boulter. “Some of you help him, there.”
According to the plan previously arranged, Martin and Gollop each took
one of the Frenchman’s arms and led him to the ladder. Martin climbed
nimbly to the deck, then turned to assist Mounseer, who ascended slowly,
Gollop following. To all appearances the Frenchman was feeble,
exhausted; he tottered and swayed between the others when all three were
on board. Meanwhile Boulter’s two watermen friends were proceeding to
carry up the sea-chest, which might be supposed to contain the
passenger’s baggage.
“Come with me,” said Blackbeard. “We will make bargain.”
He led the way towards the round-house, a sort of cabin on the upper
deck. Martin and Gollop led Mounseer between them. Slocum had
disappeared; the only persons visible were Blackbeard, the dark-faced
seaman, and some members of the crew who were lying outstretched on the
planks, resting, no doubt, after their exertions in towing the vessel.
Martin looked curiously about the round-house as he entered. It
contained a well-spread table, two chairs and two berths; the walls were
lined with racks containing arms of all kinds: firelocks, picks, swords,
pistols.
At a gesture from Blackbeard the Frenchman sank into one of the chairs.
“Now you go,” the captain commanded, turning to Martin and Gollop. “I
will finish the bargain with this gentleman.”
“Begging your pardon, sir,” said Gollop quietly, “but afore I go it is
in a manner of speaking——”
“What you mean?” said Blackbeard, truculently. “I say you go: there is
no more for you: you have done; the business is with this gentleman.”
“So it is, to be sure,” returned Gollop unperturbed. “Leastways a part
of it. But afore I go, it is in a manner of speaking my duty as an
officer of the law to show you a dokyment——”
He had drawn from his pocket the warrant signed by Mr. Pemberton and was
proceeding to unfold it. But something in his manner had aroused
suspicion in the captain, who made a quick sidelong movement and
snatched at a pistol in the nearest rack.
Then the Frenchman, who had appeared so weak and faint, showed a
marvellous alacrity for a man of his years and impotence. He sprang up
from his chair, whipped out his rapier from under his cloak, and had its
point within an inch of Blackbeard’s throat while his hand was still
closing over the pistol butt.
For a second or two there was silence as the men faced each other.
Martin, quivering with excitement, took in the details of the scene:
Gollop flourishing the paper in his hand; Blackbeard, his hand
outstretched, his nostrils dilating, his eyes glaring; Mounseer cool,
smiling, watching the other as a cat watches a mouse.
Then the silence was broken. The Frenchman, wearing his inscrutable
smile, said gently, in a tone not above the conversational pitch:
“Monsieur recognises—is it not so?—that he must render himself?”