WHEN THE TIDE TURNED
The wind fell as the tide drained out, and belts of mist hung
motionless about the sands when the whammel boat crept slowly down to
the mouth of the channel. The sail lay on deck, and Dick panted as he
pulled an oar while his companion sculled astern. He felt faint, and
the heavily ballasted boat was hard to move, but he thought the tide
was turning now and he knew that he must hold out. Occasionally he
turned and looked ahead, but saw nothing except the mist. There were
no birds about, the water was smooth, and everything was very quiet.
At length, a tall mast grew out of the haze and Dick stopped rowing.
"The _Rowan_. Scull her in to the bank," he said. "I want to see where
the dinghy is."
They could not find her, but presently came upon a whammel boat lying
near the edge of the sand.
"It's the _Nance_ that Tam Grahame selt awa'," the fisherman remarked.
"I canna' see what she's doing here with naebody on board."
"We'll pull off to the yacht," Dick replied.
The dinghy was not astern when they boarded the _Rowan_; and when Dick
went below and lighted a lamp, his companion looked puzzled.
"It's queer! There's seeven feet o' watter, and Mr. Andrew wouldna'
swim ashore."
"Not when he had the dinghy."
"But she's no' on the bank."
"I imagine she's out at sea, by now," Dick said grimly. "How long do
you think the _Nance_ has been here?"
"Maybe half an hour. Her keel's weel in the ground and the tide
doesna' fall much on the last o' the ebb. They're no' expecting to be
back until the flood makes, because her anchor's up the bank."
"That's what I thought," said Dick. "Now, I will tell you that Andrew
is in danger. I had meant to find him, but I don't feel well enough. I
suppose you can use a gun?"
"We get a shot at a whaup or shellduck whiles. Ye're no' looking
weel."
Dick lifted a big 10-bore gun from a rack and searched a locker for
cartridges.
"Fours," he said, putting down a packet. "I think you'd better have
B's. Here they are."
The fisherman looked at him curiously as he took the cartridges, which
were loaded with large shot; and Dick smiled.
"You may meet the man who set the punt adrift," he explained. "I want
you to go to the wreck and find my cousin. Tell him to be careful,
because one of the gang has come down the channel after him. If
there's trouble going on when you get there, do what you think best;
but bring Andrew back. The police won't blame you afterward if you
have to use the gun."
The man nodded quietly, and Dick knew that he could be trusted.
"Ye'll be for staying here. Will I light the stove?"
"No," said Dick. "I imagine it would be safer if I waited in your
boat. She'll be needed when the tide flows, and I can make myself
comfortable in the den."
The fisherman sculled the boat ashore and put out an anchor; and then
he went away across the bank and Dick crept into the forecastle. The
stove was still burning, and the small, dark place was warm. It had
been a strain to hold out until all that was necessary had been done,
and now he was glad to lie down among the ropes and sails. There was a
weight on his chest, his breathing was hard, and his pulse seemed to
be getting sluggish. He wished he had some brandy or there was
somebody about; but he must not give in yet. The boat would be needed
when Andrew came back and it might be tampered with.
While the fisherman and Dick had been hurrying to them, Andrew and
Whitney, well armed, crossed the bank toward the wreck and then
separated at a short distance from her. Andrew went straight forward
while his comrade made a round so as to approach her from the other
side. Hitherto, their visits had led to nothing, but Rankine seemed to
think it would be different this time.
When he got near the wreck, Andrew found that the tide had scoured out
a pool round her after part, and this threatened to make things
difficult. His figure would be visible against the pale gleam of the
water and he could not get across without splashing. He must go round,
but this would take him away from the place where it was easiest to
get on board. For all that, he must not make a noise, and he moved
cautiously across the wet sand until he reached the broken timbers on
the edge of the pool.
He heard the water trickle through the vessel's seams and the murmur
of the languid surf in the distance, but presently he thought there
was something else. The sound seemed to come from inside the wreck. He
moved a few yards nearer and then stopped, with his feet in the pool,
listening hard. There was a curious snap and crackle, like the
striking of matches; and, looking up, Andrew saw that something was
sticking out from the masthead. His lips set in a hard line. A
wireless installation was at work, perhaps giving a message that would
send another ship to its doom. But it looked as if he could surprise
and seize the operator, and he meant to do so, though he realized what
the consequences might be.
It was, however, impossible to climb up with the gun in his hand, and
he was sorry that he had brought it. Leaning it against the wreck, he
found a rest for his hand and lifted himself to a stringer. His head
and shoulders were now above the top of the vessel's ribs, but he did
not see how he was to reach the deck, which had fallen in abreast of
where he was. While he looked about there was a sharp report behind
him and a tremor in the wood. It had been struck by a bullet a few
inches from his side. Letting go quickly, he fell back with a splash.
Andrew was afterward uncertain whether he lost his hold in alarm or
dropped back with instinctive caution. He came down in the water, and
did not get up, because a dark figure stood on the other side of the
pool and he feared that a movement would draw a bullet. His gun was
some yards away; but Andrew thought he would be nearly invisible
against the side of the wreck so long as he kept still, and the shot
would bring Whitney to his help.
There was a shout from the deck, and Andrew recognized Williamson's
voice. He was obviously alarmed, but the other man called out sharply
in German, ordering him back. Andrew imagined from this that the
message he was transmitting was of urgent importance, or perhaps the
newcomer had another to send.
It was plain that the men must not be allowed to finish their work,
and Andrew wondered whether he could creep back to where his gun lay
while the fellow's attention was diverted. He was getting up
cautiously when the enemy's pistol flashed and a spurt of water
splashed into his face. Then there was a streak of light and a heavier
report farther back on the sands, and his antagonist turned and ran a
few yards along the beach.
Andrew knew that Whitney could not have fired the shot. But at the
moment this was not important; he must get his gun while the man was
occupied. As he felt for it he heard Whitney run round the stern of
the wreck. He was safe now; but that crackling sound had begun again,
and at all costs Williamson must be stopped. Besides, Andrew had a
signal of his own to make. Leaving the gun, he climbed up a timber and
had just reached the deck when an indistinct figure rushed across it
and vanished over the broken bulwarks on the opposite side. Then a
patter of feet on the sand indicated that Williamson was escaping.
For all that, Andrew stopped, and, dragging a tin from his pocket, put
it on the rail and struck a match. As he dropped it into the tin a
bright blaze sprang up. Then he jumped down to the sand and seized his
gun. The fellow who had shot at him had disappeared and there was
nobody in sight; but he could hear men running on the other side of
the wreck.
"Come on!" Whitney's voice reached him out of the darkness.
As he splashed through the water around the vessel's stern he saw two
figures on the sand. One he took to be Whitney and the other was
evidently a friend. Making an effort, he caught them up, and Whitney
began to talk in breathless gasps.
"An Annan man--Dick sent him. Think coastguards will see your flare?"
"Where's Williamson and the other fellow?" Andrew asked quickly.
"Close ahead. They were going back to the channel, but couldn't get
past us. What about the tide?"
Andrew began to understand the situation. While he was trying to
surprise Williamson, his assailant had quietly come up behind him; and
he, in turn, had been followed by the man Dick had sent. The fugitives
must now make for the Scotch shore, or risk being shot at if they
tried to go around his party's flank. In order to prevent this, he
must extend his line.
"Spread out!" he cried. "Tide's flowing now, and the water will be in
the gut when we get there!"
Whitney and the fisherman moved off left and right, and Andrew,
glancing round, saw that his flare was burning. The men they followed
could not see it because they faced the other way, and although there
was some mist, he thought the signal would warn the coast-patrol, whom
Rankine had told to keep a good lookout. They ran on, splashing across
wet sand and into pools. Sometimes they caught a glimpse of two
figures ahead and sometimes lost them in the haze. It was hard to tell
whether they were gaming or not. Andrew dared not stop to take off his
long boots, and the Annan man, hampered by his oilskins, was falling
back; but Whitney was running well and drawing in front.
The sound of the advancing tide steadily grew louder, and a breeze was
getting up. As the three men came panting out of a belt of mist a
streak of water glimmered among the sands, and beyond it a black
hillside rose from the dusky beach. The fugitives were plainer now,
and it looked as if they could not escape; but the men held on
steadily, and Andrew wondered what depth there was in the gutter.
Glancing to one side, he thought he saw something moving along the
edge of the channel; but he could not be sure because there was mist
about the spot, and he could not stop to get a better view, for he was
determined to follow Williamson.
A few minutes later he saw the men in front stop at the edge of the
water, and he wondered why they did so. The channel was rapidly
widening and they must cross at once or surrender. Instead, they ran
along the bank for some distance and stopped again; and Andrew now saw
that a white boat was moving along the opposite side. Changing his
course, he ran on, panting hard, and saw that the men in front were
waiting. A moment later one plunged into the channel while his comrade
stood still.
As Andrew got nearer, there were two or three quick, bright flashes,
and he heard a bullet pass his head and saw the sand spurt up at
Whitney's feet. The fellow meant to stop them while his partner got a
start; or perhaps he imagined that the water was too deep to cross.
Whitney stopped. A puff of smoke blew about him and there was a heavy
report. The man on the bank staggered, fired his pistol again, and
splashed awkwardly into the water. A moment later Andrew plunged in.
He was close to the fellow now, but he had dropped his gun, because he
did not mean to shoot. The man turned and raised his pistol, but his
arm fell back, and Andrew sprang upon him.
They went down, and the stream boiled about them, but Andrew held on,
and a minute later Whitney was at his side. They dragged their
prisoner out.
"My arm!" he said breathlessly. "There is also some shot in my leg."
"Where's your pistol?" Andrew asked.
"In the sea."
"Well," said Whitney as the fisherman joined them, "I wish I knew what
we ought to do with him. We can't stay here."
This was obvious; for the tide was already flowing past their feet. As
they stood a moment, puzzling, they heard a hail and saw the white
boat pulling slowly toward them against the stream. She struck the
sand and a man in uniform jumped out.
"I see you have got one of them," he said. "Do you know him?"
"I never saw him before," Andrew answered. "Where's the other?"
"Gone down, I think. We saw him trying to swim, but the tide swept him
up the gut, and when we were getting close he disappeared. We pulled
round the spot, but saw nothing. No doubt, he'd have on his oilskins
and sea-boots."
"Well, this fellow's hurt. Will you take him?"
"Certainly. And you'd better come with us. You're Mr. Johnstone, I
suppose. We were told to look out for you. We launched our gig as soon
as we saw your flare."
Andrew said that he must get back to his boat and barely would have
time enough to do so; and after a hurried account of the affair, he
set off across the sands with his companions. Though they lost sight
of the water presently, they made the best pace they could, and the
Annan man, whom Andrew had recognized, related Dick's attempt to join
him.
"It's as weel, Mr. Johnstone stayed behind," he concluded. "I'm
thinking it was the fellow ye caught who set your dinghy adrift and
he'd maybe have a mate hanging roon the _Nance_."
When they came down to the channel, the tide was rising fast and the
_Nance_ had gone. The other boat was floating, but was held by the
anchor the fisherman had carried up the bank. There was no answer to
their hail and Andrew plunged into the water.
"Mr. Johnstone's nae doot in the den. He wasna' looking weel," said
the fisherman.
Andrew was on board in a few moments, and as he looked into the
forecastle while the others pulled the boat ashore, it was with relief
that he heard Dick's voice.
"Got back all right, old man?"
"Yes; we owe that to you."
"I'm glad," said Dick. "You might help me out; I'm not sure I could
get through the hatch."
Andrew noted that his voice was faint and strained, and he felt
disturbed when he saw how helpless the boy was when with some trouble
they lifted him through the narrow scuttle and put him down on the
floorings.
"Don't talk any more," Andrew said; and turned to the fisherman.
"Scull her off to the yacht as fast as possible!"
They were alongside in a few minutes and soon had Dick on a locker in
the cabin.
"Give me some whisky," he gasped. "I think I'm pretty bad."
"We'll soon run up the Firth and put you in a doctor's hands," Andrew
replied, as he held a glass to his lips.
Dick drained it, and then was silent for a minute or two.
"Andrew," he said finally, "there's something to talk about. You see,
I'm not sure I'll get over this."
"Rot!" Andrew exclaimed gruffly, trying to hide his alarm. "You've
been as bad before."
"No; not quite. But wait--"
Dick closed his eyes, and Andrew saw his fears reflected in Whitney's
look. Dick's face was chalky-white and haggard, and they noted his
labored breathing.
The tide splashed against the yacht's planks, the halyards had begun
to tap against the mast, and there was a sharp rattle of blocks as the
fisherman hoisted sail. They let him go and sat watching Dick from the
opposite locker. Presently he looked up.
"Think I can talk a bit now. You'll have Appleyard, Andrew, if I don't
get well. There's nothing to be said about that, because you'll look
after it much better than I should have done. Still, you'll keep the
old hands until you can pension them; and there's Bob, my old pony--I
shouldn't like him sold."
"You're taking too much for granted, Dick," Andrew replied. "You
knocked yourself out in hurrying down here to warn me, but you'll be
all right again in a few days."
"I know you hope so. It's possible, too; but we'll get things
straightened up. Of course, Appleyard is Mrs. Woodhouse's home--she's
not responsible for her brother, you know. Elsie will keep everything
right unless she marries." Dick paused and looked at Andrew with a
feeble smile. "She may, you know."
Andrew turned his head, and after a minute, Dick went on:
"I'd like my debts paid off, but the estate must not be robbed. If you
open my desk, you'll find an old pocket-book. It will show you what I
actually got. Pin them down to that. Now give me a little more
whisky."
Dick rested for a short while before he continued.
"You see, I did get their money, though not all that the notes called
for--and they'll have some trouble about the insurance."
"Ah!" Andrew interrupted. "How's that? But you'd better not bother
about it now."
"I may not be able to bother later," Dick smiled. "When I got the
doctor's warning I was very hard up, so I went to the insurance people
and asked how much they'd let me have if I surrendered the policy.
Well, though they asked a lot of questions, we didn't come to terms.
It seemed the other fellows were entitled to benefit; but something
wasn't straight and I think the office will dispute their claim. I
felt amused about it now and then; but they mustn't lose what they
really lent."
"I'll see to that," said Andrew, "Now, you lie quiet and Whitney will
look after you while I take her up the Firth. A doctor must see you as
soon as possible. Perhaps it will help things if you can go to sleep."
Andrew went on deck, and after weighing anchor and making sail he sat
at the helm, lost in disturbing thought, while the _Rowan_ stood
up-channel.