The Pretty Mary--as ugly and evil-smelling a tub as ever pitched under
a southerly burster--had been lying on and off Cape Surville for nearly
three weeks. Captain Blunt was getting wearied. He made strenuous
efforts to find the oyster-beds of which he was ostensibly in search,
but no success attended his efforts. In vain did he take boat and pull
into every cove and nook between the Hippolyte Reef and Schouten's
Island. In vain did he run the Pretty Mary as near to the rugged cliffs
as he dared to take her, and make perpetual expeditions to the shore. In
vain did he--in his eagerness for the interests of Mrs. Purfoy--clamber
up the rocks, and spend hours in solitary soundings in Blackman's Bay.
He never found an oyster. “If I don't find something in three or four
days more,” said he to his mate, “I shall go back again. It's too
dangerous cruising here.”
* * * * *
On the same evening that Captain Blunt made this resolution, the
watchman at Signal Hill saw the arms of the semaphore at the settlement
make three motions, thus:
The semaphore was furnished with three revolving arms, fixed one above
the other. The upper one denoted units, and had six motions, indicating
ONE to SIX. The middle one denoted tens, TEN to SIXTY. The lower one
marked hundreds, from ONE HUNDRED to SIX HUNDRED.
The lower and upper arms whirled out. That meant THREE HUNDRED AND SIX.
A ball ran up to the top of the post. That meant ONE THOUSAND.
Number 1306, or, being interpreted, “PRISONERS ABSCONDED”.
“By George, Harry,” said Jones, the signalman, “there's a bolt!”
The semaphore signalled again: “Number 1411”.
“WITH ARMS!” Jones said, translating as he read. “Come here, Harry!
here's a go!”
But Harry did not reply, and, looking down, the watchman saw a dark
figure suddenly fill the doorway. The boasted semaphore had failed this
time, at all events. The “bolters” had arrived as soon as the signal!
The man sprang at his carbine, but the intruder had already possessed
himself of it. “It's no use making a fuss, Jones! There are eight of us.
Oblige me by attending to your signals.”
Jones knew the voice. It was that of John Rex. “Reply, can't you?” said
Rex coolly. “Captain Burgess is in a hurry.” The arms of the semaphore
at the settlement were, in fact, gesticulating with comical vehemence.
Jones took the strings in his hands, and, with his signal-book open
before him, was about to acknowledge the message, when Rex stopped him.
“Send this message,” he said. “NOT SEEN! SIGNAL SENT TO EAGLEHAWK!”
Jones paused irresolutely. He was himself a convict, and dreaded the
inevitable cat that he knew would follow this false message. “If they
finds me out--” he said. Rex cocked the carbine with so decided a
meaning in his black eyes that Jones--who could be brave enough on
occasions--banished his hesitation at once, and began to signal eagerly.
There came up a clinking of metal, and a murmur from below. “What's
keepin' yer, Dandy?”
“All right. Get those irons off, and then we'll talk, boys. I'm putting
salt on old Burgess's tail.” The rough jest was received with a roar,
and Jones, looking momentarily down from his window on the staging, saw,
in the waning light, a group of men freeing themselves from their irons
with a hammer taken from the guard-house; while two, already freed, were
casting buckets of water on the beacon wood-pile. The sentry was lying
bound at a little distance.
“Now,” said the leader of this surprise party, “signal to Woody Island.”
Jones perforce obeyed. “Say, 'AN ESCAPE AT THE MINES! WATCH ONE-TREE
POINT! SEND ON TO EAGLEHAWK!' Quick now!”
Jones--comprehending at once the force of this manoeuvre, which would
have the effect of distracting attention from the Neck--executed the
order with a grin. “You're a knowing one, Dandy Jack,” said he.
John Rex acknowledged the compliment by uncocking the carbine. “Hold
out your hands!--Jemmy Vetch!” “Ay, ay,” replied the Crow, from beneath.
“Come up and tie our friend Jones. Gabbett, have you got the axes?”
“There's only one,” said Gabbett, with an oath. “Then bring that, and
any tucker you can lay your hands on. Have you tied him? On we go then.”
And in the space of five minutes from the time when unsuspecting Harry
had been silently clutched by two forms, who rushed upon him out of the
shadows of the huts, the Signal Hill Station was deserted.
At the settlement Burgess was foaming. Nine men to seize the Long
Bay boat, and get half an hour's start of the alarm signal, was an
unprecedented achievement! What could Warder Troke have been about!
Warder Troke, however, found eight hours afterwards, disarmed, gagged,
and bound in the scrub, had been guilty of no negligence. How could
he tell that, at a certain signal from Dandy Jack, the nine men he had
taken to Stewart's Bay would “rush” him; and, before he could draw a
pistol, truss him like a chicken? The worst of the gang, Rufus Dawes,
had volunteered for the hated duties of pile-driving, and Troke had felt
himself secure. How could he possibly guess that there was a plot, in
which Rufus Dawes, of all men, had refused to join?
Constables, mounted and on foot, were despatched to scour the bush round
the settlement. Burgess, confident from the reply of the Signal Hill
semaphore, that the alarm had been given at Eaglehawk Isthmus, promised
himself the re-capture of the gang before many hours; and, giving
orders to keep the communications going, retired to dinner. His convict
servants had barely removed the soup when the result of John Rex's
ingenuity became manifest.
The semaphore at Signal Hill had stopped working.
“Perhaps the fools can't see,” said Burgess. “Fire the beacon--and
saddle my horse.” The beacon was fired. All right at Mount Arthur, Mount
Communication, and the Coal Mines. To the westward the line was clear.
But at Signal Hill was no answering light. Burgess stamped with rage.
“Get me my boat's crew ready; and tell the Mines to signal to Woody
Island.” As he stood on the jetty, a breathless messenger brought
the reply. “A BOAT'S CREW GONE TO ONE-TREE POINT! FIVE MEN SENT FROM
EAGLEHAWK IN OBEDIENCE TO ORDERS!” Burgess understood it at once. The
fellows had decoyed the Eaglehawk guard. “Give way, men!” And the boat,
shooting into the darkness, made for Long Bay. “I won't be far behind
'em,” said the Commandant, “at any rate.”
Between Eaglehawk and Signal Hill were, for the absconders, other
dangers. Along the indented coast of Port Bunche were four constables'
stations. These stations--mere huts within signalling distance of each
other--fringed the shore, and to avoid them it would be necessary to
make a circuit into the scrub. Unwilling as he was to lose time, John
Rex saw that to attempt to run the gauntlet of these four stations would
be destruction. The safety of the party depended upon the reaching of
the Neck while the guard was weakened by the absence of some of the men
along the southern shore, and before the alarm could be given from
the eastern arm of the peninsula. With this view, he ranged his men in
single file; and, quitting the road near Norfolk Bay, made straight for
the Neck. The night had set in with a high westerly wind, and threatened
rain. It was pitch dark; and the fugitives were guided only by the dull
roar of the sea as it beat upon Descent Beach. Had it not been for
the accident of a westerly gale, they would not have had even so much
assistance.
The Crow walked first, as guide, carrying a musket taken from Harry.
Then came Gabbett, with an axe; followed by the other six, sharing
between them such provisions as they had obtained at Signal Hill. John
Rex, with the carbine, and Troke's pistols, walked last. It had been
agreed that if attacked they were to run each one his own way. In their
desperate case, disunion was strength. At intervals, on their left,
gleamed the lights of the constables' stations, and as they stumbled
onward they heard plainer and more plainly the hoarse murmur of the sea,
beyond which was liberty or death.
After nearly two hours of painful progress, Jemmy Vetch stopped, and
whispered them to approach. They were on a sandy rise. To the left was a
black object--a constable's hut; to the right was a dim white line--the
ocean; in front was a row of lamps, and between every two lamps leapt
and ran a dusky, indistinct body. Jemmy Vetch pointed with his lean
forefinger.
“The dogs!”
Instinctively they crouched down, lest even at that distance the two
sentries, so plainly visible in the red light of the guard-house fire,
should see them.
“Well, bo's,” said Gabbett, “what's to be done now?”
As he spoke, a long low howl broke from one of the chained hounds, and
the whole kennel burst into hideous outcry. John Rex, who perhaps was
the bravest of the party, shuddered. “They have smelt us,” he said. “We
must go on.”
Gabbett spat in his palm, and took firmer hold of the axe-handle.
“Right you are,” he said. “I'll leave my mark on some of them before
this night's out!”
On the opposite shore lights began to move, and the fugitives could hear
the hurrying tramp of feet.
“Make for the right-hand side of the jetty,” said Rex in a fierce
whisper. “I think I see a boat there. It is our only chance now. We can
never break through the station. Are we ready? Now! All together!”
Gabbett was fast outstripping the others by some three feet of distance.
There were eleven dogs, two of whom were placed on stages set out in the
water, and they were so chained that their muzzles nearly touched. The
giant leapt into the line, and with a blow of his axe split the skull of
the beast on his right hand. This action unluckily took him within reach
of the other dog, which seized him by the thigh.
“Fire!” cried McNab from the other side of the lamps.
The giant uttered a cry of rage and pain, and fell with the dog
under him. It was, however, the dog who had pulled him down, and the
musket-ball intended for him struck Travers in the jaw. The unhappy
villain fell--like Virgil's Dares--“spitting blood, teeth, and curses.”
Gabbett clutched the mastiff's throat with iron hand, and forced him
to loose his hold; then, bellowing with fury, seized his axe and sprang
forward, mangled as he was, upon the nearest soldier. Jemmy Vetch had
been beforehand with him. Uttering a low snarl of hate, he fired, and
shot the sentry through the breast. The others rushed through the now
broken cordon, and made headlong for the boat.
“Fools!” cried Rex behind them. “You have wasted a shot! LOOK TO YOUR
LEFT!”
Burgess, hurried down the tramroad by his men, had tarried at Signal
Hill only long enough to loose the surprised guard from their bonds, and
taking the Woody Island boat was pulling with a fresh crew to the Neck.
The reinforcement was not ten yards from the jetty.
The Crow saw the danger, and, flinging himself into the water,
desperately seized McNab's boat.
“In with you for your lives!” he cried. Another volley from the guard
spattered the water around the fugitives, but in the darkness the
ill-aimed bullets fell harmless. Gabbett swung himself over the sheets,
and seized an oar.
“Cox, Bodenham, Greenhill! Now, push her off! Jump, Tom, jump!” and as
Burgess leapt to land, Cornelius was dragged over the stern, and the
whale-boat floated into deep water.
McNab, seeing this, ran down to the water-side to aid the Commandant.
“Lift her over the Bar, men!” he shouted. “With a will--So!” And, raised
in twelve strong arms, the pursuing craft slid across the isthmus.
“We've five minutes' start,” said Vetch coolly, as he saw the Commandant
take his place in the stern sheets. “Pull away, my jolly boys, and we'll
best 'em yet.”
The soldiers on the Neck fired again almost at random, but the blaze of
their pieces only served to show the Commandant's boat a hundred yards
astern of that of the mutineers, which had already gained the deep water
of Pirates' Bay.
Then, for the first time, the six prisoners became aware that John Rex
was not among them.