Part 10

Unused to the handling of so clumsy an implement, the boys were unable to prevent its end from glancing off the slimy timber, and it plunged with a splash into the water. But they had not let it go. Levering it up across the gunwale, they once more made the attempt, and by exerting all possible pressure were able to force the barge a yard or two from the jetty. Then they were almost undone by their own vigour, for the sweep slipped again as the barge sheered away, and they fell forward, striking against the gunwale, and dropping the sweep with a loud clatter.

They seized it just in time to save it from being carried overboard. Meanwhile the barge had lost the impetus they had given it, and was again drifting shoreward. It was clear that the noise they had made had been heard by the men. There was a shout and hurried footsteps on the quay, and Martin, looking up, could just see in the starlight the man at the upper door leaning out and making wild movements with his arms, evidently to urge on his mate below.

In a moment this man came in sight, running along the quay to the spot where he expected the barge to strike if it escaped the mud. Martin saw that the next few minutes would decide his fate.

“Catch hold!” he cried to the Indian boy. “Shove when I tell you.”

He pointed the sweep at the angle between two supporting beams, and with Gundra’s help drove it into the notch, and brought all his weight and strength to bear upon it. The barge sidled outward, slowly, too slowly. Martin realised that if the man had run on to the jetty, he could have jumped on board before the heavy vessel was out of range.

“Don’t let go,” Martin called, as the sweep dropped from its resting-place into the water.

Keeping a tight grasp on the pole, the boys pulled it slowly through the water. The barge swung about a little, and Martin saw with joy that the gap between it and the quay was wider. It was now too late for the man to attempt the leap. He stood on the quayside, shouting, cursing, gesticulating to his companions, two men who were running to join him. The second of them, lumbering along in the rear, Martin recognised as Sebastian the fat cook.

Unwieldy though the sweep was, Martin was learning under the stress of necessity how to manipulate it, his knowledge of oarsmanship assisting. Laboriously he and Gundra dragged it through the water, and at every stroke the barge forged a little farther from the quay.

The men there were in all the agitation of helpless rage. There was a flash, a crack; one of them had fired a pistol.

“You fool!” shouted one of his companions. “Do you want to bring all Deptford down upon us!”

The answer was inaudible on the barge. There the boys, panting and sweating from their exertions in the hot night, did not relax their efforts until the heavy vessel was clear of the jetty and had begun to drift upstream on the tide. Then, as they paused, they heard the same voice apparently giving an order, though the words could not be distinguished. Dimly they saw the three figures run along the quay, then they were lost to sight in the darkness. A few moments later there came the sound of rusty hinges creaking; somewhere a gate was opening.

“What are they about now?” thought Martin; and he noticed for the first time that Gundra’s eyes were wide with amazement and fright as they gazed upon the ruddy glow of the Fire.

CHAPTER THE THIRTIETH

THE BOYS SWIM FOR IT

Martin felt that he had been uncommonly lucky. The utmost he had hoped for was to escape with Gundra from the warehouse; it now seemed to his sanguine spirit that he would save the stolen property as well. The barge was slowly drifting upstream; there was no present sign of pursuit; and if his luck held, before long he would get assistance from friendly hands, and the evil schemes of Blackbeard, Slocum, and the rest would be brought to nought.

But he had pitched his hopes too high. The heavy barge moved only at the pace of the tide, and neither Martin nor the Indian had sufficient muscular strength to work the cumbersome sweep for more than a few minutes at a time. And they were soon aware that the pursuit had started. In the light from the glowing sky they caught sight of three or four men hurrying along the road that bordered the river. They were outstripping the barge; it was probably their intention to get well ahead, find a boat, and cut across the course of the fugitives.

They might be delayed by the fact that every serviceable boat had been engaged for the conveyance of householders’ goods, but sooner or later they would get some kind of craft, and then the end was inevitable.

The same dearth of boats operated against Martin. He hailed one or two that passed, but the watermen would not so much as wait to hear his explanations; they were reaping a golden harvest.

What could be done? The only chance seemed to be to run the barge across the river to the north bank, as near as possible to the stairs where Martin’s friends were wont to ply, and trust to finding one or other of them at hand and ready to help.

The barge was drifting broadside with the stream, and it was only by dint of great efforts and strenuous pulling at the sweep that the boys were able to bring her head in the desired direction. They had hardly begun to creep towards the north bank when they heard shouts ahead, and saw a wherry putting out from the southern shore and making to cross their bows.

The fiery aspect of the sky seemed to increase the heat of the summer night, and Martin felt the sweat pouring off him in streams as he tugged desperately at the sweep. He realised in a few moments the impossibility of gaining the stairs before the wherry overtook him. To save the goods was beyond hoping for; it would be as much as he could do to save himself and Gundra from capture. They must abandon the barge and swim for the shore, now perhaps some fifty yards distant. Could they do so without being seen and followed? Martin had little doubt that the pursuers would strain every nerve to capture them, and so ensure that the sailing of the _Santa Maria_ should not be interfered with.

“We must swim for it,” he said, dropping the sweep. “Come with me, and keep low.”

They crept behind the pile of cargo that had sheltered them when they first boarded the barge, and slipped over the gunwale into the water on the side remote from the pursuing wherry. Martin hoped to get at least half way to the shore before he was seen. With Gundra he struck out vigorously, but was soon conscious that his strength had already been overtaxed, and he would be unable to keep up his stroke for more than a minute or two.

It seemed that they had only left the barge a few seconds when they heard the wherry bump into its side, and the men scrambling on board, cursing as they searched for the fugitives. The search did not last long; one of the pursuers caught sight of the swimmers, who might perhaps have got away unseen but for the glare of the Fire.

“There they are!”

The shout caused Martin and Gundra to put all their remaining strength into their strokes. The pursuers rushed for their boat, and it was fortunate for the swimmers that it lay on the farther side of the barge. By the time it had been pulled round the stern the boys had entered shallow water, and were wading ashore in the mud.

And then the pursuers made a mistake. Had they continued on their course upstream and rowed across to the nearest stairs, or to one of the quays that broke the riverside, they could have landed well ahead of the boys and met them while they were still floundering in the mud flats. But in their haste and flurry, due no doubt to their wish to avoid drawing too much attention from passing boats, they swung round against the current and made toward the boys.

Ankle deep in slime, Martin and Gundra struggled on to gain the waste land that stretched up from the river bank. The pursuing boat rapidly approached them, and was only some twenty yards behind when its nose stuck in the mud, throwing the rowers forward over their oars. Cursing violently, the men strove to back water, but the boat was held fast, the oars were useless, and it was only after precious time had been wasted that the men decided to jump overboard and continue the pursuit on foot.

In the clinging mud their weight told against them. By the time they had dragged themselves on to the dry land the boys were already disappearing into the hedge-lined lane that wound north-westward in the direction of Spitalfields.

As they ran the chain by which Gundra had been fastened slipped from his steel girdle, and its clanking gave a clue to their line of flight. They heard the heavy feet of their pursuers thundering after them. Martin tucked the chain up as well as he could, scarcely changing his pace, and dragged Gundra along. In a minute or two they would reach houses, and among them, shadowed from the glare of the Fire, they might hope to elude further pursuit.

“No can run,” panted Gundra suddenly, placing his hand over his heart.

“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.