CHAPTER XIX

HIDE AND SEEK

At this point Errington assumed the direction of affairs--much to the contentment of Burroughs, who had now learnt by the pain in his shoulder that he had not run the gauntlet unscathed. But Errington was by no means happy. It was one thing to enter the swamp by the broad channel from the river, and quite another to come down into it from the air. He had at once thought of seeking out the deep reed-screened recess where he had discovered the flying boat. The huts, of course, might be occupied; in that case some other hiding-place must be found; but the fact that they had been empty on the occasion of his first visit seemed to show that they were inhabited only occasionally, and by good fortune they might be deserted now. It was scarcely probable that the crew of the gunboat were the same men who had been engaged in Reinhardt's little act of piracy, so that only by the most extraordinary coincidence would they spontaneously make for the same hiding-place. If he could only discover it, Errington hoped that the boat might remain concealed while the necessary repairs were made.

But it was nearly dark. In such a labyrinth of waterways one might go hither and thither perhaps for hours without coming into the channel leading to the clear pool. Still the attempt must be made; and there was a chance that even if the former hiding-place were not discovered, some other secluded spot might be found that would serve equally well. The danger was that two or three boats would be employed in searching for them, one or another of which might be lucky.

There was no time to be lost. The first thing was to fold back the planes, which were an encumbrance to the vessel at all times on the water, and especially among the reed-beds. The next thing was to get out the punting poles with which the boat was provided, and propel it up the channel; the farther they got from the river the better.

The Chinese servants plied the poles, while Errington steered, and Burroughs sat near Chung Pi, condoling with him on his misfortune in being wounded at the eleventh hour.

"It is a mark of honour for the captain to be wounded when the private escapes," said Chung Pi; but as it was difficult for either Lo San or Chin Tai to interpret while attending to their task, the two wounded men relapsed into silence, regarding each other with mutual sympathy.

An altercation sprang up between the two punters. Each declared that the other was a fool, and would wreck the boat. Lo San, presuming on his acquaintance with the swamp, let fall slighting remarks on Chin Tai's ignorance, which exasperated his fellow-servant. But mindful of Errington's threats on a former occasion, they subdued their voices; and since they spoke in Chinese, the Englishmen never knew what insults they hurled at each other.

Errington thought his best course was to steer straight up the channel into which the boat had fallen, rather than diverge to right or left into the cross channels to which he came at frequent intervals. The sky was growing darker and darker; it would soon be impossible to proceed, and the prospect of spending the night in comparatively open water, with the chance of being stumbled upon by the pursuers, or spied in the morning, was exceedingly damping to the spirits. A very few minutes after the vessel had been got under way, the throb of the gunboat's engine was distinctly heard; and Errington, ordering the men to keep silent, shortly afterwards caught the sound of voices and then the thud of oars from the direction of the river. There was little doubt that two, if not three, boats had been lowered from the gunboat, and were already coming at a good pace into the swamp. This was, however, so broad that the fugitives were fairly safe for the present. The pursuers might, indeed, by some unlucky chance, know of the hiding-place which Errington was seeking; but they could not have any reason to guess that Errington knew of it, unless they had among them some of the men from whom he had escaped before; and in any case the growing darkness would render it as difficult for them as for Errington to make their way there.

For some time the vessel was punted slowly along; the sounds of pursuit drew nearer; and Errington almost despaired of succeeding in his quest when Lo San gave a low exclamation, and signed eagerly to his master to steer to the right. In another minute the boat emerged into the pool. To cross it was the work of only a few seconds, and Errington recognized with great relief the opening of the narrow, tortuous passage through which the boat had been towed. Leaving the steering wheel, he got over the side into the water, and went to the nose of the boat, so that he might the more easily prevent it from sticking in the reed-beds. Thus, wading and punting, they forced the vessel through the passage until they came within a few yards of the patch of dry land.

Here they stopped for a few minutes, while Errington stole forward and reconnoitred. There were the huts, just distinguishable in the darkness. All was quiet. The same few broken sampans were drawn up on the shore. In the midst of the open space was the cooking-stove at which the old Chinawoman had been broiling fish. Errington, with many a cautious look around, stepped on to the shore and walked rapidly but stealthily up to the huts. He paused at each, listening. No voices, no snores, came from within them. The place was deserted.

Returning to the boat, he brought it from out its shelter among the reeds, and soon had it drawn up for a few feet on the muddy shore. Every one of the party breathed more freely. They sat on the sampans to rest. For some little time no one spoke; they all listened intently: would the pursuers come to the same spot? They could hear voices, faint in the distance; but the sounds seemed to be receding. It appeared certain that, whether they knew of it or not, the pursuers were not at present rowing in the direction of the hiding-place. Presently absolute silence reigned; and Errington reckoned that they were lucky in having approached so late in the evening, when the wild fowl had settled themselves; otherwise they might have been betrayed by the birds' flight.

"We can't see what's wrong with the machine in the darkness," said Burroughs at length, in a whisper; "and we daren't strike a light."

"No; the only thing we can do is to wait for morning," replied Errington. "We shall pass a wretched night, old man."

"It might be worse. I only wish I hadn't got this whack in the shoulder; it stings horribly."

"I can bathe it and tie it up; hope it's not serious; but if we can get the machine mended we shan't be long running down to Sui-Fu in the morning, and then we'll soon put you to rights."

Errington took a dipper down to the water, filled it, and returned to bathe Burroughs' wound. Lo San met him.

"Captin he glumble velly much," he said. "He say wantchee chow-chow; long time he hab catchee nuffin to eat."

Burroughs had brought a little food from Sui-Fu--enough to provide himself and the two Chinamen with meals for a day. A portion of these provisions still remained; but knowing Chung Pi's appetite, he doubted whether the captain would be satisfied if the food were divided.

"Tell him he can have a crust of bread, a sausage end, and a mug of beer," he said. "We haven't got any melon seeds or sam-shu."

Chung Pi gobbled the food with great celerity, but drank the beer in slow sips, having been assured that he could have no more. He still grumbled very much, and it struck Burroughs suddenly that cold and hunger might so work on the captain that he might be tempted to betray them. Henceforth he would be a marked man so far as the rebels were concerned; and the chance to reinstate himself in the favour of his chief, Su Fing, might prevail over the prospect of advancement at which he had mysteriously hinted.

"You two men keep your eye on Chung Pi," said Burroughs to the servants. "He's not to stir from the sampan he's on. Show him a knife if he objects, but don't use it."

Burroughs need not have been alarmed. Chung Pi slept through the greater part of the night; and in the intervals of wakefulness he comforted himself for the cold and hunger he felt by blissful imaginings of plenty of sam-shu and melon seeds in a not distant future.

It was a wearisome, comfortless night for the two Englishmen. The cold was intense, and the want of food rendered them the less able to bear it. Burroughs' shoulder, too, gave him much pain, and became very stiff. During that long darkness the friends talked of many things--of old times, of recent experiences, of the future. Errington related the full story of his recovery of the flying boat; Burroughs in return told at greater length than he had done in the yamen the pilgrimage which Lo San had undertaken for his master. Errington said nothing to Lo San at the time; but he resolved to requite his servant's devotion substantially if they got safe home.

They discussed one matter about which Errington was troubled. His dismissal from the service of Ehrlich Soehne was in one sense a relief; he wished to have nothing more to do with Reinhardt, and remembering that the German held a cheque for three months' salary, he was glad to think that here was a means of liquidating his debt. But he felt much depressed about the future. His late firm was of good standing, and to be dismissed by them for what Reinhardt called "irregularities" made him fear that other employers would hesitate to take him into their service.

"That's absolute rot," said Burroughs, when Errington spoke of his fears. "Nobody will think any the worse of you in the end. Making an ass of yourself----"

"Rub it in!" interrupted Errington gloomily.

"Well, we all do it some time or other; and making an ass of yourself isn't a crime, or the prisons would be pretty full. There are plenty of firms as good as Ehrlich; if I didn't know how touchy you are I'd suggest your joining us; the pater----"

"Dry up! D'you think I'll ask your governor for a crib when I'm a rank failure, a regular rotter? A pretty fine thing that 'ud be, in return for all his kindness!"

"There you are! I knew that's how you'd take it. A failure! Why, you're no end better at business than I am. Everybody knows it. Look here, just shut down on those idiotic notions of yours. Chuck 'em away. A fellow that never made a mistake never made anything, somebody said. It's jolly well true. Of course, if a fellow goes on making mistakes, can't learn, hasn't got the sense or the will-power to pull up, he is a rotter, and there's no good disguising it. But many a juggins has turned out a jolly fine chap; in a year or two you'll laugh at yourself, and----"

"And thank my stars I had such a pal as the Mole, even if he does lecture a bit. Why didn't you say all that and other things before?"

"Well, you know--I--well, I suppose I was a juggins too, but you'd have shied a brick at my head if I had, wouldn't you?"

What more they said need not be told. That talk in the dead of night, under the silent stars, knit them closer together in a friendship which neither time nor circumstance will ever break asunder.

As soon as there was a glimmer of light they inspected the vessel. The damage was greater than they supposed. The petrol pipe union had been snapped; one of the stays of the starboard plane was broken in two; and a bullet had pierced a hole near the bottom of one of the petrol cans, the contents of which had almost entirely trickled away. They had only another half can of the spirit left. This was a very disturbing discovery, but it suggested at the same time what a lucky escape they had had. They might well have expected that the heat caused by the impact of the bullet would set the petrol on fire.

"Rather a long job before us," said Errington; "that is, if we try to mend the stay."

"The pipe won't take long," said Burroughs. "There's a bit of rubber tubing in the locker. We can stick the broken ends of the pipe into that. The stay is a different matter."

"Couldn't we leave that alone, and trust to our speed on the water?" Errington suggested.

"Rather risky. Unless the blackguards have got sick of waiting all night and sheered off, they'll spot us as soon as we take the river, and another shot might do for us altogether. No; we must mend the stay somehow, and then fly inland until we're out of harm's way--until the petrol gives out."

"But the stay must be welded; and we can't do that without hammering. If the gunboat's crew are anywhere about they are sure to hear the row, and find us out in no time."

"We'll have to chance that," said Burroughs. "A worse thing is the want of proper tools. There's a hammer in the locker, but we haven't got a forge. We can make a fire in that old stove there; but we've no bellows, and we can never get heat enough without."

"Never say die. Where there's a stove there ought to be bellows. I'm going to look round. But work before breakfast, and no supper the night before, doesn't make you feel amiable, does it?"

"While you are looking for the bellows I'll stroll along the shore and find out what sort of a place we're on. It's just as well to know something about our whereabouts."

Burroughs walked past the sampan where Chung Pi had passed the night. A thick white mist lay over the swamp, through which nothing was visible beyond two or three yards. Chung Pi was sitting in the sampan with his arms tightly folded. He seemed to have shrunk; Lo San and Chin Tai also were blue with hunger and cold. Burroughs felt sorry for them all.

"I regret having been compelled to inflict these inconveniences on you, noble captain," he said; "it is a pity our charms have not availed."

"Ah! If you had not gone back for the second talisman we should have been safe," said Chung Pi mournfully.

Burroughs had heard nothing about the second talisman, but he did not ask for an explanation, merely promising that Chung Pi should enjoy a substantial feast as soon as they reached Sui-Fu.

Proceeding along the shore, picking his way carefully because of the mist, he had walked for about a quarter of a mile when he came suddenly upon a sampan, and halted, fearing that it might belong to the enemy. But as he stood there surrounded by the clinging fog, he heard Errington's voice apparently only a few yards away. The explanation flashed upon him at once. They were on a small island, encompassed by a continuous screen of reeds. This was in a measure reassuring, for it diminished the risk of being discovered.

He moved forward. Errington saw a figure looming through the mist, and instantly challenged.

"It's all right, Pidge. I've made a tour of the place; it's an island. Any luck?"

"Yes, I've found a cranky pair of bellows, very Chinese, in one of the huts. We can start our forge at once.... Hullo!"

The exclamation was provoked by the sound of a shot in the distance.

"What's that mean, I wonder?" said Burroughs.

"Don't know. Shooting a duck for breakfast, perhaps. It's pretty clear that the beggars haven't given us up. When we start hammering they'll hear us and are sure to find us out."

"Better carry the stove into one of the huts and shut yourself up there. The sound will be deadened then. I wish now I'd brought my engineer; he'd have made a better job of it than you and Lo San; I can't help, I'm sorry to say; my wretched arm is as stiff as a poker."

"I've taken off the broken stay; half-an-hour's work ought to finish the job as soon as we get the fire going. This mist is a godsend; they can't see our smoke."

"Well, you take the two boys to lend a hand in the hut, while I keep an eye on Chung Pi and listen for the enemy."

The servants carried the stove and the broken stay into the largest of the huts. One of the others furnished plenty of wood for the fire, and in a few minutes they had a good blaze, and began the work of welding the stay. Burroughs was disconcerted to find that although the hut was shut up as closely as the ramshackle timbers allowed, the sound of hammering was distinctly audible outside. He sat on the sampan beside the dejected figure of Chung Pi, peering through the mist, and listening intently.

By and by he fancied he heard voices from the direction of the channel, and a few minutes afterwards the muffled splash of paddles struck his ear. He waited until he was no longer in doubt that the sounds were approaching; then, taking Chung Pi by the sleeve, he hurried him up to the hut where the work was going on.

"They're coming this way, Pidge," he said. "Better knock off until we know what's happening."

"I'll take Lo San down to the shore," said Errington. "Let us hope they'll miss the place."

At the shore Errington and the Chinaman stood listening in silence. The sound of paddles was now distinctly audible, growing louder every moment. Presently there were mingled with it the high-toned voices of Chinamen.

"Can you hear what they say?" Errington whispered.

Lo San bent forward.

"He say 'Come this side,'" he whispered. "He savvy this place all same."

"How many boats?"

"My tinkee two piecee sampan. Hai! He say: 'This side bobbely; muss belongey place where tings belongey pilates.'"

Such fragments as these were alarming. The boats could not be more than thirty yards away, and it seemed as though one of the men knew of the pirates' lair, and having suspected that the hammering had proceeded thence, was trying to guide the party towards it. But gradually the sounds receded. Lo San heard one man suggest that they should go back to the ship. Apparently they had failed to find their way in the mist. A more distant voice seemed to acquiesce in the suggestion, and the sounds died away until there was again complete silence.

Then Errington returned to the hut and resumed work on the stay, while Burroughs, this time leaving Chung Pi behind, went down to the shore to keep watch. The mist was gradually lifting; the screen of reeds facing the island first became visible, then a short stretch of the waterway that cut it in two. Little by little the whole prospect became clear; from behind came the dull hammering.

It was perhaps half-an-hour after Errington had recommenced work when Burroughs again caught the distant splash of oars. He instantly ran up to the hut and gave the word to cease work; then returned with Errington and Lo San to the shore. Nearer and nearer drew the sounds. There was no doubt that the pursuers were making in the direction of the island.

The watchers dropped down behind one of the stranded sampans and peered anxiously over the edge. If the approaching boat or boats came within sight of the island, to escape discovery was impossible. The Englishmen thought dismally of their chances if it came to a fight. They had a couple of revolvers; the Chinamen had their knives; but the pursuers, besides being more numerous, were without doubt completely armed. There could be only one end to the struggle, and there was no means of avoiding it. The stay was not completely repaired; it had to be refitted to the plane; and if the pursuers' boat held on its present course, as indicated by the growing sound, it must come within sight of the island long before the hydroplane could be got ready.

The voices of the approaching men now sounded so near that the watchers expected every moment their boat to glide into view on the waterway. They heard even the swishing of the rushes as the craft pushed its way among them. Suddenly there was a change. The sounds appeared to take a slightly different direction.

"He say, 'Muss belongey this side,'" whispered Lo San.

A few moments passed, during which the sounds grew somewhat fainter. Then they ceased abruptly: it was as if the men had suddenly found that which they sought. The silence continued, and Errington became alarmed. What were the pursuers about? He felt that he must know. Whispering his intention to Burroughs, he stepped into the water, waded noiselessly across to the nearest bed of reeds, skirted the outer edge, and disappeared from view.

He had not gone more than a dozen yards when he guessed what had happened. The man who had professed to know the island had lost his way, as was very natural in a passage that had many bewildering turns, with openings here and there among the reeds, which it must be difficult to distinguish one from another. The course which the boat had taken was plainly indicated by the bent and broken reeds among which it had been forced. Wading very cautiously in the same direction, and bending low, so that he was almost completely concealed, Errington in a few seconds saw with great surprise the nose of an empty boat projecting above the reeds, and apparently resting on dry land. The stern of the boat was hidden.

Instantly the explanation flashed upon him. The pursuers had lighted upon another patch of firm land, of which there were many dotted about the swamp, and imagining it to be the island of which they were in search, had gone ashore to explore the place.

Errington wondered how large the patch of dry land might be. If it were no longer than the island on which the hydroplane was beached, the men would soon discover their mistake, return to the boat, and continue their search. It was almost incredible that they should then fail to find the other island, within thirty yards of them. Was it possible in any way to check them?

A sudden idea occurred to him. Retracing his steps through the icy cold water, he came to the shore where Burroughs was anxiously awaiting his return, and waded to the hydroplane. From this he took the boat-hook, a long light pole of bamboo. Then putting his fingers to his lips, he set off again through the water, in nervous dread lest, short as his absence had been, the pursuers had had time to come back to their boat.

To his great relief, when he reached the spot, nobody was in sight. The boat remained as he had left it. Standing concealed among the reeds, he thrust the boat-hook forward, and after a few seconds' groping caught the hidden stern of the boat and drew it gently towards him--slowly and carefully, so as to make the least possible noise. The boat had not been tied up. It slid down the shelving bank inch by inch until it floated. Errington drew it on, through the reeds, which rustled unavoidably as it passed through them; then, turning his back, he towed it as rapidly as he could up the waterway towards his own island.

"Marooned, old chap," he said cheerfully to Burroughs, who started up in amazement. "But the water's deadly cold!"