Chapter Sixteen.
“Oh!—hah!”
“Where there’s a will there’s a way,” says the old proverb.
It is not quite true, but there’s a great deal of truth in it; and Stan had made up his mind how to gain possession of the boat almost before the boy had caught another fish.
The first idea was to wait till it was quite dark, so that his proceedings might not be seen by people in the many boats or from either shore; but he dared not wait, for at any moment the boy might be satisfied with the fish he had caught—scores, for aught Stan could tell—pull up his anchor, and row ashore, and the chance of getting the means of reaching the hong would be gone. What he did must be done at once, Stan concluded, and he prepared to act.
Fortune was favouring him, for the boat swung by a rope from the bows, and the boy was at the other end, facing the stern, over which he hung his line. And consequently he was sitting with his back to him who was planning the onslaught upon his peace.
Stan’s thoughts ran fast as he watched through the gap in the side of the junk and completed his plans, getting them so compact and clear that at last, as the boy fished on, it seemed as if he had nothing to do but make a start and succeed; but when at last he was quite strung up to the sticking-point, obstacle after obstacle began to appear and suggest impossibilities.
He was safely hid in the hold of the junk, but the moment he appeared on deck in his white flannels he would be a mark for every eye, from the crews on the high poops and sterns of the great junks to the people on the house-boats and shore, as well as the busy folk paddling here and there in the little sampans which were constantly on the move up, down, and across the river.
He seemed to hear the shout raised, “Foreign devil!” and to see the fishing boy, warned thereby, jumping up in his boat, pulling up the little wooden anchor, and rowing out of his reach, while scores of eager people joined in to hunt him down.
Stan’s venture seemed to become more and more mad, and he breathed hard, feeling that he must give it up. But there was the river before him, one wide-open way, flowing down and ready to bear him onward night and day toward his friends.
But he wanted the boat, and the only way was to seize it—steal it, he told himself, though he comforted himself with the thought that he was a prisoner trying to escape from his enemies, and that such a reprisal would be just.
“I must—I will do it,” he panted. “Oh, I wish I wasn’t such a coward to hesitate like this!—And there’s another fish. He must have caught enough to leave me a good meal, and I am so, so hungry! Now then! Once to be ready!” he muttered, with his old school-games rising before him.
“Twice to be steady!”
He paused here long enough to see the boy hook and draw in another fish, then bait again, and—
Stan was in agony, for the boy hesitated, paused to pick up a basket and examine its contents, and then he seemed as if he were satisfied and about to haul up his anchor and make for the shore.
“Too late!” groaned Stan. “I ought to have tried before. It’s all over. I must look out for another boat.”
He was casting his eyes in other directions, when, with a feeling of relief that is impossible to describe, he saw the boy drop down again and continue fishing.
Stan’s nerves and muscles were now like steel, and he began to crawl for the broken portion of the deck, got well hold of a cross-piece of bamboo with both hands, and commenced swinging himself to and fro from his hands till he could get one foot up, then the other, level with his face; and by a clever effort he raised himself so that he could, thanks to old gymnastic games at school, fling himself on to the unbroken part, where, after a few moments’ pause, he began to crawl to the edge of the deck where the bulwarks had broken and rotted away. Then, feeling that he must dare everything now, he lowered himself down, his feet sinking, and the water rising about him as he stretched his arms out till it was up to his hips.
And there he hung, a white figure in the evening glow, right in view for a few moments, as he hesitated before making the final effort.
“Suppose he shows fight,” he thought to himself. “Well, I must show fight too. I’ve licked English chaps as big as myself, and it will go hard if I can’t lick a Chinese.”
At this point he straightened his fingers, which were crooked over a ragged piece of bamboo, and plosh! he went down feet first with a heavy, sucking noise; the water closed over his head with a deep, thundering roar, and keeping himself quite rigid and his eyes wide-open, he waited till, after what seemed an immensely long time in darkness, his head rose above the ruddy surface of the water, and he found that he had turned as the current carried him along, so that he was looking at the rotten old vessel he had left.
Stan was skilful swimmer enough to reverse his position, and found it none too soon, for there was the boat he sought to reach some forty yards away, and so much out of the course he was taking that he had to begin swimming till he was well in a line with his goal, but so much nearer that as he ceased striking out he was close upon the anchor-line.
The next minute he had touched it gently, and at the happiest moment for his success, the boy having hooked a fish—a large one—which took up his attention so much that Stan softly seized the bow with both hands, let his legs float on the swift current, and then by a quick effort drew himself well up and rolled over into the bottom of the boat, where he lay quite still beside the folded-up little matting sail.
The boat rocked so that the owner looked sharply over his left shoulder, but not far enough to see the invader of his boat; and probably attributing the movement to his own exertions, he went on playing his big fish; while, reaching up his hands, Stan got hold of the painter and began to haul, till, to his great delight, he weighed the little anchor, and saw that the stream was carrying them down.
Still the boy did not turn, but hauled away at his line and gave it out again, as if afraid that if he were too hard upon his prize it would break away.
This went on for a good five minutes, till, apparently satisfied, the boy sank upon his knees and reached over the stern, hanging down so as to get a shorter hold, and ended by bringing the fish’s head well within reach, and while holding on with his left hand, he crooked his right finger ready, so as to turn it into a gaff-hook.
Stan saw a part of what was going on, and suspected the rest, as he seized his opportunity to get hold of the anchor-stock.
The next moment the fisher had raised himself up and swung a fish of some five pounds weight flop into the boat; while, as if acting by a concerted motion, Stan reached over and swung in the little grapnel—the actions of the lads bringing them round, from being back to back, now face to face.
Flop! flap! flap! went the fish.
Bang! bang! went the anchor.
“Oh!” ejaculated the Chinese lad, opening his mouth wide.
“Hah!” ejaculated Stan, springing up to seize his adversary.
But the latter did not wait to be seized.
Grasping the fact that the boat was gliding down-stream, and that he was face to face with a foreign devil, he raised his hands together well above his head and dived over the side in the easiest, most effortless way, gliding over like a blue seal blessed with a bald head and a big tail; when, as Stan dropped down in the boat, keeping only his head over the side, he saw him rise again far enough behind, and begin swimming with all his might for the shore.
Stan had something else to do besides watch the boy. He had some knowledge of boat management, and felt that he must risk everything now in the way of being seen; so, seizing the little mast, he stepped it, hauled up the yard and with it the matting sail, found it easy enough to get in position, and in five minutes more, as he drifted rapidly down with the stream, he had the mat sheeted home, and an oar over the stern for rudder. With the evening breeze quite sufficient for the purpose, he found himself gliding rapidly down the river, able to steer while lying down upon his back pretty well out of sight, and not a sound behind announcing that there was any pursuit.
“Hah!” he panted out at last. “They’ll have to come fast to catch me now. I wonder how far that poor fellow has to go before he can get help and another boat. Oh! if it would only turn dark, I could escape.
“What’s that?” he ejaculated, raising his head; for there was a loud smack as if something had struck one of the planks of the boat, and he turned cold with a despairing feeling, being sure that something had happened to check his flight.
But three or four more sharp spangs on the bottom of the craft enlightened him directly after, and he bore smilingly upon his oar so as to give a junk anchored in the river a wide berth, thinking the while of the shore lower down and a fire, if it was to be had, at which he could try his hand at cooking; for he knew with joy in his heart that the noise was made in the expiring efforts of what he meant to be his supper trying to leap over the side and failing dismally.
“Hah!” sighed Stan again. “I never saw it turn dark so rapidly before. In another few minutes it will be impossible for any one to see me from the shore.”
In fact, as he glided abreast of the anchored junk he saw a man busy at work hoisting a great round yellow paper lantern to the mast-head, too busy to pay any heed to him; and soon after he could see light after light beginning to dot the broad surface of the stream.
“I’m going to escape,” cried the poor fellow exultantly. “Oh, if I only can!”
Flap! said the fish softly, turning his thoughts into another groove.
“Yes, I hear you,” said Stan. “Fish—roast fish must be as good as fried. I wonder whether there’s a lantern anywhere on board. If there is there’ll be—Hooray! I’ve got my little silver box of matches in my revolver-pocket. I only wish I had my pistol too. But even if I hadn’t got the matches, I could glide up quietly to one of those boats, lower down and steal a lantern in the dark, and slip away.
“Steal! Yes, steal,” he said, laughing bitterly. “That’s the way these things grow. I begin by stealing the Chinese soldiers’ prisoner; then I steal a boat with a lot of fish; and now I’m thinking quite coolly of stealing a lantern. Who’d ever have thought that I should turn out such a thief?”
The fish gave one more flap, and lay still in the bottom of the boat like something of silver very dimly seen.
“I’m horribly hungry,” muttered Stan; “but the boat goes splendidly, and I’ll eat some of that fish raw before I’ll run her ashore to make a fire. Why not? I dare say it wouldn’t taste bad, and I only want just enough to keep me alive. I shall eat a piece as soon as it’s quite dead.”
An hour later he was tasting raw fish for the first time, and finding that it tasted very fishy indeed, but not more so than a big oyster just torn from its newly opened shell.