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.