The Wolf Patrol: A Tale of Baden-Powell's Boy Scouts

by John Finnemore

CHAPTER XXV

A NARROW SHAVE

'It's a kid—a cheeky kid,' he cried in low, savage tones. 'I'll soon settle him.'

'P'raps he'll keep quiet. Ask him if he'll swear to say nothin'?' called out the man in the boat, his tones low and eager.

'Shut up!' snarled the other; 'as if any kid could keep quiet! I ain't a-goin' to do time for the likes of him. Not me! I'll chuck him into the hold.' And he clinched his words with another stream of fierce imprecations.

He scrambled towards the spot where Chippy stood as fast as his feet could carry him. The scout knew that he was in great danger; his acquaintance with longshore folk was extensive, and he knew that among them were to be found a few ruffians and thieves as desperate as any alive—men who would not value a boy's life any more than a fly's, if it became necessary to their safety to take it. If he were seized, he would be knocked on the head, and his body flung into the hold of the Three Spires, into the deep muddy bilge which lay there, as safe a hiding-place for a crime as could be found.

There was but one way of escape, and he turned to it at once. His boat had gone, but the river was still his refuge and way of release. He seized the broken taffrail, swung himself over it, let himself go, slid swiftly down the side, holding himself straight and stiff as a bar, and struck the water with his bare feet with less than a splash, with no more than a sharp clunk, and at the next instant was striking out with all his might for the side of the creek.

The man creeping along the deck uttered a savage oath full of baffled fury as he saw Chippy vanish over the side, and heard him enter the water; then scrambled swiftly back to the boat, and sprang in.

'He's jumped over,' he growled. 'Pull round and after him. We'll get him yet.'

'P'raps he's drownded,' said the other.

'Not him,' cried the fiercer thief; 'he didn't drop into the water like one as gets drownded. He's makin' off—that's what he's a-doin'. Pull, I tell ye—pull!'

They bent to the oars, and the skiff was driven at speed round the stranded hull of the barquentine. For his part, Chippy was swimming as he had never swum before. He was lashing the water with all his might, swimming his favourite side-stroke, his fastest way of moving, now glancing at the dark mass which marked the side of the creek, now glancing behind to see if the boat pursued. In one thing he was very unlucky. He had struck straight away from the side over which he had slipped, the side upon which the boat was not lying, and was swimming into the moonlight which now bathed the farther side of the creek. He shot into the lighted space as the boat slid from under the shadow of the broad stern, and was seen at once. Across the quiet water Chippy heard the voice of his more dangerous foe: 'There he is! there he is!' cried the ruffian. 'Pull, I tell ye—pull! we'll have him easy before he touches bank.'

Chippy looked ahead, and felt that there was horrible truth in this. Stripped to the buff, he would have escaped without a doubt, for he could go through the water like a fish. But he was now fully clothed, and the water-sodden garments clung round him like a coating of lead, impeding his strokes, and cutting down his pace in cruel fashion.

Still, he fought gamely, putting out every effort to drive himself through the slow, dead water, and keeping his mind fixed on the shore ahead, and not on the boat darting after him under the propulsion of two powerful oarsmen.

He wanted to look back, but he drove the feeling off. He knew it would not help his speed to mark how near his foes were, and he could, in any case, do nothing but swim—swim for his life. There is no more helpless creature in the world than the swimmer overtaken in the water. He can neither fight nor fly. His powers are needed to support himself, and, once disabled, the deadly water takes him into its murderous embrace.

But, of a sudden, Chippy was forced to mark the terrible danger which hung over him.

'Pull straight ahead,' said a voice, which seemed almost in his ear. He turned his face, and his heart leapt in his side. The muffled rowlocks and sweeps had brought the boat almost full upon him in silence, and the ruffian who sought his life was springing into the bows armed with the boat-hook. The boy scout saw all this clearly in the moonlight—saw the second man pulling with a terrified face turned over his shoulder, saw the heavy, iron-shod pole swinging aloft to fall upon his head. He drew a long breath, and filled his lungs deeply. As he did so, the shadow of the bow fell upon him, and at that instant he dived like a water-hen. There was a tremendous splash just at his ear, and a heavy blow was dealt on his shoulder, driving him deeper still. He turned over on his back, and opened his eyes, for he had closed them at the instant of diving. He saw directly above him a dark mass, and knew that he was under the boat. It passed slowly on, and he rose, and his face came to the surface and was brushed by a rope. He seized the rope and hung on, and drew, cautiously, a deep breath. He looked round, and found that he had caught the painter as it dragged astern, and that the way of the boat was checked. Then Chippy heard a voice. 'Pull round a bit,' it asid; 'we shall soon see if he rises again or no.'

'Not he,' said another voice, which quavered. 'Never! never! He'll ne'er rise again after that frightful crack you hit him. I shall hear it all my days.'

The hardier ruffian chuckled. 'I did fetch him a good un,' he said—'a reg'lar oner. I felt the hook light on him. But pull, I tell ye—pull! There's no time for moanin' an' groanin' now.'

Chippy felt that way was being given to the boat, and he struck out softly with one arm and both feet in order that he should not drag on the boat and betray his presence. By the aid of the painter, he could keep his head low behind the broad stern, and quite out of sight of the two rogues in the boat.

His shoulder ached where the boat-hook had fallen upon it, but the blow had not been disabling, for the force had been partly broken by the water. In one way, it was very lucky for the scout that he had received this sharp crack, for the thief who sought his life was now fully under the impression that the boy had been beaten under. This caused the two rogues to be less thorough in their search for a head showing above the water. The boat was gently paddled round the spot where Chippy had disappeared, but the men did not move to and fro in the boat, glancing on every side. Had they done so, the head bobbing along under the stern would have been discovered, and there would have been a short shrift for the daring scout.

'He'll never come up—never,' said the rower, his voice still unsteady; 'you stunned him, an' I've heard as anyone stunned will never rise again.'

'That's true,' said the ruffian, who still poised the boathook ready to deal a second blow if needful—'that's true, an' like enough he's gone down for good. Anyhow, he's been under long enough for us to be sure he's settled. Here, what are ye up to?'

This question was addressed to his companion, who now dipped his oars deeply, and began to pull a strong stroke.

'I'm off ashore,' said the latter; and Chippy could hear the fellow's teeth chattering as he spoke. 'I've had enough o' this. I'm goin' to get on the bank.'

'Pull away, then, chicken-heart,' jeered his more brutal comrade. 'After all, the stuff's safely stowed away. There's no need to go back to the old barky.'

The boat was steadily driven inshore, and at the stern Chippy swam his hardest to take his weight off the painter and keep his head under cover. 'I got to look out,' said the cool scout to himself, 'or I'll get that boathook on my nut yet.'

But once more fortune favoured the brave, and the boat slid into the deep shadow of the old landing-stage, and Chippy was still undiscovered. No sooner did they enter the friendly dusk than Chippy released the painter, and let himself float without movement. The boat pulled on a dozen yards to the stairs, and the scout swam gently to the shelter of a great pile. Chippy now heard the rower fling down the oars and spring out of the boat, and rush up to the stage above.

The second man poured a stream of jeers after his less resolute comrade, then sat down, took the oars, turned the boat, and pulled away down the creek, evidently bent on restoring the craft to its proper anchorage.

The boat shot away and disappeared round the end of the stage, and Chippy struck out for the stairs and crawled to land. He was by this time pretty exhausted, and he sat for a few minutes on the lowest step, to rest and draw a few easy breaths, while the water poured from him in streams. As soon as he had recovered a little, he sprang up the steps, and hurried homewards on his bare feet; for his boots were at the bottom of the river, and he considered himself a very lucky scout to think that he was not there beside them.