Chapter Twelve.
In which Nemesis has a busy time of it.
Our heroes had all along had a presentiment that their troubles would begin some time or other. They had expected it at the very start; but it had been put off stage by stage throughout the day, until it really seemed as if it must make haste, if it was to come at all.
And yet everything had gone so smoothly so far; the day had been so successful, the match so glorious, the supper so gorgeous, that they could hardly bring themselves to think Nemesis would really pounce upon them.
That worthy lady, however, though she often takes long credit, always pays her debts in the long run, and our heroes found her waiting for them before Grandcourt was many miles behind them.
They had been baulked in their intention of getting back into the friendly shelter of coach five at the outset, by the very awkward fact that Mansfield would stand at the door of Grandcourt, talking to a friend, until coach five had received its passengers, and started. Coach six followed, and to the horror of our two skulkers the way was still blocked. Things were getting desperate. The top of number six was packed, and still Mansfield stood across the door.
Should they throw themselves on his mercy, or hurl themselves between his feet, and overturn him, if haply they might escape in the confusion? How they hated that Grandcourt fellow who talked to him. What business had he to keep a Templeton fellow there catching cold? Why hadn’t all Grandcourt been ordered to bed directly after supper?
Horrors! Coach six shouted “All right!” and rattled off.
“We’re done for,” said Heathcote. “We may as well show up.”
“Stay where you are,” said Dick; “we shall have to hang on behind the coach the Eleven go in.”
“But, Dick, they’re all monitors!”
“Can’t be helped,” said Dick, peremptorily.
The Eleven’s coach drove up, and all Grandcourt turned out with a final cheer for their conquerors. Mansfield shook hands with his friend, and climbed up on to the box. The rest followed. Ponty rambled out among the last. He looked up at the crowded roof, and didn’t like it. It was far too much grind for the dear fellow to swarm up there.
“I’ll go inside, Cresswell. Come on; we’ll get a seat each, and make ourselves comfortable.”
Cresswell laughed.
“If you hadn’t made that catch, old man,” said he, “I’d say you were the laziest beggar I ever saw. But as you’ve a right to give your orders, I’ll obey. Lead on, mighty captain.”
Our heroes shivered, and wondered if any sin in the calendar were equal to that of sloth! With all the Eleven on the top, they had had a chance yet of weathering “Mrs” Nemesis, and hanging on behind. But with the captain and whipper-in inside, they might as well try and hang on a lion’s tail.
“All U P, old man,” groaned Heathcote.
“Slip out sharp!” said Dick excitedly. “Our only chance is to get ahead of them, and pick them up on the road.”
Scarcely any one noticed the two dismayed little Templetonians, as they squeezed out of the gate, with their caps drawn over their eyes, and their heads diligently turned away from the coach of the Eleven. One fellow, however, spotted them, and scared the wits out of them, by saying “Hallo! here are two youngsters left behind. Get inside this coach; there’s lots of room. Look alive, they’re starting.”
“Oh, thanks!” said Dick, scarcely able to speak for the jumping of his heart, “we’re going to do a trot the first mile or so. Thanks awfully! Good-bye.” And to the amazement of the Grandcourtier, the small pair started to run with their heads down and their fists up, at the rate of seven miles an hour.
“By George,” thought he to himself, “some of those Templeton kids go the pace.”
The pleasant village of Grandcourt was startled that evening, as the shades of night fell, by the sight of two small boys trotting hard down the High Street, side by side, some three hundred yards in advance of the coach which carried the conquering heroes of Templeton; like eastern couriers who run before the chaise of the great man. But those two heeded neither looks nor jeers; their ears were deaf to the cry of “Stop thief,” and shouts of “Two to one on Sandy,” stirred no emotions in their fluttering breasts. Luckily for them the road began uphill, so they were able to get a fair start by the time the village was clear. When at last they pulled up breathless at the road-side, they could see the lamp of the coach a quarter of a mile down the road, advancing slowly.
“It’s touch and go,” said Heathcote, “if we do it without getting nabbed. That wretched light shows up everything.”
“Yes, I don’t like it,” said Dick; “we’d better lie down in the ditch, Georgie, till it’s got past. They’ll trot as soon as they get up here on to the level, and we must make a shot at the step. Those fellows inside are sure not to be looking out.”
It was an anxious few minutes as the light approached, and shot its rays over the prostrate bodies of the boys in the ditch. They dared not lift their faces as it passed, and it was only when, as Dick had predicted, the walk changed into a trot, that they started from their lurking-place, and gave chase.
“Why,” groaned Heathcote, as they came up, “it’s got no step!”
For once, Dick was gravelled. The idea that the coach was not like all the other coaches had never once crossed his mind; and he felt beaten. The two unhappy pursuers, however, kept up the chase, pawing the forbidding coach door, very much as kittens paw the outside of a gold-fish bowl.
Alas! there was nothing to lay hold of; not even a handle or a nail!
“Shall we yell?” gasped Heathcote, nearly at the end of his wind.
“Wait a bit. Is there anything underneath we could lay hold of?”
They groped, but, as it seemed, fruitlessly. Dick, however, stooped again, and next moment turned round radiant.
“There’s a bit of string,” said he. “Keep it up, old man, and we’ll get hold of it.”
With much diving he succeeded in picking up the end of a casual piece of string that had somehow got its other end fastened to a nut underneath the coach. As quick as thought he whipped out his handkerchief and looped it on to the string. Then Heathcote whipped out his handkerchief and looped it on to Dick’s, and between them the two held on grimly, and tried to fancy their troubles were at an end.
The support of a piece of stray string at the tail of a coach, supplemented by two pocket-handkerchiefs, may be grateful, but for practical purposes it is at best a flimsy stay, and had it not been for occasional hills at which to breathe, our heroes might have found it out at once.
As it was, they were carried three or four miles on their way by the purely moral support of their holdfast until the last of the hills was climbed, and the long steady slope which led down to Templeton opened before the travellers and reminded the horses of corn and stable. Then a trot began, which put the actual support of the extemporised cable to the test.
Our heroes, worn out already, could not, try all they would, keep it slack. Every step it became tauter and tauter, until at last you might have played a tune upon it. They made one gallant effort to relieve the strain, but, alas! it was no good. There was a crack of the whip ahead, the horses, full of their coming supper, gave a bound forward, and that moment on the lonely road, five miles from home, sprawled Heathcote, with Dick in his lap, and two knotted pocket-handkerchiefs in the dust at their feet. They had no breath left to shout, no energy to overtake, so they sat there panting, watching the coach vanish into the night and humbly wondering—what next?
“Here’s a soak!” said Heathcote at last, recovering speech and slowly untying his handkerchief from the cable in order to mop his face.
“Yes,” said Dick, getting off his friend’s lap and looking dismally down the road; “our ride home didn’t come off after all.”
“We came off, though!” said Heathcote. But he corrected himself as he saw Dick wearily round upon him. “I mean—I say, what must we do?”
“Stump it,” said Dick. “It’s about five miles.”
Heathcote whistled.
“Pity we didn’t cheek it into our own coach,” said he. “I say, Dick, what a row there’ll be!”
“Of course there will,” said Dick. “Have you only just found that out? Come along; we’ll be late.”
Considering it was eight o’clock and they were yet five miles from home, this last observation was sagacious.
They strolled on for half an hour in silence, mending their pace as they recovered their wind, until at the end of that time they had settled down into a steady three-and-a-half miles an hour, and felt rather more like getting home than they had done.
“Another hour will do it,” said Dick. “I say, we might smuggle in after all, Georgie. What a crow if we do, eh?”
Georgie inwardly reflected that there would be a crow of some sort or other whatever happened, but he prudently reserved his opinion and said, “Rather!”
“We ought to come to the cross-roads before long,” said Dick. “I hope to goodness you know which one goes to Templeton.”
“No, I don’t; but there’s bound to be a post.”
There was a post, but, though they climbed up it and rubbed their eye-lashes along each arm, they could get no guiding out of it. They could see an L on one arm, and an N on another, and a full stop on each of the other two, but, even with this intelligence, they felt that the road to Templeton was still open to doubt, as, indeed, after their wanderings round and round the sign-post, they presently had to admit was the case with the road by which they had just come.
“We’d better make ourselves snug here for the night,” said Heathcote, who fully took in the situation.
“That would be coming to a full stop with a vengeance!” said Dick.
“Shut up; I let you off—and, by Jove, here’s somebody coming!”
The red embers of a pipe, followed by a hulking nautical form, hove slowly in sight as he spoke, and never did a sail cheer the eyes of shipwrecked mariners as did this apparition bring comfort to Dick and Heathcote.
“I say,” said the former, advancing out of the shades and almost startling the unsuspecting salt, “we’ve lost our way. Which road goes to Templeton?”
The big sailor gave a grunt and lay to in an unsteady way, which convinced our heroes, unlearned as they were in such matters, that he wasn’t quite sober.
“What d’yer want ter go ter Templeton fur?” demanded he.
“We belong to the school, and we’ve got left behind.”
The sailor laughed an unsympathetic laugh and took his pipe out of his mouth.
“Yer belong to the school, do yer, and yer’ve lost yer way?”
“Yes; can you put us right?”
“Yes, I can put yer right,” said the brawny young salt, putting his pipe back between his lips. “What’ll yer stand?”
“We’ll give you a shilling,” said Dick.
“Yer will? Yer’ll give me a sovereign apiece, or I’ll bash yer!”
And he laid a hand on the arm of each of his victims, chuckling and smoking as he looked down on their puny efforts to escape.
“Turn out yer pockets, nobs!” said he, giving them a slight admonitory shake.
“I haven’t got a sovereign,” said Heathcote.
Dick did not even condescend to plead; he fell headlong on his huge opponent, shouting, in the midst of his blows—
“Let us go, do you hear? I know your name; you’re Tom White, the boatman, and I’ll get you locked up if you don’t.”
But even this valiant threat, and the still more valiant struggles of the two boys, availed nothing with the nautical highwayman, who smoked, and shook the bones of his wretched captives, till they were fain to call for mercy.
The mercy was dearly bought. Dick’s half-sovereign, Heathcote’s twelve shillings, the penknife with the gouge, among them did not make up the price. One by one their pockets were turned inside out, and whatever there took the fancy of the noble mariner went into the ransom. Pencils, india-rubber, keys, and even a photograph of Dick’s mother were impounded; while resistance, or even expostulation only added bone-shaking into the bargain; till, at last, the unhappy lambs were glad to assist at their own fleecing, in order to expedite their release.
“There yer are,” said Tom, when at last the operation was over, “that’s about all I want of yer, my hearties; and if yer want the road to Templeton, that’s she, and good-night to yer, and thank yer kindly. Next time yer want a sail, don’t forget to give an honest jack tar a turn. Knows my name, do yer? Blessed if I ever see you afore.”
“You’re a beastly, low, tipsy thief,” shouted Dick, from a respectful distance, “and we’ll get you paid out for this.”
And not waiting for a reply, the two unfortunates, less heavily weighted than ever, started down the road, snorting with rage and indignation and full of thoughts of the direst revenge.
Nemesis was coming down on them at last with a vengeance!
Two miles they went before speech came to the relief of their wounded feelings.
“It’s transportation,” said Heathcote.
“Cat-o’-nine-tails too,” said Dick.
“Jolly good job,” said Heathcote.
And they went on another mile.
Then it occurred to them this was not the road along which they had driven in the morning; and once more the villainy of Tom White broke upon them in all its blackness.
“He’s sent us upon the wrong road!” said Heathcote, beginning at last to feel that Nemesis was a little overdoing it.
Dick gulped down something, and walked on in silence.
“Where are you going? What’s the use of going on?”
“May as well,” said Dick, striding on. “It’s bound to lead somewhere.”
In which comfortable conviction they accomplished another half-mile.
Then to their satisfaction, and somewhat to Dick’s self-satisfaction, they heard a low noise ahead, which they knew must be the sea.
“I thought it would bring us out,” said Dick. “When once we get at the sea, we can’t help finding Templeton.”
“Unless we take a wrong turn to start with, and then we shall have to walk all round England before we turn up.”
“Shut up, Georgie, we’ve had foolery enough for one night.”
Heathcote collapsed, and another mile brought the two wanderers to the sea.
Luckily for them, the rising moon came to their rescue in deciding whereabouts they were.
“Not far out,” said Dick, “there’s the Sprit Rock; two miles more will do it.”
“I shan’t be sorry when I’m in bed,” said Heathcote.
“I shan’t be sorry when I see Tom White hung. I say, we may as well have a dip before we go on.”
So they solaced themselves with a plunge in the moonlit sea, which, after their dusty labours, was wonderfully refreshing. Having dressed again, all but their shoes and stockings, which they looped together and hung over their shoulders, they tucked up their trousers, and started to wade along the strand to their journey’s end.
The tide had only just started to come in, so they had the benefit of the hard sand, which, combined with the soft, refreshing water and the bright moonlight, rendered their pilgrimage as pleasant as, under the circumstances, they could have desired. Their talk was of Thomas White, for whom it was well he was not within earshot. They arrested him, tried him, sentenced him, flogged him, transported him, and yet were not satisfied.
“You know, Georgie,” said Dick, working himself into a fury, “he collared my mother’s photograph! the low cad! I’d be a beast if I didn’t pay him out.”
“Rather! and I’ll back you up, old man. I was going to get a tennis-bat with that twelve bob; the blackguard!”
About a mile from home the lights of Templeton hove in sight; but still our heroes’ talk was of Tom White and the next assizes.
They had the beach to themselves, with only a few stranded boats for company, over whose anchors they had to pick their way gingerly.
“The tide’s coming in at a lick,” said Dick. “Half an hour later, we should have had to tramp on the soft sand— Lookout, you duffer!”
The last remark was caused by Heathcote tripping over a rope, and coming down all fours on the wet sand.
“Bother that rope,” said he, “I never saw it. I say, it’s rather a small one for that big boat, isn’t it?”
“It is,” said Dick, walking round to the stern of the boat in question, “its— Hallo, I say, Georgie, look here!”
Georgie looked in the direction of Dick’s finger, and read the words, “‘Martha,’ Thomas White, Templeton” on the stern of the boat.
Both boys whistled. Then Dick marched resolutely up to the bows, over a thwart in which the anchor rope was hitched in a loop.
“Tom White must have been drunk when he anchored this boat,” said Dick. “She’ll never hold if the wind gets up.”
“Good job, too,” said Heathcote.
“So I think,” said Dick, thoughtfully. “I say, Georgie,” added he, with his fingers playing on the end of the loop, “Tom White’s a frightful cad, isn’t he?”
“Rather!”
“And a thief, too?”
“I should think so.”
“It would serve him jolly well right if he lost his boat.”
“He don’t deserve to have a boat at all.”
“This knot,” said Dick, slipping the loop, “wouldn’t hold against a single lurch. Why, it comes undone in a fellow’s hand—”
And the end dropped idly on the floor of the boat as he spoke.
Heathcote nodded.
“Think of the cad having robbed two juniors like us, and collared mother’s photograph, too, the brute!” said Dick, taking his friend’s arm and walking on.
They talked no longer of Thomas White, but admired the moonlight, and wondered how soon the tide would be up, and speculated as to whether there wasn’t a breeze getting up off the land. Once they turned back, and glanced at the black hull, lying, still aground, with the tide yards away yet. Then they thought a trot would warm them up before they put on their boots, and mounted the cliff to Templeton.
The clock struck half-past eleven as they knocked modestly at the porter’s lodge. The porter was up, and evidently expected them.
“Nice goings-on, young gentlemen,” said he. “The Doctor wishes to see you after chapel in the morning. In you go. I’m sorry for you.”
With fluttering hearts they stole across the moonlit Quadrangle, and gazed round at the grim windows that peered down on them from every side. The housekeeper was up and ready for them, too.
“Bad boys,” said she, as she opened the door; “go to bed quietly, and make no noise. The Doctor will be ready for you the moment chapel is over.”
They mounted the creaking stairs, and crawled guiltily along the passage to their dormitory.
The dormitory monitor was sitting up in bed ready for them, too.
“Oh, you have turned up, have you?” said he. “I hope you’ll enjoy yourselves with Winter in the morning. Most of the fellows say it’s expulsion; but I rather fancy a licking, myself. Cut into bed, and don’t make a noise.”
And he curled himself up in his bedclothes, and slept the sleep of the just, which was more than could be said for the fitful slumbers of our heroes, which visions of Tom White’s boat, and Ponty’s pocket, and the piece of string at the tail of the Eleven’s coach, combined to make the reverse of sound.
In the middle of the night Dick, as he lay awake, felt Heathcote’s hand nudging him.
“I say, Dick!” said the latter, “the wind’s got up. Do you hear it?”
“Shut up, Georgie. I’m just asleep.”
Nemesis handed in her last cheque to our heroes after chapel next morning in the Doctor’s study. I will spare the reader the harrowing details of that serious interview. Suffice it to say that the dormitory fag was right, and that Mrs Partlett was spared the trouble of packing up the two young gentlemen’s wardrobes.
But they emerged from the study wiser and sadder men. They knew more about the properties of a certain flexible wood than they had ever dreamed of before. They also felt themselves marked men in high quarters, with a blot on their new boy’s scutcheon which it would take a heap of virtue to efface.
“By George!” said Dick that afternoon, “we got it hot—too hot, Georgie.”
“I think Winter might have let us down rather easier, myself,” said Georgie.
There was a pause.
“Was it windy last night?” asked Dick.
“Rather!” said Georgie.
“Anything new down town?”
“Couldn’t hear anything.”
“Hum! I wonder what that beast’s done with mother’s photograph? I say, Georgie, what a howling brute he was!”
“He was; he deserves anything.”
Strange, if so, that neither of our young heroes went to the police station and informed against their man. On the contrary, they went up on to the cliffs after school, and scanned the bay from headland to headland, doubtless lost in the wonders of the deep, and wishing very much they could tell what the wild waves were saying as to the whereabouts of the Martha.