The question came cautiously from a man in the boat's stern. Happily the clouds had again gathered, and none, had any been watching, could have seen Tyndale step from among the bushes and make his way to the bank.
"I am here. Are you not very late?"
"A bit," was the sturdy, but whispered answer. "It couldn't be helped. That fellow, Cochlaeus, has been prowling about the harbour for the last three hours, and, not content with asking who was on board any of the ships that meant to leave to-night, he went aboard every one of them, and rummaged about in the cabins and down the holds, tapping everywhere where there was a possible place for a man to hide in. The Marburg came in for special attention."
Tyndale stood on the bank and listened, and the moonlight, playing on his face, revealed the intensity of his anxiety.
"Did he find anything? Was he suspicious about those precious bundles?" he asked.
"No, master; his whole aim was to lay those long lean fingers of his on flesh and blood. And something laughable happened, although some of us sweated with anxiety at first. Cochlaeus got down into the hold, where there were some casks, and these he tapped with his staff, as he tapped every mortal thing there was. Some of them sounded hollow, and he turned them over, but when he came to one and turned that on its side, a man sprawled out."
Cochlaeus caught at him.
"'Ha! Master Tyndale, I have you at last!' he cried jubilantly, but a moment later he screamed aloud. It was Heinrich, the simple lad in the city, who, for some freak, had stolen on board to have a free ride up the river, and hid himself thus, that none should know.
"He was frightened when he saw that it was Cochlaeus who had gripped him, and in his frenzy of fear he snapped at the hand of the heretic hunter, closing his teeth upon the long bony fingers, making him scream with pain. But Heinrich would not let go. Not he! He seemed to take a delight in making the Deacon of the Church of the Blessed Virgin dance about, and he bit the harder. Ah! how he bit! and some of the sailors laughed till the tears came, hoping that the simple lad would bite the harder, to part repay the brute for the sorrow and pain he had caused to so many who had come into his power.
"When the Captain came, wondering what the laughter and the screams meant, he persuaded the boy to loosen his teeth; but not until he had clenched his teeth for a final bite.