The activity of the young man, for such he seemed to be, was something marvellous; and again and again he made a tremendous leap, scrambled over the rocks, and escaped. The last time, however, he dropped down in a narrow place that formed quite a cul-de-sac, and right in front of Tom Tully.
“What! have I got you?” cried the great stolid fellow; and he made a dash forward, straddling out his legs as if on board ship, when, to his intense astonishment, his quarry bent down, dashed at him, ducked between his knees, struggling through, and throwing the great sailor headlong flat upon his face.
The shout Tom Tully gave brought up Billy Waters; and as the stranger recovered his feet to escape in a fresh direction, he ran right into the gunner’s arms, to be held with a grip like iron.
The man had his arms free, however, and putting his fingers into his mouth he gave vent to a piercing whistle, close to the gunner’s ear.
“Oh, that’s it, is it?” said Billy Waters. “Well, my lad, I sha’n’t let you go any the more for that. Here, lend a hand my lads, and lash his wristies and elbows together. We’ve got him, and we’ll keep him till we get back Muster Leigh. Now then, Tom Tully, you hold him while I lash his wristies. That’s your style. I say, he won’t get away once I— Look at that!”
Tom Tully had, as he thought, taken a good hold of the prisoner, when the man gave himself a sudden wrench, dived under the gunner’s arm, and was gone.
“Well, of all—” began Tom Tully.
“Why didn’t you hold him?” cried the gunner.
“I thought he was a man and not a slippery eel,” cried Tom Tully. “He’s for all the world like one o’ them big congers Muster Leigh caught off Hastings.”
“Yes,” cried the gunner, “but he did hold ’em when he caught ’em. Look out, my lads! he come your way.”