He tramped on for quite a couple of hours through what seemed to be a deserted city, doubling here and there, but without a sign of the main artery he sought, till, just as he was in despair and ready to sink with weariness and the thought that all his toil had been in vain—for the tops of the houses were beginning to show clearly against the grey sky—he came upon a wider turning. Glancing hesitatingly down it to see if it offered anything like a hiding-place, he rushed forward at once; for there, stretching to right and left, was the black, flowing river, with big junks moored close together, and beyond them and the smaller boats crowding the stream were the house-boats and dwellings by the farther shore.
A couple of minutes later Stan was on the hither bank, hurrying by boat after boat, but all too big to be manageable; and he kept on and on, feeling that he had not a minute to spare, for at any moment early risers might be on the move, and the sight of a fugitive English lad would be sufficient to raise a shout—and a hue and cry to hunt him down.
“It’s all over!” he groaned to himself suddenly; and he made a dart forward to get in the shelter of a great junk aground right up to the bank, for all at once he heard the splash of an oar, and a boat was being pushed off from the far side, looking wonderfully plain now in the fast-broadening dawn.
It was for liberty, so there was no time to put in practice the familiar old proverb of “Look before you leap,” Stan was running as he placed the stranded junk between him and the rowers, so he made a bound as he reached the lowest part midway between the high bows and the towering stern, springing from a rough kind of wharf on to the junk’s deck, which seemed to be about a couple of feet lower than the wharf.
The leap was nerved by despair; he had a good take-off, and for a brief moment or two he saw flowing water below him; then he came down on the rough bamboo deck. There was a soft, crushing sound, and he went through some of the rotten wood down into darkness, to fall upon his side and lie motionless, looking up at the grey, ragged patch he had made, and holding his breath as he listened for the coming of the boatmen, who must have heard the noise.
Chapter Fifteen.
“Chinese Men-of-War.”
Stan Lynn lay holding his breath and straining his ears, till he uttered a hoarse gasp, and all the while the murmur of voices and the plashing of an oar came nearer and nearer. Then the sounds were so close that he raised himself a little to look round for some hiding-place in the depths of the vessel, and then dared not stir. But all at once, just as he felt that the boat must be alongside, relief came in a hearty laugh uttered by one of the boatmen, the plash, plash, plash of the oar grew more distant, and he let nerve and muscle relax till he felt limp and helpless ready to do nothing but lie panting amongst the rotten wood, resting and trying to recover his failing powers.