“Keep a sharp look out for a boat somewhere off here. Three prisoners in her escaping.”
“My hye!” muttered Tom Bodger. “That’s nice. Resisting the law too. Strikes me as we’re going to be in a mess.”
Chapter Sixteen.
Aleck, in the midst of his excitement in his novel position, had somewhat similar thoughts to those of his rough sailor companion. For what was he doing, he asked himself—resisting the King’s men performing a duty—for a duty it was, however objectionable it might be—and helping a man they were trying to impress. Worse still, trying to secure the liberty of a well-known smuggler, one of the leading spirits in as determined a gang as existed on the coast.
It was that appeal for the sake of the wife and children that had turned the scale in Eben’s favour, and, as Aleck argued now to himself as they glided steadily over the waters of the outer harbour, what was done was done, and to hang back now would mean capture and no mercy, for he would probably find himself bundled aboard the sloop-of-war and no heed paid to his remonstrances.
“Say, Master Aleck,” was suddenly whispered to him, “I hope Eben Megg arn’t going to die.”
“Die? Oh, Tom, no. I forgot all about his cut head. We must tie it up.”
“Tied up it is, sir, wi’ my hankychy, but he’s got a nasty cut on the head. Ah, it’s bad work resisting the law, for lawful it is, I s’pose, to press men.”