“Get out of this,” cried the officer, losing his temper in turn. “You may be a constable; I don’t know; but you’ll find your legs in the stocks if you air your insolence on an officer of His Majesty’s Customs.”
“Come away, Dick,” said Boulter soothingly. “We ain’t done yet. And we can’t afford to lose any more time. If the craft weathers Hope Point she’ll have a clear run out and give us the slip altogether. Come on, man.”
Within a few minutes the boat was again under way. It was heavy work pulling her down Gravesend Reach, and heavier still when, in Lower Hope Reach, she came full in the teeth of the wind. An exclamation from Martin caused Gollop to fling a hasty look over his shoulder. Strung out along the lee shore three ships lay at anchor, evidently waiting for the tide.
“Easy all!” cried Gollop, shipping his oar. A look of triumph gleamed in his eyes. “The second o’ them vessels—she’s the Merry Maid, bless her heart!”
“Are you sure?” said Boulter. “She’s three-quarters of a mile away.”
“Sure! Am I sure I’ve a nose on my face? That there’s my dear old captain’s craft, one in a thousand. She’s safe for a few hours. We’ll go ashore and wet our whistles, my mates; this is a chance we’ve got to make the best of.”
They pulled in towards the shore, but lay a few yards off the mud flats to talk over the next step before they landed.
“We can’t fight ’em, that’s certain,” said Boulter, “being only seven all told, two of us just boys, and one a aged furriner.”
Mounseer smiled, and fingered his rapier.
“True for you, mate,” said Gollop. “Well, if you ain’t strong enough to fight, what do you do?”