The Flying Boat: A Story of Adventure and Misadventure

by Herbert Strang

But in vain. Errington was not the man to be scared by actual dangers, still less imaginary ones. The moving boats had frightened away the ducks, so that there was no present chance of sport. And having nothing better to do for the moment, he drove the sampan quietly still farther among the reeds, bade Lo San keep still, and settled to watch the strangers.

As they drew nearer, he noticed something that piqued his curiosity. The men in the boat, whom he now knew to be Chinamen, looked cautiously around, as if to make sure that they were not observed. Screened though he was by the reeds, Errington had the curious sensation which watchers often have, that those whom he could see also saw him. But the men gave no sign of uneasiness; the dinghy passed behind the further edge of the clump of reeds, and disappeared.

Errington was now sufficiently interested to determine to wait. Ten or twelve minutes afterwards, the nose of the dinghy emerged from the rushes; the men turned it round, and made off in the direction from which they had come. But Errington saw at a glance that there was now no object astern of them. He wondered what it was, and where it had been left. Probably the circumstance would not have held his attention for a moment but for the men's cautious look around; their manner suggested that they were hiding something. It might be no business of his; on the other hand, it struck him that, since the incident had happened in a district infested by pirates, some of these pests had recently made a haul of goods. He felt that at all hazards he must satisfy himself; not that there appeared to be any danger, but he could not tell but that, behind the screen of reeds at the farther end of the open water, there might be an encampment of the water-rats, as these gentry were called by the Englishmen. The object with which Errington had set out was forgotten; duck-shooting was an exciting sport, but it did not challenge his imagination as did the possibility of a contest of wits or activity with men; and with nerves braced he resolved to investigate.

Venturesome as he was in ordinary circumstances, Errington was not without the instinctive cautiousness of the born scout. He did not, therefore, head straight across the pool, as any one who knew him slightly, and argued only from his impulsiveness, might have expected him to do. Instead, he forced the sampan slowly and with some difficulty through the margin of rushes bordering the pool. Many other channels besides that on which the boat had come, led from the open water to the river. Coming to one of these narrower passages, he glanced up and down before crossing it, to make sure that there were no other men who might see him and interfere with his movements. His object was to reach the wider channel, and then follow the course that had been taken by the dinghy.

It occurred to him that the dinghy, when it disappeared among the rushes, might have towed the second craft to a pirate encampment; and as the direction in which it had gone was on his right-hand side, he took the left-hand side of the pool, and punted slowly along until he came to a spot where the broad channel was open to his view for a considerable distance. He looked in the direction in which the dinghy was going when he last saw it. It was no longer in sight. With another cautious glance round, pausing for a few moments to listen, he crept out into the pool, and set out for the other side. It was not very difficult to find the narrow opening in the reeds through which the dinghy had passed with the other vessel in tow. But when he had once entered it, he saw how almost impossible it would have been to find his way had he not carefully noted the exact place of entry. Reeds grew out of the water on every side. There was no real passage; apparently it was not a regular waterway, and he ceased to expect to see any human habitation at the further end, wherever that might be. The water was shallow, and the only indication that it was navigable at all was afforded by the bent rushes where the two craft had previously passed.

After proceeding for a few yards, however, he found that the water became slightly deeper, and there were some signs of the reeds having been cut. An attempt had apparently been made to clear a channel. His former idea returned to him; perhaps it led to an encampment after all. He drove the sampan on with even greater caution, becoming more and more interested as he noticed how the channel wound this way and that among the thickest beds of rushes.

Threading this tortuous channel for perhaps a hundred yards, he came with startling suddenness upon the object of his search. The reeds came to an end, and on a stretch of firm ground, rising three or four feet above the level of the swamp, four or five low ramshackle huts, constructed of poles and matting, stood about thirty yards back from the edge of the water. The space between them and the water was littered with an extraordinary miscellany of objects, all of them of a more or less imperishable character--pots and pans, vases, tiles, native images, and other things, which from their arrangement in bales, bundles, or stacks, appeared to be articles of merchandise, but not in actual use here.

With his knowledge of the kind of thing that went on in these swamps, Errington at once guessed that these objects were the spoil of trading vessels captured by the river pirates and brought to this cunningly devised or carefully sought hiding-place. There were black rings here and there on the ground that were without doubt the marks of camp-fires. But the place had a deserted, a neglected, look. The huts were boarded up, except where they were so tumbledown that no such precaution was possible. Three or four old and rickety sampans were drawn up at the brink. But the object which had been towed by the dinghy was floating, secured by a rope to one of the uprights of a ruined hut close to the shore.

Errington looked at it curiously. It appeared from its shape to be a boat of some kind, but being completely covered with matting its outlines were indistinguishable. Wondering what its contents could be, to be so carefully covered up, Errington punted the sampan alongside, and lifted a corner of the matting. What he saw gave him a surprise comparable only to a galvanic shock. Underneath was a stretch of canvas that exactly resembled a wing of the flying boat, folded back, as Burroughs' custom was when the vessel was not in use. Lifting the matting further, Errington had no more doubt. The object before him, shapeless and ungainly as it was under its cover, was indeed the flying boat.

Lo San's astonishment was equal to his own. The Chinaman uttered a smothered "Hai!" then looked fearfully around, as if expecting that the sound would bring a crew of the dreaded pirates yelling about them. But there was no sound, no sign of life.