“Charles,” said Perrin, “they’ve come to beg a passage. Stukeley’s being chased by creditors. Man, for heaven’s sake don’t take them in. Don’t, man.”
“What nonsense,” said Margaret. “Have you never seen these boatman race before?”
Cammock spoke. “I suppose you want me to pick them up, sir?”
“Certainly,” said Margaret.
“Very good, sir,” he answered.
He looked at the hurrying boats. Cries came from the pursuers. Men and women were running down the steps to the pier, now black with people, excited, shouting people. Olivia and Stukeley were now almost within fifty yards. Stukeley was standing in the sternsheets, double-banking the stroke with all his strength.
“There, sir,” said Cammock. “Did you hear that, sir? Those fellows in the cutter are singing out to them to stop. There. They’re going to fire.”
Captain Margaret muttered something; his face flushed suddenly, and then became pale. A gun was fired from the cutter.
“Firing overhead,” said Cammock absently.
“Captain Cammock,” cried Margaret, “lively now; get her off to her course.”