The next instant a pair of hands grasped the gunwale, and the dripping head of a man appeared over the side.
I doubt who was the more confused—we, at the sudden apparition, or the swimmer at the sight of two figures in what he had reasonably thought to be an empty boat, for we had been both kneeling on the bottom boards engaged in clearing the lines.
"Hist!" he whispered. "If ye be true King's men, give me shelter."
"Right willingly," I replied in a low voice, and, leaning over the side so that the gunwale almost dipped, we seized the man's clothing and helped him on board.
"A sorry shelter, but one that doth not come amiss," he remarked, noticing that our craft was entirely open. "I see a sail rolled up yonder; cover me up, and, if ye bear any love for His Majesty, betray me not. They will be looking for me here anon."
It was no time for questions or explanations. The fugitive crept underneath the forward thwarts and curled himself into a small compass by the side of the mast, which we had already stepped in order to lose no time when the tide changed.
Quickly I unfurled the sail, and, tossing it over the thwart, I noticed with considerable satisfaction that it fell in apparent and natural disorder over the place where the man lay huddled up.
Then, putting a brave face on the matter, we cast our lines and waited.
Before long we heard the sound of oars, and, rowing aimlessly hither and thither, there came a large boat. In the bows stood a man holding a lantern, which cast long reflections on the rippling waters, and no doubt dazzled more than served him.
"He's gone, sure enow, Baldwin," exclaimed a voice. "That first volley must have settled him."