The voice was that of the body-stealer, to whom Dick was chained. In releasing the former, the Blacksmith, working in the darkness, had necessarily disturbed the chain attached to Dick. Bill the Blacksmith was a person unknown to Dick. As afterward appeared, he was one of a rescue party that had come on this dark night to free those prisoners who were in the plot. Some of the party had got aboard, crawled unseen within a few feet of the guards, reached the sleeping-place of the convicts, supplied some of these with weapons, and were now at work removing their irons.
Dick lay perfectly still. Presently the grave-robber stood up, unshackled. The chain was still fastened to Dick's leg.
"Well," whispered the grave-robber, "will you stay as you are, or will you join us?"
To be shortly free of the chafing fetters, able to use his whole body in a dash for liberty; to seize now what would not be offered to him for two long and miserable years! The temptation was too strong. "I'll join," whispered Dick.
"This one, too, Bill," said the grave-robber, and the Blacksmith went to work on Dick's fetters.
Other skilful hands were employed at the same time on the shackles of other convicts. The operations went on in the utmost silence. Now and then, at some sound from without, they would stop for a while. It was only after he had been awake some time, that Dick could distinguish the dark forms of the artisans working over the prostrate forms of the prisoners. Never had he seen such a combination of skill, patience, persistence, and noiselessness. Pick-locks, burglars, jail-breakers, all, exercising their abilities this time to free their comrades, were the men at work; yet Dick could not but admire the manner in which they went about their business. Doubtless there was a large reward to be earned, perhaps from some employer of certain of these convicts,—some such great man as the Resurrectionist, of the Borough, or as Gipsy George, leader of smugglers; for any one of these rescuers would as soon turn King's evidence against a comrade as liberate him.
At last all irons were off. Instantly, with the grave-robber at the head, there was a general rush to the platform on which the men worked. The surprised guards were either shot at, struck, intimidated, or swept into the hold, by the advancing convicts. The latter scrambled over the vessel's side, some dropping into a boat that suddenly unmasked two lanterns. Another boat, also belonging to the rescue party, now showed a light a little farther off. For this boat Dick swam, with many others who had plunged at once into the water, and presently he was hauled aboard like a hooked shark.
Some of the convicts, as if fearing there would not be room for them on the boats, struck out for the shore. Dick never knew what became of them, or of those who crowded into the first boat. The craft in which he found himself was speedily filled, whereupon the men at the oars, aided by convicts who had found other oars waiting, pulled rapidly down the river, the boat's lantern again being darkened. By this time those in charge of the convict vessel had recovered their senses and begun firing shots of alarm. Dick made up his mind to get away from his villainous company at the first opportunity.
Presently the men at the oars were relieved by another force, which included Dick. Thus, aided by the river's current, and thanks to their system of alternating at the oars, as well as to the strength derived from fear of recapture, the desperate crew made incredible speed. As dawn began to show itself, Dick saw, on the southern bank of the Thames, a considerable town against a hillside, environed by meadows and fields, pleasure grounds and country-seats. A high hill near by was crowned by a windmill. Vessels of every size lay in the harbor. Dick learned from the talk in the boat that this was Gravesend.