Then he was to make his way to the whaleback and explain Brandon’s situation to Caleb.
The captain’s son wrote his letter and placed it in the matchbox, which Swivel in turn had hidden in the breast of his shirt. Then the gamin pounded on the hatch until the crew heard him and let him out.
Naturally the captain of the Success was angry enough, for the brig was already to sail, and they were getting the lines cast off, so he summoned a night watchman from the dock, who took the unlucky Swivel in charge and handed him over to a policeman.
This was a phase of the situation which neither of the boys had considered. But there was no way out of it, and the gamin spent the day in the police station, for it was Sunday.
He was brought before the magistrate the next morning, but of course there was nobody to appear against him, so he was discharged with a reprimand. The police captain, however, kept him busy about the station until late in the afternoon, before he would let him go.
“He kep’ me jugglin’ wid er mop er wipin’ up de floor,” as the gamin expressed it to his hearers.
As soon as he was free he had hurried to the New York side; but upon reaching the vicinity of the whaleback he discovered that the “patrol line” was drawn even closer than before.
Snaggs and two of his friends were on duty, for as the time approached for the sailing, they decided that if Brandon came back he would do so very soon.
Swivel had seen the raid the policemen made under the deputy’s instigation, and after the bluecoats were safely out of the way, he had slipped into the water and made for the steamer.
“An’ here I is,” he said, in conclusion. “Dey didn’t ketch me, nor dat Brandon Tarr, nuther. We’s too fly for ’em.”