The man instantly obeyed, and the fugitive scrambled to his feet. The lightning blazed, and showed his lank figure, and his skull-like face wildly lighted with joy.
“Put up your knife, and sit down in the bottom of the boat where you are,” said Harrington to the man.
The man obeyed without a moment’s hesitation. He was almost frightened out of his wits by this terrible armed apparition.
“Now, Antony, can you walk?” asked Harrington.
“Yes, Marster; fus’rate,” returned the fugitive, with a ghostly caper, which proved that the ropes on his ankles, and his cramped position in the cuddy, had not materially impaired his circulation.
“Very well,” replied Harrington. “Now go up that ladder, and wait on the wharf till I come to you.”
The man groaned, but Antony, with a chuckle, instantly grasped the steps, crept up the ladder, and stood on the pier.
“Now,” said Harrington, turning to the squatting wretch, “you follow him.”
The man rose, trembling, and began to ascend, but he had only gone three steps when he felt the vice-like hand gripe his leg.