“He said that he was coming as soon as it was dark,” answered Dick.
Several other people from the shore got into the boat, and ordered old Peter to land them without delay. Dick every moment expected to be discovered and to hear a hail ordering him back, but no one had observed him, and he was soon landed.
“Now, lad,” said the old man, “I’ll take you to my house, as I promised. Ben will no doubt come next trip. You must be smart, though, lest we should meet any of your officers.”
As it was growing dusk Dick hoped not to be seen, and soon reached a house not far from the water’s edge. The boatman, taking him into a small room, produced a carter’s frock and gaiters, with a billycock hat and a large red handkerchief to tie round his throat.
“Put on these duds, and keep close until I come back, when you and Ben may start together,” said old Purkiss, as he left him to return to his boat.
“Maybe he’ll find it a harder matter to slip away than I did,” said Dick to himself, “and if he doesn’t come, I shall look foolish. Still, I have no fancy to go back and be bullied by that Lord Reginald and his toady Voules.”
Dick waited some hours; at last old Purkiss came back.
“Poor Ben’s in for it,” he said. “He was just slipping down the side when the master-at-arms laid hands on him, and I’m afraid he’s in limbo and very little chance of getting out of it until the ship goes to sea. Whether or not he thought something of the sort might happen, I don’t know, but he gave me these ten guineas which he wants you to take to his wife. It won’t do, however, for you to stay longer here, unless you wish to go back and be flogged to a certainty for attempting to desert. I’d advise you to cut and run this very night. Now, lad, fair play’s a jewel. I am helping you off, and I expect to be paid for what I’m doing, as well as for the clothes I got for you. A five-pound note will satisfy me, though it wouldn’t if you were not a chum of my old shipmate Ben.”
Dick paid the money without hesitation, for he knew that old Purkiss might have fleeced him, had he been so disposed, of every sixpence in his pocket.
“Now we are clear,” said the old man, who prided himself on his honesty, “and I want to give you a piece of advice, which mind you stick to. Don’t show your cash to any one, or you’ll be robbed and murdered maybe. I’ll give you change for a guinea in sixpences and coppers; don’t show too many of them either; better by far pay in coppers for the food you want, and sleep under haystacks or in barns until you reach home. You may get a lift in a cart or waggon, but don’t let anybody know you’ve been on board a man-of-war. Just say you’ve been down to see an old friend, Peter Purkiss, and that’s true for the most part, and that you are going home again to your father and mother. Now, lad, it’s time to be off. I’ll put you in the way out of the town, and when once you are in the country strike away north-east. You’ve got Dartmoor to cross, and as it’s a wildish tract, I’d advise you to get a lift if you can until you are over it. If you can’t get a lift, don’t attempt to cross it at night, or you may lose yourself.”