"Richard of Wartmont," he shouted, "Seest thou? Boats on the other shore! They are not even guarded."
"I could not swim this water," replied Richard. "Can any of them?"
"Aye, were it thrice—ten times as wide," said the O'Rourke. "I myself."
"Off with thy armor and axe!" cried Richard. "Call thy best swimmers. Bring me those boats. Guy the Bow, send a good runner to Sir Thomas Holland or Sir Peter Legh. Bid them, from me, to tell the earl or Sir Geoffrey I want a force to hold with on the other shore."
Before he had finished speaking, the Irish chief and a dozen of his kerns were in the flood, swimming as if they had been so many water fowl; but each man's long skein dagger knife was in his belt, and in his left hand was a short spear, like those of the Welsh. They would not land unarmed.
"God speed them!" shouted Richard. "At no place heretofore have we seen a boat that we might hope to obtain."
'Twas a swiftly running river, and too wide for any but such swimmers as were these; but they made light of it. Ere they could cross, their coming was seen by men on the other shore, but none who were armed met them as they came out of the water. Surely it had been grave negligence of King Philip's officers to leave there so many as four fishing boats, even if these were small. Wild and shrill rang out the slogan of the Irish, as they seized upon oars and paddles and prepared to launch their prizes.
"They are out of arrow shot," said Richard to those who were with him; "we could give them no aid."
Even as he spoke, the glint of spears might be seen above bushes at no great distance down the opposite bank. No doubt there were horsemen coming. The Irish had been unwise to shout, but boat after boat was slipping into the stream.
"Haste! haste!" groaned Richard, "they will be lost, and the boats with them!"