第 13 页

vaguely what it was, but as his senses came back it flashed upon him;

it was the sound of oars; he was in a boat. It was some time before

he could think why he should be in a boat. He had doubtless been

carried off by some of the friends of the prisoners', partly,

perhaps, to prevent his giving evidence against them, partly from

revenge for the part he had played in the discovery of the crime.

In a few minutes the sound of oars ceased, and there was a bump as

the boat struck against something hard. Then he was lifted up, and

someone took hold of him from above. He was carried a few steps and

roughly thrust in somewhere. There was a sound of something heavy

being thrown down above him, and then for a long time he knew nothing

more.

When he became conscious again, he was able, as he lay there, to come

to a distinct conclusion as to where he was. He had been kidnapped,

carried off, taken out in a boat to some craft anchored in the river,

and was now in the hold. He felt almost suffocated. The wrap round

his head prevented his breathing freely, the gag in his mouth pressed

on his tongue, and gave him severe pain, while his head ached acutely

from the effects of the blow.

The first thing to do was, if possible, to free his hands, so as to

relieve himself from the gag and muffling. An effort or two soon

showed him that he was but loosely bound. Doubtless the man who had

attacked him had not wasted much time in securing his arms, believing

that the blow would be sufficient to keep him quiet until he was safe

on board ship. It was, therefore, without much difficulty that he

managed to free one of his hands, and it was then an easy task to get

rid of the rope altogether. The cloak was pulled from his face, and,

feeling for his knife, he cut the lashings of the gag and removed it

from his mouth. He lay quiet for a few minutes, panting from his

exhaustion. Putting up his hand he felt a beam about a foot above his

body. He was, then, in a hold already stored with cargo. The next

thing was to shift his position among the barrels and bales upon

which he was lying, until he found a comparatively level spot. He was

in too great pain to think of sleep; his head throbbed fiercely, and

he suffered from intense thirst.

From time to time heavy footsteps passed overhead. Presently he heard

a sudden rattling of blocks, and the flapping of a sail. Then he

noticed that there was a slight change in the level of his position,

and knew that the craft was under way on her voyage down the river.

It seemed an immense time to him before he saw a faint gleam of

light, and edging himself along, found himself again under the

hatchway, through a crack in which the light was shining. It was some

hours before the hatch was lifted off, and he saw two men looking

down.

"Water!" he said. "I am dying of thirst."

"Bring a pannikin of water," one of the men said, "but first give us

a hand, and we will have him on deck."

Stooping down, they took Cyril by the shoulders and hoisted him out.

"He is a decent-looking young chap," the speaker went on. "I would

have seen to him before, if I had known him to be so bad. Those

fellows didn't tell us they had hurt him. Here is the water, young

fellow. Can you sit up to drink it?"

Cyril sat up and drank off the contents of the pannikin.

"Why, the back of your head is all covered with blood!" the man who

had before spoken said. "You must have had an ugly knock?"

"I don't care so much for that," Cyril replied. "It's the gag that

hurt me. My tongue is so much swollen I can hardly speak."

"Well, you can stay here on deck if you will give me your promise not

to hail any craft we may pass. If you won't do that I must put you

down under hatches again."

"I will promise that willingly," Cyril said; "the more so that I can

scarce speak above a whisper."

"Mind, if you as much as wave a hand, or do anything to bring an eye

on us, down you go into the hold again, and when you come up next

time it will be to go overboard. Now just put your head over the

rail, and I will pour a few buckets of water over it. I agreed to get

you out of the way, but I have got no grudge against you, and don't

want to do you harm."

Getting a bucket with a rope tied to the handle, he dipped it into

the river, and poured half-a-dozen pailfuls over Cyril's head. The

lad felt greatly refreshed, and, sitting down on the deck, was able

to look round. The craft was a coaster of about twenty tons burden.

There were three men on deck besides the man who had spoken to him,

and who was evidently the skipper. Besides these a boy occasionally

put up his head from a hatchway forward. There was a pile of barrels

and empty baskets amidship, and the men presently began to wash down

the decks and to tidy up the ropes and gear lying about. The shore on

both sides was flat, and Cyril was surprised at the width of the

river. Behind them was a small town, standing on higher ground.

"What place is that?" he asked a sailor who passed near him.

"That is Gravesend."

A few minutes afterwards the boy again put his head out of the

hatchway and shouted,--

"Breakfast!"

"Can you eat anything, youngster?" the skipper asked Cyril.

"No, thank you, my head aches too much; and my mouth is so sore I am

sure I could not get anything down."

"Well, you had best lie down, then, with your head on that coil of

rope; I allow you did not sleep much last night."

In a few minutes Cyril was sound asleep, and when he awoke the sun

was setting.

"You have had a good bout of it, lad," the skipper said, as he raised

himself on his elbow and looked round. "How are you feeling now?"

"A great deal better," Cyril said, as he rose to his feet.

"Supper will be ready in a few minutes, and if you can manage to get

a bit down it will do you good."

"I will try, anyhow," Cyril said. "I think that I feel hungry."

The land was now but a faint line on either hand. A gentle breeze was

blowing from the south-west, and the craft was running along over the

smooth water at the rate of three or four miles an hour. Cyril

wondered where he was being taken to, and what was going to be done

with him, but determined to ask no questions. The skipper was

evidently a kind-hearted man, although he might be engaged in lawless

business, but it was as well to wait until he chose to open the

subject.

As soon as the boy hailed, the captain led the way to the hatchway.

They descended a short ladder into the fo'castle, which was low, but

roomy. Supper consisted of boiled skate--a fish Cyril had never

tasted before--oaten bread, and beer. His mouth was still sore, but

he managed to make a hearty meal of fish, though he could not manage

the hard bread. One of the men was engaged at the helm, but the other

two shared the meal, all being seated on lockers that ran round the

cabin. The fish were placed on an earthenware dish, each man cutting

off slices with his jack-knife, and using his bread as a platter.

Little was said while the meal went on; but when they went on deck

again, the skipper, having put another man at the tiller, while the

man released went forward to get his supper, said,--

"Well, I think you are in luck, lad."

Cyril opened his eyes in surprise.

"You don't think so?" the man went on. "I don't mean that you are in

luck in being knocked about and carried off, but that you are not

floating down the river at present instead of walking the deck here.

I can only suppose that they thought your body might be picked up,

and that it would go all the harder with the prisoners, if it were

proved that you had been put out of the way. You don't look like an

informer either!"

"I am not an informer," Cyril said indignantly. "I found that my

employer was being robbed, and I aided him to catch the thieves. I

don't call that informing. That is when a man betrays others engaged

in the same work as himself."

"Well, well, it makes no difference to me," the skipper said. "I was

engaged by a man, with whom I do business sometimes, to take a fellow

who had been troublesome out of the way, and to see that he did not

come back again for some time. I bargained that there was to be no

foul play; I don't hold with things of that sort. As to carrying down

a bale of goods sometimes, or taking a few kegs of spirits from a

French lugger, I see no harm in it; but when it comes to cutting

throats, I wash my hands of it. I am sorry now I brought you off,

though maybe if I had refused they would have put a knife into you,

and chucked you into the river. However, now that I have got you I

must go through with it. I ain't a man to go back from my word, and

what I says I always sticks to. Still, I am sorry I had anything to

do with the business. You look to me a decent young gentleman, though

your looks and your clothes have not been improved by what you have

gone through. Well, at any rate, I promise you that no harm shall

come to you as long as you are in my hands."

"And how long is that likely to be, captain?"

"Ah! that is more than I can tell you. I don't want to do you harm,

lad, and more than that, I will prevent other people from doing you

harm as long as you are on board this craft. But more than that I

can't say. It is likely enough I shall have trouble in keeping that

promise, and I can't go a step farther. There is many a man who would

have chucked you overboard, and so have got rid of the trouble

altogether, and of the risk of its being afterwards proved that he

had a hand in getting you out of the way."

"I feel that, captain," Cyril said, "and I thank you heartily for

your kind treatment of me. I promise you that if at any time I am set

ashore and find my way back to London, I will say no word which can

get you into trouble."

"There is Tom coming upon deck. You had better turn in. You have had

a good sleep, but I have no doubt you can do with some more, and a

night's rest will set you up. You take the left-hand locker. The boy

sleeps on the right hand, and we have bunks overhead."

Cyril was soon soundly asleep, and did not wake when the others

turned in. He was alone in the cabin when he opened his eyes, but the

sun was shining brightly through the open hatchway. He sprang up and

went on deck. The craft was at anchor. No land could be seen to the

south, but to the north a low shore stretched away three or four

miles distant. There was scarcely a breath of wind.

"Well, you have had a good sleep, lad," the captain said. "You had

best dip that bucket overboard and have a wash; you will feel better

after it. Now, boy, slip down and get your fire going; we shall be

ready for breakfast as soon as it is ready for us."

Cyril soused his head with the cold water, and felt, as the captain

had said, all the better for it, for the air in the little cabin was

close and stuffy, and he had felt hot and feverish before his wash.

"The wind died out, you see," the captain said, "and we had to anchor

when tide turned at two o'clock. There is a dark line behind us, and

as soon as the wind reaches us, we will up anchor. The force of the

tide is spent."

The wind, however, continued very light, and the vessel did little

more than drift with the tide, and when it turned at two o'clock they

had to drop anchor again close under some high land, on the top of

which stood a lofty tower.

"That is a land-mark," the captain said. "There are some bad sands

outside us, and that stands as a mark for vessels coming through."

Cyril had enjoyed the quiet passage much. The wound at the back of

his head still smarted, and he had felt disinclined for any exertion.

More than once, in spite of the good allowance of sleep he had had,

he dozed off as he sat on the deck with his back against the bulwark,

watching the shore as they drifted slowly past it, and wondering

vaguely, how it would all end. They had been anchored but half an

hour when the captain ordered the men to the windlass.

"There is a breeze coming, lads," he said; "and even if it only lasts

for an hour, it will take us round the head and far enough into the

bay to get into the tide running up the rivers."

The breeze, however, when it came, held steadily, and in two hours

they were off Harwich; but on coming opposite the town they turned

off up the Orwell, and anchored, after dark, at a small village some

six miles up the river.

"If you will give me your word, lad, that you will not try to escape,

and will not communicate with anyone who may come off from the shore,

I will continue to treat you as a passenger; but if not, I must

fasten you up in the cabin, and keep a watch over you."

"I will promise, captain. I should not know where to go if I landed.

I heard you say, 'There is Harwich steeple,' when we first came in

sight of it, but where that is I have no idea, nor how far we are

from London. As I have not a penny in my pocket, I should find it

well-nigh impossible to make my way to town, which may, for aught I

know, be a hundred miles away; for, in truth, I know but little of

the geography of England, having been brought up in France, and not

having been out of sight of London since I came over."

Just as he was speaking, the splash of an oar was heard close by.

"Up, men," the captain said in a low tone to those in the fo'castle.

"Bring up the cutlasses. Who is that?" he called, hailing the boat.

"Merry men all," was the reply.

"All right. Come alongside. You saw our signal, then?"

"Ay, ay, we saw it; but there is an officer with a boat-load of

sailors ashore from the King's ship at Harwich. He is spending the