LYSBETH - H. RIDER HAGGARD (ebook e reader TXT) 📗

Foy became aware that they were bumping against the sides of a long line of barges and river boats laden with timber and other goods. To one of these--it was the fourth --the pilot Hans made fast, tying their row-boat to her stern. Then he climbed to the deck, whispering to them to follow.

As they scrambled on board, two grey figures arose and Foy saw the flash of steel. Then Hans whistled like a plover, and, dropping their swords they came to him and fell into talk. Presently Hans left them, and, returning to Foy and Martin, said:

"Listen: we must lie here a while, for the wind is against us, and it would be too dangerous for us to try to row or pole so big a boat down to the sea and across the bar in the darkness, for most likely we should set her fast upon a shoal. Before dawn it will turn, and, if I read the sky aright, blow hard off land."

"What have the bargemen to say?" asked Foy.

"Only that for these four days they have been lying here forbidden to move, and that their craft are to be searched to-morrow by a party of soldiers, and the cargo taken out of them piecemeal."

"So," said Foy, "well, I hope that by then what they seek will be far away. Now show us this ship."

Then Hans took them down the hatchway, for the little vessel was decked, being in shape and size not unlike a modern Norfolk herring boat, though somewhat more slightly built. Then having lit a lantern, he showed them the cargo. On the top were bags of salt. Dragging one or two of these aside, Hans uncovered the heads of five barrels, each of them marked with the initial /B/ in white paint.

"That is what men will die for before to-morrow night," he said.

"The treasure?" asked Foy.

He nodded. "These five, none of the others." Then still lower down he pointed out other barrels, eight of them, filled with the best gunpowder, and showed them too where the slow matches ran to the little cabin, the cook's galley, the tiller and the prow, by means of any one of which it could be fired. After this and such inspection of the ropes and sails as the light would allow, they sat in the cabin waiting till the wind should change, while the two watching men unmoored the vessel and made her sails ready for hoisting. An hour passed, and still the breeze blew from the sea, but in uncertain chopping gusts. Then it fell altogether.

"Pray God it comes soon," said Martin, "for the owner of that finger in your pocket will have laid the hounds on to our slot long ago, and, look! the east grows red."

The silent, hard-faced Hans leant forward and stared up the darkling water, his hand behind his ear.

"I hear them," he said presently.

"Who?" asked Foy.

"The Spaniards and the wind--both," he answered. "Come, up with the mainsail and pole her out to midstream."

So the three of them took hold of the tackle and ran aft with it, while the rings and booms creaked and rattled as the great canvas climbed the mast. Presently it was set, and after it the jib. Then, assisted by the two watchmen thrusting from another of the boats, they pushed the /Swallow/ from her place in the line out into mid-stream. But all this made noise and took time, and now men appeared upon the bank, calling to know who dared to move the boats without leave. As no one gave them any answer, they fired a shot, and presently a beacon began to burn upon a neighbouring mound.

"Bad business," said Hans, shrugging his shoulders. "They are warning the Government ship at the harbour mouth. Duck, masters, duck; here comes the wind," and he sprang to the tiller as the boom swung over and the little vessel began to gather way.

"Yes," said Martin, "and here with it come the Spaniards."

Foy looked. Through the grey mist that was growing lighter every moment, for the dawn was breaking, he caught sight of a long boat with her canvas spread which was sweeping round the bend of the stream towards them and not much more than a quarter of a mile away.

"They had had to pole down stream in the dark, and that is why they have been so long in coming," said Hans over his shoulder.

"Well, they are here now at any rate," answered Foy, "and plenty of them," he added, as a shout from a score of throats told them that they were discovered.

But now the /Swallow/ had begun to fly, making the water hiss upon either side of her bows.

"How far is it to the sea?" asked Foy.

"About three miles," Hans called back from the tiller. "With this wind we should be there in fifteen minutes. Master," he added presently, "bid your man light the fire in the galley."

"What for," asked Foy, "to cook breakfast?"

The pilot shrugged his shoulders and muttered, "Yes, if we live to eat it." But Foy saw that he was glancing at the slow-match by his side, and understood.

Ten minutes passed, and they had swept round the last bend and were in the stretch of open water which ran down to the sea. By now the light was strong, and in it they saw that the signal fire had not been lit in vain. At the mouth of the cutting, just where the bar began, the channel was narrowed in with earth to a width of not more than fifty paces, and on one bank of it stood a foot armed with culverins. Out of the little harbour of this fort a large open boat was being poled, and in it a dozen or fifteen soldiers were hastily arming themselves.

"What now?" cried Martin. "They are going to stop the mouth of the channel."

The hard-featured Hans set his teeth and made no answer. Only he looked backward at his pursuers and onward at those who barred the way. Presently he called aloud:

"Under hatches, both of you. They are going to fire from the fort," and he flung himself upon his back, steering with his uplifted arms.

Foy and Martin tumbled down the hatchway, for they could do no good on deck. Only Foy kept one eye above its level.

"Look out!" he said, and ducked.

As he spoke there was a puff of white smoke from the fort, followed by the scream of a shot which passed ahead of them. Then came another puff of smoke, and a hole appeared in their brown sail. After this the fort did not fire again, for the gunners found no time to load their pieces, only some soldiers who were armed with arquebuses began to shoot as the boat swept past within a few yards of them. Heedless of their bullets, Hans the pilot rose to his feet again, for such work as was before him could not be done by a man lying on his back. By now the large open boat from the fort was within two hundred yards of them, and, driven by the gathering pale, the /Swallow/ rushed towards it with the speed of a dart. Foy and Martin crawled from the hatchway and lay down near the steersman under the shelter of the little bulwarks, watching the enemy's boat, which was in midstream just where the channel was narrowest, and on the hither side of the broken water of the bar.

"See," said Foy, "they are throwing out anchors fore and aft. Is there room to go past them?"

"No," answered Hans, "the water is too shallow under the bank, and they know it. Bring me a burning brand."

Foy crept forward, and returned with the fire.

"Now light the slow-match, master."

Foy opened his blue eyes and a cold shiver went down his back. Then he set his teeth and obeyed. Martin looked at Hans, muttering,

"Good for a young one!"

Hans nodded and said, "Have no fear. Till that match burns to the level of the deck we are safe. Now, mates, hold fast. I can't go past that boat, so I am going through her. We may sink on the other side, though I am sure that the fire will reach the powder first. In that case you can swim for it if you like, but I shall go with the /Swallow/."

"I will think about it when the time comes. Oh! that cursed astrologer," growled Martin, looking back at the pursuing ship, which was not more than seven or eight hundred yards away.

Meanwhile the officer in command of the boat, who was armed with a musket, was shouting to them to pull down their sail and surrender; indeed, not until they were within fifty yards of him did he seem to understand their desperate purpose. Then some one in the boat called out: "The devils are going to sink us," and there was a rush to bow and stern to get up the anchors. Only the officer stood firm, screaming at them like a madman. It was too late; a strong gust of wind caught the /Swallow/, causing her to heel over and sweep down on the boat like a swooping falcon.

Hans stood and shifted the tiller ever so little, calculating all things with his eye. Foy watched the boat towards which they sprang like a thing alive, and Martin, lying at his side, watched the burning match.

Suddenly the Spanish officer, when their prow was not more than twenty paces from him, ceased to shout, and lifting his piece fired. Martin, looking upwards with his left eye, thought that he saw Hans flinch, but the pilot made no sound. Only he did something to the tiller, putting all his strength on to it, and it seemed to the pair of them as though the /Swallow/ was for an instant checked in her flight-- certainly her prow appeared to lift itself from the water. Suddenly there was a sound of something snapping--a sound that could be heard even through the yell of terror from the soldiers in the boat. It was the bowsprit which had gone, leaving the jib flying loose like a great pennon.

Then came the crash. Foy shut his eyes for a moment, hanging on with both hands till the scraping and the trembling were done with. Now he opened again, and the first thing he saw was the body of the Spanish officer hanging from the jagged stump of the bowsprit. He looked behind. The boat had vanished, but in the water were to be seen the heads of three or four men swimming. As for themselves they seemed to be clear and unhurt, except for the loss of their bowsprit; indeed, the little vessel was riding over the seas on the bar like any swan. Hans glanced at the slow-match which was smouldering away perilously near to the deck, whereon Martin stamped upon it, saying:

"If we sink now it will be in deep water, so there is no need to fly up before we go down."

"Go and see if she leaks," said Hans.

They went and searched the forehold but could not find that the /Swallow/ had taken any harm worth noting. Indeed, her massive oaken prow, with the weight of the gale-driven ship behind it, had crashed through the frail sides of the open Spanish boat like a knife through an egg.

"That was good steering," said Foy to Hans, when they returned, "and nothing seems to be amiss."

Hans nodded. "I hit him neatly," he muttered. "Look. He's gone." As he spoke the /Swallow/ gave a sharp pitch, and the corpse of the Spaniard fell with a heavy splash into the sea.

"I am glad it has sunk," said Foy; "and now let's have some breakfast, for I am starving. Shall I bring you some, friend Hans?"

"No, master, I want to sleep."

Something in the tone of the man's voice caused Foy to scrutinise his face. His lips were turning blue. He glanced at his hands. Although they