A Desperate Voyage Part 5

The sun was setting into a bank of rosy vapour that promised a continuance of fine weather. The hot day was closing with a sultry eve.

On that quiet ca.n.a.l, and on the narrow quay beneath the lofty houses, there was no sound or sign of life. It was almost as if he were in the midst of some dead and long since deserted city.

But of a sudden the peacefulness of that mediaeval scene was rudely disturbed. First was heard a confused noise in the distance, as of angry human voices and the trampling of many wooden shoes. Louder, nearer was the sound, and then Carew perceived a man rush out upon the quay from a narrow alley, some hundred yards away, that led towards the princ.i.p.al docks. The man, who seemed frantic with terror, stood still for one brief moment, looked quickly around him, as if uncertain whither to hurry next: whether to plunge into the ca.n.a.l, or run along the quay to left or right.

Then arose a loud yell of many voices behind him, as of hounds that at last have caught a view of the hunted creature; and the man, hearing it, darted off again at full speed along the ca.n.a.l bank in the direction of the yacht.

Immediately afterwards there poured out of the alley a crowd of nearly a hundred men, women, and children, mostly of the lowest orders; denizens of the slums, though some were of a more respectable cla.s.s; a crowd of Hollanders who had lost all their native phlegm for the nonce; a crowd gesticulating, howling, execrating, thirsting for the blood of the man they were pursuing; mad and fierce as a mob of Paris in revolutionary days when an aristocrat was scented by the sovereign people.

The wretched man was hatless; his coat and half his shirt had been torn from his back; the blood was trickling down his face from the wounds on his head where the stones that had been hurled at him had hit.

On he came, running wildly before them, his face livid, his mouth open, his teeth set, eyes starting from his head with mortal terror, panting as if his heart must burst, ready to fall with exhaustion, but still hurrying on for his dear life's sake.

When he was close to the yacht his strength failed him; he stretched out his arms wildly, and staggered. With a yell of triumph the cruel crowd was on him. A man struck him over the head with a stick. Then, with one last despairing effort, he threw himself from the quay on to the yacht's deck, and fell a helpless ma.s.s at Carew's feet, clutching him by the legs, as if to implore his protection, but unable to speak or move.

His pursuers stood on the quay above, muttering angrily to each other, but hesitated a moment or so before they ventured to board the yacht, each waiting for someone else to lead the way.

Those few moments saved the hunted man.

"Below there!" cried Carew, pointing to the cabin. "Quick, man, or you will be lost."

Seeing that the poor wretch was too exhausted to rise by himself, he seized him by the arm, thrust him down the cabin hatchway, closed the cover over him, locked it, and put the key in his pocket. It was all done in a few seconds, and then the solicitor turned round and stood calmly facing the mob.

The people had not realised at first that Carew was about to rob them of their victim. Now that they did so, a howl of rage burst from them, and some shouted to him, what were evidently commands to give the man up to them, and menaces of what they would do if he refused, though he could not understand the words.

One man began to clamber down to the yacht; but Carew seized his leg and threw him on the quay again, not over-gently. "Silence!" the solicitor called out, leaping back on the hatchway; and the Dutchmen, impressed by the Englishman's resolute bearing, paused and listened to what he had to say.

"Does anyone here understand English?" he asked.

As might be expected from a crowd in a Dutch city, several men cried out, "Yes, Englishman; yes, we know English."

"Then, what is all this disturbance about? Are you all mad?"

"We want dat man," replied a surly voice.

"You can't have him."

"Den ve vill take him."

"Oh, will you?" Carew drew from his pocket Allen's revolver, which he always carried about with him now. "Look you here, my friends; I don't want a row, but if any man tries to come on board my vessel without my permission I will shoot him."

They were awed by the quiet determination of his manner, and felt that he would carry out his words.

"Does you know who you has down dere below?" asked the man who had spoken before.

"I don't know, and I don't care; but he is not going to be murdered by you cowards on board my vessel. If he has committed some crime, call the police. I will deliver him over to them only."

The pa.s.sions of the mob had now cooled down considerably, and the men began to light their pipes, and looked once more the staid Dutchmen they naturally were.

At this juncture five or six of the st.u.r.dy Rotterdam police arrived on the spot, and commenced to disperse the crowd so effectually that in a few minutes not a soul was left on the quay.

One of the policemen, who understood a little English, came on board the yacht and inquired from Carew how the disturbance had commenced.

Carew told him all that had occurred.

"I should like to see the man," said the officer.

They entered the cabin, and there, sitting in the corner of the bunk, trembling, haggard, his face still quite white, save where it was smeared with blood, was the French sailor who had that day been tried for murder on the high seas, and been acquitted.

"I thought so," said the policeman. "It is the accused, Baptiste Liais.

His case caused great excitement. The people are very bitter against him, for they all believe he was guilty. He is not safe in Rotterdam. We must find a way of getting him out of the country."

"You can leave him here for the present," said Carew. "I will see that the poor wretch is safe for the night."

"It is very generous of you, sir," exclaimed the astonished policeman; "but I think it is very unwise of you"--

"I am not afraid of him," interrupted Carew, in peremptory tones. "Leave him with me."

The officer shrugged his shoulders. He had always been taught to believe that Englishmen were eccentric creatures; so he went away and told his comrades that the owner of the yacht was a splendid specimen of the mad island race, and Carew and the Frenchman were left alone in the cabin facing one another.

CHAPTER VI

For some few moments Carew sat on the opposite bunk, watching the sailor's face musingly. Then, rising, he addressed him in French. "I will fetch you a gla.s.s of rum. It will do you good."

"I thank you much, sir," said the man, in the same language; "I should like it, for I still feel very faint."

He drank a rather large dose of the spirit, and under its influence the colour quickly returned to his cheek, and the scared look left his face.

"You can now go into the forecastle and wash yourself," said Carew. "You will find a jersey and a coat hanging up there; put them on." These had belonged to the drowned sailor, Jim.

When the Frenchman returned to the cabin cleansed of bloodstains and decently clothed, the solicitor was surprised to see what a respectable-looking fellow he was. He might well have been a gentleman from his appearance, and his hands, though brown and roughened by work, were small and finely shaped.

"How do you feel now?"

"Thanks to you, sir, I am now quite myself again."

After a pause, Carew said, with a smile, "I never before saw such abject terror in a man's face as there was in yours when you were running down the quay."

"That bloodthirsty _canaille_ was enough to inspire terror. Ah, if I could but get hold of that man who hit me with the stick! It was horrible, to run down all those streets for life with that yelping pack after me. I had no chance with them, though I am a good runner; for so soon as the brutes wearied and lagged behind, fresh ones joined the crowd at every corner. Ah, monsieur, I think you would have exhibited as much terror yourself."

"Not quite as much, I think," said Carew quietly.

"Perhaps not, monsieur. I am brave enough in some ways--braver, perhaps, than you would be; but I have not that animal contempt for death that my comrade, El Toro, for instance, possesses. Delicate fibres suffer the most."

"Then you are hardly a fit person to be a ringleader of mutineers.

Murderers should have no nerves."