Stan Lynn Part 24

The next minute he had touched it gently, and at the happiest moment for his success, the boy having hooked a fish--a large one--which took up his attention so much that Stan softly seized the bow with both hands, let his legs float on the swift current, and then by a quick effort drew himself well up and rolled over into the bottom of the boat, where he lay quite still beside the folded-up little matting sail.

The boat rocked so that the owner looked sharply over his left shoulder, but not far enough to see the invader of his boat; and probably attributing the movement to his own exertions, he went on playing his big fish; while, reaching up his hands, Stan got hold of the painter and began to haul, till, to his great delight, he weighed the little anchor, and saw that the stream was carrying them down.

Still the boy did not turn, but hauled away at his line and gave it out again, as if afraid that if he were too hard upon his prize it would break away.

This went on for a good five minutes, till, apparently satisfied, the boy sank upon his knees and reached over the stern, hanging down so as to get a shorter hold, and ended by bringing the fish's head well within reach, and while holding on with his left hand, he crooked his right finger ready, so as to turn it into a gaff-hook.

Stan saw a part of what was going on, and suspected the rest, as he seized his opportunity to get hold of the anchor-stock.

The next moment the fisher had raised himself up and swung a fish of some five pounds weight flop into the boat; while, as if acting by a concerted motion, Stan reached over and swung in the little grapnel--the actions of the lads bringing them round, from being back to back, now face to face.

_Flop! flap! flap_! went the fish.

_Bang! bang_! went the anchor.

"Oh!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed the Chinese lad, opening his mouth wide.

"Hah!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Stan, springing up to seize his adversary.

But the latter did not wait to be seized.

Grasping the fact that the boat was gliding down-stream, and that he was face to face with a foreign devil, he raised his hands together well above his head and dived over the side in the easiest, most effortless way, gliding over like a blue seal blessed with a bald head and a big tail; when, as Stan dropped down in the boat, keeping only his head over the side, he saw him rise again far enough behind, and begin swimming with all his might for the sh.o.r.e.

Stan had something else to do besides watch the boy. He had some knowledge of boat management, and felt that he must risk everything now in the way of being seen; so, seizing the little mast, he stepped it, hauled up the yard and with it the matting sail, found it easy enough to get in position, and in five minutes more, as he drifted rapidly down with the stream, he had the mat sheeted home, and an oar over the stern for rudder. With the evening breeze quite sufficient for the purpose, he found himself gliding rapidly down the river, able to steer while lying down upon his back pretty well out of sight, and not a sound behind announcing that there was any pursuit.

"Hah!" he panted out at last. "They'll have to come fast to catch me now. I wonder how far that poor fellow has to go before he can get help and another boat. Oh! if it would only turn dark, I could escape.

"What's that?" he e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed, raising his head; for there was a loud smack as if something had struck one of the planks of the boat, and he turned cold with a despairing feeling, being sure that something had happened to check his flight.

But three or four more sharp spangs on the bottom of the craft enlightened him directly after, and he bore smilingly upon his oar so as to give a junk anch.o.r.ed in the river a wide berth, thinking the while of the sh.o.r.e lower down and a fire, if it was to be had, at which he could try his hand at cooking; for he knew with joy in his heart that the noise was made in the expiring efforts of what he meant to be his supper trying to leap over the side and failing dismally.

"Hah!" sighed Stan again. "I never saw it turn dark so rapidly before.

In another few minutes it will be impossible for any one to see me from the sh.o.r.e."

In fact, as he glided abreast of the anch.o.r.ed junk he saw a man busy at work hoisting a great round yellow paper lantern to the mast-head, too busy to pay any heed to him; and soon after he could see light after light beginning to dot the broad surface of the stream.

"I'm going to escape," cried the poor fellow exultantly. "Oh, if I only can!"

_Flap_! said the fish softly, turning his thoughts into another groove.

"Yes, I hear you," said Stan. "Fish--roast fish must be as good as fried. I wonder whether there's a lantern anywhere on board. If there is there'll be--Hooray! I've got my little silver box of matches in my revolver-pocket. I only wish I had my pistol too. But even if I hadn't got the matches, I could glide up quietly to one of those boats, lower down and steal a lantern in the dark, and slip away.

"Steal! Yes, steal," he said, laughing bitterly. "That's the way these things grow. I begin by stealing the Chinese soldiers' prisoner; then I steal a boat with a lot of fish; and now I'm thinking quite coolly of stealing a lantern. Who'd ever have thought that I should turn out such a thief?"

The fish gave one more flap, and lay still in the bottom of the boat like something of silver very dimly seen.

"I'm horribly hungry," muttered Stan; "but the boat goes splendidly, and I'll eat some of that fish raw before I'll run her ash.o.r.e to make a fire. Why not? I dare say it wouldn't taste bad, and I only want just enough to keep me alive. I shall eat a piece as soon as it's quite dead."

An hour later he was tasting raw fish for the first time, and finding that it tasted very fishy indeed, but not more so than a big oyster just torn from its newly opened sh.e.l.l.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.

"WHAT'S THE MATTER?"

The night proved to be brilliant, for the moon was nearly at its full, so that, the wind being favourable and the current swift, sunrise the next morning found the fugitive far beyond pursuit. There was not a boat in sight, and as far as he could see on either side stretched the wide-open country, from the winding river's banks right away to the distant hills; and when at times as the day wore on, with the boat gliding down fast, any craft came in sight, Stan had his choice of sides to take on the great river, and naturally he hugged the sh.o.r.e opposite to that taken by the trading-junk or smaller boat. Now and then he could see farm-buildings or cl.u.s.ters of village cottages, with an occasional paG.o.da. Once he pa.s.sed a more pretentious collection of houses, like a small town, but it was some distance up a stream that joined the river; and as he sailed farther on, it was into cultivated land where traces of inhabitants were very few. Towards evening he took advantage of the fact that there was neither house nor boat in sight to run his little craft ash.o.r.e where a patch of woodland came right down to the stream; and here in an opening he collected sufficient dead branches and twigs to make a fire, whose smoke was diffused among the boughs overhead, feeding it well till there were plenty of glowing embers, over which he roasted the best of his fish. He spent an hour or so in eating heartily and, after roasting, cooling down enough in a pot he found in the boat so as to have an ample supply for the next two days.

Grilled fish and cold river water seemed to ask for something else, but Stan had plenty of strong young appet.i.te, and he was ready to congratulate himself upon having done so well; and in excellent spirits he quenched the fire with the water-pot when he had done, and pushed off at once.

That late afternoon and evening he sailed on till the moon was right overhead, when, feeling more secure, he made fast to a tree; and utterly unable to battle against an overpowering feeling of drowsiness, he slept in the bottom of the boat, with the matting sail for cover, till the morning sun was well up.

That day, as he was pa.s.sing a solitary house about a hundred yards from the bank, where he could see a couple of women at work in an enclosed field, he ran the boat insh.o.r.e, the women in answer to his signs coming to the bank to stare at him. Then by means of the little Chinese he knew, and the offer of the figured white silk neckerchief he wore in exchange, he not only obtained a good supply of cake-bread and some eggs, but the women made him some tea before he pushed off again.

Encouraged by his success, he fished the next day, had excellent sport, and bartered some of his prizes at a house for a couple of dozen fine potatoes, whose fate it was later on to be roasted in the embers of one of his fires.

And in this fashion, without any noteworthy experience, Stan dropped down the river, losing count of the days in the monotony of the journey, but always obtaining a sufficiency of provisions of some kind or another in exchange for the plentiful supply of fish he caught in the evenings after sundown, or else for some portion of his clothes--for his watch, money, and knife had disappeared in the prison, he never knew how.

In fact, the escape down the river, under the happy circ.u.mstances which fell to his lot, was simple in the extreme, it being easy enough to avoid the boats and junks he met, as well as the more inhabited parts of the sh.o.r.e.

He kept a sharp lookout during the last three days, expecting every hour to catch sight of the great _hong_ towering up by the right bank of the river; but it was far longer than he expected before it appeared, and even then proved to be much more distant than he could have believed.

At last, however, there it was, with a river-boat drawn up to the wharf, and by degrees he made out one of the big coolies; then Lawrence, the foreman, came out of the office door, but he took no notice of the white figure in the little native boat when Stan stood up and waved his hand.

"Why, I should have thought he would have known me directly," grumbled Stan to himself. "Ah! now we shall see," he cried joyously as a tall familiar figure came out, crossed the wharf, and stood talking to some one in the river-boat.

Stan waved his hand so excitedly now that he was seen, and he noted that the tall figure shaded its eyes and then turned to speak to one of the boatmen, who hurried in through the door of the warehouse and returned with something which the tall figure held up to its eyes.

"He'll see me now," said Stan to himself.

He was right, for the next minute a hand was being waved by the manager, who stood ready to exchange grips with Stan as he ran his boat up alongside the wharf and stepped ash.o.r.e.

That evening was pa.s.sed in the relation of adventures and a discussion about the fate of Wing.

"I'm afraid--very much afraid--that he was killed by the savages," said Stan sadly at last.

"Savages--cowardly savages!" cried Blunt angrily. "But I don't know; old Wing is a very slippery gentleman, and knows his way about pretty well. I'm not going to give him up for a bad job yet."

"You think he has escaped?" said Stan excitedly.

"I hope so," was the reply. "Things are not so bad as they might have been. You see that amongst the soldiery there is a feeling of respect for the English name."

"Respect!" cried Stan indignantly. "You don't fully grasp how they treated me."

"Yes, I do, Lynn; for they didn't kill you, and with people who hold life so cheaply that is saying a great deal. Well, my lad, it has been an adventure that you will never forget, and I'm very glad you have escaped so well. You don't feel much the worse for it all?"

"Not in the least. But it's delightful to get to civilisation again, and I'm looking forward to lying in a clean bed once more. I shall sleep to-night after what you have said about Wing."