The Flying Boat Part 7

"What a fool I was not to bring it away!" he thought. "Yet why should I bother myself? The Mole's no pal of mine now. Let him look after his own property."

But this att.i.tude did not last. The roots of the old comradeship remained, though the leaves had withered. In the night recollections of former days crowded upon his mind, and his thoughts of the Mole became more kindly.

"Hanged if I don't fetch it, and send it back to him," he said to himself.

He got up about four o'clock in the morning, called Lo San, and told him to put some chapatties and soda water into the sampan.

"We're going to fetch Mr. Burroughs' flying boat," he said.

"No this time, sah," said the servant, anxiously. "No belongey leason.[#] Plenty bad fellas longside ribber."

[#] It's unreasonable.

"Sa-ni kow-tow[#]!" cried Errington, using a phrase often employed by the common people. "You no come, I go all-same alone. Savvy?"

[#] I'll cut off your head.

But Lo San, like most of his kind, had a sense of loyalty. He made no further protest, but went sullenly about the preparations for the journey.

Errington, now that he had made up his mind to get the flying boat, determined to leave nothing undone to ensure success. He took a rifle as well as his revolver, and gave similar weapons to his "boy." It occurred to him that he would have done more prudently in enlisting help among the other Englishmen; but he took a sort of grim pleasure in setting out unaided; it would be heaping coals of fire on Burroughs'

head, he thought, to restore the flying boat to him. And he did not mean him to know to whom he was indebted for its recovery.

They left the town before sunrise, when n.o.body was about. In his pursuit of sport on the previous day Errington had been led on so insensibly that he had not taken particular note of the course; and as Lo San, with the China boy's usual indifference, had left everything to his master, they were some hours in discovering the channel through the swamp. Then, however, they proceeded rapidly, though with great caution. On arriving at the broad pool, they moved slowly round it, prying up and down the channels opening from it, to make sure that no other craft was in sight. Then they crept into the tortuous pa.s.sage to the right among the reeds, and silently approached the sh.o.r.e where they had seen the flying boat.

Errington had reason to bless his circ.u.mspection when, on rounding the last curve, he caught sight of six or eight sampans drawn up on the shoaling ground. He instantly checked his own craft and withdrew a few yards into the reed-bed, where he could see, without being seen. Two or three of the better shanties, which on the day before had been boarded up, were now open. A wizened old Chinawoman was cooking fish at a small stove in the open s.p.a.ce in front--no doubt a late breakfast for the crews of the sampans, who were resting after nocturnal prowlings.

Errington considered what he should do. In his decision impulse and calculation had an equal share. An alarm would bring perhaps a score of pirates after him, and it would be impossible to tow the flying boat fast enough to escape the pursuit of the pirates' sampans. Even with nothing in tow, he could not propel his craft so rapidly as these men who lived on the river. Nor could he bring the boat away by its own power, for the engine could not be started without noise; and supposing he got away in time to escape the rifles of the pirates, he would almost certainly stick in a reed-bed and fall an easy prey. Besides, the engine might not be in working order. If the flying boat was to be brought away, swiftness and silence were equally necessary. There was little doubt that as soon as the meal was cooked, the Chinawoman would rouse her employers.

The bow of the flying boat touched the sh.o.r.e, where, as Errington had noticed on the previous day, it was held by a rope attached to a ruined hut. The stern was partially concealed by a thin clump of rushes.

Errington made up his mind that he must get on board, approaching through these rushes, and discover whether the engine was in working order, and whether there was any petrol on board. If the engine was workable, Lo San must tow the vessel out until he reached clear water, while he himself got ready to run it under its own power.

It was a chilly morning, but Lo San was shivering rather with fright than with cold. He looked aghast when his master told him in a rapid whisper the plan he had formed. But he knew that his best chance of saving his skin was to do as he was told, and at Errington's order he gently propelled the sampan until it lay within the shelter of the reeds near the stern of the flying boat. Telling him to remain perfectly still, Errington let himself gently down over the side, carrying a rope; then, keeping the flying boat as much as possible between himself and the old Chinawoman, he waded the few yards that separated him from the stern of the vessel. To this he made fast the rope; then, gently lifting the matting a foot or two, he clambered as quietly as possible over the side and into the hull.

A little light filtered through the meshes of the mats, but not enough for his purpose. Accordingly he took out his knife and cut a slit in the covering on the side away from the huts. Then, crouching low so that the matting should not be disturbed by his movements, he crept to the engine.

He found that the petrol tank was nearly empty, but luckily there were two or three unbroached cans of the spirit. One of these he opened, and poured the petrol in a slow noiseless trickle into the tank. It was impossible without noise to test the machinery, but he examined it as carefully as he could in the dim light: everything appeared to be in order.

Now crawling into the fore part of the boat, he slipped his hand between the matting and the gunwale, and cautiously cut through the mooring-rope. It fell into the water with a dull splash; fortunately the vessel was so low built that the rope had only a foot or two to fall. Waiting until the unbroken silence without a.s.sured him that the old woman had not taken alarm, he crept back again towards the stern, lowered himself into the water as silently as he had raised himself before, and began to haul very gently. The sh.o.r.e was soft, so that the movement of the keel over it made no sound; on the other hand, the soil clung to the keel, and to move the vessel required more force than Errington expected. But it slid inch by inch towards the water, and might have floated in absolute silence had Errington been able to see what he was doing. But just at the critical moment, when the most minute care was needed, he pulled a little harder than he should have done, and the bow dropped into the water with a splash.

Errington, hidden behind the stern, did not see the little contretemps which might have provoked a smile from Lo San, if he had had any sense of humour, and had not been quaking with fright. At the splash the old woman looked up from her cooking, in the direction of the waterway through which the sampans had come. Seeing nothing there, she muttered a malediction, and was turning to her stove again, when she happened to notice that the mat-covered craft a few yards away was floating free, and that the mooring-rope lay on the sh.o.r.e. Without any suspicion other than that the vessel had somehow worked loose, she dropped the fish she had been preparing, and hobbled down the sh.o.r.e with the intention of tying the boat up again. Quickening her steps as she saw that it was moving away, she leant forward to clutch it, missed her footing, and plunged headlong into the water with a stifled scream.

Hitherto Errington had carefully kept out of sight; but at the double sound of scream and splash he could not refrain from peeping round the side of the boat. The old woman was floundering in the effort to regain her feet. The water was no more than three feet deep, but the bottom was muddy, and the woman, scared by what was probably the first immersion of her life, could not stand up, but was still on hands and knees, only her head showing. Errington had never heard such screaming.

Fearing that the old creature would be drowned, he rushed forward in his impulsive way to help her.

His chivalry deserved a better reward. The old crone, as soon as she saw him, let out a series of even more piercing shrieks than before, and, finding her feet at last, scrambled ash.o.r.e, and with a limping trot like that of an aged cab-horse, fled towards the huts. "Fan-kwei!

Fan-kwei[#]!" she screamed, rubbing her wet face with her fishy fingers.

[#] Foreign devil.

Even as he had reached her, Errington repented of his impulse, for the woman's shrieks had already drawn a grimy head to the entrance of one of the huts. The pirate was presumably too sleepy, or too much confused at the sudden awakening, to see clearly what was going on, for he gave Errington time to dash back to the stern of the boat. Hauling it through the reed-bed--and it required little force now that the vessel was afloat---he fastened the stern to the sampan with a few turns of the rope, telling Lo San to paddle with all his might towards the water-way.

The Chinaman needed no second bidding. The huts were already discharging their fierce-eyed occupants. Lo San paddled with an energy of which he had never shown himself capable in the service of his master. Errington waded beside the flying boat, doing what he could to fend it off the reed banks. He was already out of sight of the huts, but the yells and execrations behind showed only too clearly that the pirates were launching their sampans in pursuit. Had he got sufficient start of them to gain the pool?

"Ossoty! ossoty[#]!" he cried to Lo San, and the panting Chinaman put still more force into his strokes. Errington looked behind, but the windings of the channel, and the enc.u.mbering reeds, prevented him from seeing how near the pursuers had come. His momentary turn caused the boat to jam against a clump of rushes, and a few seconds were lost while he went to the bows and with a heave of the shoulder sent the vessel once more into the stream.

[#] Make haste.

In a few seconds more, Lo San gave a jubilant shout of "Hai galaw!" He had come to the pool. Instantly Errington sprang into the flying boat and, telling the boy still to paddle hard, flung off the matting and switched on the current. To his intense relief the sparking was instantaneous.

"Stop!" he yelled.

Lo San dropped his paddle. The propeller was whirling round, and Errington with his hand on the wheel turned the vessel towards the open channel. A sampan shot out from the network of reeds behind them. The man in it uttered a shout, threw down his paddle, lifted his rifle, and fired. Lo San tumbled into the bottom of the sampan, which was now being towed by the hydroplane. Errington did not see him; his eyes were glued on the channel in front. He dared not as yet put the engine at full speed; the reed-beds on either side projected here and there too far into the water-way; if the propeller became entangled the game would be up. More sampans emerged from the rushes; more shots were fired; but the pirates' marksmanship was wild, and seeing that the hydroplane was going at a slow pace, they ceased firing and paddled frantically on, hoping to overtake the vessel before it came clear of the channel into the main stream.

[Ill.u.s.tration: A CRITICAL MOMENT]

The foremost sampan was within a few yards of the little craft in which Lo San, quite unhurt, lay cowering in the bottom, when Errington at last considered it safe to open his throttle. The hydroplane shot forward at a pace that seemed to s.n.a.t.c.h the following sampan out of the very hands of the pursuers. From this time the chase was hopeless. The pirates paddled on a short distance further, then stopped, yelling with rage, and firing after their quarry with blind fury. Not a shot took effect.

The hydroplane was soon out of sight, if not out of range.

Errington looked behind. Lo San was not to be seen. With a qualm lest the boy had been hurt, Errington slowed down, stopped, and waited anxiously until the sampan came up by its own momentum.

"Are you hurt?" he cried, seeing the boy inert.

"No, sah: velly muchee funk," replied Lo San, without offering to rise.

"Then get up, you owl, and come aboard," said Errington. "Lug the sampan up after you. First chop numpa one fightee man _you_ are."

"My no likee fightee pidgin," mumbled the boy, as he clambered up.

"You belongey chow-chow pidgin,"[#] said Errington. "Sit down."

[#] You're better at eating.

And starting the engine again he ran into the open river, and rushed up-stream against a strong current at the rate of twenty-five knots.

On arriving below the town, he steered the vessel into a narrow unfrequented creek, lowered the sampan, and finished the journey as he had begun it.

"Don't say a word about this, or I'll sack you," he said to Lo San.

He walked up the town, to the office of the local agent of Mr.