CHAPTER CLX.

THE POLICE-GALLEY ON THE THAMES.

What an anxious and protracted glance Todd cast around him when he found

that he was fairly upon the river. How his eyes, with fox-like cunning,

glistening like two lead-coloured stars, were here, and there, and

everywhere, in the course of a few moments. Then he contrived to speak,

as he thought, craftily enough.

"There are but few boats on the river."

"No, sir," said the young waterman. "It isn't everybody that cares to

come on the water in such weather as this."

"No--no. But I have business."

"Exactly so, sir. That's it."

"Yes," added Todd, in quite a contemplative tone of voice, "the fact is,

that I have just heard that at Gravesend there resides a family, with

whom I was once intimate, but had lost sight of. They have, as I hear,

dropped into poverty, amounting to destitution, and I could not rest

until I had gone after them to relieve them."

"Did you say Gravesend?" said the old man.

"Why, yes; but I don't ask you to go so far. I will try and find a

conveyance on land at Greenwich; but--if--you like to pull all the way

to Gravesend, I don't mind paying, for I prefer the water."

"Couldn't do it," said the old man.

"Certainly not," said the young one.

Todd felt mortified that his plan of getting to Gravesend, by the aid of

the boat, was thus put an end to; but he could not help feeling how very

impolitic it would be to show any amount of chagrin upon such a subject,

so he spoke as cheerfully as he could, merely saying--

"Well, of course, I don't want you to do it; I merely offer you the job,

as I am so fond of a little boating, that I would not mind a few guineas

more upon such an account."

"No use trying it," said the old man, sententiously. "There's several

turns in the river, and we should be down one at this time before we

could get there. Gravesend is quite another thing."

"So it is," said Todd.

He felt perfectly certain by the tone and the manner of the old man,

that it would be of no use urging the matter any further; and the great

dread he had of exciting suspicion that he was a fugitive, had the

effect of making him as cautious as possible regarding what he said. In

stern and moody silence, then, he reclined in the stern of the boat,

while it cleaved through the black water; and, as the old boatman

prophesied, the wind each moment went down until it left nothing but a

freshness upon the surface of the water, which, although it was bitterly

cold, in no way effected the progress of the boat.

But a slight rain now began to fall, and every moment the night got

darker and darker still, until the lights upon the banks of the river

looked like little stars afar off; and it was only when they got quite

close to it, that they became aware of the proximity of Blackfriars

Bridge. It was Todd that saw it first appearing like some gigantic

object rising up out of the water to destroy them. He could not resist

uttering an exclamation of terror, and then he added--

"What is it? Oh, what is it?"

"What--what?" said the young waterman, shipping his oars and looking

rather terrified.

The old man gave his head a slight jerk as he said--

"I fancy it's Blackfriars."

"Oh, yes, yes," said Todd, with a feeling of great relief. "It's the

bridge, of course--it's the bridge; but in the darkness of the night, it

looked awful and strange; and as we approached it, it had all the effect

as if it were something big enough to crush the world rising up out of

the water.

"Ay--ay," said the old man. "I have seen it on all sorts of nights, and

was looking out for it. It's all right. Easy with your larboard over

there. That will do--there we go."

The boat shot under one of the arches of the old bridge, and for a

moment, the effect was like going into some deep and horrible cavern,

the lower part of which was a sea of ink.

Todd shuddered, but he did not say anything. He thought that after his

affected raptures at sailing, that if he made any sort of remark

indicative of his terrors at the passage of the bridge, they would sound

rather inconsistent.

It was quite a relief when they had shot through the dim and dusky arch,

and emerged again upon the broad open water; and owing to the terrible

darkness that was beneath that arch, the night upon the river, after

they had passed through it, did not seem to be nearly so black as it had

been before, thus showing that, after all, most of our sensations are

those of comparison, even including those dependant upon the physical

changes of nature.

"This is cheering," said Todd. "It is lighter now upon the river. Don't

you think it is?"

"Why," said the old man, "perhaps it is just a cloud or two lighter; but

it's after coming through the arch that it makes the principal

difference, I take it."

"Yes," said the other, "that's it; and the rain, to my thinking, will be

a lasting one, for it comes down straight, and with a good will to

continue. Don't you think so?"

The question was addressed to the old man, who answered it slowly and

sententiously, keeping time with his words to the oars as they made a

slight noise jerking in the rollocks.

"If it don't rain till sun-rise, just ask me to eat the old boat, and

I'll do it!"

"That's settled," said the young waterman.

The weather, in so far as rain or not rain was concerned, was not to

Todd a matter of much concern. So long as there was no stormy aspect of

the elements to prevent him from speeding upon his journey, he, upon the

whole, rather liked the darkness and the rain, as it probably acted as a

better shield for his escape, and he rather chuckled than not on the

idea that the rain would last. Besides, it was evident that as it fell,

it smoothed the surface of the river, so that the oars dipped clear into

the stream, and the boat shot on the better.

"Well--well," he said, "we can but get wet."

"That's all," said the old man, "and I hold it to be quite a folly to

make a fuss about that. If you sit still, the rain will, of course, soak

into your clothes; but if you go on sitting still, it will in time give

you up as a bad job, and begin to run out again. So you have nothing,

you see, to do, but take it easy, and think of something else all the

while."

"That is very true, my friend," said Todd, in a kind and conciliatory

tone; "but you get wet through in the process."

"Just so. Pull away."

The younger man, for the last five minutes, had glanced several times

through one of his hands along the line of the surface of the river, and

the injunction to pull away was probably on account of his having been a

little amiss in that particular. The old man had spoken the words rather

sharply than otherwise.

"Yes--yes," said the other. "I'll pull away; but there's another craft

upon the river, in spite of the rain, and they are pulling away with a

vengeance rather. Look, they're in our wake."

"It's no use me looking. You know that well enough. I ain't quite so

good with my eyes as I was a matter of twenty years ago. I suppose it's

the police-craft. Of late, you know, they have taken to cutting along at

all times."

"Yes, it's them!"

Todd stooped in the boat, until his eyes went right along the line of

the water's edge, and there he saw coming on swiftly a biggish bulky

object, and as the oars broke the water, he could see that there were

five or six of them on each side. It looked altogether like some great

fish striking through the water with a number of strange-looking fins.

The coward heart of Todd smote him, as well it might, when he saw this

sight. For a moment or two he sat bewildered, and he thought that he

should faint in the stern of the boat, and then that nothing in the

world could save him from capture, if that were in reality the

police-boat. It was, perhaps, only the rain falling upon his face that

revived him, as it came upon him with its cold, refreshed splash. To be

sure he was well armed for one individual, but what could he do against

some dozen of men? Suppose that he did shoot two or three of them, that

would be but a poor recompense for his capture by the others. He was

bewildered to know what to do. He spoke in a low, anxious tone,--

"Are you, from your knowledge of the river, quite sure that that is a

police-boat?"

"Ah, to be sure."

"Do you, then, think likewise that that is upon our track? Answer me

that. Answer it fairly."

"Our track!" said the old man, as he almost ceased rowing. "Hilloa!

There's something more in this affair than meets the eye. It won't

exactly pay us to be overhauled by the police, after a chase. Who and

what are you, my friend? If you are afraid of the police-boat, we are

not, and you ain't quite the sort of customer to suit us exactly, I

should say."

"I have both their lives," thought Todd, as in the dark he felt for his

pistols. "I have both their lives, and if they show any disposition to

give me up, they shall not live another five minutes. I will shoot them

both--cast their bodies into the river, and land myself at the first

stairs I come to."

"Listen to me," he said, in a mild tone of voice. "It would only tire

you, and, besides, it would take too long to tell why I have a fear of

the police. But I have such a fear. I assure you, that I am quite

innocent of what they accuse me. But until I can get from Hamburgh the

only witness who can prove my innocence, I do not want to fall into the

hands of my enemies. I implore you not to sacrifice me!"

"Humph!" said the old man, "What have you done?"

"Nothing--nothing! as Heaven is my witness!"

"But what do they say you have done?" said the young waterman.

"Ay!" said the other, "that's the question!"

"Why, they say that I was wrong in helping a poor lad, who certainly had

done some wrong thing, to escape from the country; but then it would

have broken his poor mother's heart if they had hanged him. It was for

forgery only, and it was all owing to bad company he did it. Alas! I did

not think it a crime to aid the poor boy to get away. What good would

his death have done to any one?"

"Was that all?"

"Yes; that was all. But it appears in law, you see, a very serious

offence to aid and abet, as they call it, a felon. Poor boy!--poor

mother!"

"Oh, hang it, we won't give you up to the bloodhounds of the law for

that," said the old man; "but, hark you, sir, it's out of the question

that we two should be able to hold our way against the police-galley,

with six young fresh rowers; so all we can do is to put you ashore

somewhere, and then you can shift for yourself the best way you may. I

don't see what else we can do for you."

"Nor I," said the young waterman; "and in a few moments it will be best

to do that. Is there a stairs close at hand?"

"Not one," said the old man. "It's a done thing. We can't land you,

except in the water, if that can be called landing you at all. I don't

know what to be at."

"Oh, save me!" said Todd.

"But how can we?"

"Yes," said the young waterman, "there's one way of managing that, I

think, will do it, and do it well, too."

"Oh, how can I thank you?"

"Don't mention it. Suppose we put him on to the first craft we come

along-side of in the river, that is moored, and has got no one on board?

It won't be noticed, like our putting into a landing would, you know.

They would be sure to say we had put some one on shore. But if we just

ease the boat for a moment as we pass some craft, our fare can scramble

on board, and we can go right on, and let the police overtake us, and

overhaul us in due course. I'll be bound that by this light there's not

a man on board of yonder craft can take upon himself to say whether

there's one, two, or three people in our wherry."

"Yes," said the old man, "that will do if anything will, and if that

don't do, nothing will."

"It will do," said Todd; "it will do. I thank you from my heart for the

suggestion. It will do well. All you have to do is to let me board the

craft in the river, upon the side furthest removed from the police boat.

Oh! you will have the prayers of the widow and the fatherless, for this

kind act."

"Never mind about that. Pull away."

"And--and when the police-boat is past, will you then come and take me

off again?"

"That's awkward," said the old man.

"We will, if we can," said the young one; "but don't depend upon us. We

don't know, as yet, what the police may say to us. For all we know, they

know more than we would wish them, of your being in our boat; and all we

can say, then, is, that we put you ashore; but they may keep a watch

upon us after that, and if they do, it will be only to give you up to

them that we could push off to you."

"Yes--yes, I understand," said Todd. "I thank you, and will take my

chance of all that may happen."

"You must."

"There's something a-head," said the old man. "What is it?"

"It's the pile-driving barge. They are mending up the bank of the river.

I know that the men leave that all night, as there is nothing to take

from it that any one can lift. Will you go on board that, sir?"

"Yes, yes," said Todd, "That will do."

"Be quick, then, about it," said the old man, "for they gain upon us."

"Boat a-hoi!" cried a voice over the river.