CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN.
THE FUGITIVES.
Don and Jem plunged almost simultaneously into the black, cold water,and felt the sea thundering in their ears.
Then Jem, being broader and stouter than his companion, rose to thesurface and looked round for Don; but a few seconds of agony ensuedbefore the water parted and the lad's head shot up into the faint lightshed by the lanthorns.
"Now for it, Mas' Don," whispered Jem; "think as it's a race, and we'regoing to win a cup at a 'gatta. Slow and sure, sir; slow and sure,long, steady strokes, and keep together."
"They're calling to us to stop, Jem," whispered Don.
"Let 'em call, Mas' Don. Somebody else seems a-calling of me, andthat's my Sally. Oh, don't I wish I hadn't got any clothes."
"Can they see us?" whispered Don, as they swam steadily on.
"I don't believe they can, sir; and if they can, they won't see us long.Shouldn't be surprised if they lowered a boat."
"Ah! Look out!" whispered Don. "Shall we dive?"
For he heard the clicking of the muskets as they missed fire.
"Well, I do call that cowardly," said Jem, as he heard the order toload; "shooting at a couple of poor fellows just as if they was wildduck."
"Swim faster, Jem," said Don, as he gazed back over his shoulders at thelights as the shots rang out.
"No, no; swim slower, my lad. They can't see us; and if they could, Idon't believe as the men would try and hit us. Ah! Not hit, are you?"
"No, Jem; are you?"
"Not a bit of it, my lad. There they go again. Steady. We're allright now, unless a boat comes after us. We shall soon get ashore atthis rate, and the tide's helping up, and carrying us along."
"Toward shore, Jem, or out to sea?"
"Shore, of course," said Jem, as he swam on his side, and kept an eye onthe faint lights of the ship. "Say, Mas' Don, they won't hang us, willthey, if they ketches us?"
"What made you say that?"
"Because here comes a boat after us.--Hear the skipper?"
"Yes; but the canoe--where is the canoe?"
Don raised himself, and began to tread water, as he looked in thedirection where they had seen the water flash beneath the paddles.
"I dunno, my lad. Can't see nothing but the lights of the ship. Betterswim straight ashore. We sha'n't be able to see no canoe to-night."
They swam steadily on, hearing only too plainly the plans made for theirrecapture. The orders, the creaking of the falls, even the plash madeby the boats, as they kissed the water, and the dull rattle of the oarsin the rowlocks was carried in the silence of the night distinctly totheir ears, while the regular plash, plash, plash, as the oars dipped,sent a thrill through Don, and at times seemed to chill his energy.
But these checks were almost momentary. There was a sense of freedom inbeing away from the ship, and, in spite of the darkness, a feeling ofjoyous power in being able to breast the long heaving swell, and pass onthrough the water.
"Better not talk, Mas' Don," whispered Jem, as they swam; "sound goes soeasily over the water."
"No, I'm not going to talk," said Don; "I want all my breath forswimming."
"Don't feel tired, do you?"
"Not a bit."
"That's right, lad. Stick to it steady like. Their lanthorns aren'tmuch good. Don't you be skeart; we can see them plain enough, but theycan't see us."
"But it seems as if they could," whispered Don, as they saw a manstanding up in the bows of one of the boats, holding a lanthorn on high.
"Yes, seems," whispered Jem; "but there's only our heads out of water,and only the tops o' them sometimes. Say, that must ha' been fancyabout the canoe."
"No, Jem; she's somewhere about."
"Glad on it: but I wish she'd come and pick us up."
They swam on silently toward the shore, listening to the shouts of themen, and watching alternately the lights of the boats and those of theship.
All at once a curious noise assailed Don's ear.
"What's the matter, Jem?" he whispered, in alarm.
"Matter?" said Jem, greatly to his relief. "Nothing, as I knows on."
"But that noise you made?"
"I didn't make no noise."
"You did, just now."
"Why, I was a-larfin' quiet-like, so as to make no row."
"Oh!"
"Thinking about them firing a volley at us in the dark. Wonder wherethe bullets went?"
"Don't talk, Jem; they may hear us."
"What! A whisper like that, my lad? Not they. Boats is a long wayoff, too, now."
The excitement had kept off all sense of fear, and so far Don had notseemed to realise the peril of their position in swimming through thedarkness to land; for even if there had been a canoe coming to theirhelp, the lowering of the boats seemed to have scared its occupantsaway, and though the sea was perfectly calm, save its soft, swellingpulsation, there were swift currents among the islands and points,which, though easily mastered by canoe or boat with stout rowers, wouldcarry in an imperceptible manner a swimmer far from where he wished togo.
But they swam steadily on for some time longer, Jem being the first tobreak the silence.
"Say, Mas' Don," he whispered, "did you hear oars?"
"No, Jem."
"I thought I did. I fancy one of the boats put off without a lanthorn.Weren't there three?"
"Yes, I think so."
"Well, you can see two of 'em easy like."
"Yes, Jem; I can see."
"Then there's another cruising about in the dark, so we must becareful."
There was another interval of steady swimming, during which they seemedto get no nearer to the shore, and at last Jem spoke again.
"Say, Mas' Don, don't you feel as if you'd like a cup o' tea?"
"No."
"I do. I'm as dry as sawdus'. S'pose we're nearly there, but I can'ttouch bottom. I tried just now."
They swam on, with the lights of the boat farther off than ever, and theship more distant still.
"Getting tired, Jem?"
"N-no. Could go on for about another week. Are you?"
"My clothes seem so heavy. Can you see the shore?"
"I can see the beach right afore us, but can't tell how nigh it is.Never mind about your clothes, my lad; but they're a great noosance at atime like this. Take your strokes long, and slow as you can."
"That's what I'm doing, Jem, but--do you think it's much further?"
"Now, lookye here, Mas' Don; if ever there was a good-tempered chap itwas--I mean is--Jem Wimble; but if you gets talking like that, youaggravates me to such a degree that I must speak."
Jem spoke angrily, and with unwonted excitement in his manner.
"Is it much furder, indeed? Why, of course it arn't. Swim steady, andwait."
Jem closed in as much as was possible after raising himself in thewater, and scanning the distant shore; and as he did so a cold chill ofdread--not on his own account--ran through him, for he felt that theywere certainly no nearer shore than they were before.
"Throw your left shoulder a little more forward, Mas' Don," he saidcalmly; "there's a p'int runs out here, I think, as'll make the journeyshorter."
Don obeyed in silence, and they swam on, with Jem watchfully keeping hiseyes upon his companion, who was now deeper in the water.
"Jem," said Don, suddenly.
"Yes, Mas' Don. Take it coolly, my lad. We're getting close there.Oh, what a lie!" he added to himself, with a chill of misery unnervinghim.
"Jem."
"Ay, ay, Mas' Don."
"If you escape--"
"If I escape!" whispered Jem, angrily. "Now, what's the use o' yourtalking like that? Escape, indeed! Why, I feel as if I could live inthe water, if I had plenty to eat and drink."
"Listen to me," said Don, hoarsely. "If you escape, tell my mother Ialways loved her, even when I was obstinate. Tell her we didn't runaway, and that--that I didn't take that money, Jem. You'll tell h
erthat?"
"I won't tell her nor nobody else nothing of the sort," said Jem. "I'mtoo busy swimming to think o' no messages, and so are you. Steady--steady. Bit tired, lad?"
"Tired, Jem? My arms feel like lead."
"Turn over and float a bit, dear lad, and rest yourself."
"No," said Don. "If I turn over I shall be too helpless to keep up, andI can't turn back.--Jem, I'm beat out."
"You're not!" cried Jem, in so loud and angry a voice, that theoccupants of the pursuing boats must have heard them if they had beennear. "You've got to keep on swimming steady, as I tells you, and ifyou says another word to me 'bout being beat, I'll give you such a shoveaside o' the head as'll duck you under."
Don made no answer, but swam on feebly, with the water rising over hislips at every stroke; and as Jem swam by him he could hear the lad'sbreath come quickly, and with a hoarse, panting sound.
"And I can't leave him, even to; save myself," groaned Jem. "Oh, Sally,Sally, my gal, I did love you very true; and if I never see you again,good-bye--good-bye!"
It seemed to poor Jem Wimble that his thoughts were so heavy that theysank him lower in the water; but he had a buoyant heart, which is thesurest and best of life preservers; and taking a long breath, andsetting his teeth, he swam on.
"Not so very far now, Mas' Don," he said. "You feel better now, don'tyou?"
"Jem."
"Yes, lad."
"It's getting darker. I want to keep on, but I can't. Can you shakehands?"
"No!" cried Jem, fiercely. "You turn over and float."
Don uttered a sigh, and obeyed in a feeble way, while Jem ceased hisstriking out for shore, and placed one arm under Don's neck.
"It's all right, my lad. Don't lose heart," he said. "It's wonderfuleasy to float; but you're tired. It's your clothes does it. You're awonderful good swimmer, Mas' Don; but the wonderflest swimmers can'tswim for ever in clothes. That's resting you, arn't it? I'm fresh as alark, I am. So 'll you be dreckly, lad. Keep cool. Just paddle yourhands a bit. We're close in shore, only it's so dark. We've done 'em.Boats is right away."
"Are they--are they right away, Jem?"
"Yes, my lad, thank goodness!"
Don groaned.
"Don't do that, my lad. You do make me savage when you won't be plucky.Why, you can swim miles yet, and you shall, as soon as you're rested.I say, how savage the capen will be when he finds he can't ketch us!"
"Jem, my lad," said Don, quietly; "don't talk to me as if I were achild. It's very good of you, and--kind--but--but I'm done, Jem--I'mdone."
"You're not!" cried Jem, savagely. "Say that again, and I'll hit you inthe mouth. You arn't done, and it's the way with you. You're theobsnittest chap as ever was. You've got to swim ashore as soon asyou're rested, and I say you shall."
Don made no reply, but he floated with his nostrils clear of the water,and smiled as he gazed straight up in the dark sky.
"There. It was time I spoke," continued Jem. "Some chaps loses heartabout nothing."
"Nothing, Jem?"
"Well, next to nothing, my lad. Why, mussy me! What a fuss we aremaking about a few hundred yards o' smooth water. I've swum twice asfar as this. Rested?"
Don made no reply.
"Ah, you will be soon. It's the clothes, my lad. Now look here, Mas'Don. You take my advice. Never you try a long swim again like thiswith your clothes on. They makes a wonderful deal of difference."
"Jem," said Don, interrupting him.
"Ay, ay, my lad."
"Are the boats very far away?"
"Well, a tidy bit; say half-mile."
"Then swim ashore and leave me; save yourself."
"Oh, that's it, is it?"
"And tell my mother--"
"Now, look here," cried Jem. "I should look well going and telling yourmother as I left you in the lurch; and my Sally would spit at me, andserve me right. No, Mas' Don, I've tried it easy with you, and I'vetried it hard; and now I says this: if you've made up your mind to godown, why, let's shake hands, and go down together, like mates."
"No, no; you must swim ashore."
"Without you?"
"Jem, I can do no more."
"If I leaves you, Mas' Don--Ahoy! Boat!--boat!"
Jem meant that for a sturdy hail; but it was half choked, for just atthat moment Don made a desperate effort to turn and swim, lost hisremaining nerve, and began to beat the water like a dog.
"Mas' Don, Mas' Don, one more try, dear lad, one more try!" cried Jem,passionately; but the appeal was vain. He, with all his sturdy manhood,strength hardened by his life of moving heavy weights, was beaten in thealmost herculean task, and he knew at heart that Don had struggledbravely to the very last, before he had given in.
But even then Don responded to Jem's appeal, and ceased paddling, tomake three or four steady strokes.
"That's it! Brave heart! Well done, Mas' Don. We shall manage it yet.A long, steady stroke--that's it. Don't give up. You can do it; andwhen you're tired, I'll help you. Well done--well done. Hah!"
Jem uttered a hoarse cry, and then his voice rose in a wild appeal forhelp, not for self, but for his brave young companion.
"Boat! Boat!" he cried, as he heard Don, deaf to his entreaties, beginthe wild paddling action again; and he passed his arm beneath his neck,to try and support him.
But there was no reply to his wild hail. The boats were out of hearing,and the next minute the strangling water was bubbling about his lips,choking him as he breathed it in; and with the name of his wife on hislips, poor Jem caught Don in a firm grip with one hand, as he struckwildly out with the other.
Four or five steady strokes, and then his arm seemed to lose its power,and his strokes were feeble.
"Mas' Don," he groaned; "I did try hard; but it's all over. I'm deadbeat, too."
Adventures of Don Lavington: Nolens Volens Page 27
