Impatient and worried, Corty went back some fifty feet toward the houses bordering the quay, where a few windows were lit. He stood nearby one of the streets where John Carpenter and the cook were supposed to emerge.
Whenever anyone came out, Corty wondered if it was not one of them, in case they needed to separate. Then the boatswain would have waited for his companion, for he would not know what direction to follow in order to join the boat at the end of the landing.
Corty advanced only with the most extreme caution. He slid alongside the walls, turning his ear to every sound. At any moment there could be a swarm of constables. After having searched the taverns in vain, the police would surely continue their hunt along the waterfront and would inspect the boats moored to the quay.
At that moment, Harry Markel and the others must have thought that luck was going to turn against them.
Indeed, at the edge of the Blue Fox’s street, a loud tumult broke out. A crowd made its way toward a scene of shouting and punches. At that time of the evening, a gas lamp lit the angle of the first houses and the area was less dark.
By staying at the edge of the quay, Harry Markel could see what was happening. In fact, Corty soon came back, not wanting to participate in the brawl where he would have risked being recognized.
In the midst of the fight, the constables had stopped two men whom they held tightly and were conducting toward the other side of the embankment.
The two men were struggling and strongly resisting the agents. To their shouts were added those of about twenty other individuals who were taking sides for or against them. There was reason to believe that these men were indeed the boatswain and the cook.
Corty soon came back.
That is exactly what Harry Markel’s companions were thinking, and one of them repeated:
“They’ve been caught … They’ve been caught …”
“How do we get them out?” responded one of the mates.
“Lie down!” ordered Harry Markel.
A prudent action, since, if John Carpenter and the cook were in the hands of the police, the latter would conclude that the others should not be far off. They would now be certain that the others had not yet left town. The police would look for them throughout the port. They would search all the ships anchored in the harbor, after forbidding them from setting out to sea. Not a single vessel, not a single fishing boat would be exempt, and the fugitives would soon be discovered.
But Harry Markel did not lose his head.
Once his companions were lying down in the rowboat so that, thanks to the darkness, they could not be detected, a few minutes went by, which seemed very long. The commotion on the quay was increasing. The individuals being held were still there. The shouts from the crowd were overwhelming, and it seemed clear that they were being directed at certain criminals such as those from the Markel gang.
At times Harry2 imagined hearing and recognizing the voices of John Carpenter and Ranyah Cogh. Had they been brought to the landing? Did the constables know that their accomplices were there, hiding at the bottom of a rowboat? Were they all going to be captured and taken back to prison, from where they would not escape a second time?
Finally, the clamor died down. The police squad was leaving with the individuals caught on the street of the Blue Fox and were going up the opposite side of the quay.
Harry Markel and the seven others were no longer threatened, at least for the moment.
Now, what to do? The boatswain and the cook, caught or not, were not there. With two fewer men, under inferior conditions, could Harry Markel follow up with his plan, get to the Alert, try to take the ship by surprise at its anchorage—and do with eight what was already so audacious with ten?
At any rate, they must still take advantage of the rowboat to get away, if only to reach a point on the other side of the bay and escape into the countryside.
Before deciding, Harry Markel went back up the landing.
Not seeing anyone alongside the quay, he was getting ready to reboard in order to push out to sea when two men appeared from one of the streets, to the right of the one Corty and Harry Markel had taken.
It was John Carpenter and Ranyah Cogh. They were approaching rapidly toward the quay. Moreover, no policemen were on their heels. The men who had been arrested were two sailors who had just punched a third inside the Blue Fox tavern.
With a few words, Harry Markel was informed. A squad of police had been blocking the street when the boatswain and the cook arrived at its entrance, making it impossible to reach the quay that way. They had to retrace their steps to the little street already occupied by other constables and flee towards the far end of the neighborhood. From there, the delay had risked compromising everything.
“Get in!” Harry Markel simply said.
In an instant, he, John Carpenter, and Ranyah3 had taken their seats in the rowboat. Four were seated in the front, their oars ready. The lines were cast off just as quickly. The boatswain held the tiller, with Harry Markel and the others next to him.
The tide continued to drop. With the ebb tide lasting half an hour more, the rowboat would have time to reach Farmar Cove, no more than two miles away. The fugitives would see the Alert at its anchorage, and it would not be impossible to take the ship by surprise before it was able to assume a defensive position.
John Carpenter knew the bay. Even in the middle of this deep darkness, by going south-southeast, he was sure to reach the cove. They would certainly see the mandatory lantern that all ships must hoist at their bows whenever they have dropped anchor.
As the boat advanced, the last city lights disappeared in the mist. There wasn’t the slightest breeze, nor a single wave on the bay’s surface. The most complete stillness reigned everywhere.
Twenty minutes after leaving the landing, the rowboat stopped.
John Carpenter, in a half-crouch, said:
“A ship’s lantern … There …”
A white light was shining at about fifteen feet over the water, at a distance of a hundred toises.4
The rowboat, coming closer by half that distance, stopped again.
No doubt that this ship was the Alert, since, according to the maritime newspaper, no other was anchored at Farmar Cove at this time. It was, then, a matter of drawing alongside it without alerting anyone. It was probable that the crew was below deck during this misty weather. But, at the very least, a man would be posted on guard on the bridge. It was necessary to avoid drawing his attention. Therefore, with oars raised, the current should suffice to bring the rowboat to the side of the Alert.
Indeed, in less than a minute, Harry Markel and his companions would be approaching the starboard side of the ship. Neither seen nor heard, for them it would not be difficult to climb up over the rails and get rid of the sailor on watch before he was able to give an alert.
The ship had just swung on its anchor. The first wave was felt without bringing any wind with it. Under these conditions, the Alert presented its bow toward the opening of the bay, its stern turned toward the back of Farmar Cove which closed at a headland on the southeast. It would be necessary to come around this headland in order to gain the open sea and to set into its course through Saint George’s Channel.
So, at this moment, in the middle of a deep darkness, the rowboat was getting ready to draw along the ship’s starboard side. By itself, above the forecastle, shone the lantern suspended on the forestay, whose light was sometimes eclipsed when the mist fell more heavily.
No noise was heard, and the approach of Harry Markel and