The Wolf Patrol: A Tale of Baden-Powell's Boy Scouts

The Three Spires, named from the three chief churches of the town, whose steeples rose high above the roofs of Bardon, was a broad, roomy old craft, and had carried many a good cargo in her time. But she was now past her work, and, her spars, rigging, and raffle all torn away, her hulk lay abandoned in Fuller's Creek, for the breakers-up did not want her.

It was mere luck that Chippy threw his skiff's nose over to port, for he was bearing straight for the Three Spires as she lay end on, and port or starboard was all one in point of distance as regarded sculling round her. But he threw his bow over to port, and thereby made a striking discovery. For beside the great bulk lay a small bulk, and the latter was a boat swinging to the shattered taffrail of the Three Spires by her painter. Chippy checked his way, and the two boats floated side by side on the quiet, dark backwater, with the hull of the deserted barquentine towering above them against the sky.

Chippy threw out a long breath of immense surprise. 'They ain't gone on to the stage,' he thought. 'They're here. They're on this old un. This is their boat.' He heard movements on board the barquentine, and he sculled a few swift strokes which sent him forward under the thick shadow of her broad stern, where he checked her way again.

The sounds were those of men who scrambled up her forward companion, and at the next moment Chippy's cars told him that they had approached the side of the Teasel, and one was swinging himself into the boat.

'This is the last,' he heard a voice say. 'We'll get it down, and have a look at what you've picked out this time.'

'One knows what's in the bundles; t'other don't,' reflected Chippy. 'They mean to open 'em. That'll keep 'em busy a bit.'

He waited until his ears assured him that the men had gone down the companion again, then sculled back to the point where their boat floated below the port taffrail. This was the only point at which the deck of the vessel could be gained. The Three Spires lay on the mud, heeled over to port, and everywhere else her sides were high, smooth, and unclimbable.

And now Chippy made a mistake – a great scouting mistake: he did too much; and the scout who does too much blunders just as surely as he who does too little. Had Chippy sculled quietly away with the ample information he had already gained, the thieves might have been taken red-handed. But he burned to put, as he thought, a finishing touch to his night's work. He wanted to see what was going on in the forepeak of the Three Spires, and he wanted to see the faces of the men; it was almost certain that he would recognise people so familiar with Quay Flat and Elliotts' warehouse. He took the painter of his tiny craft, and threw two easy half-hitches round the painter of the large boat. He could cast his rope loose in a second, and it would be ample hold to keep his craft from drifting away. He laid the sweep where it would be ready to his hand if he had to make a rush, then swung himself up to the taffrail by the rope which the thieves had fastened there for their own use.

'They're forward,' murmured Chippy to himself, and crept without a sound along the slanting deck. His stockings were still in his pockets; his boots he had left in the skiff.

The companion-hatch was broken, and the men had gone up and down through the hole which yawned above the steps. To this gap Chippy crept, and thrust his head forward inch by inch until he was looking into the deserted forecastle. He saw the men at once. They were almost directly beneath him, kneeling on the floor, while one was deftly slipping the cord which bound one of the stolen bales.

Chippy scarcely dared to breathe when he saw how close he was to the thieves. 'If I could only get a look at 'em, I'd 'ook it,' he thought to himself, and waited for their faces to be shown in the shine of the lantern, whose slide was partly turned to give them light. But one held the lantern while the other opened the bale, and the light showed no more of them than the worker's hands, the latter tattooed like those of a seaman.

Suddenly the scene changed with magic swiftness, and the pursuer became the pursued. It happened simply enough. The man unfolding the bale asked his companion a question. His voice was pitched in so low a murmur that Chippy did not catch what was said, but he heard the second man's reply. 'No, I 'ain't got it,' said he who held the lantern.

'Then we've left it in the boat,' rejoined the first speaker in louder tones; and he sprang to his feet and shot up the crazy steps of the companion as nimbly as a cat.

It was so swift, so sudden, that the man was out on the deck before the scout, stretched at full length beside the companion-hatch, could get to his feet. The man slipped along the deck as smartly as he had swarmed up the companion, and Chippy was clean cut on from his boat.

What could he do? Nothing but sit tight and hope that his boat would not be discovered in the gloom of the barquentine's shadow. Vain hope. Scarce had it been formed than a savage growl of anger and surprise broke the silence. His boat was discovered.

The man below heard his companion's cry. The dullest would have read warning in it. He leapt to his feet, and bounded up the companion in turn.

'Anything wrong?' he called in low tones.

'Here's another boat,' said the other.

'Another boat!' murmured the second thief, and scrambled swiftly along the deck, and thrust his head over the side.

The two men were thunderstruck. A second boat! That meant someone abroad of whose presence they had not dreamed.

'Was it there when we came?' asked the second man.

'Not it,' replied the discoverer; 'the painter's made fast round ours.'

'Then, whoever came in that boat is aboard now,' went on his companion, 'an' we've been spied on an' followed.'

'It's a little boat. There can only be one,' said the other.

'Stand by the boat,' said the man aboard. 'I'll settle the spy.' And he clinched his words with a dreadful oath.

'Don't go too far,' said the man in the boat, who was a more timorous fellow.

'Too far!' growled the other. 'It's sink or swim with us now. There's somebody on this old barky as is fly to our little game, an' his mouth has got to be stopped. Wait; stave his boat in, and you keep in ours. Stave it in now while I'm here. He won't run away.' And again the desperate thief broke into a volley of savage imprecations.

Chippy had heard all this, and recognised how true was the last assertion of the infuriated rogue. There was no running away from the barquentine. No prison surer while his boat was in their hands. And at the next moment there was a crash of boat-hook on wooden plank. Three blows were struck. The little boat was not new, and its timbers gave easily. Three planks were staved in; it filled and sank.

'It's gone,' said the man in the boat; and his companion turned to search for him who had approached the barquentine in it.

Chippy had left the companion and darted forward while they talked. The sounds of the planks going in his boat told him that his case was desperate; his retreat was cut off. He found the stump of the foremast, and crouched behind it, and lay still. Twice the man in search of him crept round the vessel in the darkness, and Chippy shifted noiselessly from side to side as he passed.

There were movements aft, and suddenly a flood of light streamed along the deck. The searcher had fetched up the lantern, regardless of the chances of the light being seen ashore, and flung its full blaze forward.

The slide was turned at the lucky moment for the rogue who held it. Chippy stood beside the foremast, one hand laid on it, his head bent and listening for any sound. The ring of light fell full upon him, and the desperate ruffian gave a growl of satisfaction when he saw his prey.

CHAPTER XXV

A NARROW SHAVE

'It's a kid – a cheeky kid,' he cried in low, savage tones. 'I'll soon settle him.'

'P'raps he'll keep quiet. Ask him if he'll swear to say nothin'?' called out the man in the boat, his tones low and eager.

'Shut up!' snarled the other; 'as if any kid could keep quiet! I ain't a-goin' to do time for the likes of him. Not me! I'll chuck him into the hold.' And he clinched his words with another stream of fierce imprecations.

He scrambled towards the spot where Chippy stood as fast as his feet could carry him. The scout knew that he was in great danger; his acquaintance with longshore folk was extensive, and he knew that among them were to be found a few ruffians and thieves as desperate as any alive – men who would not value a boy's life any more than a fly's, if it became necessary to their safety to take it. If he were seized, he would be knocked on the head, and his body flung into the hold of the Three Spires, into the deep muddy bilge which lay there, as safe a hiding-place for a crime as could be found.

There was but one way of escape, and he turned to it at once. His boat had gone, but the river was still his refuge and way of release. He seized the broken taffrail, swung himself over it, let himself go, slid swiftly down the side, holding himself straight and stiff as a bar, and struck the water with his bare feet with less than a splash, with no more than a sharp clunk, and at the next instant was striking out with all his might for the side of the creek.

The man creeping along the deck uttered a savage oath full of baffled fury as he saw Chippy vanish over the side, and heard him enter the water; then scrambled swiftly back to the boat, and sprang in.

'He's jumped over,' he growled. 'Pull round and after him. We'll get him yet.'

'P'raps he's drownded,' said the other.

'Not him,' cried the fiercer thief; 'he didn't drop into the water like one as gets drownded. He's makin' off – that's what he's a-doin'. Pull, I tell ye – pull!'

They bent to the oars, and the skiff was driven at speed round the stranded hull of the barquentine. For his part, Chippy was swimming as he had never swum before. He was lashing the water with all his might, swimming his favourite side-stroke, his fastest way of moving, now glancing at the dark mass which marked the side of the creek, now glancing behind to see if the boat pursued. In one thing he was very unlucky. He had struck straight away from the side over which he had slipped, the side upon which the boat was not lying, and was swimming into the moonlight which now bathed the farther side of the creek. He shot into the lighted space as the boat slid from under the shadow of the broad stern, and was seen at once. Across the quiet water Chippy heard the voice of his more dangerous foe: 'There he is! there he is!' cried the ruffian. 'Pull, I tell ye – pull! we'll have him easy before he touches bank.'

Chippy looked ahead, and felt that there was horrible truth in this. Stripped to the buff, he would have escaped without a doubt, for he could go through the water like a fish. But he was now fully clothed, and the water-sodden garments clung round him like a coating of lead, impeding his strokes, and cutting down his pace in cruel fashion.

Still, he fought gamely, putting out every effort to drive himself through the slow, dead water, and keeping his mind fixed on the shore ahead, and not on the boat darting after him under the propulsion of two powerful oarsmen.

He wanted to look back, but he drove the feeling off. He knew it would not help his speed to mark how near his foes were, and he could, in any case, do nothing but swim – swim for his life. There is no more helpless creature in the world than the swimmer overtaken in the water. He can neither fight nor fly. His powers are needed to support himself, and, once disabled, the deadly water takes him into its murderous embrace.

But, of a sudden, Chippy was forced to mark the terrible danger which hung over him.

'Pull straight ahead,' said a voice, which seemed almost in his ear. He turned his face, and his heart leapt in his side. The muffled rowlocks and sweeps had brought the boat almost full upon him in silence, and the ruffian who sought his life was springing into the bows armed with the boat-hook. The boy scout saw all this clearly in the moonlight – saw the second man pulling with a terrified face turned over his shoulder, saw the heavy, iron-shod pole swinging aloft to fall upon his head. He drew a long breath, and filled his lungs deeply. As he did so, the shadow of the bow fell upon him, and at that instant he dived like a water-hen. There was a tremendous splash just at his ear, and a heavy blow was dealt on his shoulder, driving him deeper still. He turned over on his back, and opened his eyes, for he had closed them at the instant of diving. He saw directly above him a dark mass, and knew that he was under the boat. It passed slowly on, and he rose, and his face came to the surface and was brushed by a rope. He seized the rope and hung on, and drew, cautiously, a deep breath. He looked round, and found that he had caught the painter as it dragged astern, and that the way of the boat was checked. Then Chippy heard a voice. 'Pull round a bit,' it asid; 'we shall soon see if he rises again or no.'

'Not he,' said another voice, which quavered. 'Never! never! He'll ne'er rise again after that frightful crack you hit him. I shall hear it all my days.'

The hardier ruffian chuckled. 'I did fetch him a good un,' he said – 'a reg'lar oner. I felt the hook light on him. But pull, I tell ye – pull! There's no time for moanin' an' groanin' now.'

Chippy felt that way was being given to the boat, and he struck out softly with one arm and both feet in order that he should not drag on the boat and betray his presence. By the aid of the painter, he could keep his head low behind the broad stern, and quite out of sight of the two rogues in the boat.

His shoulder ached where the boat-hook had fallen upon it, but the blow had not been disabling, for the force had been partly broken by the water. In one way, it was very lucky for the scout that he had received this sharp crack, for the thief who sought his life was now fully under the impression that the boy had been beaten under. This caused the two rogues to be less thorough in their search for a head showing above the water. The boat was gently paddled round the spot where Chippy had disappeared, but the men did not move to and fro in the boat, glancing on every side. Had they done so, the head bobbing along under the stern would have been discovered, and there would have been a short shrift for the daring scout.

'He'll never come up – never,' said the rower, his voice still unsteady; 'you stunned him, an' I've heard as anyone stunned will never rise again.'

'That's true,' said the ruffian, who still poised the boathook ready to deal a second blow if needful – 'that's true, an' like enough he's gone down for good. Anyhow, he's been under long enough for us to be sure he's settled. Here, what are ye up to?'

This question was addressed to his companion, who now dipped his oars deeply, and began to pull a strong stroke.

'I'm off ashore,' said the latter; and Chippy could hear the fellow's teeth chattering as he spoke. 'I've had enough o' this. I'm goin' to get on the bank.'

'Pull away, then, chicken-heart,' jeered his more brutal comrade. 'After all, the stuff's safely stowed away. There's no need to go back to the old barky.'

The boat was steadily driven inshore, and at the stern Chippy swam his hardest to take his weight off the painter and keep his head under cover. 'I got to look out,' said the cool scout to himself, 'or I'll get that boathook on my nut yet.'

But once more fortune favoured the brave, and the boat slid into the deep shadow of the old landing-stage, and Chippy was still undiscovered. No sooner did they enter the friendly dusk than Chippy released the painter, and let himself float without movement. The boat pulled on a dozen yards to the stairs, and the scout swam gently to the shelter of a great pile. Chippy now heard the rower fling down the oars and spring out of the boat, and rush up to the stage above.

The second man poured a stream of jeers after his less resolute comrade, then sat down, took the oars, turned the boat, and pulled away down the creek, evidently bent on restoring the craft to its proper anchorage.

The boat shot away and disappeared round the end of the stage, and Chippy struck out for the stairs and crawled to land. He was by this time pretty exhausted, and he sat for a few minutes on the lowest step, to rest and draw a few easy breaths, while the water poured from him in streams. As soon as he had recovered a little, he sprang up the steps, and hurried homewards on his bare feet; for his boots were at the bottom of the river, and he considered himself a very lucky scout to think that he was not there beside them.

CHAPTER XXVI

CHIPPY MAKES HIS REPORT

The next morning Chippy turned up at Elliott Brothers' prompt to time. He had had a big ducking, a rattle on his shoulder, and not much sleep; but he was as hard as nails, and looked none the worse for his adventure. He had also purchased a pair of boots from a pawn-shop in Skinner's Hole. They were not up to much, for one and sevenpence was the total sum the scout could raise; but they covered his feet in some sort of shape, and he could do no more. Mr. Malins set him to work to shake out and tie up a great heap of sacks in the basement, and when Chippy had finished this task he went and took a peep at the clock in the church-tower at the end of the street.

'Mr. Elliott's in by now,' muttered the scout to himself, and he marched straight up to the office of the junior partner, and tapped at the door.

'Come in,' called a voice; and in Chippy went, and closed the door behind him.

Mr. Elliott looked up from the morning letters, with which he was busy, and raised his eyebrows.

'Well, Slynn,' he said, 'and what may you want?'

Chippy stood up very straight, and saluted.

'Come to report, sir, on the robbery at the warehouse.'

'What!' shouted Mr. Jim Elliott, and his eyebrow went up higher than ever.

'Went on scout, sir, last night, about ten,' began Chippy, and then plunged into the recital of his adventures.

He had no more than fairly started when the door whirled open once more, this time without any formality of tapping, and in burst the senior partner in a state of great excitement.

'Jim, Jim,' he called out, quite failing to notice that his brother was not alone, 'there's more stuff gone. The warehouse was broken into again last night, for all the police were on the watch. Altogether a good seventy pounds' worth of goods have been stolen.'

'Ah, yes, Richard,' returned his brother. 'I'm just receiving a report on the matter from one of my scouts.'

'About the burglary,' cried the senior partner, knitting his brows in wonder and astonishment, and observing for the first time the bolt-upright figure of the Raven, who promptly saluted. 'Do you mean to say this boy knows something about it?'

'I fancy he does,' returned Mr. James Elliott. 'Take a chair, and we'll hear what he's got to say. He'd only just begun his report as you came in.'

The senior partner sat down, and stared at Chippy with an expression of doubt and perplexity. 'But suppose we're just wasting time here, Jim,' he expostulated.

'Better hear what he's got to say,' said the instructor quietly; 'he's a good scout, and a good scout doesn't waste people's time. Now. No. 1, Raven Patrol, go on with your report, and make it short and clear.'

Chippy went ahead at once, and for five minutes the two gentlemen listened in perfect silence to his husky voice as he ran swiftly over the points of his adventure. He stopped speaking, saluted, and stood at attention once more.

'Never heard a more extraordinary narration in my life,' burst out the senior partner. 'It sounds incredible; the boy's been dreaming.'

'No, I think not,' replied his brother; 'or if he has, we can soon put his statement to the proof.'

'Just what was in my mind,' said Mr. Elliott; 'we'll take him down to the warehouse at once, Jim, and look into this.'

A four-wheeler was called from the hackney stand near the church, and within a few minutes the two partners and the errand-boy were being driven to the waterside. At the gate of the warehouse yard they met Mr. White, the manager.

'The thing's more mysterious than ever, Mr. Elliott,' cried the manager, 'Here's Inspector Bird of the police; he's been all over the place, and he can't find any sign that a single fastening has been tampered with; and a constable was on patrol all night.'

'Ah,' said the senior partner, 'have you looked at the trap which gives on the old water-gate, White?'

'Old water-gate, sir!' cried White. 'What's that? I never heard of such a thing.'

'No, possibly not; it's been out of service for so many years,' replied Mr. Elliott; 'but it exists nevertheless, and we'll have a look at it.'

At this moment they were joined by Inspector Bird, and after a few words between the police-officer and Mr. Elliott, the party of four men and the scout went in search of the trap, the senior partner leading the way with a lantern, for which he had asked, in his hand.

At the farther end of the great storeroom a flight of winding stone steps led down into a huge cellar. Mr. Elliott went first, and threw the light of his lantern back to guide the others; for there was no hand-rail, and an ugly fall awaited anyone who might miss his footing.

'Why, sir,' said White, 'we never use this place; it's too damp. I've only been down here once before in the five years I've been with you, and there's neither door nor window to it.'

'Yes, White, there's a door,' replied Mr. Elliott; 'but it's in the floor, and that's what we're going to look at.'

Guided by the shine of the lantern, the party marched across the floor of the huge damp vault, and the senior partner paused beside a broad trap-door, and threw the light upon it. He gave a long, low whistle, and his brother said, 'Ah, first point to Slynn, Richard.'

'It is, it is,' said the latter, after a pause – 'it certainly is.'

The trap-door was in two halves, meeting on a broad central bar slotted into the stones at either end. Each half was secured by a couple of big iron bolts running into sockets fixed on the bar. The right half was firmly fastened; the left half was unfastened at this instant; the great bolts were drawn back, and the sockets were empty.

The senior partner put his foot on the left flap. 'Here you are, inspector,' he said. 'The thieves came in here.' And in a few words he explained about the old water-gate.

'Then they had an accomplice inside, sir,' cried the inspector.

'Yes, that's very certain,' replied Mr. Elliott. 'He drew the bolts before he left the warehouse for the night, but he hasn't been yet to replace them.'

'My word, sir!' burst out White, 'there's one man never turned up to work this morning – Luke Raper. Can he have had anything to do with it?'

'Is everyone else here?' asked the inspector.

'Everyone,' returned White.

'Then I'll send one of my men after Raper at once,' said the police-officer.

'Very good,' remarked Mr. Elliott; 'and while Raper is being looked up, we'll go on the next step of our investigations.'

He had already ordered a boat to be got ready at a stage near at hand, and thither went the two partners, Chippy, and Inspector Bird. The manager was left at the warehouse to see that everyone employed about it stayed there until the police had finished their inquiries. The boat was rowed by a couple of watermen, and as soon as the party of four had taken their seats it was pulled down the river and up the creek to the spot where the derelict old barquentine lay.

The first man on the Three Spires was Mr. James Elliott. He scrambled down the companion, and raised a loud cry of surprise and pleasure. 'Here they are!' he called out. 'Here are the missing bales! Slynn was right in every particular.'

He was soon joined by the others, and again the senior partner indulged in his long, low whistle when he saw the missing goods neatly piled in a dry corner.

'As clever a hiding-place as ever I heard of!' cried Inspector Bird. 'No one would ever think of overhauling this old hulk. But there's your stuff, sir, all right.'

The senior partner dropped his hand on Chippy's shoulder. 'Slynn,' he said, 'you are a brave, clever lad. I'll admit now that I could scarcely believe your story, but I am sure that you have spoken the truth in every particular. My brother and I are not only grateful to you for this recovery of our property, but you have done a service to every honest man about the warehouse. It ought not to be difficult now to trace the thief and remove all suspicion from straightforward men.'