My Friend The Murderer | Page 7

spent another month in jail,
and then they slipped me aboard a bark that was bound for England.
This time the crew never knew who I was, but the captain had a pretty
good idea, though he didn't let on to me that he had any suspicions. I
guessed from the first that the man was a villain. We had a fair passage,
except a gale or two off the Cape; and I began to feel like a free man
when I saw the blue loom of the old country, and the saucy little
pilot-boat from Falmouth dancing toward us over the waves. We ran
down the Channel, and before we reached Gravesend I had agreed with
the pilot that he should take me ashore with him when he left. It was at
this time that the captain showed me that I was right in thinking him a
meddling, disagreeable man. I got my things packed, such as they were,
and left him talking earnestly to the pilot, while I went below for my
breakfast. When I came up again we were fairly into the mouth of the
river, and the boat in which I was to have gone ashore had left us. The
skipper said the pilot had forgotten me; but that was too thin, and I
began to fear that all my old troubles were going to commence once
more.
It was not long before my suspicions were confirmed. A boat darted out
from the side of the river, and a tall cove with a long black beard came
aboard. I heard him ask the mate whether they didn't need a mud-pilot
to take them up in the reaches, but it seemed to me that he was a man
who would know a deal more about handcuffs than he did about
steering, so I kept away from him. He came across the deck, however,

and made some remark to me, taking a good look at me the while. I
don't like inquisitive people at any time, but an inquisitive stranger with
glue about the roots of his beard is the worst of all to stand, especially
under the circumstances. I began to feel that it was time for me to go.
I soon got a chance, and made good use of it. A big collier came
athwart the bows of our steamer, and we had to slacken down to dead
slow. There was a barge astern, and I slipped down by a rope and was
into the barge before any one missed me. Of course I had to leave my
luggage behind me, but I had the belt with the nuggets round my waist,
and the chance of shaking the police off my track was worth more than
a couple of boxes. It was clear to me now that the pilot had been a
traitor, as well as the captain, and had set the detectives after me. I
often wish I could drop across those two men again.
I hung about the barge all day as she drifted down the stream. There
was one man in her, but she was a big, ugly craft, and his hands were
too full for much looking about. Toward evening, when it got a bit
dusky, I struck out for the shore, and found myself in a sort of marsh
place, a good many miles to the east of London. I was soaking wet and
half dead with hunger, but I trudged into the town, got a new rig-out at
a slop-shop, and after having some supper, engaged a bed at the
quietest lodgings I could find.
I woke pretty early--a habit you pick up in the bush--and lucky for me
that I did so. The very first thing I saw when I took a look through a
chink in the shutter was one of these infernal policemen standing right
opposite and staring up at the windows. He hadn't epaulets nor a sword,
like our traps, but for all that there was a sort of family likeness, and
the same busybody expression. Whether they followed me all the time,
or whether the woman that let me the bed didn't like the looks of me, is
more than I have ever been able to find out. He came across as I was
watching him, and noted down the address of the house in a book. I
was afraid that he was going to ring at the bell, but I suppose his orders
were simply to keep an eye on me, for after another good look at the
windows he moved on down the street.
I saw that my only chance was to act at once. I threw on my clothes,

opened the window softly, and, after making sure that there was
nobody about, dropped out