The tide was not yet coming in. There was no risk of the rowboat being met as it crossed Cork Harbor.
“Through here,” said Corty, pointing to his left, the side where a port light was shining and, further up on a hill, the lighthouse that marked the entrance to Queenstown.
“Is it far?” asked Harry Markel.
“Five or six hundred feet.”
“But I don’t see John Carpenter or Ranyah Cogh.”
“Perhaps they weren’t able to get out through the lower side of the street to reach the quay?”
“They must have made a detour. They’ll hold us up.”
“Unless,” answered Corty, “they’re already at the landing.”
“Let’s go,” said Harry Markel.
And both began walking again, being careful to avoid the rare passers-by who were going toward the neighborhood that was still full of the crowd’s noise around the Blue Fox. One minute later, Harry Markel and his companion stopped on the quay.
The other six were there, lying down inside the boat, which they had kept in the water, even at the lowest tide, so it was easy to climb aboard.
“Have you seen John Carpenter or Ranyah Cogh?” asked Corty.
“No,” answered one of the sailors, pulling himself to standing by a rope.
“They can’t be far,” said Harry Markel. “Let’s stay here and wait.”
The place was dark, and there was no risk of them being seen.
Six minutes passed. Neither the boatswain nor the cook appeared.
This was becoming very worrisome. Harry Markel did not have enough of his people to carry out their plan and, if need be, fight the crew of the Alert if they could not strike by surprise.
It was nearly nine o’clock. A very dark evening, under a sky more and more covered with low and still clouds. Although it was no longer raining, a sort of mist was falling onto the bay—a favorable circumstance for the fugitives, even though they would have some trouble finding the anchorage of the Alert.
“Where’s the ship?” asked Harry Markel.
“There,” answered Corty, pointing toward the southeast.
It is true that, as the boat approached, they would no doubt discern the lantern suspended on the forestay.
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
