“Who the devil can it be?” said Perrin, as he watched Cammock bring the ship to the wind. “Lord, captain,” he said, with real anger. “It’s that woman with her husband.” “It’s a lady, that’s plain,” said Cammock. “And they’re in a hurry. The man’s double-banking the stroke oar.” “They’ve got a lot of gear in the boat,” said Perrin. “Presents, I guess,” said Cammock. “A present of fowls and that. Or a case or two of bottles.” Captain Margaret flushed, walked up and down uneasily, and called to the steward to open wine. “There’s something queer,” said Cammock to Perrin. “Hark at all them shouts. Gad, sir, I believe they’re being chased. There’s two shore boats after them. Ain’t they smoking, hey?” Indeed, the pursuing boats were being pulled furiously; their oars were bending. “What in James is the rally?” said Cammock. “Is Captain Margaret made King of England or anything?” Perrin looked at Cammock with a flush upon his face. “Captain Cammock,” he said, “they’re coming aboard us. They’re being chased. I bet they’re flying from their creditors.” “Lord,” said Cammock. He watched the chase with deeper interest. Captain Margaret joined them. “Charles,” said Perrin, “they’ve come to beg a passage. Stukeley’s being chased by creditors. Man, for heaven’s sake don’t take them in. Don’t, man.” “What nonsense,” said Margaret. “Have you never seen these boatman race before?” Cammock spoke. “I suppose you want me to pick them up, sir?” “Certainly,” said Margaret. “Very good, sir,” he answered. He looked at the hurrying boats. Cries came from the pursuers. Men and women were running down the steps to the pier, now black with people, excited, shouting people. Olivia and Stukeley were now almost within fifty yards. Stukeley was standing in the sternsheets, double-banking the stroke with all his strength. “There, sir,” said Cammock. “Did you hear that, sir? Those fellows in the cutter are singing out to them to stop. There. They’re going to fire.” Captain Margaret muttered something; his face flushed suddenly, and then became pale. A gun was fired from the cutter. “Firing overhead,” said Cammock absently. “Captain Cammock,” cried Margaret, “lively now; get her off to her course.” “Ay, ay, sir,” he cried. He sprang to the helm, shouting his orders. He was back in a moment. “Beg pardon, sir,” he said, as the ship paid off. “Are you not going to pick them up?” “Yes, of course I am,” said Margaret. “And the other boats, too, sir?” “No,” he answered. “Not yet anyhow.” A hail came from the pursuing boats. “Ship ahoy! Stop those persons on your peril.” “King’s officers, sir,” said Cammock. “They’re fugitives from the law. It’s transportation to receive fugitives, sir.” Two more guns were fired in quick succession; a bullet from one of them struck the bends of the _Broken Heart_. “Arrest those fugitives. In the name of the King,” came the shout of a man in the cutter.