And so we come at last to that July evening appointed for the flight. Ralegh, who, having for some time discarded the use of Manourie’s ointment, had practically recovered his normal appearance, covering his long white hair under a Spanish hat, and muffling the half of his face in the folds of a cloak, came to Wapping Stairs—that ill-omened place of execution of pirates and sea-rovers—accompanied by Cotterell, who carried the knight’s cloak-bag, and by Sir Lewis and Sir Lewis’s son. Out of solicitude for their dear friend and kinsman, the Stukeleys could not part from him until he was safely launched upon his voyage. At the head of the stairs they were met by Captain King; at the foot of them a boat was waiting, as concerted, the boatswain at the tiller. King greeted them with an air of obvious relief. “You feared perhaps we should not come,” said Stukeley, with a sneer at the Captain’s avowed mistrust of him. “Yet now, I trust, you’ll do me the justice to admit that I have shown myself an honest man.” The uncompromising King looked at him and frowned, misliking the words. “I hope that you’ll continue so,” he answered stiffly. They went down the slippery steps to the boat, and then the shore glided slowly past them as they pushed off into the stream of the ebbing tide. A moment later, King, whose suspicious eyes kept a sharp look-out, observed another boat put off some two hundred yards higher up the river. At first he saw it breast the stream as if proceeding towards London Bridge, then abruptly swing about and follow them. Instantly he drew the attention of Sir Walter to that pursuing wherry. “What’s this?” quoth Sir Walter harshly. “Are we betrayed?” The watermen, taking fright at the words, hung now upon their oars. “Put back,” Sir Walter bade them. “I’ll not betray my friends to no purpose. Put back, and let us home again.” “Nay, now,” said Stukeley gravely, himself watching the wherry. “We are more than a match for them in oars, even if their purpose be such as you suspect—for which suspicion, when all is said, there is no ground. On then!” He addressed himself to the watermen, whipping out a pistol, and growing truculent in mien and voice. “To your oars! Row, you dogs, or I’ll pistol you where you sit.” The men bent their backs forthwith, and the boat swept on. But Sir Walter was still full of apprehensions, still questioning the wisdom of keeping to their down-stream course if they were being followed. “But are we followed?” cried the impatient Sir Lewis. “’Sdeath, cousin, is not the river a highway for all the world to use, and must every wherry that chances to go our way be in pursuit of us? If you are to halt at every shadow, faith, you’ll never accomplish anything. I vow I am unfortunate in having a friend whom I would save so full of doubts and fears.”