"Let's get back home," he said again.

"You said I was afraid to go to the will o' the wisp," said d.i.c.k stoutly. "You're afraid to go now and see what it is makes that noise."

"Well, I can't help it," said Tom appealingly; "but if you go I shall go with you. There, listen! Isn't it horrible!"

He spoke as the cry came again faintly but piteous in the extreme.

d.i.c.k drove the pole down into the soft bottom of the mere and sent the punt surging through the water, determined now to go straight to the spot whence the cry seemed to come; and, guided by the sound, he toiled away for about ten minutes before giving way to Tom, who worked hard to reach the place.

For, once the two lads had taken action, they seemed to forget their nervous dread, while what was more encouraging to them to proceed was the fact that as they reduced the distance the cries gradually seemed to be more human, and were evidently those of some person in peril or great distress.

It was a weird strange journey over the water now, the excitement lent by their mission seeming to change the aspect of all around. The reeds whispered, the patches of growth looked black, and every now and then they disturbed some water-fowl, whose hurried flight seemed suddenly to have become mysterious and awe-inspiring, as if it were a creature of the darkness which had been watching their coming and had risen to hover round.

But there was the cry again and again, sometimes faint and distant, sometimes sounding as if close at hand, and, as is often the case, apparently varying in position to right or left as it was borne by the soft night wind.

"We cannot go any farther," cried d.i.c.k at last as he drove the boat in amongst the broad belt of reeds which fringed the edge of the mere.

"Yes, we can. There's a way here," cried Tom excitedly, pointing through the gloom to his left where there was an opening. "Coming!" he yelled as the cry rose once more.

d.i.c.k backed the boat out, with the reeds whistling and rustling strangely, and the next minute he had it right in the gloomy opening, which proved to be quite a little bay, where, at the end of a few good thrusts of the pole, the prow of the punt b.u.mped up against the quivering moss.

The two boys got out cautiously; the pole was driven down into the peat, and the boat made fast; and then they paused and listened for the next cry.

Everything now was perfectly silent, not so much as the whisper of a reed or the whir of the wing of a nightbird fell upon their ears; and at last, in an awe-stricken whisper, Tom said:

"Hicky is right. It was something strange from out of the marsh. Let's get away."

d.i.c.k was stouter-hearted than his companion, and lifting his voice he shouted, and then stood silent.

"Help! help!" came faintly in reply.

"There!" cried d.i.c.k turning sharply. "It's a man."

"Think so?"

"Why, of course! Come along! Here, I can see where we are now."

"Yes, I think I know where we are," whispered Tom. "But is it safe to go after it?"

"You mean after _him_," said d.i.c.k. "Yes, it's pretty firm here--yes, it's all right. We're amongst heath and bilberry as soon as we get by this bit of bog. Hoy! shout again," he cried as he plodded on cautiously, with his feet sometimes sinking in the bog, sometimes finding it pretty firm.

But there was no answer; and though as far as was possible d.i.c.k walked in the direction of the sound, the guidance was of the most unsatisfactory nature, and at the end of a minute or two they listened again.

"It must be that Thorpeley regularly bogged," said d.i.c.k at last, and a curious shiver ran through him. "I hope he hasn't sunk in."

"He couldn't," said Tom. "I know this part. It's all firm ground between the water and the track to the sea."

"I can't quite make out where we are," said d.i.c.k, staring about him.

"I can. There's the big alder clump, and beyond it there's the river wall." [Mud embankment.]

"So it is. Yes, I know now. Why, it is all firm about here, and n.o.body could be bogged unless he got into a hole. Ahoy!"

He shouted once more, but there was no answer; and when he raised his voice again it was only for the sound to seem to come back, just as if they were shut up in some large room.

"He must be hereabout," said d.i.c.k.

"Shall we find our way back to the boat?" said Tom in a doubting tone.

"I don't know, but if we don't we could walk home in half an hour. Come along. Ahoy!"

Still no answer; and in spite of his companion's suggestions and strange doubts d.i.c.k kept on hunting about in the darkness among the patches of alders and the heath that here grew freely. For, save in places, the ground was sandy and firm, and, dark as it was, they had no difficulty in making out the watery spots by their faint gleam or the different character of the growth.

They shouted in turns and together, listening, going in different directions, and all to no purpose. Not a sound could they get in reply; and at last, with a curious feeling of horror stealing over him, compounded of equal parts of superst.i.tion and dread lest the person whose cry they had heard had sunk in the mire of some hole, d.i.c.k reluctantly gave way to Tom's suggestion that they should go back to the boat.

"I knew it was something queer," whispered Tom. "If we had gone on, we should have been led into some dangerous hole and lost."

"Don't believe it," said d.i.c.k, as they trudged slowly back, utterly worn-out and hoa.r.s.e with shouting.

"You're such a doubting fellow!" grumbled Tom. "If it had been anybody in distress we should have found him."

"Perhaps," said d.i.c.k sadly. "It's so dark, though, that we might have pa.s.sed him over."

"Nonsense!" cried Tom; "we were sure to find him. There wasn't anybody.

It was a marsh cry, and--oh!"

Tom uttered a yell and went headlong down, with the effect of so startling his companion that he ran a few steps before he could recover his nerve, when he returned to extend his hand to Tom, who rose trembling, while d.i.c.k stood staring aghast at the dark figure lying extended among the heath, and over which his friend had stumbled.

"Why, Tom, it's Thorpeley!" cried d.i.c.k, as he went down on one knee and peered into the upturned face. "Mr Thorpeley, Mr Thorpeley!" he cried; "what's the matter?"

There was no reply.

"It must have been him," whispered d.i.c.k. "He had lost his way."

"Then let him find it again," grumbled Tom, "instead of watching us."

"But perhaps there is something the matter. Mr Thorpeley, Mr Thorpeley!"

d.i.c.k laid his hand upon the man's shoulder and shook him, but there was no response.

"Is he dead?" said Tom in an awe-stricken whisper.

"Dead!" cried d.i.c.k, leaping up and shrinking away at the suggestion.

"No, he can't be. He's quite warm," he added, going down on his knee again to shake the rec.u.mbent man, who now uttered a low groan.

"What shall we do, d.i.c.k?" said Tom huskily. "I hate him, but we can't leave him here."

"Well," said d.i.c.k, "I'm not very fond of him, but it would be like leaving anybody to die to go away now. We must carry him down to the boat."