At length my head and back ached to such an extent that I was obliged to relinquish my oar to Sambo, and throw myself down in the bows to rest. I was rather alarmed lest I should have got a sunstroke, and dashed some salt water over my head, which had the effect of cooling my aching temples.
We now drank the contents of half a cocoa-nut each. It was necessary to husband our slender resources to the utmost, so we only allowed ourselves this quantity.
I think I dozed off for some time, but was presently roused by hearing Ned shout, “The swabs have opened fire!”
Then came the distant report of a gun.
I started up and gazed at the brig, now only half a mile distant. A puff of smoke was being wafted away from her bows. The shot had just struck the sea several cable-lengths astern of us, and sent a column of spray high into the air.
“Their popguns ain’t much use, or else they don’t know the range,” observed Ned.
Mother Bunch was still pulling away sturdily at her oar. I went aft to relieve her, as I saw that she was beginning to feel distressed.
At the same moment the brig fired another shot, which also fell short.
We now saw that the two boats which had been towing the brig were shoving off in chase of us. Their oars flashed in the sunlight, and they seemed to be full of men.
“Pull like old winky, lads!” yelled Ned; “they shan’t have it all their own way, the thundering rascals!”