Mother Bunch resolutely refused to give up her oar; but Sambo went to assist her, and I double-banked the other negro’s. All aches, pains, want of food were forgotten. We were determined that the brig’s boats should not overhaul us, if we could possibly help it.
We pulled like fiends, and the clumsy boat sped along over the glassy sea. I expected every moment to see Ned’s oar break.
Our eyes never quitted the two black boats that were pursuing us. The brig did not fire again, for fear of hitting them by mistake, but she kept her sweeps going.
I should think that for quite an hour this exciting chase went on. Once or twice the pirates decidedly gained on us, but on our putting on a spurt they again dropped astern. Their boats were heavily laden with armed men, or they would easily have overhauled us. Several times they fired shots at us with muskets, and once a bullet struck the stern of our boat.
After about an hour had passed, however, I saw, to my dismay and horror, that we were beginning to lose ground rapidly. The fact is that our negroes were exhausted, and Mother Bunch also. My arms, too, ached as if they would drop off, and my hands were frightfully blistered.
How long was this agony to continue?
The gunner and Ned made no comment on the situation, but I knew that they could not have failed to realize it. Silently and desperately they bent to their oars, grim determination on their faces. The courage of the British seaman seldom fails him; he is game to the end.
The brig was now far away, her black hull apparently motionless on the mirror-like sea. Beyond her again lay the pirates’ island, above which still hung eddying folds of volcanic vapour.
It seemed to me that there was great excitement on board the pursuing boats—much shouting, yelling, and gesticulation. Every man seemed to have tackled on to an oar, like galley-slaves, two or three abreast. Their renewed efforts certainly lessened the distance between us very perceptibly.
Our despairing eyes never left them. There was a horrible fascination in watching their slow but sure approach—their furious and excitable efforts to run us down.