The full sense of his danger flashed across him.
He was watched, he felt sure.
"Not yet," said Hunston to himself, "not yet. Sooner than let them get hold of me, I'd lay my bones at the bottom of the sea."
With which intention he dropped into the water.
But he did not even touch the bottom, for before he had got far under, he struck out, and after taking a dozen strokes; under water, he came to the surface.
"That's another narrow squeak," he said to himself, as he took in a deep draught of air. "The last time I had to swim for it was in Cuba, and a narrow squeak it was too."
He had been rescued on that memorable occasion by his enemy, Jack Harkaway himself.
"Well, this squares that old account," he said, turning over on his back to float. "He saved me last time. He's the cause this time of my having to take this risk."
He began to look anxiously about him.
There was a boat at no great distance being rowed by two men, so Hunston thought of signalling them.