“And then?”
“There will be the worst fight you ever saw. We shall have to begin by shooting these two, or pitching them overboard, if they don’t happen to get their work in ahead of us, and then we shall have more than twenty savage islanders to keep off––if we can.”
“We are pretty well armed, Captain Fred.”
“Yes, we have our pistols, and there is a musket apiece for you, me and Inez––for she will have to take a hand in the fight.”
“And there will be no braver than she. Have they any firearms on board?”
“I’m sorry to say they have, and that’s what makes me more anxious than anything else. There are spears, knives, battle-axes and at least six loaded muskets, and what is more, the men who have them in hand know how to use them.”
Mate Storms looked anxious, as well he might, for this was a phase of the question which had not presented itself to him. The case being as it was, the pursuers would be likely to begin firing as soon as they came within range, and when close in, the matter would be entirely within their hands.
Everything seemed to augur ill for the fugitives. The wind was steadily increasing and the flying proa was dashing through the water at a tremendous rate. The pursuing one had already shifted its course, so 242 that this early in the afternoon the struggle had begun and settled down to a virtual test of speed.
“What do you suppose they think of the whole business?” asked Mate Storms, looking back at the double canoe as it rose on a huge swell at the same moment that they themselves sank in the vast, watery waste.
“I don’t know whether they think anything is wrong yet or not, but imagine I am trying to keep off until after dark.”