Murray gave vent to a low hissing sound, and then remained silent, striving his utmost the while to thrust the boat away from the strong tree-trunk; but his efforts, like those of his companions, were in vain.
“It’s no good, sir,” whispered Tom May; “we’re a-shoving against one another. Let me lead, sir, and I think I can do it. There’s hard bottom here, sir, and we’re almost aground.—Fire away, you lubbers,” he added, in a whisper; “you can’t hit us in the dark. Now then, Mr Murray, sir, you take an oar along with the lads and wait till I say ‘Pull.’ Then all on you do your best.”
“But what about you?” whispered Murray.
“You leave that to me, sir. I’m big enough and old enough to take care o’ mysen.”
Murray was silent, for it was no time to dispute. Every now and then—as fast as their enemies could reload—there was a shot from the bank, and the bullets whizzed just over the heads of the men. The young officer’s disposition was to ask what the sailor intended to do, but he contained himself, and, feeling for an oar, thrust it over the side and into the rowlock, conscious the while that the others had done the same, but in his case and that of the man in front for the oar-blades to rest upon branches of the submerged tree. He realised, though, that his was the bow oar, and for a few moments that was all he could grasp. Beyond that everything was confusion, and he sat ready to pull, and in spite of himself starting violently at every shot from the shore when the bullet struck the boat or splashed in amongst the branches of the ingeniously contrived dam.
Then the lad felt something like a hysteric sob escape from his breast as the puzzle and confusion from which he suffered gave place to clear mental light, and he grasped the full force of the big sailor’s plan.
The noise of panting and splashing which accompanied what felt like a sudden lightening of the boat was caused by Tom May lowering himself over the side, after laying down the boat-hook with which he had been sounding the depth; and then Murray felt that the brave fellow had begun to wade with the water close up to his arm-pits, forcing the bows of the boat away from the tree-trunk against which it was pressed by the water, and gaining a little.
“That’ll do it,” he said, with a deep grunt.
“Shall I get to the boat-hook, messmate?” whispered Titely.
Bang! came from the bank.