Ned was right; the long canoe with its fifty men paddling glided over the calm lagoon straight for where the great billows came curving over on to the coral reef with a deep boom, and it was now not above a quarter of a mile away.
“Take tightly hold of the side, Ned,” said Jack excitedly. “You are right, they will manage it, I suppose, or they would not attempt it.”
“Trust ’em for that, sir. I’ll stick to the canoe like one of those limpet things; mind you do too. I say, I’m beginning to like it, ain’t you?”
“It is exciting, Ned, and I don’t think I mind.”
“That’s your style, sir. That’s the true British boy speaking. Ah, it’s no wonder we carry all before us when we don’t get licked. There now, you look every inch of you like Sir John, and he’d be proud of you. Hooray! who cares! Go it, you black rascals. We shall go over that reef like a flash. One of our boats with a big crew dare not attempt it, and— Oh, I say, look, Mr Jack, look. You were wishing for it, and there it is, half-a-mile away—one of our boats coming to save us, and—”
“She’ll be too late, Ned,” groaned Jack, and, unseen by their captors, every man of whom had his back to them, and was working away with his paddle, the lad rose softly in his place and waved his hand above his head.
“Sit down, sir,” whispered Ned excitedly. “It means a topper if they catch you at it. But look, look, there’s some one waving his helmet.”
“Yes, yes,” whispered back Jack, “it’s father.”
“Hooray!” said Ned softly. “But what are they firing for?”
“Signal that they see us, Ned,” whispered back Jack hoarsely, as there were two faint puffs of smoke seen and the reports followed.