“Yes. Which will win, Ned?”
“Screw, sir. If it was wind and sails in this changeable sort of place I should be a bit doubtful, but I ain’t the least.”
A stern chase is always a long one, they say, and to the prisoners it seemed to be here, and Hope and Doubt alternately held sway, while to Jack’s agony the dim, distant flat land, which by degrees began to assume the aspect of a long range of extremely flat islands, appeared to come steadily nearer, while the yacht hardly seemed to stir.
“She will never catch us, Ned,” said Jack despondently.
“Go along with you, sir. She’ll do it before we get near. Not but what these fellows paddle splendidly. Hallo! what are they going to do?”
The answer came in the quick hoisting of a couple of low masts and the same number of matting sails, for the water was beginning to be flecked by a coming breeze. In addition, the men rapidly rigged out a couple of bamboos on one side, and lashed their ends to another which lay along the bottom of the boat, so as to form an outrigger to counteract the pressure of the sails.
A few minutes later the paddles were laid in, for the great canoe was gliding through the water faster than the men could propel her.
At last, though, hope began to grow stronger in the prisoners’ breasts, for it was plain now that with full steam on the yacht was rapidly coming up.
“They’d got no pressure on at first, sir, only enough to send her along a bit. What do you say to it now?”
“It’s in doubt, Ned. They may run us into shallow water where the yacht dare not come.”