Chapter Ten.
How Bob Roberts was not Drowned.
For a few minutes it was a question of whether the boat would be swamped or no, as she lay beneath the great bamboo screen, which completely paralysed the efforts of the crew. The prahu was still floating with the stream, and the boat being dragged along in her wake, while, awaking now to a sense of their assailants’ position, the Malays hurriedly thrust out sweeps, and others fired, and hurled their spears, a couple of dozen of which stuck in the bamboo mat. Dick in the stern, and a couple of the men in the bows, however, began a steady fire at the prahu, loading as rapidly as they could, while the men amidships cast off the awkward canopy, and, half stunned, but panting with rage and excitement, the lieutenant once more gave his orders.
“Oars, lads!” he cried, “and give way. We shall have ’em yet.”
“Boat ahoy!” came from out the darkness.
“Why, that’s young Roberts, sir,” cried Dick. “Ahoy-oy-oy.”
“Help here!” came from the stern again.
“We shall lose the prahu,” cried the lieutenant.