But there was not a breath of air nor even a hot blast from the mountain, and in spite of the agonising desire to escape they could only creep slowly over the golden water in a terribly sluggish motion, though two men toiled hard now at each sweep.
Suddenly, and with a spontaneity which showed how suddenly they had been perceived, a tremendous yell arose from the occupants of the praus.
“Now, Strong,” cried the major, as a thrill of horror ran through the occupants of the little cutter, “war is declared.”
“Be ready with that sail,” said the captain; but his words were not needed, for his two officers were standing with the ropes in their hands, and at a word the mainsail would have been hoisted.
The yelling continued and the thrill increased, for from moment to moment the escaping party expected to hear the sharp ring of the brass guns of the Malays and to have their tin bullets whizzing overhead.
It was a curious position, for the yelling of the Malays was as that of so many wild beasts unable to reach their prey, the long low spit of rocky sand lying between them and the bay, and near as they were now, they could only attack by rowing or sailing right out to where the current ran swiftly and tumultuously about the point, rounding it, and then making straight for the bay.
“They are going to fire,” said the captain quietly as he stood at the tiller; “everyone but the men at the sweeps lie down or keep below.”
“Which order does not apply to me, Mark,” said the major coolly. “I’m an officer. Lie down, sir! Do you want to be shot?”
“Certainly not, sir,” replied Mark, who, in spite of his dread and excitement, could not help feeling amused at the major’s satisfied air, and the way in which he seemed to play with his gun.
Bang! A sharp ringing report from a lelah as the praus began to move, and the charge of tin bullets came screaming overhead as the report echoed from the rocks that surrounded the bay.