“They seem to be trying to right their craft,” said Sir Humphrey, who, like Briscoe, was making observations with his pocket glass.
“Yes,” added Briscoe, “and they turned them over quite easily, but their sides are down flush with the water.”
“The men have got in again, and they appear to be splashing out the water with their paddles,” said Sir Humphrey.
“That’s right,” said Briscoe, “and the other canoes have ranged up alongside. I can see quite plainly: there’s a canoe on each side of the injured ones to keep them up.”
“It’s my belief that they may bale till all’s blue before they get ’em to float. Those dug-outs are worked till they get ’em as thin and light as they can, and if we haven’t cut a good gap in each one’s side, it’s a rum one,” growled the captain. “What are they doing now, sir? It’s rather far to see, but it seems to me that they’re trying to get the sunken canoes to the shore.”
“Yes: that’s just what they are trying to do,” cried Sir Humphrey. “Oh, yes, I can see that plain enough.”
“Then they won’t follow us up to-day, gentlemen,” said the captain; “and perhaps we may not see them again. Might like to sail back, p’r’aps, Mr Briscoe,” he continued, “and give the copperskins a friendly word about hope they’re not damaged, and then settle down in the shallows for a good afternoon’s gold-washing.”
“Not to-day, thankye, skipper,” said the American drily. “It might be teaching the savages how to catch the gold fever, as you called it, and be bad for their health.”
“P’r’aps so,” said the captain, with a peculiarly grim look and a glance round at the crew; “and they’ll be better employed gumming up those holes in the sides of the canoes.”
“Do you think they’ll pursue us, captain?” said Brace.