The boat kissed the sea with a faint splash; she was thrust off; and as the oars dropped and the men gave way the cutter went rapidly through the water, at a rate which would have soon made the fugitives prisoners but for the fact that boat and swimmers were taking different directions, and the distance between them increased at every stroke.
“They’ve taken no lanthorn!” cried the captain. “Surely no one’s orders were ever worse obeyed.”
“Shall I call them back, sir?” said the second lieutenant.
“No, no; let them find it out for themselves. Here, marines, ten of you load. Quick, my lads, clear the way from up here.”
“Make ready, take good aim at the scoundrels—present—fire!”
This time the whole of the pieces went off with a loud rattle, which brought lights out in the New Zealand village, and a buzz of excitement came from the men.
“More lanthorns there!” cried the captain. “See them?” he cried, to the officer in the boat.
“Not yet, sir.”
“Take a sweep round to the southward. They’re more there.”
“Ay, ay, sir!” came faintly out of the darkness; and the dull rattle of the oars reached those on deck.