"That," said Jordan, "'pears to me uncommonly like a gun-boat's cutter, and by the way they're pulling they've a good many men in her."
They drove on, the boat growing nearer and larger, until she came reeling towards them with oars thrashing up the froth, and Jordan sprang up on the rail. Appleby could see that if they went round now, the boat pulling straight to windward would still close with them when they came about to clear another reef not far away, but Jordan, it seemed, had no intention of coming round.
"It's not my fault I can't run away," he said quietly. "Keep her going, Montreal."
The reef was close to leeward now, the boat nearer still to weather, and already somebody was shouting on board her. She was pulling straight towards the schooner's bows, and would be alongside in another few moments. Appleby felt his heart throbbing painfully. Then the skipper raised his hand.
"Down helm—a spoke or two," he said.
There was another shout from the boat, for it seemed that the schooner had yielded, but if that was its meaning it was premature, for while her headsails rattled she still drove ahead, and Montreal's harsh laugh jarred through the crash and sound of smashing oars below.
"Up again. Fill on her!" roared Jordan, and Appleby, running aft with the rest, saw the boat drive away helpless astern. Nobody was apparently pulling, and he surmised that the rending oars had hurled the men who held them one upon the other.
Then the Champlain came round, and a rifle flashed harmlessly as she once more swept past the disabled craft. Ten minutes later there was no sign of the boat, and they were thrashing out to sea alone.
"I don't quite know what they were, or that I want to, but if they'd been sealers they'd have had us sure," said Jordan, with a little laugh. "Well, we'll fix up how we're going to square this thing off with Motter to-morrow."
CHAPTER XIX