And truly, twenty paces distant, a canoe, with six oars, was lying on the beach. To rush to it, set it afloat, and fly from this dangerous place was the work of an instant; the whole party seemed to receive at once a fresh accession of bodily strength and mental vigor.
In ten minutes the boat was at a considerable distance. The sea was calm. The captain, however, not wishing to wander too far from the coast, was about to give the order to cruise along the shore, when he suddenly ceased rowing. He had observed three canoes starting from Lottin Point, with the evident intention of overtaking and capturing the unfortunate fugitives.
"To sea! to sea!" cried he; "better perish in the waves than be captured!"
The canoe, under the strokes of its four oarsmen, at once put to sea, and for some time kept its distance. But the strength of the weakened fugitives soon grew less, and their pursuers gradually gained upon them. The boats were now scarcely a mile apart. There was therefore no possibility of avoiding the attack of the natives, who, armed with their long guns, were already preparing to fire.
DEATH ON EVERY HAND.
What was Glenarvan doing? Standing at the stern of the canoe, he looked around as if for some expected aid. What did he expect? What did he wish? Had he a presentiment?
All at once his face brightened, his hand was stretched towards an indistinct object.
"A ship!" cried he; "my friends, a ship! Row, row!"
Not one of the four oarsmen turned to see this unexpected vessel, for they must not lose a stroke. Only Paganel, rising, directed his telescope towards the place indicated.
"Yes," said he, "a ship, a steamer, under full headway, coming towards us! Courage, captain!"