In a moment his eyes gleamed, his hand pointed out into the distance.
“A ship! a ship!” he cried. “My friends, row! row hard!”
Not one of the rowers turned his head—not an oar-stroke must be lost. Paganel alone rose, and turned his telescope to the point indicated.
“Yes,” said he, “a ship! a steamer! they are under full steam! they are coming to us! Found now, brave comrades!”
The fugitives summoned new energy, and for another half hour, keeping their distance, they rowed with hasty strokes. The steamer came nearer and nearer. They made out her two masts, bare of sails, and the great volumes of black smoke. Glenarvan, handing the tiller to Robert, seized Paganel’s glass, and watched the movements of the steamer.
John Mangles and his companions were lost in wonder when they saw Glenarvan’s features contract and grow pale, and the glass drop from his hands. One word explained it.
“The DUNCAN!” exclaimed Glenarvan. “The DUNCAN, and the convicts!”
“The DUNCAN!” cried John, letting go his oar and rising.
“Yes, death on all sides!” murmured Glenarvan, crushed by despair.
It was indeed the yacht, they could not mistake her—the yacht and her bandit crew!