The major could scarcely restrain himself from cursing their destiny.
The canoe was meantime standing still. Where should they go? Whither fly? What choice was there between the convicts and the savages?
A shot was fired from the nearest of the native boats, and the ball struck Wilson’s oar.
A few strokes then carried the canoe nearer to the DUNCAN.
The yacht was coming down at full speed, and was not more than half a mile off.
John Mangles, between two enemies, did not know what to advise, whither to fly! The two poor ladies on their knees, prayed in their agony.
The savages kept up a running fire, and shots were raining round the canoe, when suddenly a loud report was heard, and a ball from the yacht’s cannon passed over their heads, and now the boat remained motionless between the DUNCAN and the native canoes.
John Mangles, frenzied with despair, seized his ax. He was about to scuttle the boat and sink it with his unfortunate companions, when a cry from Robert arrested his arm.
“Tom Austin! Tom Austin!” the lad shouted. “He is on board! I see him! He knows us! He is waving his hat.”
The ax hung useless in John’s hand.