Still, the apprehensions of the concealed spectators are not the less keen, and to them it is a period of dread, irksome suspense, emphatically a mauvais quart d’heure. But, fortunately, it lasts not much longer. To their unspeakable delight, they at length see the savages bundle back into their canoes, and, pushing off, paddle away out of the cove.
As the last boat-load of them disappears around the point of rocks, Captain Gancy fervently exclaims, “Again we may thank the Lord for deliverance!”
Chapter Fifteen.
A Rough Overland Route.
As soon as they are convinced that the canoes are gone for good, Seagriff counsels immediate setting out on the journey so unexpectedly delayed. It is now noon, and it may be night ere they reach their destination. So says he, an assertion that seems strange, as he admits the distance may be but a few hundred yards, certainly not over a mile.
They are about taking up their bundles to start, when a circumstance arises that causes further delay; this time, however, a voluntary and agreeable one. In a last glance given to the cove ere leaving it, two flocks of gulls are seen, each squabbling about something that floats on the surface of the water. Something white, which proves to be a dead fish, or rather a couple of them, which have been overlooked by the hunter-fishermen. They are too large for the gulls to lift and carry away; hence a crowd of the birds are buffeting their wings in conflict above them.
“A bit of rare good luck for us!” cries young Gancy, dropping a pair of oars he has shouldered. “Come, Harry! we’ll go a-fishing, too.”
The English youth takes the hint, and, without another word, both rush down to the water’s edge, where, stripping off coats, shoes, and other impedimenta, they plunge in.