“They are three to one,” growled Malines, who, up to that time, had been doing his best.
“Silence!” thundered the doctor, drawing a revolver from his pocket and cocking it.
Beads of perspiration stood on the doctor’s brow, and there was something so terrible in the look of his white face that no one ventured to utter another word, but all pulled as if for their lives.
For some minutes no sound was heard save the regular rattle of the oars in the rowlocks, the swish of the foam as it flew from the cutwater, and the occasional sob or gasp of the men as they exerted themselves to the utmost limit of their powers in the hopeless pursuit.
Suddenly Teddy Malone cried eagerly, “Look out—astarn!”
All turned their gaze as directed, and observed a dark line on the horizon.
“Thank God!” murmured the doctor, “a breeze!”
It was indeed true. Just at this critical moment of profound, despair, a gleam of hope was sent to sustain them! Is it not often thus in the dealings of God with man?
There was no relaxation of effort, however, on the part of the crew until the breeze bore down on them. Then the mate and Hugh Morrison, drawing in their oars, set up the mast and hoisted the sails. Instantly the good craft bent over, as if bowing submissively to her rightful lord, and the gurgling water rolled swiftly from her prow. Still the men plied the oars, but now with the strength of hope, until the breeze freshened so much as to render their further use unnecessary.
“Now, indeed, the tables are turned,” said Dominick with a great sigh of relief, as he drew in his oar.