"Cease firing," said Hollins, after carefully wiping the breech of his piece, "and no bugle to sound. Are you all charged?"
"Yes—yes, sir," was the reply.
"That's right. I'd better relieve one of these ladies, for we must row for our lives. But how are you, Dick?"
"Sick as a dog, old chap," said the young man smiling; "but I haven't time to faint. I can take a shot now and then, though, when they come in sight again." For as he spoke they swept round a bend, and the busy scene of excitement about the prahus and sampans, into which armed men were springing, passed from their sight.
"Good; I'll pull then. Wish we had a pair of sculls that I could take so as not to interfere."
"Why not put one of these oars over and I'll steer?" said Beecher faintly.
"We want no steering now, my lad," cried Hollins; "the thing is to go full speed for the hanging boughs, and rush through into the open river.—Here, hi!—What's the matter?" he cried excitedly.
"Better come and pull, sir," said Jerry excitedly; "these here dark misses want to go another way, I think."
The men had seized oars, and the girls dipped theirs vigorously, one of them pulling a few strokes with all her might, and then raising her blade and turning to look ahead, saying a word or two at intervals to her toiling sister in distress, who, after a few more dips, began to pull again with all her might.
The result was that the next minute the prow of their light boat was straight for what seemed to be the tree-studded bank, into which they rushed, with a sharp rustling sound as the hanging boughs swept over the roof of the palm-leaf awning, and they glided on into the gloomy shadow of a winding waterway some ten yards wide, the rowers softly dipping their oars, and one of them holding up a hand to enforce silence.