“The wind is about to change, and we ought to have been out of this place,” exclaimed the skipper. “We must get up the anchor and row off into the channel. The fellows will have a longer swim, that’s all.”
“You would not desert them, surely,” said Uncle Paul.
“Well, I should be sorry to do so. We will wait a bit, and see if they come. I hope nothing has happened to the poor men,” said the kind-hearted skipper, who had never really intended to leave the Indians behind, and whose anger had now given way to anxiety on their account. He even proposed sending Sambo on shore to try and discover what had become of them; but Uncle Paul dissuaded him from this, as, had they been taken prisoners, or got into any other difficulty, the black would run a great risk of sharing their fate. Still we delayed. At last the skipper, with a sigh, exclaimed, “We must get up the anchor, Peter; the poor fellows would have come back before this if they were coming at all.”
Uncle Paul no longer made any objections. We shortened in the cable, but it required all our strength to haul up the ponderous anchor. We had managed to lift it out of its oozy bed, when we heard a shout, and looking up we saw the three natives rushing through the forest. Without stopping for a moment they dashed into the water. As they swam off they called out to us to heave them ropes. They were quickly alongside; and even before they had scrambled on board Kallolo cried out, “Get under way! get under way! No time to be lost!”
“That’s just what we were about to do,” said the skipper; “but why, after keeping us so long, are you in so great a hurry?”
“We could not help the delay; but there’s no time to be lost. We will tell you all about it presently. Get under way! get under way!” repeated Kallolo.
As he spoke, he and his companions sprang forward to assist in hoisting up and securing the anchor. The oars were then got out, and the vessel’s head was so directed that she might get round the point of land which had served to shelter us. The sails were in the meantime loosed, so as to sheet home as soon as they filled. Kallolo and the other Indians were pulling so lustily at the oars, that they had no time to tell us what had happened; but I saw them looking anxiously up the river.
As we got out into the stream, clear of the long point which had hitherto concealed the upper part of the river from our view, we saw a large vessel under all sail standing down towards us. Her appearance was sufficient to account for their alarm. There could be no doubt that she was Spanish, and that, should she overtake us, we should be captured and carried to their settlement of Angostura; where we should certainly be thrown into prison, and very probably lose our lives. As might be supposed, we all pulled away with redoubled efforts, till we made the long oars crack. Fortunately the Spaniard had but little wind, and we were well able to keep ahead of her; but should a breeze come she would probably get it first, and bring it up with her, and too probably overtake us.
“Courage, my friends! courage!” exclaimed the brave skipper. “The Good Hope is not captured yet. She will prove no laggard, depend on that, and may have as fast a pair of heels as our enemy.”
We turned our eyes anxiously at the vessel astern. It was possible that those on board might not suspect who we were, and that she might be only sailing down the river without the intention of chasing us. Still, should she come up with the Good Hope, they would certainly send on board and discover that we were foreigners, who had, according to their notions, no business to be in the Orinoco.