Proverbially a stern chase is a long one. Happily, there are exceptions to proverbs as well as rules. The chase of the war-canoe, however, with the captured queen on board, did not promise to be exceptional at first, for the canoe was light and sharp, and powerfully manned, so that the savages could relieve each other frequently, whereas the settlers’ boat was heavy and blunt, and not by any means too full of men. It soon became apparent that the latter was no match for the former under oars. The distance between the two visibly increased.

 

Dr Marsh steered. He was deadly pale, and there was a peculiarly intense expression of anxiety in the steady gaze with which he watched the ever-diminishing canoe.

 

“No chance?” muttered Jabez Jenkins, who happened to form one of the crew and pulled the bow oar.

 

“No chance?” repeated Dominick, who also pulled one of the oars. “There’s every chance. We’re sure to tire them out. Ho! lads, give way with a will!”

 

Although labouring already with all his might, indignation at Jenkins’s remark enabled him to put on a spurt, which the others imitated. Still the distance between boat and canoe increased.

 

“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.

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