Were the _Catamarans_ to escape or be captured? Though not propounded
as above, this was the question that occupied the minds of both crews,--
the pursued and the pursuing.
Both were doing their very utmost,--the former to make their escape, the
latter to prevent it; and very different were the motives by which the
two parties were actuated. The occupants of the lesser raft believed
themselves to be rowing and sailing for their lives; and they were not
far astray in this belief; while those upon the larger embarkation were
pulling after them with the most hostile intentions,--to rob them of
everything they had got,--even their lives included.
So went they over the wide ocean: the pursued exerting themselves under
the influence of fear; the pursuer, under that of a ferocious instinct.
In sailing qualities the _Catamaran_ was decidedly superior to the
larger raft; and had the wind been only a little fresher she would soon
have increased the distance between herself and her pursuer.
Unfortunately it was a very gentle breeze that was blowing at the time;
and therefore it was a contest of speed that would most likely have to
be decided by the oars. In this respect the _Catamaran_ laboured under
a great disadvantage,--she could only command a single pair of oars;
while, taking into account the various implements--capstan-bars and
handspikes--possessed by her competitor, nearly a dozen oars might be
reckoned upon. In fact, when her crew had got fairly settled down to
the chase, quite this number of men could be seen acting as rowers.
Though their strokes were by no means either regular or efficient, still
did they produce a rate of speed greater than that of the _Catamaran_;
and the crew of the latter saw, to their dismay, that their pursuers
were gaining upon them.
Not very rapidly, but sufficiently so to be perceived, and to inspire
them with the dread belief, that in course of time they would be
overtaken.
Under this belief, men of a despairing turn of mind would have ceased to
exert themselves, and yielded to a fate that appeared almost certain to
ensue.
But neither the English sailor nor the Coromantee sea-cook were
individuals of the yielding kind. They were both made of sterner
stuff,--and even when the chase was undoubtedly going _against_ them,
they were heard muttering to each other words of encouragement, and a
mutual determination never to lay down their oars, so long as six feet
of water separated them from their unpitying pursuers.
"No," ejaculated the sailor, "it 'ud be no use. They'd show us no more
marcy than so many sharks. I know it by their ways. Don't lose a
stroke, Snowy. We may tire 'em out yet."
"Nebba fear fo' me, Massa Brace!" replied the Coromantee. "A keep
pullin' so long's de be a poun' o' trength in ma arms, or a bit o' breff
in ma body. Nebba fear!"
It might appear as though the crew of the _Catamaran_ were now
contending against fate, and without hope. This, however, was not the
case; for there was still something like a hope to cheer them on, and
nerve them to continue their exertions. What was it?
The answer to this interrogatory would have been found by anyone who
could have looked upon the sea,--at some distance astern of the chase.
There might have been observed an appearance upon the water, which
betokened it different from that through which they were making their
way.
It resembled a dark, shadowy line, extending athwart the horizon. It
might not have attracted the notice of an ordinary observer, but to the
eye of Ben Brace,--as he sat by his oar facing it,--that dark line had a
peculiar signification.
He knew that it denoted rougher water, and a stiffer breeze than that
blowing upon them; and from this, as well as the clouds fast gathering
astern, he knew there was a wind coming from that quarter.
He had imparted his observation to Snowball, and it was this that
continued to inspire them with a hope of ultimate escape. Both believed
that, with a strong wind in their favour, they would have the advantage
of the pursuer; and so, while still bending all their energies to the
propulsion of the _Catamaran_, they kept their eyes almost continually
fixed upon the sea astern,--even with a more anxious glance than that
with which they regarded their pursuers.
"If we can keep out o' their way," muttered he to his fellow oarsman,
"only twenty minutes longer! By that time yonder breeze 'll be down on
us; and then we'll ha' some chance. There be no doubt but they're
gainin' on us now. But the breeze be a gainin' on them,--equally, if
not faster. O if we only had a puff o' yonder wind! It be blowin'
fresh and strong. I can see it curlin' up the water not three knots
astarn o' the big raft. Pull for your life, Snowy. Shiver my timbers!
they be a gainin' on us faster than ever!"
There was a despairing tone in these last words, that told how fearful
appeared their situation to the captain of the _Catamaran_; and the sign
of assent made by Snowball in reply,--an ominous shake of the head,--
showed that the ex-cook shared the apprehensions of his comrade.