A spectacle so unexpected,--but, above all, of such a horrid nature,--
could not fail to produce a powerful impression upon those who were
witnesses to it. It even caused a change of proceedings on the part of
the pursuers,--almost a suspension of the pursuit,--and on that of the
pursued some relaxation in their efforts to escape. Both parties
appeared for some seconds as if spellbound, and the oars on both rafts
were for a while held "apeak."
This pause in the action was in favour of the _Catamaran_, whose sailing
qualities were superior to those of her pursuer. Her crew, moreover,
less caring for what had happened to Monsieur Le Gros, were the first to
recover from their surprise; and before the comrades of the half-eaten
Frenchman thought of continuing the chase, they had forced ahead several
lengths of their craft from the dangerous contiguity so near being
established between them.
The ruffian crew--now castaways--of the _Pandora_ had been awed by the
strange incident,--so much so as to believe, for a time, that something
more than chance had interfered to bring it about. They were not all
friends of the unfortunate man, who had succumbed to such a singular
fate. The inquest that had been interrupted was still fresh in their
minds, and many of them believed that the inquiry--had it proceeded to a
just termination--would have resulted in proving the guilt of Le Gros,
and proclaiming him the murderer of O'Gorman.
Under this belief, there were many aboard the big raft that would not
have cared to continue the chase any further, had it merely been to
avenge the death of their late leader. With them, as with the others,
there was a different motive for doing so,--a far more powerful
incentive,--and that was the thirst which tortured all, and the belief
that the escaping craft carried the means to relieve it.
The moiety of their mutilated chief, lying along the planks of the raft,
engaged their thoughts only for a very short while; and was altogether
forgotten, when the cry of "Water!" once more rising in their midst,
urged them to resume the pursuit.
Once more did they betake themselves to their oars,--once more did they
exert their utmost strength,--but with far less effect than before.
They were still stimulated by the torture of thirst; but they no longer
acted with that unanimity which secures success. The head that had
hitherto guided them with those imperious eyes--now glaring ghastly from
the extremity of the severed trunk--was no longer of authority among
them; and they acted in that undecided and irregular manner always
certain to result in defeat.
Perhaps, had things continued as they were, they might have made up for
the lost opportunity; and, in time, have overtaken the fugitives on the
_Catamaran_; but during that excited interval a change had come over the
surface of the sea, which influenced the fate both of pursuers and
pursued.
The dark line, first narrowly observed by the crew of the _Catamaran_
upon the distant verge of the horizon, was no longer a mere streak of
shadowed water. It had developed during the continuance of the chase,
and now covered both sea and sky,--the latter with black cumbrous
clouds, the former with quick curling waves, that lashed the water-casks
supporting both rafts, and proclaimed the approach, if not of a storm,
at least a fresh breeze,--likely to change the character of the chase
hitherto kept up between them.
And very quickly came that change to pass. By the time that the
castaways on the great raft had once more headed their clumsy
embarkation to the pursuit, they saw the more trim craft,--by her
builders yclept the _Catamaran_--with her sails spread widely to the
wind, gliding rapidly out of their reach, and "walking the water like a
thing of life."
They no longer continued the pursuit. They might have done so, but for
the waves that now, swelling up around the raft, admonished them of a
danger hitherto unknown. With the spray rushing over them, and the sea,
at each fresh assault, threatening to engulf their ill-governed craft,
they found sufficient employment for their remaining strength, in
clinging to the timbers of their rude embarkation.