THE ATTACK ON THE SAMPAN.
Jack nodded and looked out across the wide, shadowy waste of waters
which surrounded them. The night had fallen and there was no moon, but
the sky was full of the glorious stars of the East, and the great
silent river spread itself abroad in the bright starshine till its low
distant banks were lost to sight, and the sampan seemed to be crossing
a vast lake. Far away up the stream a myriad twinkling lights showed
where the shipping lay thickly, and now a huge cargo boat came down
stream, its vast bulk looming high above the smooth flood.
Somewhere on the shore a mandoline tinkled, the faint distant notes
coming sweetly to them across the water. Jack dropped his hand into
the stream and found it warm to the fingers. Then he felt that the
river was full of something floating on its surface, which brushed his
fingers, and circled about his wrist.
"What's this in the water?" said Jack.
Buck dropped his hand down.
"Paddy-husks, the husk of rice," he replied. "There are rice-mills on
the banks up above, and they pitch the husks into the stream. When the
mills are busy, the husks cover the river."
"It is a strong current," said Jack.
"Ay, and a very dangerous one," remarked Dent "There's no mercy in
this river. It'll sweep you away like the under-tow of a strong tide,
and suck you down to feed the crocodiles, if it gets the chance."
For a few moments there was silence, and Jack, who was seated with his
face to his companions, watched the big cargo-boat now passing them,
but a good distance away. Suddenly he sharpened the glance of his keen
eyes and looked more intently. A tiny dark patch shot from the shadow
of the great vessel and held its way straight towards them.
"There's a boat just come from behind that big ship, and it's making
straight for us," said Jack.
"That's queer," said Dent sharply, turning his head to look. "It must
have come down stream in shelter of the cargo-boat. I've been keeping
a watch on the river round us." He said a few words in the native
tongue to the big Shan, and the latter pulled much faster and altered
his course a little.
"If they're only making for the shore they'll go straight on," said
Jim Dent. "If they're after us, they'll change their course."
"They row fast," said Jack.
Jim spoke to the Shan once more, and a few sentences passed between
them.
"It's one of those long creek skiffs, pulled by six men," announced
Jim. "He knows by the shape of it on the water and the sound of the
oars."
"Think they're after us, Jim?" asked Buck in a low voice.
"I don't know, Buck," replied Dent. "But I wish we were ashore. This
isn't a country to take any chances in."
All three watched the dark, long shape behind them, and the Shan
pulled with all his might.
"It's after us." Jim Dent's low, fierce tones broke into the tense
silence, and Buck gave a growl of anger.
"What's their game?" he muttered.
"Run us down, there's no doubt of it," replied Dent. "That skiff is
built of stiff teak planks, with a nose as sharp and hard as an iron
spike. If they once hit this light sampan they'll cut it in two and
scupper us."
"Ay, ay," said Buck, "and drop an oar on the head of a man who tries
to swim."
The long narrow row-boat was now heading for them as straight as an
arrow. There could be no doubt of the rowers' intent. They meant to
run down the slight sampan and hurl its occupants into the deadly
current below. Driven by six powerful oarsmen, the skiff was coming on
at tremendous speed, and the shore was still a dim and distant line.
Jim Dent spoke again quickly to the Shan, and the latter made a swift
reply and bent to his oars with all his might. He understood their
danger better than any one, supposing that his light vessel was run
down, and he beat the water with long powerful strokes which drove the
tiny craft forward with great power. Jim Dent had begun to rummage in
the stern, and soon drew out a broad-bladed steering paddle. He dipped
this into the water and added a strong dexterous stroke to the
efforts of the boatman; now the sampan began to fly.
"Isn't there anything for us, Jim?" cried Jack. "Must we sit idle?"
"There's not another thing to pull with in the boat," said Dent. "I'll
lay in with all the strength I've got with this paddle. We'll take
turns at it."
Now commenced a stern, fierce race for life. The two men in the sampan
fought with set brows and clenched teeth to gain the far-off shore and
save the lives of themselves and their comrades. The six rowers in the
long skiff lashed the water furiously with their oars in order to
overtake and ram the slight vessel they pursued. One, two, three
hundred yards were covered. Jack's heart sank. The skiff had gained
terribly. Manned by six powerful oarsmen, she was cutting down the
distance between them with frightful rapidity. In the sampan the Shan
was still pulling with undiminished energy, but Jim Dent was beginning
to pant. Buck seized the paddle from his grip and took a turn. But the
skiff continued to come up hand over hand.
"She'll get us long before we reach the shore," murmured Dent as he
marked the relative distances, and he spoke in the native tongue with
the Shan, who only answered with a grunt or two which had a sound of
acquiescence.
"Give me the paddle, Buck," said Dent.
"No, no," said Jack, "it's my turn." Every muscle in his body was
tingling to put its strength against the smooth current and the weight
of the sampan.
"We're going to try a little trick," said Dent, and Jack perforce had
to sit still. He glanced down the river and saw a light low on the
water, as if a boat was coming towards them. He wondered whether it
meant chance of help, but in any case, it was far off, and the enemy
were now terribly near, and his attention was drawn again to their
position of immense peril.
Dent and the boatman were now pulling easily, and the long skiff
darted up to them faster and faster still. Jack watched their pursuers
with a fascinated eye. There was not the faintest sound made, save for
the regular plash of the rising and falling oars. They were so near
that he could see the naked backs of the oarsmen glisten as they swung
their bodies to and fro in the starshine. Nearer, nearer, came the
long darting skiff.
Jack held his breath. The sharp nose was within half a dozen feet of
the stern of the flying sampan, for Dent and the boatman were once
more pulling with all their might. For the first time a sound was
heard from the pursuing boat. A single word rang out from the
steersman, and the rowers bent to one last tremendous effort to hurl
their stout skiff upon the fragile sampan. But at that very instant
Jim Dent dipped his paddle deep on the left side, the Shan made a
corresponding movement with his oars, and the light vessel spun round
on her heel and darted away from the impending stroke.
So close were the two boats when this skilful manoeuvre was executed
that the dripping bow oar of the pursuers was flourished almost in
Jack's face as the sampan flew round. He seized it, but did not
attempt to snatch it from the oarsman's clutch. He had no time for
that, but he made splendid use of the chance afforded him. He gave it
a tremendous push, and released it. The rower, caught by surprise, was
flung over the opposite gunwale, and the skiff was nearly upset. As
the sampan darted away on her new course, the skiff was left
floundering on the water.
"Good for you," chuckled Dent, who had seen the swift action and the
confusion it caused; "that's given us twenty yards," and now he
allowed Jack to seize the paddle. Kneeling on one knee in the bottom
of the sampan, Jack put all his strength into the strokes of the broad
paddle. He had paddled a canoe often enough at home on the river which
ran near the school, and his powerful young arms backed up the
boatman's efforts to such purpose that the sampan travelled as it had
never done before. Behind him he heard the fierce swish of oars, and
knew that the skiff was once more in hot pursuit.
Suddenly, without a hint of warning, the end came. Jack was just
beginning to thrust the paddle down for a strong, deep stroke when the
sampan struck something. The shock was so great that Jack was flung on
his face. As he sprang up again he heard Buck cry, "She's hit a
floating log." The sampan was uninjured. She had struck the obstacle
with her tough keel-piece, and had been turned aside at right angles.
The Shan had been flung down too, but was up in an instant and
gathering his oars. But this loss of a moment gave the pursuing skiff
her chance. Driven by twelve brawny arms, held straight as a dart, her
sharp beak of stout, hard teak crashed into the light gunwale of the
sampan, hit her broadside, and cut the little vessel down to the
water's edge.
Scarcely recovered from the first shock, the second hurled Jack
headlong. He felt the sampan turn turtle under him, and in another
second he was shot into the dark, fierce current, and felt the waters
close over his head.