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.