The
war-canoe was so far behind us that it seemed but a little speck on the
sea, and the shouts, to which the crew occasionally gave vent, came
faintly towards us on the morning breeze. We therefore hoped that we
should be able to keep in advance for an hour or two, when we might
perhaps reach the land ahead. But this hope was suddenly crushed by the
supposed land not long after rising up into the sky, thus proving
itself to be a fog-bank!
A bitter feeling of disappointment filled each heart, and was expressed
on each countenance, as we beheld this termination to our hopes. But we
had little time to think of regret. Our danger was too great and
imminent to permit of a moment's relaxation from our exertions. No hope
now animated our bosoms; but a feeling of despair, strange to say, lent
us power to work, and nerved our arms with such energy that it was
several hours ere the savages overtook us. When we saw that there was
indeed no chance of escape, and that paddling any longer would only
serve to exhaust our strength, without doing any good, we turned the
side of our canoe towards the approaching enemy, and laid down our
paddles.
Silently, and with a look of bitter determination on his face, Jack
lifted one of the light boat-oars that we had brought with us, and
resting it on his shoulder, stood up in an attitude of bold defiance.
Peterkin took the other oar and also stood up, but there was no anger
visible on his countenance.
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