I could only see the beach at intervals, when I was lifted on the shoreward face or summit of a wave, and when I looked at the place whence I had put off, my pursuers were nowhere to be seen. It was only when I turned my gaze westward, towards the village, that I made out a constellation of black specks on the beach near to it. And then I saw something else. Another group of moving specks surrounded some larger object, with which they were moving towards the sea. The villagers were launching a fishing canoe, and I could have little doubt of their object. The pursuit was not over yet. As soon as I realised this, I lost no time in getting my mast stepped, and the halyard bent on to the yard, and, having done this, I lowered the port leeboard and the drop-rudder, and hoisted the sail. The breeze that was blowing outside here was fresher than that on the lagoon, and, although the high waves partly becalmed the sail at times, the sheet pulled sturdily, and I could tell by the pressure of the tiller that my craft was slipping through the sea at a good pace. In spite of all her buffeting, she had taken in practically no water, thanks to the apron, and now she was going perfectly dry, for the big ocean waves on which she rose and fell were far easier than the quick, choppy waters of the lagoon. When she was fairly under sail, I turned the canoe’s head obliquely out to sea, heading in a south-easterly direction, thus keeping the wind a little free; and having put her on her course, again turned my attention to my pursuers. From time to time I could catch a glimpse of them, and noticed that they looked smaller each time. I saw them launch their canoe from the beach, and watched its protracted struggles as it dodged and waited for the dangerous surf. But at last, after several trials and failures, it shot through, and fairly started in pursuit. Meanwhile the afternoon had merged into evening. The cloudy horizon took on a coppery glow; and I had hardly seen the pursuing canoe head into my wake before the brief twilight faded, and left the sea in darkness. CHAPTER XXVII. SHIP AHOY! To a small craft like mine, a passage by sea on a dark night is ordinarily an adventure full of peril and anxiety, and eye and ear must be constantly strained to catch the gleam of approaching lights or the warning throb of a propeller. But in the lonely waters of the Gulf of Guinea there is--at any rate at this season of the year--only one great danger--the surf-bound shore; and the navigator who keeps a good offing and attends to the lead, has little to fear. Hence, as I crouched in the well with my few rags drawn round me for warmth, I steered forward quite confidently, although I could not see a hundred yards ahead, for I had laid my course obliquely off the land, and, even making a liberal allowance for leeway, I must be drawing pretty rapidly out to sea.