With Cochrane the DauntlessHenty, G. A. (George Alfred)
General
With Cochrane the Dauntless
Henty, G. A. (George Alfred)
Biographical fiction; Dundonald, Thomas Cochrane, Earl of, 1775-1860
“Well, we had better set off at a trot,” the sailor said. “I expect those
beggars can run a good deal faster than we can. The great thing is for us
to get so far away before it gets dark that they won’t be able to see our
figures. If it is eight bells before they fairly set off after us, they
will only have a little better than two hours and a half. They are sure to
be thrown out for a bit at the mouth of the river. They will see our
footsteps at the water side, but won’t know whether we have crossed or
have kept along on that side. Very likely some of them will go one way and
some the other, still they are sure to have a talk and a delay. They ought
not to travel twice as fast as we have, at any rate, and they would have
to do that to catch us before it is dark.”
They set off at a brisk trot. The sand was fairly hard below the spot
where the surf rushed up over it, and the walking was easy in comparison
to that in the swamp or on loose sand. Still it was hot work. The sun
blazed down upon them, there was not a breath of wind, and they were
drenched with perspiration. They kept on steadily, however, slackening
only occasionally into a walk for two or three minutes, and then going on
again at a sharp pace.
“They won’t catch us before it gets dark,” the sailor said confidently. “I
reckon we must be making near seven knots an hour, and even a Malay could
not go at fourteen; besides, they will have to keep a sharp look-out for
footmarks in the sand above water-mark, as we might at any time come up
from the water and take to the forest. Anyhow, we must keep it up as long
as we can go. We ain’t running for amusement, it is for a big prize, for
our lives depend on our keeping ahead.”
Anxiously they watched the sun as it sank down towards the horizon, and
there was an exclamation of satisfaction as it disappeared below the
water.
“Another half-hour and we shall be able to take it easy,” Stephen said. “I
should not think they would keep up the search after dark, and then we
could safely take to the forest. The wind is springing up already, and
this light drifting sand will cover all signs of our footsteps before
morning.”
“We had better keep in the water as long as we can, Master Steve. They
can’t trace our footsteps here, but they might under the trees. These sort
of chaps are like dogs. I expect they can pretty well follow you by smell,
and the hope of getting heads will keep them at it as long as there is the
slightest chance of their overtaking us.”
“Well, we may as well be on the safe side anyhow, Wilcox, and will keep on
here as long as we can drag our feet along. We have got no boots to pinch
our corns, and every time the surf rushes up it cools our feet, so we
ought to be able to keep on till eight bells in the middle watch, by that
time I should think we shall have gone something like forty miles from
that river.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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