Marston did not know if Father Sebastian sent the soldiers after them, but although he thought he did he bore him no grudge. The man was staunch, and from his point of view, was justified. In the morning, Rupert declared they must push on faster, and their march became a race for the coast. Now Marston could think about it coolly, he imagined Rupert feared some of the negroes had joined Larrinaga and were signalling news of the party's flight. Wyndham stumbled as they forced their way savagely in scorching heat across reedy swamps and through tangled bush, but he would not be carried and this would have delayed them dangerously. Marston recaptured with strange vividness the last scene. It was dark when they broke out of the forest and saw the sea sparkle under a half-moon. The land-breeze blew fresh, and now and then belts of warm mist trailed across the beach. There were no mangroves, the beach was flat and open, but they were some distance off the spot where the schooner lay and they labored across the soft sand. Marston owned that the suspense had shaken his nerve. He was desperately anxious to get on board before he was stopped, but Wyndham could hardly walk. For half-an-hour Marston dragged him along. When they were nearly level with the schooner, indistinct figures ran out from the bush. Wyndham turned, and shaking off Marston, drew his pistol. He fired two or three shots, but since the distance was long Marston thought he rather expected to warn the crew than stop their pursuers. The latter did not stop and Marston dragged Wyndham on again. A boat was coming, but he doubted if they could reach it before the others arrived. The sand was soft, he was exhausted, and Wyndham lurched about. Sometimes he nearly pulled Marston down. Shots were fired behind them and bullets hummed overhead. The negroes were running hard close in front, and the boat plunged into the belt of surf. Then Wyndham fell and pulled Marston over. When he fell Marston got some sand in his eyes and could hardly see. Somebody seized his arm and dragged him to his feet; men were splashing in the foam about the boat. He stuck to Harry but did not know how they got on board. Then he felt the boat plunge and saw the half-naked Kroos were pulling for their lives. Wyndham leaned against him and Marston felt his jacket getting wet; he afterwards found that it was wet by blood. He put Harry down in the stern-sheets and seized the nearest Krooboy's oar, thrusting while the other pulled. When they got on board the schooner the sails were going up and nobody else was hit. Marston and Rupert carried Wyndham to the cabin and Marston remembered his horror when they put him in his berth. A glancing bullet, turning over endways, had mangled the lower part of his face. This, however, was some days since and Marston was getting over the shock. Rupert had told him Harry would live, although he would always wear the scar.