the long green slopes of
the Eperquerie beckoning us on, and the rugged brown crests of the Grande
and Petite Moies bobbing cheerfully above the tumbling waves, and Le Tas on
the other side standing like a monument of Sercq's unconquerable
stubbornness.

And these things spoke to us, and called to us, and braced us with hope,
though our flanks clapped together with the strain of that long pull, and
our legs trembled, and our hands were cramped and blistered.

Then, of a sudden, Le Marchant jerked a cry, and I saw what he saw--the
topsail of a schooner rising white in the sun above the sky-line, and to
our hearts there was menace in the very look of it.

We looked round at Sercq, at the cracks in the headlands, and the green
slopes smiling in the sunshine, and the white tongues of the waves as they
leaped up the cliffs.

"Five miles!" gasped Le Marchant.

"She must be twelve or more. We'll do it."

"Close work!"

And we bent and rowed as we had never rowed in our lives before.

The schooner had evidently all the wind she wanted. She rose very rapidly.
To our anxious eyes she seemed to sweep along like a sun-gleam on a cloudy
day.... Both her topsails were clear to us.... We could see her jibs
swollen with venom, and past them the great sweep of her mainsails with the
booms well out over the side to take the full of the wind.... The sweat
poured down us, the veins stood out of us like cords.... Once, in the
frenzy of my thoughts, the gleaming white sails on our quarter, and the
crisp green waves alongside, and the dingy brown boat, and Le Marchant's
fiery crimson neck, all shot with red for a moment, and I loosed one hand
and drew it over my brow to see if it was blood or only sweat that trickled
there.

On and on she came, a marvel of beauty, though she meant death for us, and
showed it in every graceful venomous line, from the sharp white curl at her
forefoot to the swelling menace of her sails.

Her long black hull was clear to us now, and still we had a mile to go. The
breath whistled through our nostrils. Le Marchant's face when he glanced
across his shoulder was twisted like a crumpled mask. We swung up from our
seats and slewed half round to get every pound we could out of the
thrashing oars.

We rushed in between the Moie des Burons and the Burons themselves, and
drove straight for the harbour. For a moment the schooner was hid from us.
Then she came racing out again. The tide was running like a fury