Page:Lieut Gullivar Jones - His Vacation - Edwin Arnold (1905).djvu/279



went well and we fled down the bitter stream of the Martian gulf at a pace leaving me little to do but guide our course just clear of snags and promontories on the port shore. Just before dawn, however, with a thin mist on the water and flocks of a flamingo-like bird croaking as they flew southward overhead, we were nearly captured again.

Drifting silently down on a rocky island, I was having a drink at the water-pitcher at the moment, while Heru, her hair beaded with prismatic moisture and looking more ethereal than ever, sat in the bows timorously inhaling the breath of freedom, when all on a sudden voices close at hand caught our ears, and the next instant a row of heads, the bodies and boat below invisible in the mist, came round a corner. It was one of Ar-hap's war-canoes toiling up-stream. Heru and I ducked down into the haze like dabchicks and held our breath.

Straight on towards us came the toiling ship,