The Eclaireur By Now Has
Dropped Down The River Past Them, And Has To Sweep Round And Run
Back.
Recognising promptly what the trouble is, the energetic
Captain grabs up a broom, ties a light cord belonging to the
leadline to it, and holding the broom by the end of its handle,
swings it round his head and hurls it at the canoe.
The arm of a
merciful Providence being interposed, the broom-tomahawk does not
hit the canoe, wherein, if it had, it must infallibly have killed
some one, but falls short, and goes tearing off with the current,
well out of reach of the canoe. The Captain seeing this gross
dereliction of duty by a Chargeur Reunis broom, hauls it in hand
over hand and talks to it. Then he ties the other end of its line
to the mooring rope, and by a better aimed shot sends the broom into
the water, about ten yards above the canoe, and it drifts towards
it. Breathless excitement! surely they will get it now. Alas, no!
Just when it is within reach of the canoe, a fearful shudder runs
through the broom. It throws up its head and sinks beneath the
tide. A sensation of stun comes over all of us. The crew of the
canoe, ready and eager to grasp the approaching aid, gaze blankly at
the circling ripples round where it sank. In a second the Captain
knows what has happened. That heavy hawser which has been paid out
after it has dragged it down, so he hauls it on board again.
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