One faces forward when paddling, and while Thirlwell watched the dark gaps in the pines open up and close he heard Driscoll shout.

Next moment Scott leaned over the bow and plunged his arm into the water.

It looked as if he had dropped his paddle and Thirlwell backed his in order to stop the craft.
The paddle floated past, too far off for Driscoll to reach, and signing to Thirlwell, he swung the canoe round, but the water was getting broken and they missed the paddle by a yard.

Then they drove her ahead in a semi-circle, and a minute or two had gone when Scott, leaning over cautiously, seized the paddle-haft.

In the meantime, they had drifted fast, and Thirlwell saw that that patch of shingle was now up stream.
"That's awkward," Scott remarked, and the canoe rocked as Driscoll dipped his paddle.
"Drive her! You have got to make the beach," he shouted in a hoarse voice.
There was something contagious in the man's alarm, and knowing his physical courage, Thirlwell made his best effort.