"The Ocean Cat's Paw" (continued 7)

“Burst out laughing?”

“Yes, and then Uncle Paul would grunt out ‘Humbug!’ and we were good friends again.”

The young Frenchman shrugged his shoulders and shook his head.

“Ah, yes,” he said. “Even those who worshipped him mock at the Emperor now that he is in misfortune—even you, Rodd. But I can forgive you, because you are English and the natural enemies of our great Emperor. But those of our countrymen—cowards and slaves—parasites of the new King. Lâches! Cowards! But let us talk of something else. You make me like you, Rodd. You always did, and—”

“Ah–h–h! Getting on dangerous ground. Now look here; will you come with us shooting?”

“No. I have told you why.”

“Well, I am horribly disappointed. But I like you for it all the more, Morny. You are a regular trump to your father.”

“I!” cried the young man fiercely. “I play the trumpet to my father! Never! If I praise him it is all the truth, because he is so honest and brave and good.”

“Why, what’s the matter now?” cried Rodd in astonishment. “Oh, I see—trump! You don’t know all our English expressions yet. Where’s your dictionary?”

“There was no such word in it that I do not understand,” cried the lad.

“Then it isn’t a good one,” said Rodd merrily.

Explanations followed, and the two lads parted that evening, both eager for the coming of the following day and the attack that was to be made upon the second leak where the ball from the fort had made its exit on the other side nearer the keel.

Chapter Thirty Eight.

A Proposed Adventure.

It was a busy and an anxious day. The brig’s guns had been carefully ran to starboard and firmly lashed, and the yards lowered down, her topmasts struck, and all made ready for laying her right over in the mud at low water, so that her spars should be upon the shore.

“It wouldn’t do to lay her over like this,” said the skipper gruffly, “if she were full of cargo. It would mean a bad shifting. But I think we can manage, and I’ll risk it. We can easily start her water casks.”

There was no question of shooting that day, Rodd preferring to stay with his French friend; and the doctor seemed to quite share the Count’s anxiety as they watched the proceedings of the sailors while the tide went down.

But everything went on admirably. As the water sank a steady strain was kept upon the cables, and by slow degrees the brig careened over towards the land till the newly-repaired side sank lower and lower, and she lay more and more over, till at last the water that had flooded the hold began to flow out with the tide till the beautiful vessel lay perfectly helpless upon her side, with the whole of her keel visible upon the long stretch of mud. Then Captain Chubb, taking hold of a rope which he had made fast to the larboard rail, climbed over on to the brig’s side, and steadying himself by the cord, walked right down and stood shaking his head at the ghastly wound which the vessel had received.

For after passing right through the hold, the cannon ball had struck upon and shattered one of what are technically called the ship’s knees, ripping off a great patch of the planking and tearing through the copper sheathing, which was turned back upon the keel, making a ragged hole several times the size of the fairly clean-cut orifice by which the shot had entered.

“You had better come and have a look here, Count,” cried the captain—an invitation which was accepted by several of those interested, and in a very short time an anxious group was gathered round the vessel’s injury.

“Well, sir,” said the skipper, in his rough, brusque way; “what do you say to that?”

“Horrible!” groaned the Count. “My poor vessel!” And he looked at the captain in despair.

“Well, sir,” said the latter, “if anybody had told me that I could make a patch with sails over the bottom of your brig so as to keep her afloat as I have, I should have felt ready to call him a fool. It’s a wonder to me that you kept her afloat as you did, before you came to us for help.”

“But now, captain,” cried the Count, as his son looked anxiously on, “is it possible, away from a shipyard, to mend this as well as you have done the other injury?”

“Well, sir, if we were close to some port I should say, no, certainly not; but seeing where we are, there’s only one thing to be done.”

“Yes? And that—?” cried the Count.

“Do it, sir. But it will take some time.”

The Count made an impatient gesticulation, and then threw his hands apart in a deprecating way, as if he accepted the position in despair.

“Yes,” he said; “you brave Englishmen, you never give up. You will do it, then?”

“Oh yes, sir; we’ve got to do it; and what do they say? Time and tide wait for no man; so I’ll thank you all to clear off and let me and my lads get to work. Only look here, sir; there’s going to be no hoisting and lowering here. We shall have to keep the brig lying on her side without any temporary patches, and the tide will have to flow in and out, even if it does some damage to your stores. So while my lads are stripping off the copper, you will keep your men busy with your hatches open to make a pretty good clearance inside, so that we can work in there as well as out here.”

“Yes, yes,” said the Count, who seemed to quite resign himself in full obedience to the skipper’s wishes. “But you will use all the speed you can?”

“You may trust me for that, sir,” said Captain Chubb; for after two or three attempts in the early parts of the proceedings connected with the repairs, and saying Monsieur le Count, the blunt Englishman gave it up in favour of plain straightforward “sir,” and stuck to it; while the titled captain seemed to like the Englishman none the less.

“Now,” said the captain, as he climbed back on to the sloping deck, following the others, “I didn’t know that your brig would be so bad as this, but I had my suspicions, and when I have not been busy here I have been casting my eye round for a good crooked bit of timber that would make a ship’s knee if I wanted one.”

“And do you know where there is one?”

“Yes,” said the skipper; “and I think it will make a very good makeshift, for the wood’s as hard as hard. But what wouldn’t I give for a good old crooked piece of Devon oak from out of Dartmoor Forest!”

Shortly afterwards he had set the carpenter and his mates to strip off the copper sheathing, while he led off Joe Cross and another man about a quarter of a mile away from the river bank to where a huge pollard-like tree was growing at the edge of the forest, all gnarled and twisted in the most extraordinary way.

The two lads had followed them, and Rodd looked at the selected tree aghast.

“Why, you are never going to set the men to cut down that tree, captain?” he cried.

“Why not, my lad? Do you know a better bit?”

“Better bit!” cried Rodd. “Why, the men can hardly get through that with those axes. Most likely take them a fortnight—I might say a month.”

“Ah, well, I don’t want it all. I am not going to load up the brig with a cargo of timber. I only want that big dwarf branch from low down there where it starts from close to the root; and you will mind and get that big elbow-like piece as long as you can, Joe Cross.”

“Ay, ay, sir! Just you mark out what you want, and we’ll cut accordin’. Better take all the top off first, hadn’t us?”

“Why, of course, my lad. One of you use the saw while the other works away with an axe. You quite understand?”

“Ay, ay, sir; me and my mate has seen a ship’s knee afore now;” and rolling up their sleeves, they soon made the place echo with the blows of the axe, while the rasping harsh sound of the saw seemed to excite a flock of beautifully-plumaged parrots, which began to circle round the head of the tree, before finally settling amongst the branches uttering their sharp screeching cries, and giving vent to croaking barks, as if resenting this attack upon their domain.

The carpenter and his men were meanwhile hard at work at the copper sheathing, making such progress that they were busy with their saws, dividing plank and trenail and working their way round the hole by the time the tide had risen sufficiently to drive them back, and then the Count and his party grouped themselves as best they could about their old quarters, looking despondently at what seemed like the beginning of a very hopeless wreck, a good deal of confidence being needed on their part to feel that all would come right in the end.

Fortunately the tide during the next two or three days did not rise so high, and good progress was made, while, thanks to the way in which the French crew had worked, the damage done by the water as it flowed in through the gap that was made was principally confined to its leaving a thick deposit of mud.

The doctor tried all he could to persuade the Count to take up his abode upon the schooner, and offered to accommodate as many men as he liked to bring with him, but he would not hear of it, and, as Rodd said laughingly to Morny, insisted upon living all upon one side and climbing instead of walking about the deck.

Then all at once there was a surprise. It was on the third day, when Joe Cross and his mate had called in the aid of a couple more to help drag the ponderous roughed-out piece of crooked timber to the waterside ready for the carpenter and his men to work into shape with their adzes, and while the latter were slaving away at high pressure to get all possible done before they were stopped by the tide, that, in obedience to a shout from Captain Chubb, all the men of the schooner’s crew hurried to their boat to get on board, while those of the brig hurried to their arms ready for any emergency. For coming up with the tide and round a bend of the river, a large three-masted schooner made its appearance with what seemed to be quite a large crew of well-armed men clustering forward, and apparently surprised at seeing that the river had its occupants already there.

“What do you make of them, sir?” shouted the skipper through his speaking trumpet.

“A foreigner—Spanish, I think,” shouted back the Count, after lowering his spy-glass. “Same here, sir. Slaver, I think.” The fact of her proving to be a slaver did not mean that an attack was looming in the future, but slaving vessels upon the West Coast of Africa bore a very bad reputation, and the preparations that were rapidly made did not promise much of a welcome.

As the stranger drew near it was evident that busy preparations were being made there too, but in his brief colloquy with Uncle Paul the skipper grunted out that he did not think the foreign vessel meant to attack, but to be ready to take care of herself in case the English schooner tried to surprise her and make her a prize.

“We ought to have taken the boat,” he said, “and gone up. It seems to me that there must be a town up there somewhere—savage town, of course, belonging to some chief, for it aren’t likely that there can be three of us all coming out here into this river on a scientific cruise. Two’s curious enough, English and French, but a Spaniel won’t do at all. For that’s what she is, sir, plain enough. Well, if she means fight, sir, you mean business, I suppose?”

“Of course,” said the doctor sternly; “and I am quite sure that we can depend upon the Count’s help.”

“Ay, ay, sir; but it’s a bad job the brig can’t manoeuvre at all.”

“But I should say,” said the doctor, “that when these men see how firm we are and well prepared, they will prove peaceable enough.”

As it proved in a short time after colours had been hoisted, those of the French brig being raised upon a spare spar, the stranger came steadily on in the most peaceable way till the tide had carried her within reasonable distance of the schooner’s anchorage, when an order rang out, an anchor was lowered with a splash, and as she swung slowly round, a light boat was dropped from the davits, and a swarthy-looking Spaniard, who seemed to be an officer if not the skipper of the swift-looking raking craft, had himself rowed alongside the schooner. A brief colloquy took place in which questions and answers freely passed, Captain Chubb speaking out frankly as to the object of their mission there, an avowal hardly necessary, for the appearance of the brig with the newly-cut hole, and her position, told its own story.

The Spanish skipper, for so he proved to be, was just as free in his announcements as soon as he found that the brig and schooner were friendly vessels, and began to explain that he was on a trading expedition, that there was a king of the country up there, a great black chief, who had a large town, and that he came from time to time with stores to barter, which he always did with great advantage, going away afterwards pretty well laden with palm-oil and sundries, which the blacks always had waiting for his annual visit, these sundries including, he said, with a meaning laugh, ostrich feathers, choice dye woods, ivory, and a little gold.

He spoke strongly accented but very fair English, and made no scruple about coming on board the schooner and examining her critically as he talked.

“I thought at first, captain, that you had found out my private trading port and were going to be a rival;” whereupon the doctor began chatting freely with him and asking questions about the natural products of the place; and Rodd listened eagerly, drinking in the replies made by the Spanish captain as soon as he thoroughly realised the object of the schooner’s visit and the bearing of the doctor’s questions.

He soon became eagerly communicative regarding the wild beasts that haunted the forests, the serpents that were found of great size, the leopards and other wild cats that might be shot for their skins, the beauty of the plumage of the birds, and above all the wondrous size of the apes that haunted the trees.

“There’s gold too to be washed out of the soil,” he said, looking hard at Rodd; “but don’t you touch it. Leave that to the blacks.”

“Why?” said Rodd.

“Because,” said the man, shaking a fore-finger at him, upon which was a thick gold ring, “the white men who turn up the wet earth to wash it out get fever.”

“But,” said the doctor, “we have not come gold-hunting. And so there are great apes in these forests? Have you seen them?”

“Oh, yes,” said the Spanish captain. “I have been coming here for ten years, and never saw another vessel up here before—only the big canoes of the blacks. Why, I could take you into the forest and show you plenty of beautiful birds and flowers, and all kinds of wonders.”

“But the forest seems to be impassable,” put in Rodd.

“Yes,” said the Spaniard, with a laugh—“to those who don’t know their way. Higher up there are small rivers which run into this, where boats can go up and get to where the trees are not all crowded together, but more open like this patch here,” he continued, waving his hand to where the forest retired back. “There are sluggish streams where you can wander for days, and camp ashore, and shoot all kinds of things. I used to at one time, when it was all new to me; and I collected skins and sent them to Cadiz and other European cities, where they sold well. But I have given all that up long enough. The black king—bah!—chief—he’s only a savage. He makes his people collect the palm-oil and other things for me, and I load up and take them back.”

“Then you would make a good guide,” said the doctor.

“I, captain?” said the man eagerly. “Oh yes. A man could not come here for ten years, and stay a month or two each time, without getting to know the country well.”

“I suppose not. But this is the captain. I am only a doctor, travelling to make discoveries.”

“Ah, a doctor!” cried the Spaniard eagerly. “Then you will help me and one or two of my men! Yes? I will pay you well.”

“Oh,” said the doctor quietly, “if I can help you, or any one with you who needs assistance, I will do so, of course. I want no pay, but I might ask you to guide me and my nephew here in a little expedition or two into the forest.”

“Uncle,” said Rodd quickly, “we mustn’t leave the Count and Morny.”

“Well, well,” said the doctor, “we’ll see about that.”

“I am glad to know you, Señor Medico,” said the Spaniard, patting on the stiffness of the formal Don and bowing profoundly, “and I will gladly help you in any way I can. But I am only a poor trader, and glad to do any business I can when I meet a strange ship that has needs. Do you want powder? I see you have guns,” he said sharply.

“Oh yes,” said the doctor. “One never knows what enemies one may meet with among savage people; so we are well-armed, and as you see have a good crew.”

“Yes, yes,” said the Spaniard, looking sharply round.

“But I thank you. We have plenty of powder.”

“So have I,” said the Spaniard. “The black chief is always glad to buy it, and guns too. That is my money—that and rum. Those will always buy palm-oil. But I have plenty of ship stores; canvas, oakum, and pitch. You are mending the other ship, I see. Can I sell you some?”

“I thank you, no,” said the doctor. “We are well supplied, I think, with everything; and in reply, if there is anything you want that we can supply to you I shall be pleased.”

“Then I should like a few canisters of your good English powder.”

“Thought you said you’d plenty,” said Captain Chubb gruffly.

The Spaniard closed his eyes slowly till they were like two narrow slits, and he gave the skipper a meaning nod.

“Yes,” he said significantly, “I have plenty. It is good for the black man’s guns. But if you fired it from yours—pff! It makes much smoke, and the barrel very wet, and the shot do not go too far. But the black men know no better. I do. Ha, ha! You will let me have a few pounds for my own pistols?”

“And that long gun of yours too?” said the skipper.

“Yes,” said the Spaniard. “As your medico says, one never knows what savage people one may meet. It is good too behind a bullet for our friends here in the river. You have seen them?”

He put his wrists together with his palms closed, and then slowly opened them widely in imitation of a crocodile’s jaws, and closed them with a snap.

“Oh yes,” said Rodd, “we have met them, and found out how horny their skins are.”

“Ugh! Beasts!” said the Spaniard. “Last time I was here they swept two of my men out of a boat, and I never saw them more. We caught some fish as we came up the river, at the mouth. Adios, señores; I will send you some. We shall meet again. I do not hurry for some days, for I am before my time.”

“How far is it up to the town?” asked Captain Chubb.

“Three days’ journey. This is a great river, and the water is deep right up into the country till you reach the mountains, far beyond the town.”

“Well,” said the doctor, “let’s go ashore, Rodd, and tell the Count. We didn’t bargain for this, eh, captain?”

“No,” said the skipper gruffly, as he watched the departing boat, after ordering the crew back into their own so as to row the doctor and his nephew to the brig.

“Well, Rodd,” continued the doctor, “it would be a grand chance for us to have some expeditions with a good guide. What do you think of the Spanish captain?”

“Don’t like him at all, uncle. There’s a nasty, catty, foxy look about him.”

“A mixture of the feline and the canine, eh, my boy? Well, he must be a bad one! Ah! British prejudice is as strong in you as it is in me.”

Chapter Thirty Nine.

Spanish Liquorice.

There was quite a discussion when the doctor joined those waiting by the brig, the Count being bitterly annoyed and displaying more excitement than the others had seen in him before, while Morny kept close to his side, and whispered to him from time to time, as if trying to calm him down.

“Yes, yes, my son,” he cried passionately, and speaking to him in French; “but you are a boy, and do not think. Look here,” and he pointed to the helpless brig, “how do we know but that he may be an enemy? And we are in this helpless state, quite at his mercy.”

The doctor was listening attentively, and understood every word.

“I know,” he said soothingly, “this must be very painful for you; but Captain Chubb believes that before many days are over the brig will be as strong as ever. I answer for him that he is making every effort to finish what he has undertaken.”

Uncle Paul directed a glance at the skipper, who stood scowling close by.

“Thank you, doctor,” he granted, as he gave a nod. “And I feel sure that this Spanish captain, who is evidently an ordinary trader, will prove perfectly inoffensive; and besides, my dear sir, we are not at war now, and what enemies can you have to fear?”

“Ah, yes,” said the Count bitterly, as he made a deprecating gesture with his hands, turning and directing his words at his son; “what enemies can we have to fear?”

“Well, I am glad you look upon it in that light,” said the doctor. “Now, if it had been years ago, with your smart little craft, and you had been followed up here by a small sloop of war, or an English letter of marque, you might have expected to be made a prize. But this is an ordinary Spanish schooner, and though I suspected it at first, I don’t think she is tainted by the slave trade, but engaged in traffic with the natives for the sake of palm-oil.”

“Perhaps you are right, sir,” said the Count.

“I feel sure I am,” said the doctor, “and I must confess to having hailed this man’s coming, from the help he will be to me in a little expedition I propose to make when we have seen the brig restored and all set right.”

“I thank you,” said the Count, “but I am so anxious for the success of my own scientific search that I have got into the habit of seeing enemies in every one, even as I did, doctor, in you and your men. And you see this is an armed vessel with a very strong crew.”

“Well,” said the doctor good-humouredly, “we have armed vessels with very strong crews. Anxiety has made you nervous, Count. Here’s your doctor,” he said, turning to Captain Chubb, “and before many days have passed he will have cured all your trouble, and we can get to sea again.”

“Ah, yes, that will be better,” said the Count, wiping his moist brow. “You must forgive me, doctor—and you too, Captain Chubb. I am impatient, I know. But I see now all will be well. One moment, though: you said we can get to sea again. We? You will sail with me?”

“My dear sir,” said the doctor, “you need have no fear. Captain Chubb will make your brig as sound as ever. You will need to look for no further assistance from me.”

“I did not mean that,” said the Count hastily. “I meant brotherly help—the help that one devoted to research could give to another.”

“But,” said the doctor, laughing, “you have never confided to me what particular form of research yours is.”

“No, I have not,” said the Count hurriedly, “and I ask you to spare me from explanation. Be satisfied if I say that we are both bound upon great missions, and that you, a brother scientist, can give me enormous help by working in company with me for the next few weeks at most. Is this too much to ask of a learned doctor like you?”

“Oh no,” said Uncle Paul good-humouredly; “I do not see that it is. You are not going to ask me to help you to escape from an English prison.”

The Count gave an involuntary start.

“Of course not,” said the doctor, “for I am thankful that all that kind of trouble is at an end, and that France and England are at peace; and besides, you are free to come and go where you please. Well, as your son and my nephew have become such inseparable friends, and my time is my own, I will ask no questions, but sail where you sail, and pick up what I can to complete my specimens while you continue your research; and believe me, I wish you every success.”

“Ah,” said the Count, with a sigh of satisfaction; and with all a Frenchman’s effusiveness he laid his hands on the doctor’s shoulders and said, with some little show of emotion, “I thank you. You are making me as great a friend as my son is to your nephew.”

Watch was mounted on both vessels at night as if they were in the presence of a dangerous enemy; but there in the great solitude of that forest through which the river ran, there was nothing human to disturb the night.

Savage nature was as busy as ever during the dark hours through which the creatures of land and water fled for their lives or pursued their prey. Otherwise everything was wondrously still, and those upon schooner or brig who might have felt doubtful about the Spanish craft saw or heard nothing save the low murmur of voices in conversation and the occasional opening or shutting of a dull lantern, whose use was explained by the sudden glow cast upon the face of some swarthy sailor as he lit a fresh cigarette, after which a couple of faint points of glowing light rising and falling might have been seen passing to and fro upon the Spaniard’s deck.

Then as daylight came again there was the busy sound of the saw, chipping of the adze, the creak of auger, and the loud echoing rap of the mallet, as some tree-nail was driven home.

On the previous evening the conversation that had gone on between the doctor and the Count had hardly ended before the Spaniard’s boat, rowed by a couple of men, came as near as they could get to the brig, and one of the bare-legged men, after giving a sharp look round into the shallow water, as if in search of danger from one of the hideous reptiles on the look-out for prey, stepped over into the mud, and came up, bearing a basket of large, freshly-caught fish, which he placed in the hands of a couple of the sailors, and then stood waiting.

“Ah!” cried the doctor. “The fish the Spanish captain promised me. Our thanks to your master, and I will not forget what he wanted.”

The man answered him in Spanish.

“Ah, now you are taking me out of my depth,” said the doctor. “Do you speak French?”

The man shook his head.

“English, then?”

“No comprende, señor,” replied the man hurriedly—or what sounded like it.

“Never mind, then,” said the doctor. “I’ll send your skipper some powder to-morrow.”

The man shook his head and made signs, repeating them persistently, frowning and shaking his head.

“I think he means, uncle,” cried Rodd, “that he won’t go away until you have paid him in powder for the fish.”

“Hang the fellow!” cried the doctor petulantly. “Why hasn’t he been taught English? I don’t carry canisters of gunpowder about in my pockets. Can any one make him understand that the powder is in the little magazine on the schooner?”

“What does he want? Some gunpowder?” said the Count.

“Yes. I promised him a present of a few pound canisters.”

“We can get at ours,” said the Count quietly, and giving an order to the French sailor who acted as his mate, the latter mounted into the brig, disappeared down the cabin hatchway, and returned in a few minutes with half-a-dozen canisters, with which the man smilingly departed, after distributing a few elaborate Spanish bows.

The weather was glorious, and all that next day good steady progress was made with the brig repairs, while Rodd and his uncle spent most of the time keeping guard over the workmen and sending crocodile after crocodile floating with the tide, to the great delight of the grinning crew of the Spaniard, who lined the new-comer’s bulwarks as if they were spectators of some exhibition, and clapped their hands and shouted loud vivas at every successful shot, while all the time tiny little curls of smoke rose at intervals into the sunny air as the men kept on making fresh cigarettes as each stump was thrown with a ciss into the gliding stream.

“Quiet and lazy enough set, Pickle,” said the doctor. “How they can bask and sleep in the sunshine! It’s an easy-going life, that of theirs. Ah, there’s the skipper! Fierce-looking fellow. He looks like a man who could use a knife. But you don’t half read your Shakespeare, my boy.”

“What’s Shakespeare got to do with that fierce-looking Spaniard using his knife, uncle?”

“Only this, my boy,” said the doctor, drawing the ramrod out of his double gun and trying whether the wads were well down upon the bullets, for a couple of the ugly prominences that arched over a big crocodile’s eyes came slowly gliding down the stream; “I mean that a Shakespeare-reading boy clever at giving nicknames—and that you can do when you like—would have called that fellow Bottom the Weaver.”

“I don’t see why, uncle. Bottom the Weaver?” said the boy musingly, as he slowly raised his gun.

“No, no; stop there, Rodd! That’s my shot. I saw the brute first.”

“All right, uncle; only don’t miss;” and the boy lowered his gun. “But who was Bottom the Weaver?”

“Tut, tut, tut!” ejaculated the doctor. “I say, this is a big one, Rodd—a monster.”

“Here, I recollect, uncle. He was the man who was going to play lion.”

“Good boy, Pickle; not so ignorant as I thought you were. Well, didn’t he say he’d roar him as gently as any sucking dove, so as not to frighten the ladies?”

“Yes, uncle.”

“Well, didn’t our knife-armed Spaniard roar to us as gently as—”

Bang.

“Got him!” cried the doctor.

“No, no; a miss,” cried Rodd.

Bang, again.

“That wasn’t,” said the doctor, and as the smoke drifted away there was a burst of vivas again from the Spaniards as they saw their dangerous enemy writhing upon the surface with the contortions of an eel, as it turned and twined, and then lashed the water up into foam, till in a spasmodic effort it dived out of sight and was seen no more.

“Poor fellow!” said Joe Cross from the brig, in the most sympathetic of tones. “Such a fine handsome one too, Mr Rodd, sir! Talk about a smile, when he put his head out of the water, why, a tiger couldn’t touch it! It must have been three times as long.”

So the work went on, and the tyrants of the river perished slowly, but did not seem to shrink in numbers. But the carpentering party were able to do their work in safety, and when, after the interval for dinner had ended, Uncle Paul and his nephew carried on what Rodd called a reptilian execution, the Spaniard’s crew were lying about in the sunshine asleep upon their deck. They were too idle to take any interest in the shooting, while their captain, a rather marked object in the sunshine from the bright scarlet scarf about his waist, worn to keep up his snowy white duck trousers, lay upon the top of the big three-masted schooner’s deck-house with his face turned to the glowing sun, and with a cigarette always in his mouth.

“I believe he goes on smoking when he’s asleep, uncle,” said Rodd.

“Yes, Pickle, and if I were an artist and wanted to paint a representation of idleness, there’s just the model I should select. They are a lazy lot.”

“Yes, uncle, and twice over to-day I saw them talking together, and I feel sure that they were laughing at our men because they worked.”

No communication whatever took place between the strangers and the first occupants of the anchorage till after dark, when, as Rodd was leaning over the taffrail talking to Joe Cross, who said he was cooling himself down after a hot day’s work, the Spaniard’s boat was dimly seen putting off from the big schooner, and was rowed across, to come close alongside as Joe hailed her.

The Spanish skipper looked up, cigarette in mouth, and nodded to Rodd.

“You tell your ship-master,” he said, “that I have been thinking about the birds and the spotted leopards and the big monkeys. I know a place where they swarm. Good-night!” And at a word his boat was thrust off again and rowed back towards the gangway from which they came.

“Well, let ’em swarm,” said Joe Cross, as if talking to himself. “I don’t mind. This ’ere’s a savage country, and ’tis their nature to. He seems a rum sort of a buffer, Mr Rodd, sir. What does he mean by that? Was it Spanish chaff?”

“Oh no, Joe. My uncle was asking him about what curiosities there are in the country. That’s why he said he had been thinking about them.”

“Oh, I see. But how rum things is, and how easy a man can make mistakes! Now, if I had been asked my opinion I should have said that that there was a chap as couldn’t think even in Spanish; sort of a fellow as could eat, sleep and smoke, and then begin again, day after day and year after year. This is a rum sort of a world, Mr Rodd, sir, and there’s all sorts of people in it. Now look at that there skipper. He fancies hisself, he does, pretty creature! White trousers, clean shirt every morning, and a red scarf round his waist. ’Andsome he calls hisself, I suppose. He don’t know that even a respectable dog as went to drink in a river and saw hisself, like that there other dog in the fable, would go and drown hisself on the spot if he found he’d a great set of brown teeth like his!”

“Ah, Joe, Spaniards are not like Englishmen.”

“Oh, but I don’t call him a Spaniard, sir. I’ve seen Spaniards—regular grand Dons, officers and gentlemen, with nothing the matter with them at all, only what they couldn’t help, and that’s being Spaniards instead of Englishmen. These are sort of mongrels. Some of this ’ere crew are what people call mollottoes. They are supposed to be painted white men, but payed over with a dirty tar-brush. Talk about a easy-going lot! Why, I aren’t seen one of them do a stroke of work to-day. They are in the ile trade, aren’t they, sir? Palm-oil.”

“Yes, Joe; I suppose so.”

“Ah, that accounts for it, sir. Handling so much ile that it makes them go so easy.”

The sailor burst into a long soft laugh, “What are you laughing at, Joe?”

“That warn’t laughing, sir; that was smiling. When I laugh hearty you can hear me a long way off.”

“Well, what were you smiling at?”

“I was thinking, sir, about how it would be if our old man had that lot under him. My word, how he’d wake them up! Poor, simple, sleepy beggars! It would set them thinking that they hadn’t took a skipper aboard, but a human hurricane. I wonder who owns that there craft, and whether he gets anything out of the oil trade. Viva, indeed! Yes, our old man would give them something to viva about. Their skipper too—nice way of coming up a river to get a cargo. Well, I suppose they get their tobacco pretty cheap; and that’s how the world turns round.”

Another day glided by, with steady visible progress in the brig’s repairs; and the Count seemed in better spirits, and said a few complimentary words to the skipper.

On board the schooner Captain Chubb appeared to be setting an example to the Spaniards, for those of his crew who were not helping the carpenters at the brig were kept busy holystoning, polishing, and coiling down ropes into accurate concentric rings, till the Maid of Salcombe was as smart as any yacht.

Meanwhile the Spaniards lined the bulwarks of their vessel, smoked and yawned, and watched the reptile shooting, and then stared in sleepy wonderment at the busy smartening up of the English schooner.

The evening came, and this time the Spanish captain had himself rowed across again, to find that it was the doctor who was leaning over the side with his nephew, and, cigarette in mouth still, the man said slowly—

“He tell you about the birds and the monkeys up the little river?”

“Yes,” said the doctor, “and I’ve been thinking about it.”

“Ah, yes,” said the Spaniard. “I am going to stop a fortnight yet before it’s time to go up with my cargo. I’ll make my men row you up to the mouth of that little river; and I could show you something you’d like, but you would have to take your guns—you and him too. But maybe the boy would be afraid.”

“That I shouldn’t!” cried Rodd hotly.

“Oh! Then you could come,” said the Spaniard. “But you’d be in the way if you were afraid. Think about it. Good-night.”

The doctor was ready to enter into conversation, and question him; but the boat went off back at once, leaving Uncle Paul mentally troubled, for the idea of an excursion into the depths of the forest wilds was exciting in the extreme.

“He needn’t have been in such a hurry, Pickle,” said the doctor. “I should have liked to have questioned him a little.”

“Yes, uncle. I should like to hear about such things; but it was like his impudence to say that I should be afraid!”

“Yes, my boy; it was rude,” replied the doctor thoughtfully, “Ah! It’s such a chance as might never occur again. A guide like that isn’t always to be picked up.”

“No, uncle,” replied the boy; “and it must be very wonderful in the depths of the forest, where you can get through, because you would be able to row.”

“Yes, my boy; wonderfully interesting,” said the doctor eagerly.

“But we couldn’t go, uncle.”

“Why, Pickle? Why?”

“Because we couldn’t go away and leave the brig like that.”

“No; of course not, my boy. It would be too bad, wouldn’t it? And of course we couldn’t go and trust ourselves to a pack of strangers, eh?”

“We shouldn’t be afraid, should we, uncle?”

“Well, no, my boy; no. But I don’t think it would be prudent. But there, there, we mustn’t think of it. We can’t do everything we like.”

Chapter Forty.

The Doctor’s Charge.

It was very tempting, and, like most lovers of natural history, the deeper he plunged into his pursuit, with its wonders upon wonders, the more infatuated Uncle Paul grew. The nephew was quite as bad, though, boy-like, his was more the natural love of novelty than that of science.

Who among you is there who has not revelled in the thought of something new, the eager desire to see something fresh? The country boy to see vast London with all its greatness and littleness, its splendour and its squalor, its many cares and too often false joys—the town boy to plunge into that home of mystery and wonder, the country. And though as a rule the country boy is disappointed, he of the town, when once he has tasted the true joys of the country and seen Nature at her best, is never satiated. But that love of the novel and the fresh is in us all—the desire for that which in Saint Paul’s days the men of Athens longed for: something new.

Hence then it was no wonder that Rodd, as he paced the schooner’s deck and looked across to either side of the river where the primeval forest commenced, felt the strange longing to go and see, to hunt and find the myriads of fresh things upon which he had never set eyes before—wonders that might be more than wonderful—dangers which would be exciting, possibly without danger; in short, all the boy’s natural love of adventure was stirring within him—that intense longing to cast away culture in every shape and to become, if for ever so short a time, something of the natural savage once more; and he was ready to urge on his uncle to go for just one expedition, only there was a sense of duty to hold him back.

And as the time went on, and the brig was rapidly approaching completion, Uncle Paul more than once angrily exclaimed to his nephew—

“Pickle, I wish that abominable Spaniard was on the other side of the world!”

“So do I, uncle,” cried the boy. “We were getting on as nicely as could be, with plenty to interest us, and fresh adventures, and then he comes here setting us longing to go off into the wilds.”

“Yes, my boy, and if it wasn’t for the Count and the sense of duty we feel towards him? we would be off to-morrow morning.”

“Well, why not go?” said a voice just behind them.

Rodd and his uncle started round in astonishment, for they were both so intent upon their conversation, as they leaned over the rail talking together, that they had not heard anybody approach, and for a moment they were utterly speechless as they stood staring at the Count, who had just come on board, while Morny was climbing up the side to join him.

“I—I didn’t know you were here,” said the doctor confusedly.

“Why, you asked me to come on board and dine and spend the evening with you,” replied the Count good-humouredly. “Had you forgotten?”

“Well—well,” said the doctor, “I— Really, I’m afraid I had. What—what have you been about?” he continued, turning angrily upon Rodd. “It’s a strange thing, Rodney, that when you know of some engagement that I have made, and it slips my memory, you never remind me of it.”

“Well, uncle—I—”

“Well, uncle—you! I remember now well enough. You were there this morning when I asked the Count and— Ah, Morny, my lad! How are you? Glad you have come.—But, as I was saying, what were you thinking about?”

“Expedition into the forest, uncle,” said the boy frankly.

“Expedition into the forest, sir! Um—ah! Well.—Yes, I’m afraid I was thinking about it too. I am so sorry, Des Saix. But welcome all the same, if you will forgive me.”

“Forgive you, yes!” said the Count warmly. “That and a great deal more. But I am very glad that you have so strangely led up to the subject upon which I wish to talk to you.”

“What, my forgetfulness?”

“No, no! That expedition into the forest.”

“No, no; don’t talk about it. I have thought about it too much, and it worries me.”

“Well, I want to put a stop to its worrying you. Morny here has been telling me how anxious you both are to go.”

“Morny! Why, what did he know about it? He couldn’t tell. Here, you, Rodney, have you been letting your tongue run, sir, exposing all my weaknesses?”

“No, sir, that he has not,” replied the French lad eagerly; “but I have gathered from your remarks, and words that Rodd has more than once let drop, how anxious you both are to have a run up country and see something of what the wilds are like.”

“Oh, fudge! Stuff! Nonsense!” cried the doctor petulantly. “That’s quite out of the question.”

“Why?” said the Count.

“Why?” cried the doctor. “Oh, because it’s—that is—er—I feel—”

“Bound by a sense of imaginary duty,” said the Count, smiling. “You think it would be unfriendly to me and my son here to leave us in what you English people call the lurch; and therefore you are depriving yourself of what would be a great pleasure as naturalists and hunters in which you would indulge if we were not here.”

“My dear Des Saix, I do wish you would not talk about it,” cried the doctor. “There, I confess that if we were alone I should probably take advantage of the Spanish captain’s knowledge of the country, and go a little way up with him; but as matters are, with your brig still unfinished, and so much to do, I consider it would be an act of disgraceful selfishness to go away and leave you alone here.”

“Absurd!” said the Count. “You would be going into wilder parts while we should be quite at home here, in the nearly finished brig, and have her in the best of trim by the time you came back.”

“Impossible!” snapped out the doctor. “Nothing of the sort.”

“What do you say, Morny?” continued the Count. “You feel that they are both eager to go?”

“Yes, father; and I am sure that Rodd is burning with desire.”

“You don’t know anything about it,” cried Rodd.

“Well,” said the Count, “ever since we met I have given way, and taken your advice, doctor, in all things; but we have come to a time now when I think I have a right to assert myself. Captain Chubb thinks that he will have finished in two days more. He is certain that he will have all done, caulked, tarred, and the copper replaced, in three days; so I have come to the conclusion that you people, who have been quite slaves in the way of sharing my troubles, thoroughly deserve a holiday. So I set you free—you too, Morny.”

“Me, father!” cried the lad in astonishment.

“Yes; I am sure you would enjoy a trip with Rodd as much as he would like you to go with him.”

“Yes, that I should,” cried Rodd; “but—”

“Yes,” said Morny gravely; “but—you would not wish me to leave my father like this. Thank you, my father. I could not go, and I will stay.”

“No, Morny; you will obey my wishes. You have your young life saddened enough with disappointments, so that when there is an opportunity to keep one away I call upon you to accompany young Harding here as his companion, and I wish you both a very enjoyable trip.”

“That’s very nice of you—very nice indeed,” cried the doctor; “but I cannot sanction it. I think we should be doing very wrong if we let those boys go alone.”

“But they would not go alone. You would have full charge of your nephew.”

“Now, Des Saix!” snorted the doctor.

“Let me finish,” said the Count good-humouredly; “and as a man in whom I place full confidence I entrust you with the care of my son. Now, doctor, please, no more excuses. I will not deprive you of the pleasures a naturalist would enjoy in such an excursion. Your preparations could be soon made; so send over for the Spaniard to-night and tell him you will be ready to start at the turn of the tide to-morrow, so that it may bear you up into these unknown regions—unknown to us—and a pleasant trip to you!”

“No,” said the doctor, “I shall certainly not think of trusting ourselves to that man and his crew.”

“There I agree with you,” said the Count; “with a good crew of your own trusted men.”

“And if he could be spared,” cried Rodd, “I should like for us to have Joe Cross.”

“Now, look here,” cried Uncle Paul, “this is taking a weak man at his weakest time. Really, Count, we ought not to go. Look at what your position would be in case anything should happen.”

“Nothing is likely to happen,” said the Count, “and if it did, though my brig is still helpless I should have your vessel, with about half your crew, and my own. So now not another word.”

“There,” said the doctor, “I am afraid I am beaten.”

Chapter Forty One.

Reptilian.

It was just about the same time as the Spaniard had chosen for his other visits, after dark, that his boat was again rowed across to the schooner’s anchorage, the man asking for the doctor.

“I’m here,” said Uncle Paul, going to the side, from where he had been talking to the Count. “What’s the matter?”

“Matter?” said the Spaniard wonderingly. “Oh, there’s nothing the matter. I thought I’d tell you that those two men of mine you gave the physic to are quite well again, and don’t want any more. That’s all. Go on shooting the crocodiles. Good-night!”

He gave an order to his men, and the boat’s head was turned, but as soon as they had proceeded a little way back the Spaniard gave another order, and his men checked the boat and kept on gently dipping their oars to keep her in the same place. “Doctor there?” shouted the Spaniard. “Yes.”

“Haven’t thought any more about going up the river, have you?”

There was dead silence for a few moments, and then Uncle Paul said sharply, as if making an effort—

“Yes; I shall start as soon as the tide turns to-morrow morning.”

“Very well,” said the man carelessly. “I will come across with my long-boat and eight of my men. They want a job to keep them awake.”

Then he grumbled out some words in Spanish to those who were with him, while, as if annoyed at what he had heard, Captain Chubb uttered a low growl.

“No, you needn’t do that,” cried Uncle Paul. “Our men would like to go up the river. If you will come across to act as guide I will use my own boat, and take all provisions that are necessary.”

“Very well,” said the Spaniard. “Perhaps that will be best. Your boat’s lighter than mine. Take plenty of powder and shot. Like some of my men to come and help?”

“Oh no; it will not be necessary,” replied the captain.

“Bring blankets,” shouted the Spaniard. “Dew’s heavy. Good-night!” Then the boat was rowed away.

“You mean to go?” grunted the skipper.

“Yes; I don’t like to lose this opportunity, and our friends here would like us to go.”

“Well,” grunted the skipper, after a few moments’ thought, “he’s only one, and you’ll be how many?”

“I was taking eight of the men to row; that is to say, four rowers, and their relief; Cross for coxswain—nine; and our three selves.”

“Nay, I’m not going till that brig’s finished,” said the skipper angrily.

“I felt assured of that,” said the doctor. “The young Count is going to join us.”

“Ah, that’s better,” said the skipper. “But look here, gentlemen, I only look upon myself as a servant.”

“Not as mine,” said the Count gravely. “I shall always look upon you, Captain Chubb, as one of my most valued friends.”

“And I am sure Captain Chubb knows that I do,” said the doctor, “and that I have ever since he set me down as a scoundrelly slaver.”

“Oh, don’t bring that up again, sir,” grunted the skipper. “That was a blunder, and every man makes them. Well, that’s very nice of you, gentlemen—very nice indeed; and I was going to speak out a bit nervously,—as I consider it to be my duty to do as Dr Robson’s servant; but as you both speak of me as you do, I hope you won’t be offended when I say outright that I don’t like that Spanish chap at all.”

“Well, I don’t know that I particularly like him,” said the doctor; “but he will be very useful to me, and show me what I want. I shall pay him for his services, and there’ll be an end of it.”

“Yes, gentlemen, that’s right enough, but I wouldn’t trust him a bit. The doctor will say that it is British prejudice. Perhaps it is; but here’s my crew; there isn’t a man among them as I’d say was perfect, but same time I’d lie down and go to sleep quite comfortable and feeling safe, if I knew any one of them was on the watch; and it did me good when I heerd you say, sir, that you wouldn’t have any of the mongrel crew. If it had been the other way on, and you’d said you were going to take Mr Rodd and the young French gentleman and trust yourselves up the country in their boat, I’ll tell you outright, sir, I should have struck against it, and if you’d held out and rode the high horse as master, why, there’d have been a mutiny. The men would have took my side, and we wouldn’t have let you go.”

“And quite right too, Chubb,” said the doctor, clapping him on the shoulder. “It would have been a good proof that I had done wisely in making you my friend. What do you say, Count?”

“Quite right,” was the reply. “Well, captain,” continued the Count, “I don’t see that the party can come to much harm with nine of your stout men to act as bodyguard, if this Spanish captain is used as a guide.”

“No, sir, I don’t see as they can; and as the doctor’s come out on purpose to collect all kinds of curious things and see some of the wonders of the world, I suppose it is right that he should make use of a chance like this. But I wouldn’t trust that man, gentlemen, farther than I could see him, and that’s what, with your leave, I am going to say to my lads. I am just going to tell ’em that they have got to bring the three gentlemen back safe and sound, even if it means that some of them is going to lose the number of their mess, and that means this too, that if Mr Spanish skipper don’t play his game fair—well then—”

The skipper ceased speaking, and screwed up his lips very tightly just in the light shed by the swinging lantern.

“Well, captain,” put in Rodd, who felt rather amused at what he called the fuss the skipper was making, “why don’t you finish what you were going to say?”

“Because I didn’t think it was needed, my lad,” was the reply. “What I meant was, that if the doctor here didn’t think it was his duty to give that yellow chap a very strong dose, one of my lads would.”

The doctor was in as high glee the next morning as the two lads, and, it might be added with justice, the nine sailors who were to form their crew, for to a man they were bubbling over with excitement and delight.

The moment they had heard that they were to go they began making their preparations; all their weapons were already in a perfect state of cleanliness, and shone as much as hands could make them, but every pistol and gun-lock was carefully re-oiled, every flint taken out and tightly replaced, while the blades of their cutlasses, that literally glittered, had a final touch given to them and the edges passed along the grindstone, which was sent spinning round in the little armoury as hard as it could go.

The skipper himself spent half the night with the steward, packing provisions, Joe Cross helping, for though he was to be coxswain of the boat, he said he came in there, for after the cook he held that he knew more about cooking “wittles” than any fellow in the ship, and this was acknowledged without dissent, though one of the men did say that Joe Cross took more than his share, since in addition to other duties he had the canisters of gunpowder in charge.

The morning was glorious, the sun and the early breeze soon chasing away the river mist, and before the tide had turned, everything was ready, the well-stored boat alongside, and an awning rigged up over the after-part big enough not merely to act as a screen for the gentlemen, but to shade those who were not rowing, while they were having their rest, while by a little addition the boat’s sail could be spread over the little unshipped mast and used as a covering from the night dews when the boat was moored somewhere to the bank after the day’s work was done.

“There, gentlemen,” said the skipper, “I think that’s about as near as we can get it; but I don’t see no sign of your Spanish guide as yet. It seems to me as if every one yonder is asleep. Here, you, Joe Cross, I knowed there’d be something. You’ve forgotten that screwdriver and the little bottle of oil.”

“That I aren’t, sir! They’re in the fore-locker in the little bag of tools.”

“Good,” grunted the skipper; “and I suppose you’ll help the doctor and young Mr Rodd skin the birds they shoot?”

“That’s right, sir, and Mr Rodd’s been laying down the law to me to take care and keep that there soapy stuff covered over as he dresses the inside of the skins with, ’cause he says it’s pison.”

The skipper grunted again as he stood at the side and scowled down into the boat.

“Spun yarn?” he said sharply.

“Plenty, sir.”

“But you lads never thought to give your jack-knives a whet, I’ll be bound.”

Joe Cross turned to the crew.

“Show knives, lads!” he shouted. “The skipper wants to try them all on his beard.”

“Steady!” growled the skipper. “That’s right, then. Well, Mr Rodd,” he continued, “I suppose everything’s all right. No; where’s that there extra coil of new signal line?”

“Starn locker, sir,” said Joe.

“And an extra line with new grapnel?”

“Fore-locker, sir,” said Joe.

The captain grunted.

“Here, get the grapnel out of the jolly-boat and lash it under one of the thwarts. You might lose one again.”

“There it is, sir,” said Joe—“lashed just amidships out of the way.”

“Come, come, captain,” said the doctor good-humouredly as he took off his straw hat and wiped his moist brow, for he too had been as busy as the rest, “you have had your innings; I want to have mine. You, Rodney, you never thought to see that the quinine bottle in the little leather medicine chest was re-filled.”

“Rammed it in tight, uncle,” said the boy triumphantly, “and saw to all the other bottles.”

“Then,” said the doctor, “we’ll say all is ready. Only look here, my lads; I’ll give you half-an-hour before we start, so you had better go down below and have some more breakfast, for it will be a good many hours before we have another meal.”

No one stirred.

“Well,” said the doctor impatiently, “did you hear what I said?”

This time a low murmur ran through the crew, and Joe Cross took a step forward and touched his hat.

“Beg pardon, sir,” he said; “the lads’ respects, and they says they’re all tight, cargo well stowed.”

“Then you don’t want the extra half-hour?” said the doctor, looking at his watch. “So there’s nothing to do, then, my dear Count, and you, Captain Chubb, but for us to shake hands and say good-bye.”

“Where’s your guide?” grunted the captain.

“Ah, where’s our guide?” said the doctor, looking in the direction of the Spanish three-master. “He said at the turn of the tide. I ought to have asked him to come here to breakfast.”

“Here he comes, uncle,” cried Rodd, for at that moment the head of the Spaniard’s boat was rowed out from the other side of the anchored vessel, which might have been quite deserted, for not a head was to be seen.

“Hah!” cried the doctor. “I like that. It tells well for his being a trustworthy guide. So now good-bye, Count. Your son’s mine till we come back.”

The Count mastered his desire to embrace the doctor, and grasped his hand in regular English fashion, and by the time the Spaniard’s little gig, rowed by two men, had come alongside, the last farewell had taken place with the captain, who then looked over the rail and grunted out—

“Coming aboard, señor?”

“No, no; but just one word. I have been talking to my crew, and told them they are to take their orders from you till I come back. They won’t give you any trouble. Let them smoke and sleep as much as they like.”

“All right,” growled the skipper. “When shall we see you back?”

“When your señor likes,” said the Spaniard, lighting a fresh cigarette from the one which had threatened to burn his moustache. “I take the boat as far up into the forest along the little rivers till he tells me to turn back, and then we will begin to row or sail the other way.”

A few minutes later the French crew of the brig, and the men of the schooner who were to stay and help the carpenter and his mate, stood ready to give a farewell cheer. The travellers were on the boat, the rowers in their places, with their oars held upright ready to drop into the rowlocks, the little sail rolled round the mast was lying ready for use if a breeze sprang up, and Joe Cross stood right forward, boat-hook in hand, looking as smart as the rest of the crew, that is to say, just as if they had stepped off a man-of-war’s deck, and then every one well-armed, ready for the attack upon any wild creatures they encountered, or for the defence of their lives against an enemy, waited for the skipper to give the signal to start, which he did at last by raising his hand.

Then, as the boat was pushed off into the now rising tide, a mingled French and English cheer arose, full of good wishes, while of the Spaniard’s crew not a man was visible save the two in the captain’s boat, who had just reached the three-master’s stern and had begun to make fast.

The cheer was repeated as the Devon boat, in obedience to the dipping of the oars, glided farther out into mid-stream, while directly after there was a heavy swirl just beneath her bows, followed by the sudden protrusion of the huge grinning head of a fierce crocodile, the monster bent on mischief, and receiving a most unexpected salute, for Joe Cross was standing balancing his boat-hook in his hands, ready to lay it down along the thwart, but, quick almost as lightning, he gave it a twirl as he rested one foot upon the gunwale and drove it, harpoon fashion, crash into the reptile’s head.

“He’s got it!” cried the man, as he started back; but he did not escape the shower of water that was sent flying over the boat, the crocodile vigorously lashing the surface with its serrated tail as it floated astern.

“Yes,” said the Spanish captain quietly, “but you had better shoot them, señores, and keep a little back from the side. There’s plenty of them up the river, and one of you might get swept out of the boat.”

Chapter Forty Two.

Night in the Jungle.

In spite of the risks run from the ravenous reptiles, whose daring proved that they had a hard struggle for existence, familiarity soon bred contempt, and the sailors laughed, as they proceeded up the beautiful river, at perils which not many days before would have made them turn pale.

For they were enjoying an excursion that seemed to present fresh beauties at every yard. As a rule the forest came down to the flowing water on both sides in waves of verdure, with grand trees which every now and then presented the aspect of some gorgeous flower garden, here red, there blue, at other times in lovely wreaths of white, while it seemed, Joe Cross said to the lads, as if one of the blossoming trees took flight every now and then and came skimming over the boat, filling the sky with flowers, so beautiful were the flocks of parrots and other birds that, apparently attracted by the strangers, flew screaming and whistling overhead.

There was no question about getting a shot at some beautiful green and orange long-tailed paroquet, or at one of the soft grey scarlet-tailed parrots which, as they flew across the river, shrieking at those who had interrupted their solitude, gave place to others of a delicate pink; but upon seeing Rodd raise his gun, the Spaniard laughed and said—

“Never mind them. I could fill my schooner with those things at any time. You wait till we get up into the little side river. There will be something better worth shooting then; or perhaps you would like to kill a few as you are coming back.”

“Yes, Rodd,” said the doctor; “that would be wiser, my lad.”

“But suppose we don’t see them as we come back,” said the lad.

“Not see them?” said the Spaniard, laughing. “Why, the country’s alive with them!”

Then as the party sated their eyes upon the various objects they passed, a light soft breeze arose when they turned into a bend of the river, and the Spaniard expressed his satisfaction, and suggested that the sail should be hoisted.

This was rapidly done, the oars were laid in, and Joe Cross came aft to preside at the newly-shipped rudder, while all through the rest of the day, and after the tide had run its course and become adverse, they tacked from side to side, or glided onward with the wind astern, the men only having at very rare intervals to take to their oars.

It was soon after mid-day that the doctor proposed that the boat should be run ashore and that they should land to dine at a lovely park-like opening where the dense portion of the forest had receded farther from the bank; but the Spaniard shook his head.

“No,” he said, “don’t do that. It looks very nice, but it isn’t safe. There are the crocodiles basking about the bank, snakes and serpents nearly everywhere, and the leopards and other great cats hanging about among the trees. Keep aboard. It’s safer here.”

“He means to take care of us, Morny,” said Rodd, in French, and directly after he gave his companion a meaning look, for the Spanish skipper turned to the doctor and said—

“Tell your men to have their guns handy.”

“What for?” said the doctor. “Do you scent danger?”

“Nothing particular,” replied the man, “but up here in these parts you never know what may happen next. Something may come just when you think you are safe, and it’s best to be always ready.”

So that and the following meal were eaten in the boat, which just before dark was at the Spaniard’s suggestion run up into a calm reach where the forest had become very distant, while the river seemed to have widened out to double its former size.

Here he proposed that they should anchor for the night and wait for the morning before continuing their journey.

This was disappointing to the lads, who looked longingly at the shore, while Rodd suggested that there were several places that looked level, and where it would be easy to rig up a tent where they might sleep.

The Spaniard laughed, and with a grim smile said—

“You wanted a guide for coming up here, young man. If we did what you say we shouldn’t all be ready to go on again in the morning.”

“What, because of the wild beasts?” said Rodd eagerly.

The Spaniard nodded.

“He is quite right, Rodd,” said the doctor. “And I suppose we might catch fever here?” he continued.

“Bad,” said the Spaniard laconically. “Keep to the boat.”

The night came down dark and beautiful; the great purple velvet arch that spread from side to side of the river was gloriously spangled with stars, for in the day’s ascent the little party seemed to have left the river mists behind, and as they sat together the doctor and his young companions revelled in the loveliness of the scene, while they listened to the strange sounds from forest and river which constantly smote upon their ears and now seemed wondrously near.

“It seems very different,” whispered Rodd to Morny, for something preyed upon his spirits and stayed him from speaking aloud.

“Yes,” said Morny, in the same subdued tone; “it is very different from being aboard the vessels. I shan’t go to sleep to-night; shall you?”

“No. Who could go to sleep? Why, as soon as one lay down I should expect to see the great slimy snout of a crocodile thrust over the boat’s gunwale, and then—”

“I say,” said Morny, “don’t!”

But nothing worse than sounds troubled the party that night, as not long after this conversation the two lads obeyed the doctor’s suggestion that they should creep under the awning, whose canvas sides were tightly belayed to the gunwale; and though both declared that they would never close their eyes, they and the watches into which the little crew was divided followed the Spanish skipper’s example, and in turn slept heavily till sunrise, the great orange globe slowly rolling up over the edge of the forest and shining brilliantly down upon the glittering river, for as over-night there was not a sign of mist.

About half the day passed with plenty of favouring gales to help the boat along, and spare the men’s arms, and Rodd commented on this to their guide.

“Wait a bit,” he said. “A little farther on, and we shall turn into one of the little rivers where the high trees are close together at the sides. There won’t be much wind there, and the men will have to row.”

Everything was as he said, for as they passed out of the main stream the banks were but a little way apart, and in place of the full flow of the great river the stream grew sluggish; but everything being so close at hand the beauties of the forest became far enhanced.

“You said rivers,” said the doctor suddenly. “Are there more than this one?”

“Plenty,” replied the man, and he made himself a fresh cigarette as he sat back in the boat, to go on smoking. “Not so many crocodiles here,” he said, “and they are smaller. More birds too. Look!” And as the men dipped their oars to row slowly up the winding stream, which often seemed to turn back upon itself, the Spaniard pointed now to tiny bee-like sunbirds with their dazzling metallic casques and gorgets—the brilliant little creatures that take the place of the humming-birds of the New World.

At another time, though the two lads, eagerly observant and with the doctor to back them, needed no showing, their guide pointed to the many brilliantly-tinted birds of the thrush family, at the barbets and trogons, not so brilliant as those of the Western world, but each lovely in itself, while as they went on and on along their meandering river path, the birds that struck them as being most novel and at the same time tame in the way in which they came down the overhanging branches of the great forest trees, as if their curiosity had been excited by the strangers, were the many-tinted plantain eaters, with their crested heads, and the lovely green and crimson touracoos, which, while their violet and crimson relatives wore, as it were, a feather casque, displayed on their part a vivid green ornamentation that passed from beak to nape, which when they were excited looked more like a plume.

They had come thus far without firing a shot, for the doctor had said—

“Let us leave the shooting till our return, and be contented with charging our memories and feasting our eyes, for no dried skins, however carefully they are preserved, will ever display the beauties of these birds’ nature as we watch them here in life. But we must have a skin or two of these touracoos, for I want to show you lads the wonders of that vivid crimson upon their underparts.”

“Oh, I can see it plainly enough, uncle,” said Rodd.

“Yes,” said Uncle Paul, “but you don’t notice what I mean. Instead of that crimson being a beautiful dye fixed in the feathers, it is a soft red pigment which can be washed out into water and— I saw something moving up that creek,” he added, in a low voice.

“Niggers perhaps,” said the Spaniard, without turning his head.

“Likely to attack?” asked Rodd.

“Pish!” said the Spaniard contemptuously. “Harmless. Fishing perhaps. We shall see more, I expect, farther on.”

He did not trouble himself to turn his head, though the rest in the boat kept a sharp look-out for what had attracted the doctor’s attention up a narrow inlet arched over by the overhanging trees, but it was not until close upon evening that, as they pursued their winding way, this side stream opened out more into a reach, and then for the first time a movement some hundreds of yards behind brought forth a warning from Joe Cross, who was seated with the tiller in his hand.

“Just cast your eye back, Mr Rodd, sir,” he said; “yonder there where the stream opened out it seems to me there’s a canoe with a couple of Indians in it. Nay, I mean blacks.”

“Yes; look, captain,” said Rodd eagerly; and the Spaniard slowly raised himself up from where he was leaning back, took his cigarette from his lips, shaded his eyes, and then after a cursory glance replaced the cigarette and sank back.

“Niggers,” he said. “Fishing.”

Then they rowed on, leaving the two occupants of the canoe behind, till, coming to what he considered to be a suitable place, the Spaniard suggested that they should stay there for their meal upon an open sandy little beach some fifty yards across, beyond which the forest rose dark and thick again.

“We can land and light a fire,” he said, “and make coffee and stretch our legs.”

“It would not be safe,” said the doctor, “to rig up a tent here, would it?”

“Oh yes,” said the captain. “The only thing to trouble us here might be a leopard or two; but a shot would scare them away.”

This was good news, and heartily welcomed by the whole party, and in a short time cooking was going on in the glowing embers of a fire, for which there was abundant fuel close at hand, while a canvas tent, strengthened by branches thrust deep in the sand, was cleverly contrived by the sailors.

“I say, Morny, this is something like!” cried Rodd, as they sat together watching the men finishing their meal, with their jovial contented faces lit up by the glowing fire which flashed and cast shadows and sent up golden clouds dotted with tiny spark-like embers, as it was made up from time to time, according to the Spanish captain’s suggestion that it would keep away all wild beasts and clear off the snakes.

“Yes; my legs were beginning to feel cramped. I wonder how my father is.”

“Oh, he’s happy enough,” said Rodd, “and enjoying himself with the thought that Skipper Chubb has had a good day’s work getting on a new outer skin over the hole.”

“Ah, yes, I hope so,” cried Morny eagerly, his friend’s suggestion seeming to brighten him up.

“And I say,” cried Rodd, “shan’t we sleep to-night! How I shall stretch! I don’t think I should much mind a great spotted cat coming and sniffing round the tent. Of course it would be very horrid to be clawed or bitten, but there’s something natural about that. The idea of being grabbed by one of those great slimy reptiles and dragged under water, and before you have had time to squeak—”

“Rodd, don’t, please!” cried Morny, with a shudder. “It makes my flesh creep.”

“Yes; I was going to say it’s time you lads changed your conversation,” said the doctor quietly, “for none of the forest creatures are likely to disturb us to-night with a watch-fire kept up like this.”

“But I say, uncle,” said Rodd mischievously, later on—when the watch had been set, with a big pile of dead firewood laid ready to replenish the fire, and Uncle Paul was about to follow the example of the Spanish captain and select his patch of dry sand covered with canvas, beneath the extemporised tent.

“Well, what, my boy?” said the doctor drowsily. “Don’t talk now. I am sure every one wants to go to sleep.”

“Yes, uncle; I am sure I do,” said the boy, who was already fitting the projecting bones of his back into the yielding sand; “but do you think it’s likely—”

Rodd stopped to give Morny, who was beside him, a nudge with his elbow.

“Do I think what’s likely, Pickle?” replied the doctor.

“That those two black fellows we saw in the canoe will sneak ashore to come and do anything to us with their spears?”

“Rodney!” cried the doctor indignantly.

“But they are sure to have spears, uncle, or else they couldn’t be sticking the fish.”

“Go to sleep, sir!” said the doctor angrily.

Rodd went at once, and did not stir again, till an extra loud crackling of burning wood made him start up in wonder and alarm.

But it was only the morning watch, in the persons of Joe Cross and the appointed cook, making up the fire afresh in view of what Joe called boiling the billy and to give the cook some good broiling embers, for it was the break of day once more.

Chapter Forty Three.

The Strangers.

Rodd’s toilet did not take him long, for though the water was clear and tempting as it rippled on the sand, the recollection of what might possibly be there in the way of ravenous fish, if even there were no reptiles, kept him from venturing for a swim, while when he suggested to the Spaniard the possibility of bathing in safety, the man looked at him in surprise, and his words were tinged with contempt as he said—

“Bathe! What for?”

Rodd did not answer, but turned his back quickly and hurried away to where Morny was questioning Joe Cross and the cook about whether the men they had succeeded in the watch had heard anything in the night.

“Here, catch hold of me, you two,” Rodd gasped out, “and help me away there among the trees.”

“Hah! What’s the matter?” cried Morny. “Are you taken bad?”

“Horrid. Don’t talk to me. Get me out of sight. I am going off.”

Morny and Joe each caught him by an arm and hurried him in amongst the trees.

“Don’t be frightened,” gasped out Rodd. “Oh, that Spanish chap! He’ll be the death of me!”

“Why, you are laughing!” cried Morny angrily. “How dare you frighten us like this!”

“I—I—I—I—” gasped out Rodd—“couldn’t help it, old fellow. Oh, that Spaniard!”

Morny was really angry, but Joe Cross’s frank face had expanded into a grim smile.

“What game’s he been up to, Mr Rodd, sir?”

“Oh, it was very stupid of me,” said Rodd, wiping his eyes; “but I was afraid of laughing in his face, and the more I tried to look serious the more it would come; and I didn’t want to offend him.”

“Just like ’em, sir,” said Joe, as Rodd explained himself more fully. “’Tis their natur’ to; and besides, it’s what an old woman I used to know called being codimical. Yes, sir, I’ve watched ’em aboard that there three-masted schooner. Them there mongrel chaps, they must save a wonderful lot of money every year in soap.”

“There,” said Rodd, wiping his eyes again, “I am all right now; but it’s very comic. The more you feel you mustn’t laugh, the worse you are. I suppose laughing must do one good. I always feel so much better after having a good grin.”

“Do you good, Mr Rodd, sir! I should just think it does! Why, it’s natur’. Does you good to have a long talk sometimes, don’t it; eh, Mr Morny, sir?”

“Oh yes, I suppose so,” replied the lad.

“And you know it does you a lot of good to get your teeth to work when you are hungry, Mr Rodd.”

“Yes, Joe,” cried the lad eagerly. “What’s for breakfast?”

“Ah, you wait a bit, sir, and you will see. But as I was saying about laughing, what’s your smiling tackle for, and your grinning kit for, if they aren’t to use and set you right when otherwise you would be all in the dumps? Yes, sir; give me a good laugh. But one don’t always get one’s share along with our old man. Still we like him, for he always means right by us. Ay, there’s worse chaps in the world than old Chubb, and I’m just ready and waiting to drink his health and long life to him in a pannikin of the finest coffee a coxswain ever brewed; and as for the frizzled ham that cookie’s got thriddled on sticks over them embers to eat with the dough-cakes he’s baking in the ashes— Here, let’s get back, for fear there’s an accident.”

“Accident?” said Morny. “Why, what accident could happen?”

“Out of sight, sir, out of mind; and that aren’t a French proverb, but you might like to turn it into one as your countrymen could use. They might forget, sir, as we are here.”

Well rested, in high spirits, and with a good breakfast waiting, the morning meal was eaten with the greatest of gusto, while to every one the expedition wore more and more the appearance of a delightful holiday.

There was an exception, though, and that was in the person of the Spanish captain, who looked grim and sombre, and ate little, but smoked a great deal.

Just as the tent was being struck and a clearance being made of the remains of the breakfast, Rodd suddenly called out—

“There they are again!” And he called attention to the two nearly nude blacks, who were creeping along the edge of the bank opposite to them in their canoe.

“Why, they are watching us,” said Uncle Paul.

“Hungry,” said the Spanish skipper laconically.

“Yes, that’s it,” cried Rodd, and after a glance at his uncle he tore down a wild banana leaf, turned it into a natural green dish, heaped upon it some of the remains of the breakfast, and carried it a short distance along the bank, where he placed it close to the water’s edge, signed to the blacks, and then joined his companions, who were about to enter the boat.

Very soon afterwards they were gliding along the stream again, after the sailors, by Uncle Paul’s orders, had carefully extinguished the remains of the fire.

“We don’t want to start a conflagration, my boys,” he said.

As the men slowly dipped their oars, for there was not a breath of wind, the two lads had to make an effort to, as it were, drag their eyes from the lovely floral scene on either side of the little river, while they watched the proceedings of the blacks.

“Well, they are a pair of stupids,” said Rodd. “What is it—ignorance or suspicion?”

For the two dark objects remained on the farther bank, one seated with a paddle, the other upright, spear in hand, holding on by an overhanging bough to keep their boat from drifting on with the current.

“Suspicion,” said Morny quietly.

“Miserable wretches! Do they think I want to poison them?”

“No. I’ll tell you,” said Morny. “Poor creatures, they have been so ill-used by the white people with black hearts who come to these shores that they think the food you have put there is the bait of a trap.”

“To catch blackbirds! Why, of course! They think we want to carry them off for slaves. They’re as bad as old Captain Chubb; eh, uncle? He took us for slavers, Morny, when uncle wanted to engage him. Well, I forgive them, poor chaps.—Ah, they think it’s safe now. They’re going to risk taking the bait.”

For all at once the two negroes began to paddle themselves slowly across the river to where the bright green banana leaf lay glistening upon the sand, and the last the two lads saw then of those they had tried to benefit, as the boat glided on with four oars dipping and making the water flash like silver, was with the canoe drawn up on to the sands, the two savage-looking blacks squatting on their heels, eagerly devouring the remains of the breakfast. “Oh, never mind the sun being hot, uncle,” cried Rodd, as they went on and on. “I don’t mind if I’m half roasted. Look, Morny; did you ever see anything so lovely? Look at the flowers on that great tree. Why, it seems to blaze with scarlet.”

“Yes, and look at the birds,” was the reply. “I wish my father were here, with his mind at rest, to enjoy all this as I do, or should if he were with us. There, quick! What’s that—running in there among the leaves on that tree?”

“Snake,” cried Rodd, who just caught sight of the movement. “No. Who ever saw a snake with four legs? Why, it’s a great lizard of a thing! Why, uncle, that must be one of those queer chaps that turn all sorts of colours.”

“Yes,” said the doctor, “you are right, Pickle,” and he focussed upon it a little old-fashioned single opera-glass which he carried in his pocket. “That’s a chameleon, sure enough; and a big one too, I should say, though it’s the first one I ever saw alive.”

“What’s he after?” said Rodd.

“Having a game, catching butterflies, I think, sir,” suggested Joe Cross. “So he is, Joe.”

“Why, Master Rodd, it makes us chaps wish we was boys again and ashore there running after them butterflies with our caps; only one couldn’t run among the trees, and they fly too high. I never see flutterbies, as we used to call them, with colours like these, though. We used to catch white ’uns, and yaller ones, and sometimes what we used to call tortoiseshells. But I call all this ’ere— Look there, sir; there’s one as big as my hand—two—lots on ’em! Yes, I do call this ’ere dead waste both of the butterflies and the birds.”

“Why, my man?” said the doctor quietly.

“Why, sir, everything you see flying about in the air is as lovely as lovely, and no one to look at them. Why, if I had my way I’d have all these sort of things flying about in old England. Yes, sir, they are all wasted here.”

“That they aren’t, Joe,” cried Rodd. “We are looking at them, and enjoying them; and I say, uncle, isn’t it time we began to get some specimens?”

“Plenty of time yet, my boy. Why, captain, the country here on either side is very beautiful.”

“Satisfied, then?” said the Spaniard coolly.

“Thoroughly,” replied the doctor, “and very glad to have met with such a guide.”

“But I say, captain,” cried Rodd, “don’t forget the big monkeys and the leopards.”

“Oh no,” said the Spaniard. “Farther on yet; and I can’t be sure. There are plenty in the woods one day, and the next they are gone. But we shall come across some of them.” And he sank back smoking again.

“Just look at him,” said Rodd. “He doesn’t seem to take notice of anything.”

“These things have grown common to him,” replied Morny quietly; “but don’t look only at the trees on the banks. Cast your eyes down sometimes into the clear water.”

“Don’t say there are any of those great reptiles here,” said Rodd hurriedly.

“No, I have not seen one to-day; but look at the fish we disturb. They go gliding away to right and left like so many flashes of silver and gold.”

“Now, boys, there’s something,” said the doctor. “Right across the river.” For there was a rush and a splash as some animal that had evidently been wading close in under the bank sprang out of the water with a rush, and disappeared amongst the low growth.

“What’s that, captain?” cried Rodd, making a snatch at his gun.

“Hog,” said the Spaniard quietly. “Did you see it?” asked Rodd. “No; I know the noise they make. Plenty here.” And then it was birds, anon flowers, and some two or three miles farther on Joe Cross, who sat just behind the boys, tiller in hand, glanced at the doctor and asked—“Which way?”

For the river forked into two of equal size, and at his question the Spaniard raised his eyelids a little and made a sign with his left hand.

This branch proved to be if anything more rich in its objects of beauty than the winding stream they had left, for there was enough to sate even the most exacting lover of nature, while there always seemed to be something fresh. One minute a sailor would be pointing out a brilliantly-scaled thin green serpent gliding along the surface of the water, eel-like in motion, but with its back quite exposed to the sunshine, giving it the look of frosted silver, while before long another man made his discovery, the whole party being eagerly on the watch for fresh objects of interest, and at this, without waiting for orders, the rowers ceased dipping their oars, to let the boat drift slowly by a lovely curtain of fine strands and leaves dotted with flowers which hung down from some fifty feet up, till the tips of the twigs touched the water.

In amongst these vine-like branches a vividly-coloured serpent that appeared to be some six or eight feet long, and but little thicker than a man’s thumb, was deliberately climbing and twining, its eyes having first attracted attention by sparkling in the sunshine.

“Don’t seem afraid of tumbling into the water,” suggested Joe.

“Wouldn’t matter if it did,” said Rodd. “You saw that one a little while ago, how it could swim.”

“So, I did, sir; so I did,” replied the man, who was as much interested as the naturalists of the party. “But there are such a lot of good things to see that one seems to shove the other out of your head. Now, what will that chap be doing there, slithering about over the water? Out for a walk?”

“Trying to catch one of those bright little sunbirds, I suppose,” said Rodd.

“No,” said the doctor, who was watching the serpent through his glass. “I should say that one is after birds’ nests.”

“Think of that!” cried Joe. “But he wouldn’t blow the eggs, sir, would he, and make a string?”

“No, my man,” said the doctor, smiling, “but swallow them, I should say, or the young birds that he might find in the nest. Why, Rodd, my boy, one wants three or four lives here, and then one wouldn’t see half the wonders of this paradise. Here’s world within world of wonder and beauty.”

“Row away, my lads,” said the Spaniard, who seemed to have only one object in life, and that the re-lighting of cigarettes.

“Ay, ay, sir!” cried the men, and they dipped their oars again.

Then on turning a bend of the stream there was a waft of warm wind to fan their cheeks, when the sailors forward stepped the mast, and hoisted the yard of the lug-sail, which filled out at once, the rowers laid in their dripping oars, which seemed to shed diamonds and pearls back into the stream, and away they glided among the glories of the low flat land, through which streams seemed to run like veins, forming a perfect maze of waterways, each if possible more beautiful than the other, while proving wonderfully similar in width and depth, so much so that at last, after winding round bend after bend of the last stream they had entered, the doctor turned suddenly to their guide and said—

“Why, captain, how are we going to find the way back again?”

The captain opened his eyes slightly and smiled, as he took a little compass from his pocket.

“With this,” he said; “but—pah! I could find my way here with my eyes shut. Look; there’s a good place for a fire, and the boys here can get plenty of good fish, if you have a line, for the men to cook.”

At this suggestion Joe Cross handed the tiller to Rodd and made his way forward to the locker, from which he produced a couple of fishing-lines.

The boat was run ashore at a similar patch of sand to that where they had made their previous halt, and while some of the men were collecting dead wood from beneath the trees, there was a sudden rush, and something yellowish dropped with a thud from the nearest great fork, made four or five great bounds through the low bushes, and disappeared.

“Leopard,” said the Spanish captain quietly. “Get out your gun, sir. His mate will not be far away.”

He had hardly spoken before another of the great cats leaped from bough to bough of the huge forest tree they had approached, and disappeared in turn, escaping unscathed.

“You are keeping your word, sir,” said Rodd. The Spaniard smiled, and remained in his place, while Joe Cross and the lads paddled the boat out again to a spot the Spaniard pointed out, and there dropped the grapnel, before beginning to fish, using small pieces of fat pork for their bait.