Chapter Thirty Seven.Talking like a Boy.Perhaps it was nearly all weariness and the result of the excitement, but it may have been due to Uncle Paul’s potion; at any rate Rodd went off fast asleep, and when he awoke it was to find Morny sitting by his cot. “Hullo!” he cried. “You here!”“Yes, I am here,” was the reply. “How are you?”“Oh, I am all right. Have I been to sleep?”“Well, yes, you have been to sleep,” said Morny, smiling at him in a rather peculiar way.“What are you laughing at?”“Oh, I was only smiling at you.”“What, am I scratched and knocked about?”“Oh, very slightly.”“But I say, I am so precious hungry. What time is it?”“Just upon six. Some bells or another, as you call it.”“Get out! Why, it was seven o’clock this morning when I lay down to sleep after my bath; so how can it be six o’clock? You don’t mean to say that it is six o’clock in the evening?”“Indeed, but I do. You had better jump up, or it will soon be dark.”“What a nuisance! Why, I must have slept twelve hours.”“Oh, you think so, do you? Yes, a good deal more than that. I was getting quite alarmed about you, only your uncle said you were quite right and you were to have your sleep out.”“I say, look here,” cried Rodd; “am I dreaming, or are you playing tricks? I am getting muddled over this. I lay down this morning, and as soon as my head was on the pillow I must have gone off fast asleep.”“Yes, but it was yesterday morning.”Rodd sat up quickly in his cot and screwed himself round to stare hard in his companion’s face.“Look here,” he cried, “you are playing tricks!”“Indeed I’m not! You’ve been sleeping for about a day and a half.”“Well!” cried Rodd, beginning to dress hurriedly. “But never mind. I will make up for it by not going to sleep for a whole day. Look here, you know what’s been going on. Where are we? Going up farther so as to get a mooring-place?”“We came up yesterday, miles higher up the river, and the brig’s moored close by an open part of the shore. There, make haste and finish dressing and come and look.”The lad dressed himself probably more quickly than he had ever achieved the performance before in his life, and in the process he learned that his uncle and Captain Chubb were on board the brig with several of the men, the skipper superintending the moorings and the arranging of cables from the brig to a couple of great forest trees, with tackle so ordered that the vessel could be careened over to any extent desired, and that the next morning she was to be allowed to sink with the tide so as to be bedded in the mud and laid over until the bottom was so exposed that the carpenter and his mates could get to work.As soon as Rodd had hurried on deck he found all as his companion had described, while he had just mastered these facts when there was the sharp report of a gun.“What’s that?” he cried.“Oh, only your uncle having a shot at a crocodile. Both he and my father have been at it all day, sending bullets into them whenever a head appeared on the surface of the water.”“But I say, look here, Morny; why didn’t this wake me?”“Oh, you were shut up down here and too fast asleep.”“Then that would be uncle’s dose,” cried Rodd. “He must have given me too much. Why, he might have killed me.”“Oh no. I expect he knew too well what he was about. He seems to have kept off the fever.”“Fever, yes! Has anybody else got it?”“No. Your men are quite well.”“But they didn’t sleep as long as I have?” cried Rodd anxiously.“Not quite; but they all had very long sleeps, and my father says that they would have been longer if their messmates had not disturbed them. Now then, you had better go back to your cabin again. The steward told me that he was keeping some breakfast ready for you to have at any time.”“Wait a bit,” cried Rodd, and he hailed his uncle and Captain Chubb before having a good look round at their position, and finding that they were in a beautiful open reach of the river, with the forest overhanging the stream on one side, while on that where the brig was seated close in shore there were only a few scattered trees, and those of large size, for the main portion of the forest had retired back nearly a quarter of a mile.The next morning, as arrangements had been made to begin work at daylight, Captain Chubb and certain of the men, including Joe Cross, had their breakfasts by lamplight, and were on board the brig long before the sun rose.Then came a busy time, with everybody anxiously watching for the success of Captain Chubb’s plans.He took his place upon the brig with the schooner’s carpenter, the two lads bargaining that they might stay too, and as the tide sank the brig, which had been hauled in close to the bank at high water, soon touched bottom, her keel settling down steadily into the mud, and in due time began to careen over more and more, her progress being governed by a couple of capstans that had been arranged upon the shore. This went on until long before low water she was lying so much over on her side away from the shore that the sail that had been used as a plaister, as Rodd called it, was slackened off, and one of the holes made by the cannon ball fully exposed to view.Then followed a busy time, the carpenter and his mates stripping off the copper and using their saws hour after hour as long as the tide left the leak bare, while after working as long as was possible, pieces of new thin plank were temporarily nailed on over the now much-enlarged opening, which was carefully caulked and all made as secure as possible.This done, the capstans were manned again, and with the rising tide the brig raised to her proper position, and secured for the night, but hauled in as close to the shore as was possible, with the consequence that though the water rose through the untouched leak considerably, it never reached so high within as the point it had occupied with the pumps hard at work.It proved to be a much longer job than had been anticipated, though the men worked as hard as was possible while the tide was low.But the time passed very pleasantly for Rodd and his uncle, for they took their stations on board the anchored schooner, firing at every crocodile that showed itself, the presence of the men at work upon the muddy exposed shore proving an irresistible attraction during the first part of the time. But so many had been sent writhing and lashing the water, to float down-stream, that at last they began to grow shy, and the sportsmen were enabled to direct some of their charges of small shot at specimens of beautiful birds that came within range, as well as at the abundant waterfowl—ducks and geese—that gathered morning and evening to feed, but often to become food for the hideous reptiles that lurked beneath the trees close in shore.This latter sport proved highly welcome to the crews of both vessels, providing as it did a pleasant change of diet after so much salt provision, for very few fish were caught, consequent upon the way in which they were persecuted by the reptiles.“I wish you would join in. I am sure you can shoot well,” said Rodd; but Morny shook his head.“No,” he said; “my father is so anxious to see the brig repaired.”“Yes, I suppose so,” said Rodd, “but that wouldn’t make any difference. You can’t help.”“No, I cannot help,” replied the lad, “and I should like to be with you all the time, but I can’t leave his side. It would seem so hard if I didn’t stay with him to share his anxiety.”“Well, but you might have a few shots at the crocodiles. That’s helping to protect the men who are at work.”“True,” replied Morny, smiling. “But you two are such clever shots. You can do all that. Don’t ask me again, please.”Rodd was silent.But during the long dark evenings in that grand and solitary reach of the river, which looked as if it had never been visited by human beings before, there would have been most enjoyable times had not the Count seemed so preoccupied and thoughtful. Still it had become the custom that there should be a constant interchange of courtesies between the occupants of the two vessels, the sailors thoroughly fraternising, while their superiors alternately dined together upon schooner or brig, and a thorough rivalry sprang up between the English and French cooks as to who should provide the best meals for officers and men.“I should like for us to make an excursion right up the river as far as we could go in the boats,” said Rodd one evening, to his French companion. “Uncle wants to go.”“Then why don’t you?” said Morny. “You have plenty of time,” he added, with a sigh, “for the repairs go on very slowly. One of the leaks is not stopped yet.”“They are not going on slowly,” retorted Rodd. “I talked to Captain Chubb about it, and he said the work must be thoroughly done, so as to make the brig as good as ever she was.”“Yes, they are doing it well,” said Morny sadly.“He said—” continued Rodd, with a laugh; and then he stopped short.“Well, why don’t you go on?”“Oh, never mind. You wouldn’t like it. You are sensitive, and it might hurt your feelings.”“I promise you it shall not. Tell me what the captain said.”“Well, he said he wasn’t going to have any Frenchmen throw it in his teeth that he hadn’t done his best because it was a French boat, and that he was taking more pains over it than he should have done if it had been ours.”Morny laughed.“Oh yes,” he said, “I know he is doing his best, and I wouldn’t care, only my father is so anxious to get to sea again.”“Well, all in good time,” cried Rodd. “They are fitting the copper sheathing on again, and to-morrow they will begin careening the brig over so as to get at the other side.”“Ha! Yes,” said the French lad, with a sigh of satisfaction. “Well, you take your boat to-morrow, and plenty of men and ammunition, and go on a good long excursion.”“Shan’t,” said Rodd gruffly.“But why not?”“Aren’t going without you.”“What nonsense! I’m busy. You are free.”“I am not. If we went away leaving you alone with a brig that won’t swim, who knows what would happen? The crocs would send the news all up and down the river that we were gone away, and come on at you with a rush.”“That’s absurd! You talk like a boy.”“Well, I am one. Yes, that is nonsense. But suppose a whole tribe of niggers came down out of the forest to attack you.”“They couldn’t. You know yourself that the forest is impassable except to wild beasts.”“Well, then, perhaps they would come down, or up—yes, up; they wouldn’t come down, and find you helpless, because we should meet them and come back to help you.”“We could fight,” said Morny coolly, “and sink their canoes with the big guns.”“What, when they are fast lashed to one side, and your deck all of a slope? No, we are not going, so don’t bother about it any more. Who knows but what there may be towns of savages right up inland, or up some other river farther along the coast? I dare say it’s a beautiful country—and there, I won’t hear another word. We are not going away to leave you in the lurch. Uncle said as much. He likes the Count too well.”Morny laughed merrily.“Why,” he said, “he’s always quarrelling with my father and hurting his feelings by the way in which he speaks about our great Emperor.”“Stuff!” cried Rodd indignantly. “That’s only Uncle Paul’s way. He always talks like that when he gets on to politics. Why, I have a sham quarrel with him sometimes about Napoleon. I pretend that I admire him very much.”“Pretend!” cried Morny eagerly.“Well, I tell uncle that he was a very great general and soldier.”“Yes, yes! Grand!” said the French lad, flushing.“And that I shouldn’t have wondered at all if he had conquered the whole world.”“Yes, yes!” cried Morny excitedly. “That was brave of you! And what did your uncle say?”“Said I was a young scoundrel, and that if I wasn’t so big, and that he disliked corporal punishment, he’d give me a good thrashing to bring me to my senses.”“And you—you—” cried Morny, grasping him by the arm, “what did you say to that?”“Nothing at all. Only burst out laughing.”“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.
Perhaps it was nearly all weariness and the result of the excitement, but it may have been due to Uncle Paul’s potion; at any rate Rodd went off fast asleep, and when he awoke it was to find Morny sitting by his cot. “Hullo!” he cried. “You here!”
“Yes, I am here,” was the reply. “How are you?”
“Oh, I am all right. Have I been to sleep?”
“Well, yes, you have been to sleep,” said Morny, smiling at him in a rather peculiar way.
“What are you laughing at?”
“Oh, I was only smiling at you.”
“What, am I scratched and knocked about?”
“Oh, very slightly.”
“But I say, I am so precious hungry. What time is it?”
“Just upon six. Some bells or another, as you call it.”
“Get out! Why, it was seven o’clock this morning when I lay down to sleep after my bath; so how can it be six o’clock? You don’t mean to say that it is six o’clock in the evening?”
“Indeed, but I do. You had better jump up, or it will soon be dark.”
“What a nuisance! Why, I must have slept twelve hours.”
“Oh, you think so, do you? Yes, a good deal more than that. I was getting quite alarmed about you, only your uncle said you were quite right and you were to have your sleep out.”
“I say, look here,” cried Rodd; “am I dreaming, or are you playing tricks? I am getting muddled over this. I lay down this morning, and as soon as my head was on the pillow I must have gone off fast asleep.”
“Yes, but it was yesterday morning.”
Rodd sat up quickly in his cot and screwed himself round to stare hard in his companion’s face.
“Look here,” he cried, “you are playing tricks!”
“Indeed I’m not! You’ve been sleeping for about a day and a half.”
“Well!” cried Rodd, beginning to dress hurriedly. “But never mind. I will make up for it by not going to sleep for a whole day. Look here, you know what’s been going on. Where are we? Going up farther so as to get a mooring-place?”
“We came up yesterday, miles higher up the river, and the brig’s moored close by an open part of the shore. There, make haste and finish dressing and come and look.”
The lad dressed himself probably more quickly than he had ever achieved the performance before in his life, and in the process he learned that his uncle and Captain Chubb were on board the brig with several of the men, the skipper superintending the moorings and the arranging of cables from the brig to a couple of great forest trees, with tackle so ordered that the vessel could be careened over to any extent desired, and that the next morning she was to be allowed to sink with the tide so as to be bedded in the mud and laid over until the bottom was so exposed that the carpenter and his mates could get to work.
As soon as Rodd had hurried on deck he found all as his companion had described, while he had just mastered these facts when there was the sharp report of a gun.
“What’s that?” he cried.
“Oh, only your uncle having a shot at a crocodile. Both he and my father have been at it all day, sending bullets into them whenever a head appeared on the surface of the water.”
“But I say, look here, Morny; why didn’t this wake me?”
“Oh, you were shut up down here and too fast asleep.”
“Then that would be uncle’s dose,” cried Rodd. “He must have given me too much. Why, he might have killed me.”
“Oh no. I expect he knew too well what he was about. He seems to have kept off the fever.”
“Fever, yes! Has anybody else got it?”
“No. Your men are quite well.”
“But they didn’t sleep as long as I have?” cried Rodd anxiously.
“Not quite; but they all had very long sleeps, and my father says that they would have been longer if their messmates had not disturbed them. Now then, you had better go back to your cabin again. The steward told me that he was keeping some breakfast ready for you to have at any time.”
“Wait a bit,” cried Rodd, and he hailed his uncle and Captain Chubb before having a good look round at their position, and finding that they were in a beautiful open reach of the river, with the forest overhanging the stream on one side, while on that where the brig was seated close in shore there were only a few scattered trees, and those of large size, for the main portion of the forest had retired back nearly a quarter of a mile.
The next morning, as arrangements had been made to begin work at daylight, Captain Chubb and certain of the men, including Joe Cross, had their breakfasts by lamplight, and were on board the brig long before the sun rose.
Then came a busy time, with everybody anxiously watching for the success of Captain Chubb’s plans.
He took his place upon the brig with the schooner’s carpenter, the two lads bargaining that they might stay too, and as the tide sank the brig, which had been hauled in close to the bank at high water, soon touched bottom, her keel settling down steadily into the mud, and in due time began to careen over more and more, her progress being governed by a couple of capstans that had been arranged upon the shore. This went on until long before low water she was lying so much over on her side away from the shore that the sail that had been used as a plaister, as Rodd called it, was slackened off, and one of the holes made by the cannon ball fully exposed to view.
Then followed a busy time, the carpenter and his mates stripping off the copper and using their saws hour after hour as long as the tide left the leak bare, while after working as long as was possible, pieces of new thin plank were temporarily nailed on over the now much-enlarged opening, which was carefully caulked and all made as secure as possible.
This done, the capstans were manned again, and with the rising tide the brig raised to her proper position, and secured for the night, but hauled in as close to the shore as was possible, with the consequence that though the water rose through the untouched leak considerably, it never reached so high within as the point it had occupied with the pumps hard at work.
It proved to be a much longer job than had been anticipated, though the men worked as hard as was possible while the tide was low.
But the time passed very pleasantly for Rodd and his uncle, for they took their stations on board the anchored schooner, firing at every crocodile that showed itself, the presence of the men at work upon the muddy exposed shore proving an irresistible attraction during the first part of the time. But so many had been sent writhing and lashing the water, to float down-stream, that at last they began to grow shy, and the sportsmen were enabled to direct some of their charges of small shot at specimens of beautiful birds that came within range, as well as at the abundant waterfowl—ducks and geese—that gathered morning and evening to feed, but often to become food for the hideous reptiles that lurked beneath the trees close in shore.
This latter sport proved highly welcome to the crews of both vessels, providing as it did a pleasant change of diet after so much salt provision, for very few fish were caught, consequent upon the way in which they were persecuted by the reptiles.
“I wish you would join in. I am sure you can shoot well,” said Rodd; but Morny shook his head.
“No,” he said; “my father is so anxious to see the brig repaired.”
“Yes, I suppose so,” said Rodd, “but that wouldn’t make any difference. You can’t help.”
“No, I cannot help,” replied the lad, “and I should like to be with you all the time, but I can’t leave his side. It would seem so hard if I didn’t stay with him to share his anxiety.”
“Well, but you might have a few shots at the crocodiles. That’s helping to protect the men who are at work.”
“True,” replied Morny, smiling. “But you two are such clever shots. You can do all that. Don’t ask me again, please.”
Rodd was silent.
But during the long dark evenings in that grand and solitary reach of the river, which looked as if it had never been visited by human beings before, there would have been most enjoyable times had not the Count seemed so preoccupied and thoughtful. Still it had become the custom that there should be a constant interchange of courtesies between the occupants of the two vessels, the sailors thoroughly fraternising, while their superiors alternately dined together upon schooner or brig, and a thorough rivalry sprang up between the English and French cooks as to who should provide the best meals for officers and men.
“I should like for us to make an excursion right up the river as far as we could go in the boats,” said Rodd one evening, to his French companion. “Uncle wants to go.”
“Then why don’t you?” said Morny. “You have plenty of time,” he added, with a sigh, “for the repairs go on very slowly. One of the leaks is not stopped yet.”
“They are not going on slowly,” retorted Rodd. “I talked to Captain Chubb about it, and he said the work must be thoroughly done, so as to make the brig as good as ever she was.”
“Yes, they are doing it well,” said Morny sadly.
“He said—” continued Rodd, with a laugh; and then he stopped short.
“Well, why don’t you go on?”
“Oh, never mind. You wouldn’t like it. You are sensitive, and it might hurt your feelings.”
“I promise you it shall not. Tell me what the captain said.”
“Well, he said he wasn’t going to have any Frenchmen throw it in his teeth that he hadn’t done his best because it was a French boat, and that he was taking more pains over it than he should have done if it had been ours.”
Morny laughed.
“Oh yes,” he said, “I know he is doing his best, and I wouldn’t care, only my father is so anxious to get to sea again.”
“Well, all in good time,” cried Rodd. “They are fitting the copper sheathing on again, and to-morrow they will begin careening the brig over so as to get at the other side.”
“Ha! Yes,” said the French lad, with a sigh of satisfaction. “Well, you take your boat to-morrow, and plenty of men and ammunition, and go on a good long excursion.”
“Shan’t,” said Rodd gruffly.
“But why not?”
“Aren’t going without you.”
“What nonsense! I’m busy. You are free.”
“I am not. If we went away leaving you alone with a brig that won’t swim, who knows what would happen? The crocs would send the news all up and down the river that we were gone away, and come on at you with a rush.”
“That’s absurd! You talk like a boy.”
“Well, I am one. Yes, that is nonsense. But suppose a whole tribe of niggers came down out of the forest to attack you.”
“They couldn’t. You know yourself that the forest is impassable except to wild beasts.”
“Well, then, perhaps they would come down, or up—yes, up; they wouldn’t come down, and find you helpless, because we should meet them and come back to help you.”
“We could fight,” said Morny coolly, “and sink their canoes with the big guns.”
“What, when they are fast lashed to one side, and your deck all of a slope? No, we are not going, so don’t bother about it any more. Who knows but what there may be towns of savages right up inland, or up some other river farther along the coast? I dare say it’s a beautiful country—and there, I won’t hear another word. We are not going away to leave you in the lurch. Uncle said as much. He likes the Count too well.”
Morny laughed merrily.
“Why,” he said, “he’s always quarrelling with my father and hurting his feelings by the way in which he speaks about our great Emperor.”
“Stuff!” cried Rodd indignantly. “That’s only Uncle Paul’s way. He always talks like that when he gets on to politics. Why, I have a sham quarrel with him sometimes about Napoleon. I pretend that I admire him very much.”
“Pretend!” cried Morny eagerly.
“Well, I tell uncle that he was a very great general and soldier.”
“Yes, yes! Grand!” said the French lad, flushing.
“And that I shouldn’t have wondered at all if he had conquered the whole world.”
“Yes, yes!” cried Morny excitedly. “That was brave of you! And what did your uncle say?”
“Said I was a young scoundrel, and that if I wasn’t so big, and that he disliked corporal punishment, he’d give me a good thrashing to bring me to my senses.”
“And you—you—” cried Morny, grasping him by the arm, “what did you say to that?”
“Nothing at all. Only burst out laughing.”
“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.”
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 loudvivasat 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 acissinto 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 ofvivasagain 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 tovivaabout. 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 theMaid of Salcombewas 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.”
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 loudvivasat 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 acissinto 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 ofvivasagain 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 tovivaabout. 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 theMaid of Salcombewas 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.”