Scene:--Daybreak on the unknown river. The stream is a good mile wide
here; its banks are lined with a cloudland of green, the great trees
trailing their branches in the water. A sand bar at one side, jutting
far out into the river, tall crimson ibises standing thereon like a
regiment of British soldiers. The mist of morning uprising everywhere
off the woods and off the water. One long red cloud in the east
heralding the approach of the god of day. Silence over all, except for
the dip of the oars--they are muffled--as our adventurers' boat rapidly
nears the shore to seek the friendly shelter of the tree-fringe.
"So far on our way, thank heaven," said Kenneth, as soon as the boat was
hidden and the party had landed on a little bank deeply bedded with
brown leaves.
"So far, and now for breakfast."
Yes, now for breakfast, reader, and a very frugal one it was; some
handfuls of boiled rice and a morsel of biscuit steeped in the water to
make it go down.
This had been their fare for days and days, but added thereto was the
fruit that Essequibo never failed to find.
Fish there were in this great river in abundance, fish that they had
plenty of means of catching too, but none of cooking without danger; for
smoke might betray their presence to an enemy more implacable and
merciless than the wildest beast in the jungle.
The long hot day passed drearily away. They sat or reclined mostly in a
circle, carrying on a conversation in voices but little over a whisper.
When the day was at its very hottest, when there was not a leaf stirring
in the branches above, when the monkeys that more than once had visited
them, creeping nearer and nearer with curious half-frightened gaze, had
sought the darkest, coolest nooks of the forest, and the--
"Strange bright birds on starry wing--"
had ceased their low plaintive songs, and sat open-mouthed and all
a-gasp on the boughs, then sleep stole over every one, and it was far
into the afternoon ere they awoke.
The sun went down at last, and darkness--a tropical darkness--very soon
followed. Lights might now be seen flitting about among the trees; the
fire-flies and curious creeping things went gliding hither and thither
on the ground, all ablaze with phosphorescent light. Yonder knobs of
fire that jump about so mysteriously are beetles; that long line of fire
wriggling snake-like at the tree foot is the dreaded brown centipede,
whose bite is death.
They must not leave their hiding-place yet though, for Logobo canoes are
still on the river. They must wait and listen for hours to come. But
they keep closer together now and grasp their arms sturdily, for lions
have awakened and begun to yawn; there are terrible yells and shrieks,
and coughing and groaning to be heard on every side, and many a plash
alongside in the dark water. Sometimes a huge bat drives right against
them, poisoning the air with pestiferous odour. Sometimes they see
starry eyeballs glaring at them from under the plantain bushes, and hear
the branches creak and crack, and the sound of stealthy footsteps near
them. It is an eeriesome place this to spend even half-an-hour in after
nightfall, but their only chance of safety lies in remaining perfectly
still, perfectly mute. At long last light shimmers in through the leafy
canopy above them, they know the moon has arisen, and it is time to be
going.
Once more they are embarked, and once more stealing silently up the
unknown river.
As the night advances, they are less cautious and talk more freely.
Earlier in the evening they had heard the beating of the warlike tom-tom
and the shouts of savage sentries, but now these are hushed and the
beasts and birds of the night alone are left to rend the ear with their
wild cries.
Hiding by day, and journeying silently onward and upward by night, our
heroes are in less than a week far past the country of the dreaded
Logobo men. Not that their dangers are over by any means, nor their
trials. There are dangers from beasts, from lion or leopard, and from
hideous reptiles, far more ugly than a nightmare, and these they must
often face, for the rapids in the river have now become numerous, and
they have to land and carry their light boat past them. But, on the
whole, they were so happy now and light-hearted that they often laughed
and joked and sang; and why not? Were they not marching on to fortune?
They believed so, at all events.
In the long dark evenings, round the camp fire, they would lie on their
blankets with their feet to the fire, and their guns not far off, you
may be well sure, and sing songs and tell stories of their far-away
native land. The flute, too, was put on duty, much to the delight of
little Essequibo, the nigger boy. Essequibo, or Keebo as he was called
for short, was at first inclined to be afraid of the flute; in fact,
when first he heard it, he turned three somersaults backwards and
disappeared in the jungle. He did not appear again for half-an-hour;
then he came out, and gradually and slowly and wonderingly advanced to
where Kenneth sat playing.
Keebo's eyes were as big as half-crown pieces, now, and he walked on
tip-toe, ready to bolt again at a moment's notice.
"Massa Kennie," he said plaintively, "Massa Kennie, what you raise
inside dis poor chile wid dat tube you blows into? You raisee de good
spirit or de ebil one? Tell me dat."
"The good spirit, Keebo," replied Kenneth; "listen."