The next moment the Count was giving orders for a rope to be passed down to the boat.

"Make fast, and come on board!" he shouted. "You'll never get back to-night."

The order came too late, for as he spoke another order was given out by Joe Cross, who had loosed the precarious hold he had with the boat-hook, as he shouted while giving the boat a thrust away—

"Now for it, my lads! Pull for all you know!"

Almost the next moment Rodd dimly saw that they were clear, and as the men tugged at their oars with all their might he dropped upon his knees in front of stroke, clapped his hands against the oar, and swinging with the man, thrust with all his force.

Five minutes of desperate tugging at the oars in the midst of darkness which seemed to rapidly increase. The men had rowed with all their force—not to get back to the schooner, but to reach the brig and one of her ropes that they knew would be thrown to their help; but to Rodd, as he strained his eyes from where he knelt striving to give force to the stroke oar, it was like catching so many glimpses, first of the brig's side, then of its stern, and then once more it was as if they were standing still in the water and the brig was rushing away.

"Steady, my lads! Don't break your hearts!" cried Joe Cross firmly, his voice ringing clearer out of the black silence. "It aren't to be done. Mid-stream's our game. If we try to get ashore we shall be among the branches, capsized in a moment, and—"

The sailor did not finish his speech then, but Rodd did to himself, and hot though he was with his exertions, a cold shiver seemed to run through him, as he mentally said—

"The crocodiles!"

"That's better, my lads. Just a steady pull, and I'll keep as I am with the boat-hook. We mustn't have a capsize."

"What are you going to do, Joe?" cried Rodd.

"Don't know, sir," said the man gruffly. "Perhaps you can tell me."

"I? No," cried Rodd.

"Ah! That's awkward," said the man. "I don't know what the skipper was about to set us on this job. That's the worst of being a sailor. They trains us up to 'bey orders directly they're guv, and we does them, but one never knows how to be right. I oughter ha' told the old man as this was more'n men could do; 'cause I half thought it were. But then I says to myself, the skipper knows best; and here we are in a nice hole."

"A nice hole!" cried Rodd angrily. "Why, we shall be swept out to sea."

"Looks like it, sir—I mean seems."

"But why not make for the shore, where we could catch hold of some of the overhanging branches?"

"I telled you, sir. 'Cause we should be capsized before we had time to wink. Steady, my lads—steady! It's no use to pull, Mr Rodd; four times as many of us couldn't stem a stream like this."

"Will they come down after us? Yes, my uncle is sure to."

"Not he, sir. It would be just about mad to try it, and our old man will be so wild at being caught like this that he won't let him stir. 'Sides that, sir, what are you talking about? How are they to know we have been swept away?"

"Because we don't come back, of course," cried Rodd angrily.

"That won't do, sir. Skipper knows, of course, after the way we went off, that it's just impossible."

"But the Count will tell him."

"Too far off for shouting, sir. You take my word for it that the skipper will make up his mind that we are stopping on board the brig till the tide runs slack again. If anything's done it will be by the Frenchies, and I don't believe they'll try."

"Oh, but the Count would. His son would make him."

"No, sir. The Count's a fine naval officer who has seen service, and he knows too well what he's about to send a boat's crew swirling down this river to go nobody knows where. The only folks as can help us is—"

"Yes—who?" cried Rodd, for the man broke off in his speech.

"Ourselves, sir; and we shall find it precious hard."

"That's right, Joe," said one of the other sailors. "Better speak out, mate, and say the worst on it."

"Say it yourselves," cried Joe Cross roughly.

"Yes, speak out," cried Rodd. "What do you think?"

"We can do nothing, sir, but keep her head straight and go down with the tide, doing all we can to keep from being sucked into the shore among the trees."

"But look here, Joe, aren't we very close in now?" cried Rodd, who had just noticed in the darkness that the sailor he addressed was leaning over the bows and straining his eyes in one particular direction.

For answer the man yelled to his messmates to pull with all their might.

The oars dipped, but at the second stroke there was a crashing rustling sound of twigs, followed by a sharp crackling and snapping, as they were swept in amongst the pendant branches of some huge forest tree, one bough striking Rodd across the shoulders and holding him as it were fast, so that the boat was being dragged from beneath him.

Then there was more grinding of the gunwale of the boat amongst the boughs, the water came swishing in over the side, and directly after the frail vessel partly turned over, with her keel lying sideways to the rushing tide.

Then more crackling and rustling amongst the boughs, mingled with shouting from the boat's crew, and from out of the confusion, and somewhere above him in the pitchy darkness and low-lying night mist, came the voice of Joe Cross—

"Now then, all of you! Where away?"

"Here!"

"Here!"

"All right, mate!"

"Lend a hand, some one!"

"Are you all here?" cried Joe Cross again.

"Ay, ay, ay, ay!" came in chorus.

"But I don't hear the young guvnor."

There was silence.

"Where's Mr Rodd?"

A moment's pause, and then—

"Mr Rodd! Ahoy!"

"Here, Joe, here!" came in half-suffocated tones.

"Wheer, my lad?" cried the man excitedly.

"Here! Here! Help!"

"But where's yer here, lad? I can't see you.—Can any of you? Oh, look alive, some on you! Get hold of the boy anywhere—arms or legs or anything—and hold on like grim death."

There was a sharp rustling of leaves and twigs which pretty well drowned Rodd's answer—

"I'm down here."

"Where's down here, my lad? Are you under the boat?"

"No, no. Hanging to a bough, with the water up to my chest, and something's tugging at me to drag me away."

"Oh, a-mussy me!" groaned the sailor. "Why aren't it to-morrow morning and sun up? Can't any of you see him?"

"No, no, no, no!" came back, almost as dismally as groans.

"Well, can't you feel him, then?"

"No."

"I am here, Joe—here!" panted the lad. "Higher up the river than you are. A big branch swept me out of the boat."

"Ah, yes, we went under it," groaned Joe. "Well, lads, he must be the other side of the tree. Here, where's that there boat? Can any of you see it?"

"No; we are all on us in the tree?"

"Well, I don't suppose you are swimming," roared Cross savagely. "Do something, some on you! Thinking of nothing but saving your own blessed lives! Are you going to let the poor lad drown?"

"Here, coxswain, why don't you tell us what to do?" snarled one of the men.

"How can I," yelled Joe, "when I don't know what to do mysen? Oh, don't I wish that I had got the skipper here! I'd let him have it warm!"

"Joe! Joe!" came out of the darkness. "I can't hold on! I can't hold on!"

"Yah, you young idgit!" roared the sailor. "You must!"

"I can't, Joe—I can't!" cried Rodd faintly, and there was a gurgling sputtering sound as if the water had washed over him.

"Oh-h!" groaned Joe. "Don't I tell you you must! Hold on by your arms and legs—your eyelids. Stick your teeth into the branch. We are a-coming, my lad.—Oh my! what a lie!" he muttered. Then aloud, and in a despairing tone, "Can any one of you get up again' the stream to where he is?"

"No!" came in a deep murmur. "If we go down we shall be washed away."

"Same here," groaned Joe. "I'm a-holding on with the water right up to the middle, and just about ready to be washed off. I can't stir. Oh, do one of you try and save the poor dear lad! I wish I was dead, I do!"

"Joe!" came faintly.

"Ay, ay, my lad!"

"Tell Uncle Paul—"

The words ended in a half-suffocated wailing cry, and almost the next moment there was a tremendous splashing of water, and the snapping of a good-sized branch, followed by sounds as of a struggle going on upon the surface of the rushing stream as it lapped and hissed amongst the tangled boughs and twigs.

"Hold hard!" yelled Joe. "Anywhere.—Got him, boys—urrrrr!—"

It was as if some savage beast had suddenly seized its prey. Then there was a loud panting and more crackling as of branches giving way, and directly after, in answer to a volley of inquiries, Joe Cross panted out—

"Yes, I've got him, my lads, and he's got his teeth into me; but I don't know how long we can hold on."

"You must hold on, Joe!" shouted a voice.

"Stick to him, messmate! I'm a-trying to get to you."

There was more crackling in the darkness, and a peculiar subdued sound as of men panting after running hard; but it was only the hard breathing of excitement.

"Have you got him still, Joe?" came in gasps.

"Yes, my lad, but he's awful still and I don't know that he aren't drowned.—No, he aren't, for he's got his teeth into my shoulder, and he's gripping hard. But the water keeps washing right up into my ear."

"Hoist him up a little higher," panted the other speaker.

"How can I? I've got my arm round him, but if I stir it means let go. What are you doing, mate?"

"Trying to get down to you, but as soon as I stir the bough begins to crack."

"Steady, mate, steady! I can't see you, but I can hear, and if you come down on us we are gone. Here, I say, it will be hours before it's morning, won't it?"

There was a groan in reply—a big groan formed by several voices in unison.

"But how long will it be before, the tide goes down and leaves us?"

There was no reply, and a dead silence fell upon the occupants clinging to different portions of the tree, all of whom had managed with the strength and activity of sailors to drag themselves up beyond the reach of the water and at varying distances from where Joe Cross clung with one messmate hanging just above his head.

"Well, look here, messmates," said Joe at last, "it's no use to make the worst on it. I've got the young skipper all right, and he's growing more lively, for he just give a kick. Now who's this 'ere? It's you, Harry Briggs, aren't it?"

"Ay, ay, mate; me and water, for I swallowed a lot before I got out of it."

"Now, look here; how are you holding on?"

"Hanging down'ards, my lad, with my hind legs tied in a knot round a big bough; and I keep on trying to get hold of you by the scruff, but I can't quite reach."

"Why, that's a-hinging like the bees used to do outside my old mother's skep. Well, you mustn't let go, my lad, else down you come."

"Well, I know that, mate," growled the man. "But I say, can't you reach up to my hands?"

"Yah! No!" growled Joe. "I've only got two. Can't you reach down a little further and get hold of my ears, or something?"

"My arms aren't spy-glasses, and they won't reach within a foot of you. Can any of you swarm out above us here?"

"No—no—no!" came in voice after voice, from points that were evidently fairly distant.

"Oh!" groaned the sailor addressed as Harry. "Fust time in my blessed life I ever wished I was a 'Merican monkey."

"What for, mate?" panted Joe.

"So as to make fast round this 'ere branch with my tail."

"Joe! Joe!" came in a low hoarse tone. "Where am I!"

"Well, you are here, my lad; but don't let go with your teeth. Take another good fast hold, but more outside like. Keep to the wool of the jumper—if you can."

"Hah! I recollect now. We are in the water, and I have got hold of you."

"That's right, my lad, and I'd say take a good fast holt of my hair, only Ikey Gregg scissored it off so short when it turned so hot that there's nothing to hold. But can you hyste yourself up a bit higher?"

"I'll try, Joe; but the water drags at me so. But, Joe, what are you holding on to?"

"What they'd call a arm of the tree, sir."

"But if I try to climb up you shan't I drag you loose?"

"Oh, I'm no consequence, my lad. If I'm washed off I shall get hold again somewheres. Never you mind me. There's Harry Briggs up aloft a-reaching down a couple of his hands. If you feel you've got stuff enough in you.—Take your time over it, my lad—you see if you can't swarm a bit up me and then stretch up and think you are at home trying to pick apples, till Harry gets a big grip of your wristies; and then you ought to be able to swarm up him. Now then, do you think you can try?"

"Yes, Joe; I think so," panted the boy. "That's right, my lad. I'd give you a lift, only I can't, for I'm in rotten anchorage, and we mustn't get adrift."

About a minute passed, in which little was heard but the whishing of the water through the leaves and twigs, and the sound of hard breathing. Then Joe spoke again—

"I don't want to hurry you, my lad, but if you think you can manage it I'd say, begin."

"I'm ready now, Joe," said the boy faintly. "But do you think you can hold on?"

"Aren't got time to think, my lad. You go on and do it. That's your job, and don't you think as it's a hard 'un. Just you fancy the doctor's yonder getting anxious about you, and then—up you goes."

"Yes, Joe," panted Rodd.

"And once you get hold of Harry Briggs' hands he'll draw you up a bit. He's a-hinging down like one of them there baboons, tail up'ards. Then, once he hystes you a bit, you get a good grip of him with your teeth anywhere that comes first. He won't mind. That'll set your hands free, and then up you goes bit by bit till you gets right into the tree."

"Yes, Joe; and then?"

"Well, my lad, then I'd set down striddling and have a rest."

"Below there! Ready!" cried Briggs. "I can't reach no further, youngster, but I think if you can climb up and grip we might manage it."

"Yes! Coming!" cried Rodd.

And then no one saw, and afterwards Rodd could hardly tell how he managed it, but with the water pressing him closer as he clung face to face with the partially submerged coxswain, he managed to scramble higher, clinging with arms and legs, till he occupied a hazardous position astride of the sailor's shoulder, holding on with his left hand and reaching up with his right, snatching for a few moments at nothing.

"Where are you, my lad?" came from above.

"Here! Here!" panted Rodd, and then, "Ah, it's of no use!"

As he spoke he felt himself going over, but at that moment his fingers touched the sleeve of a soft clinging jersey, a set of fingers gripped hard at his arm, and in a supreme effort he loosened his other hand, made a snatch, and then began swinging gently to and fro till another hand from above closed upon his jacket and lightened the strain.

"Got you, my lad!" came from overhead. "Now look here; I'm not going to hyste you up, 'cause I can't, but I am going to swing you back'ards and for'ards like a pendulo till you can touch this 'ere bough where I am hanging, and then go on till you can get your legs round it and hold fast. Understand?"

"Yes," panted Rodd.

"Now then. Belay, and when you get hold you shout."

It was the work of an acrobat, such as he would have achieved in doubt and despair.

The sailor began swinging the boy to and fro, to and fro, with more and more force, till Rodd felt his legs go crashing in amongst the thick twigs of the great bough that was drawn down by the weight of the two upon it a good deal below the horizontal.

"Harder!" he cried, as he swung back, and then as his legs went well in again he felt that a thick portion was passing between his knees, and thrusting forward his feet with all his might he forced them upwards and directly afterwards passed them one across the other in a desperate grip which left him dragging on the sailor's hands.

"Fast, my lad?"

"Yes."

"Can you hold on?"

"Yes."

"Then good luck to you!" cried the sailor, as, relieved of the boy's weight, he too swung head downwards for a moment or two, then with a quick effort wrenched himself upwards, got hold of the branch with both hands, and after hanging like a sloth for a few moments, succeeded in dragging himself upon the bough, which all the while was swaying heavily up and down and threatening to shake Rodd from where he hung, but at the same time inciting him so to fresh desperate action, that with all a boy's activity he too had succeeded in perching himself astride of the branch.

"All right, my lad?" cried Briggs.

"Ye-es!" came gaspingly.

"Then you wait a bit and get your wind, my lad.—Joe Cross! Ahoy!" he yelled, as if his messmate were half-a-mile away.

"Right ho!" came from below. "Where's the boy?"

"Here, Joe—here!" shouted Rodd, the sound of the man's voice seeming to send energy through him.

"Hah-h-h!" came from the sailor, and directly after from different parts of the tree there was a cheer.

"Now then, what about you, matey?" shouted Briggs.

"Well, I dunno yet, my lad; I'm just going to try and shape it round. I want to know where some of the others are, and whether if I let go I couldn't manage to make a scramble and swim so as to join a mate."

"No, no, no!" came in chorus. "Don't try it, lad. Aren't you safe where you are?"

"Well, I don't know about being safe," replied the sailor. "Mebbe I could hold on, but here's the water up to my chesty; and don't make a row, or you'll be letting some of those crocs know where I am. Look here, Mr Rodd, sir; are you all right?"

"Yes, Joe; I can sit here as long as I like.—That is," he added to himself, "if the branch doesn't break."

"Well, that's a comfort, sir. And what about you, Harry Briggs?"

"Well, I'm all right, mate; only a bit wet."

"Wet! You should feel me!" cried Cross, quite jocularly. "How about the rest on you?"

"Oh, we are up aloft here in the dark, mate," said one of the men. "I dunno as we should hurt so long as we didn't fall asleep."

"Oh, I wouldn't do that, mates," said Cross. "You might catch cold. You hang yourselves out as wide as you can, so as to get dry."

"But look here, Joe Cross," shouted Rodd, who was rapidly recovering his spirits, "you mustn't sit there in the water. Can't you manage to climb up?"

"Oh yes, sir, I can climb up easy enough, only it don't seem to me as there's anything to climb."

"But doesn't the branch you are sitting on go right up to the tree?"

"No, sir; it goes right down into it, and I'm sitting in a sort of fork, like a dicky bird as has been picking out a handy place for its nest."

"Then what are you going to try to do?"

"Nothing, sir, but think."

"Think?"

"Yes, sir—about what I'm going to say to the skipper if ever we gets back."

"Why, what can you say?"

"That's what I want to know, sir. I know what he'll say to me. He'll say, Look here, my lad, you were coxswain; I want to know what you have done with my gig."

"Ah, the boat!" said Rodd. "Do any of you know what's become of the boat?"

"I don't," said Briggs.

"Oh, she's half-way to South Ameriky by this time, sir," said Joe, "and I shall get all the credit of having lost her."

"Never mind about the boat, Joe."

"Well, sir, if you talk like that, I don't. But it's the skipper who will mind."

"It's nothing to do with him, Joe. It's uncle's boat; and it wasn't your fault."

"Thank you, sir. That's a bit comforting like, and warms one up a bit; but if it's all the same to you I'd raither not talk quite so much, for I don't know as crocs can hear, but if they can it mightn't be pleasant. Well, my lads, just another word; we have got to make the best of it and wait for daylight, and I suppose by that time the tide will have gone right down, and some on you will be getting dry."

There was silence then, and the men sat holding on to their precarious perches, listening to an occasional sound from the river or the shore, loud splashings right away out in the direction of what they supposed to be the main current, and an occasional trumpeting wail or shriek from the forest—sounds that chilled and produced blood-curdling sensations at the first, but to which the men became more and more accustomed as the hours slowly glided on.

"Look here," said Joe Cross, at last, "because I said I didn't want to talk, that wasn't meant for you who are all right up above the water. It's bad enough to be keeping a watch like this on a dark night, but that is no reason why you chaps shouldn't tell stories and talk and say something to cheer Mr Rodd up a bit. He had about the worst of it, swep' out of the boat as he was. So let go, some on you. You've got to do something, as you can't go to sleep. But I tell you one thing; you chaps are all much better off than I am. I shan't fall out of my bunk on the top of any of you. But look here, Harry Briggs, you always want a lot of stirring up before one can get you to move. Now then; you have got a bit of pipe of your own. Sing us a song. Good cheery one, with a chorus—one that Mr Rodd can pick up and chime in. Now then, let go."

"Who's a-going to sing with the water dripping down out of his toes?"

"Why, you, mate," cried Joe. "There, get on with you. You chaps as knows the best songs always wants the most stirring up, pretending to be bashful, when you want to begin all the time!"

"I tell you I don't, mate. I'm too cold."

"Then heave ahead, and that'll warm you up. You tell him he is to sing, Mr Rodd, sir. You're skipper now, and he must obey orders. It'll do us all good."

"Well," said Rodd, "it doesn't seem a very cheerful time to ask people to sing in the dark; but perhaps it will brighten us all up."

"Ay, ay, sir!" came from the rest.

"Am I to, Mr Rodd?" said the man appealingly; and after a little more pressing he struck up in a good musical tenor the old-fashioned sea song of "The Mermaid," with its refrain of—

"We jolly sailor boys were up, up aloft, And the land lubbers lying down below, below, below, And the land lubbers lying down below!"

right on through the several verses, telling of the sailors' superstition regarding its being unlucky to see a mermaid with a comb and a glass in her hand, when starting upon a voyage, right on to the piteous cry of the sailor boy about his mother in Portsmouth town, and how that night she would weep for him, till the song ended with the account of how the ship went down and was sunk in the bottom of the sea.

It was a wild sad air, sung there in the branches of that tree amidst the darkness and night mist, and in spite of a certain beauty in the melody the singer's voice assumed a more and more saddened tone, till he finished with the water seeming to hiss more loudly through the lower branches and the inundated trunks around, and then there was a sharp slapping noise on the surface of the stream that might very well have been taken for plaudits.

Then there was a strange braying sound like a weirdly discordant fit of laughter; and then perfect silence, with the darkness more profound than ever.

"I'm blessed!" came at last from Joe. "Hark at him, Mr Rodd. He calls hisself a messmate! Ast him, I did, to sing us a song to cheer us up. Why, it was bad enough to play for a monkey's funeral march. It's all very well for you others to join in your chorus about jolly sailor boys sitting up aloft, but what about poor me sitting all the time in a cold hipsy bath, as they calls it in hospitals, expecting every moment to feel the young crocs a-tackling my toes? Why, it's enough to make a fellow call out for a clean pocket-handkerchy. Here, some on you, set to and spin us a yarn to take the taste of that out of our mouths."



CHAPTER THIRTY SIX.

THE DOCTOR PRESCRIBES.

And so that awful night wore on, one story bringing forth another, and the spinning of one yarn being followed by the spinning of one perhaps longer.

It was anything to relieve the terrible tedium and beguile their thoughts from the peril in which they were placed. The lapse of time was discussed, and the possibility of the slackening of the furious flow of the falling river so that a boat might come down in search of the unfortunates, but to a man all came to the conclusion that nothing could be expected until daylight, and that they must bear their fate as best they might.

The most cheerful thing that fell to their lot during the weary hours was the announcement made from time to time by Joe Cross, that the water was sinking a little lower and a little lower, so that he had room to hope that after a while he too would be able to, as he put it, drip himself dry.

But the monotony was terrible, and the morning seemed as if it would never come. For it was far different from being in the temperate region of the world, where in the summer months the darkness was slow to come and was succeeded by a very early dawn. There in that tropical southern land they were where the twenty-four-hours day was pretty equally divided into light and darkness, with scarcely any twilight to soften down the division.

But still as everything comes to those who wait, so it was there, and Joe Cross announced at last that he was sitting quite clear of the water, and therefore, as he judged it, they had not very much longer to wait before it would be day.

But he was wrong. What seemed to be an interminable time elapsed before the watchers could see for certain that a faint light seemed to be piercing the dense grey mist that covered the river. But this did at last become a certainty.

Before long, on one side, grey and grim-looking beneath a heavy mist, the great river could be seen gliding steadily along, while away to their right rose the primeval forest, rising as it were out of a sea of shadow.

The change came quickly then through a rapid twilight to the bright rays of the sunshine, which seemed to attack the river mist, piercing it through and through, routing it, and sending it in clouds rolling along the stream, while, now glistening and muddy, the banks showed out beyond the trees amidst which the huge monarch in which they had taken refuge stood towering almost alone.

"Why, we must have come inshore for some distance last night," cried Rodd, in wonder.

"Ay, my lad. Banks flooded. High tide perhaps," said Joe bluffly. "Well, the sooner we gets down into this mud and stretches our legs the better; and if they don't come down in the boats, how we are going to get back is more than I know."

"Look! Look yonder!" cried Rodd, as, sweeping the park-like stretch around him, he suddenly caught sight of an object that filled his breast with joy.

"Three cheers, my lads," shouted Joe, waving his hand, "and—Oh, hold hard! Avast there! Gig's safe to have a hole through her bottom."

For there, about a hundred yards away, between the trees, lay something gleaming amongst the mud.

He could only see a portion, but that was enough, and one by one, stiff and cold, the unfortunate party lowered themselves down from their perches to drop into a thin surface of soft mud, the swift rush of the tide preventing it from accumulating to any depth.

Their fortune was better than they anticipated, for on reaching the boat's side it was to find that, though bottom upward, she had escaped any serious injury, the yielding boughs into which she had been swept having checked the force of the concussion and left her to glide from tangle of boughs to tangle, until she had been wedged into a huge fork and had from there slowly settled down.

But there was neither oar nor boat-hook, and the line fastened to her foremost thwart had been snapped in two.

"All her tackle gone," said Joe grimly. "Well, we must try and find and hack off some big bamboo canes with our jack-knives, and then try if we can't punt her up against the tide, which ought to be pretty slack by now—that is, if they don't come to find us."

"But look here, Joe," cried Rodd, as he stood shading his eyes from the horizontal sunbeams; "there's the river, and the mist's rolling along with the tide. Here, I'm puzzled. Which way did we come?"

"Why, that's plain enough, Mr Rodd, sir. Down with the stream yon way."

"But that must be down-stream."

"Nay, not it, my lad. The river winds, and so did my head. Here, I'm all of a maze still. No, I aren't. Here, I'm blest! Why, you are right, sir. That is up-stream, and—Hooray, my lads! One pole will do, to steer. We are going to be carried back again, for the tide's turned and running up steady."

A very little search resulted in their coming upon a bed of canes, out of which four were cut and trimmed, supplying them with good stout poles twelve or fourteen feet long, and laying these along the thwarts the men, glad now of the exercise to drive out the chill, insisted upon Rodd getting into the boat while they waded through the mud by her side, half lifting, half thrusting, and succeeded at last in getting her to where a sloping portion of the bank ran down to the river.

"Now all together, my lads," cried Joe. "Keep step, and hold her well in hand, for she'll soon begin to slide; and as soon as she reaches the water, jump in. Make ready. I'll give the word."

"Stop!" shouted Rodd. "What about the crocodiles?"

"Oh, murder!" cried Joe. "I forgot all about them. Well, never mind. This aren't no time to be nice. It's got to be done, so here goes."

Rodd seized one of the poles, and going right to the bows knelt down in the bottom, and holding the pole lance fashion, prepared to try and use it.

"That won't be no good, my lad," cried Joe. "Now, my lads—one, two, three! Off she goes!"

They ran the gig quickly down the muddy slope, and as they touched the water and the foremost part began to float they took another step or two, gave her a final thrust, and sprang in, just as Rodd realised the truth of the sailor's words, for as they glided out with tremendous force, before they were a dozen yards from the water's edge the gig's stem collided just behind two muddy-looking prominences that appeared above the surface of the water, and as the shock sent the boy backwards over the next thwart the boat, which was bounding up and down with the result of the men springing in, received another shock from something dark which rose out of the water, and then they glided on past a tremendous ebullition and were carried onward by the rising tide.

"Here, let me come, Mr Rodd," cried Joe Cross, as he scrambled forward. "Here, catch hold, sir, and help me drag my jersey over my head. The brute's stove us in, and if I don't look sharp—Pull, sir, pull—right over my head! That's got it," he cried, and he set to work thrusting the woollen knitted shirt bit by bit along between the edges of two of the planks, through which the water was rapidly gurgling in. "There," he said; "that'll keep some on it out; but don't all on you stand looking at me as if I was playing a conjuring trick. Get a couple of those poles over the sides. Nay, nay, it's no use to try to punt. Dessay the water's fathoms deep. Just keep her head straight, and let the tide carry us on. Look out, my lads! There's another of them up yonder. See, Mr Rodd, sir—them two nubbles? Them's his eyes. He just keeps his beautiful muddy carcase all hid under water and squints along the top with them pretty peepers of hisn to look out for his breakfast. Keep back, sir; I believe he's coming on at us, big as the boat is. Oh, this is a pretty place, upon my word! He means me, because he can see my white skin."

Instead of answering, Rodd picked up the bamboo pole, which had been jerked from his hands when they encountered the other reptile.

Three of the men followed his example of holding them ready to strike at what they could see of the crocodile, and as they were carried closer by the tide and Rodd could just make out below the muddy surface that the water was being stirred by the undulation of the tail of the monster, which was apparently fourteen or fifteen feet long, three poles were sharply thrust together, two of them coming in contact with the creature's head just behind its eyes.

The blows were heavy, having behind them the weight and impetus of the loaded boat, and once more there was a tremendous swirl in the water, as the crocodile raised its head right out, turned completely over, displaying its pallid buff under portion, and then curved itself over, and in the act of diving down threw up its tail and struck the surface of the water with a blow that deluged the occupants of the cutter with spray.

"Well," cried Joe, as the boat glided on, "I don't know what you chaps think of it, but I am getting warm again, and I call this 'ere sport. But I say, Mr Rodd, I am beginning to wish you was aboard the Maid of Salcombe, and you'd took me with you."

"Same 'ere, sir," cried the men, in chorus.

"See any more, Mr Rodd?"

"No, not yet, Joe."

"Well, there's no hurry, sir. Let's get our breath. But do you call this 'ere fishing or shooting?"

"There's another," cried Rodd excitedly; "but it's going the other way."

"Got to know perhaps, sir, how we upset t'other. But we can spare him, for I'll be bound to say there's plenty more of them. Now I wonder what they are all for—pretty creatures!"

"What they are for, Joe?" cried Rodd, without taking his eyes from the surface of the muddy stream which was carrying them onward.

"Yes, sir; I don't see as they are much good. I say, there's another one! No, he's ducked his head down. Ah, he's coming up again. Look out, my lads!" cried the man. "I wish there was another pole. There's nothing left for me but my knife, and they are as hard as shoehorns, I know. I don't want to break my whittle against his skin. No, he's going to let us go by. Ah! Look out!"

For as they drew nearer the sun flashed off the reptile's muddy skin, and they could see it glide round rapidly and strike two tremendous blows on the surface with its serrated tail—blows that had been probably directed at the boat, but which fell short, while in its blind stupidity it kept on thrashing the water several times after the vessel had passed.

"Ahoy! Ahoy!" came from somewhere, seeming to echo from the trees that covered the bank.

"Ahoy! Ahoy!" shouted Joe Cross back. "Why, that means help, sir. The brig must be lying there, just round that bend beyond the trees."

"Oh no," cried Rodd excitedly. "We must have gone down miles with the tide."

"Ahoy! Ahoy!" came again. "Boat ahoy!" from somewhere out of sight; and glancing back Rodd made out that they were passing along what seemed to be a rapid bend.

"Ahoy!" was shouted back, and then all at once, to the astonishment of the sufferers, a couple of boats came into sight from right astern, their occupants sending the spray flying as they bent to their oars and seemed to be racing to overtake the gig.

For the moment the boats, quite a quarter of a mile behind, took up all their attention, and Rodd stood up in the bows waving his hand wildly.

"There's Uncle Paul, and the skipper, in one!" he cried.

"Ay, ay, my lad; that's our old man," shouted Joe.

"And there's the Count, and eight men rowing hard, in the other, but— but—oh, I say, Morny isn't there!"

"Oh, he's being skipper and taking care of the brig, sir," cried Joe sharply, as he noted the boy's disappointed tone of voice.

"No, he isn't," shouted Rodd, signalling with his pole, as he saw one of the rowers rise up in the brig's boat and begin waving an oar; "he's pulling with the men!" And his voice sounded hoarse and choking, while, realising this fact, the boy coughed loudly and forcibly, as if to clear his throat.

"Here, you've ketched a cold, Mr Rodd, sir," cried Joe. "But never mind them behind in the boats. They'll ketch us up soon. There's another of them beauties coming at us. The beggars do seem hungry this morning. We hardly seed any of them when we were coming up yesterday. Why, of course, this is their breakfast-time, and the sight of us has made them peckish. Now then, all together, lads! Let him have it."

Four poles were thrust together, with somewhat similar effects to those on the last occasion, for the onset of the great reptile was diverted, the boat's head turned aside, and the blows aimed at them by the creature's tail fell short, though to the men's dismay their efforts had driven them towards another of the monsters, which was gliding towards them from their left.

But here again they successfully turned the creature aside, and Rodd exclaimed—

"Suppose we missed!"

"Oh, the beggars are too big to miss, sir," cried Briggs. "But suppose we did; what then, sir?"

"I don't know," cried Rodd excitedly. "What do you say, Joe?"

"I don't know, sir. I never learned crocodile at school, though there was one in my spelling-book, and I 'member I couldn't understand why a four-legged chap like him, as lived in the water, should make a nest and lay eggs like a bird. Here, Harry, let me handle that pole for a few minutes. I should like to have a turn. Thank you, lad," he continued. "Yes, they're rum beasts, Mr Rodd, sir, and I dare say they are very slippery; but I don't suppose I shall miss the next one—Ah! Would yer!" he shouted as one of the reptiles rose suddenly, open-mouthed, close to the boat's head.

As the man spoke he made a heavy thrust with his pole, his companions having no time to take aim, and the next moment the hideous jaws snapped to, there was a fresh swirl, the bamboo pole was jerked out of Joe's hand, and he would have overbalanced himself and gone overboard had not those nearest to him seized him and snatched him back.

"Well, now," he cried, "just look at that!" For about half of the bamboo remained visible and went sailing up the stream.

Just then there was the sharp report of a gun from behind, followed by another, while before there was time for re-loading there was the loud crack, crack of a double fowling-piece.

"Hurrah! That's uncle!" cried Rodd. "They are firing at the crocodiles, and it will be with bullets."

"And sarve them jolly well right, Mr Rodd, say I," cried Joe, "for I call it taking a mean advantage of a man to sneak off like that with his pole. Why, look at him, sir. He's having a regular lark with it— picking his teeth, or something. Look how he's waggling the top of it about. What do you say to try and steer after him and get it back?"

"Ugh! No!" cried Rodd. "It would be madness."

"Well, not quite so bad as that, sir. Say about half-cracked; and that's about what I'm beginning to think. I say, they are getting all the fun behind there."

"Look out; here comes another!" cried Rodd, for there was a pair of eyes in front gliding rapidly towards them just above the water, but apparently not satisfied with the appearance of the boat, or perhaps less ravenous, the two prominences softly disappeared before they were close up, and Joe Cross, evidently divining what might happen, suddenly caught Rodd round the waist and forced him down into the bottom of the boat.

"Look out, my lads!" he yelled.

As he spoke the hinder part of the boat began slowly to rise, showing that they were gliding right over a reptile's back. Then it was turned to starboard, the water coming almost to the edge; but as it glided on it began to sink to the level again, just as it received a heavy shock from below and was driven forward with a jerk just far enough to escape a blow from a serrated tail which rose astern and showered the water over them in so much blinding spray.

"Here, ahoy there!" shouted Joe. "Look alive, and bring up them guns! There's more sport up here than we want. I wouldn't care, Mr Rodd, if we had got our oars and my boat-hook. Nay, I don't know, though. It's just as well I haven't, for I should be getting it stuck perhaps, and never see that no more."

A few minutes after, while the firing was kept up from astern, the two boats came up on either side, and amidst the heartiest of congratulations Rodd cried—

"Ah, uncle, you have overtaken us at last! I am glad you have come!"

"Overtaken you, my boy! Why, we have been miles down the river towards the mouth. We started as soon as the tide was slack enough for us to leave the vessels. We must have passed you in the fog, and we were beginning to despair. But we came upon one of the sailors' caps hanging in a bough, when, thinking that perhaps we had gone too far, and Captain Chubb feeling sure that you had run ashore somewhere in the darkness, perhaps been carried right into the flooded forest, we came back and—"

He ceased speaking, took a quick aim over the side of the boat, and discharged the contents of his double gun into the head of a reptile which rose three or four yards away.

"The brutes!" he went on. "But there don't appear to be so many here. We seem to have been coming through quite a shoal."

"There's plenty of them," growled the skipper, "but three boats together scares them a bit. Here, my lads, lay hold of this line and make fast, and we will give you a tow back to the schooner. We shan't be long getting up to it with this tide. Why, hallo here! Not content with losing the oars and boat-hook, you've been and got the gig stove in! And the grapnel gone too! Here, you Joe Cross, what's the meaning of all this?"

"I'll tell you about that, captain, by and by," said Rodd quickly. "What's that? You want to come aboard, Morny? No, you had better not. It's all muddy, and we shall have to begin baling. Pitch us in a couple of tins."

"I'll bring them," cried the young Frenchman, rising in the boat.—"Yes, my father, I wish to go. Hook on, and let me get aboard," he continued to the French coxswain.

Half-an-hour later, with the men taking it in turns to bale, and with the crocodiles seeming to have become more scarce, they ran up alongside of the two anchored vessels, cheering and being cheered from the moment they came into sight.

"Now, my lads," cried the doctor, "every one of you take what I'll mix up for you directly, and have a good bathe and rub down. I am not going to have you all down with fever if I can stave it off."



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. Laches! 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, Senor 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, senores; 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, senor," replied the man hurriedly—or what sounded like it.

"Never mind, then," said the doctor. "I'll send your skipper some powder to-morrow."

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

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

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

"What does he want? Some gunpowder?" said the Count.

"Yes. I promised him a present of a few pound canisters."

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

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

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

"What's Shakespeare got to do with that fierce-looking Spaniard using his knife, uncle?"

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

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

"No, no; stop there, Rodd! That's my shot. I saw the brute first."

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

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

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

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

"Yes, uncle."

"Well, didn't our knife-armed Spaniard roar to us as gently as—"

Bang.

"Got him!" cried the doctor.

"No, no; a miss," cried Rodd.

Bang, again.

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

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

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

"I believe he goes on smoking when he's asleep, uncle," said Rodd.

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

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

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