So he took from the interior of Baby Mine a tin saucer and a wooden float, as well as some powder in a small bottle. He poured a little of the latter upon the dish and set it upon the float. A match was applied to a short fuse. As soon as ignited, the powder cast a brilliant lurid glow over the wavelets, and we seemed to be floating in a literal sea of blood. In the midst of this—shall I ever forget that ludicrous sight?—was the captain, grimacing out of his hood like some horrid satyr, and wagging his two black paws like a great pair of ears. I can’t do the subject justice. Perhaps you may have dreamed of some such personage after taking a late and too hearty supper.
All of this time the captain had been standing upright in the water, head and shoulders out, looking as firm as though he was upon the bottom, although I knew the river must be at least forty feet deep where we were.
“Now you must learn how to stand,” said he; and after a few failures I was able to take an upright position or lie down at will.
The tide had soon carried us beyond the point and its fabled alligators, at which the captain laughed with contempt.
“Look at this knife,” cried he. “I’ve killed sharks with this, and wouldn’t be afraid to try it on an alligator.” He produced a long, peculiar Turkish blade from his belt, and made a lunge at an imaginary saurian.
The moon had now cleared the low-hanging mists of the night, and we could see our course fairly well. Ahead of us we noticed a second point, and oh, listen! out of its reeds there came the sound of some heavy body, and something black moved from the shore. It made an ominous splashing as it came towards us. Even the brave captain, forgetful of his knife and boast, eyed it dubiously. I shook all over; the water seemed to have suddenly become as cold as ice. Just then the captain’s cheerful laugh came like music to my ears.
“That isn’t an alligator;” he whispered, “it’s a darkey in a dug-out. Keep quiet, and we’ll have some fun.”
The captain quickly and silently produced his pan and red fire. We floated like logs on the water until the boatman had almost reached us, and then a sudden and unaccountable blaze sprang out of the waters before his horrified gaze, while two undoubted demons emerged and waved their arms towards him with horrid groans.
It was enough—far more than enough. With a screech of terror the black man sprang from his boat and struck out for shore, uttering dismal entreaties to “good Mister Debbil” not to “ketch him yet,” with every plunge; and despite our calls, he broke through the reeds, clambered up the bank, and was soon lost to hearing in the dense forest.