“Sea-snake, I think,” said Oliver, eagerly, in answer to his companions’ questioning looks.
“Hear that, Billy?” whispered Smith, giving his friend a nudge.
“Oh, yes, I hear,” growled Wriggs; “says he thinks it’s a snake, but it warn’t. I see it, and it was a heel. Didn’t yer see how it tied itself up in a knot round the long-legged bird? I say, I mean to set a night-line, and ketch that gentleman. Heels is about the best fish to eat as swims.”
“But aren’t you going to wade across and fetch the crocodile over, Billy?”
“No, matey, I aren’t. ’Cause why? It’s much safer ashore.”
Chapter Eight.
Into the Mist.
The lagoon was skirted, and after rather a toilsome ascent among rocks half smothered in creepers, the edge of the forest was reached, and a halt called under the shade of a great fig-tree, among whose small, ripe fruits a flock of brilliant little scarlet and green lories were feeding; and here, seated about on the great, projecting roots, the party partook of a delicious meal, feasting their eyes at the same time upon the prospect around. For, from the elevation at which they now were, they were able to look right over the low land that had been swept by the vast wave, to where there was another slight elevation clothed with trees.