“Soft ain’t the word for it, sir. I’ve been going to make a swim on it over and over again. But it’s reg’lar hugga-my-buff, sir; neither one thing nor t’other. It’s too soft to walk in, and it ain’t soft enough to swim.”
“That’s true, Tom,” said the lad.
“Oh, you’ve found it so, have you, sir? Then look here; you arn’t so heavy as I am, so s’pose you comes to me ’stead o’ me coming to you. What do you say to that?”
“I’ll try, Tom,” cried Murray; and he began to descend, feeling the elastic evergreen begin to sway and vibrate as if before long it would double down with the weight of its load; and this it finally did, leaving the midshipman floundering on the surface of the cane and reed-covered swamp, so that it was only by a vigorous effort that he managed to scuffle along in the direction of the man, who kept on shouting encouragement until he was able to reach out a hand and drag the lad to his side.
“Hah!” panted Murray, with a sigh of relief.
“Hah it is, sir,” said the man. “But beg your pardon, sir; arn’t you a-spoiling your uniform?”
“Don’t talk about it, Tom,” said Murray, breathing hard. “Let’s be thankful that we’ve saved our lives.”
“Saved our lives! But have we, sir? Don’t seem to me that we’re out of the muddle yet. There, look at that!” added the man.
“Look at what?” cried Murray.
“I meant feel that, sir,” said the man, correcting himself, and stamping with one foot. “It felt just as if one of them short four-legged sarpints had laid hold of my leg to pull me down for supper.”