What had he got? Something eatable, I felt, for he was always hungry; and to obtain this we had lost our raft, and should have all the work to do over again.
“Hush!” I whispered, angrily; “you will be heard.”
“Done matter now,” came from close at hand, though I could see nothing yet. “Pomp fine um.”
I struggled out of the low brushwood, and came into a more open part of the bank, and there stood in astonishment, to find my companion dancing with delight, and pointing to where, six feet above my head, just as it had been left by the subsiding of the water, and on a nearly even keel, was the lost boat, perched among the bushes, and apparently none the worse for its journey.
“Oh, Pomp!” I cried, as excited now as he, “this is a find.”
“See juss lit’ bit ob um back up dah, Mass’ George,” he said. “Come try and get um down.”
I beat and pressed down the bushes as much as I could, and together we reached the stern of the boat; but as I touched it a fresh thought arose to damp my spirits.
There was the boat, but in what condition was it? It did not seem possible that it could have been drifting about in that flood and left here without damage—a hole made by some jagged projecting tree branch, or a plank started.
“Now den, Mass’ George, pull.”
I dragged at the stem, and then uttered a warning cry and threw myself back, for the boat was so lightly perched on the bushes that it came down with a rush, and as we started up again, and examined it, as far as I could see it was completely uninjured, and even the oars were in their places beneath the thwarts.