“Our boat, uncle?”
“Yes, Nat; while you have been staring about at the heathen I have been busy looking out for a boat, and I have found one that I think will do. Come and see.”
I went with him to a creek outside the busiest part of the town, where the principal part of the people seemed to be fishermen, and here, after threading our way amongst dozens of clumsy-looking boats, my uncle showed me one that I should have thought would be the last to suit us.
“Why, you don’t admire my choice, Nat!” he said smiling.
“It is such a common-looking thing, and it isn’t painted,” I replied.
“No, my boy, but it is well varnished with native resin. It is Malay built, very strong, and the mast and sails are well-made, though rough; better still, it will carry us, and a man or two for crew if we like, and give plenty of room for our treasures as well.”
“But it is differently rigged to the boats on the Thames, uncle,” I said disparagingly.
“Naturally, my boy,” he said laughing; “but the sails will require the same management.”
“And what an anchor, uncle!” I said. “Why, it is made of bamboo and a stone.”
“We can easily buy a small grapnel and some cord, Nat,” he said smiling; “and when you have found out how our boat will sail, you will think better of it, I am sure.”