“It is a pity,” said my uncle, “for I do not like the idea of parting bad friends, Nat, my boy. I’d give something if I could speak to the poor fellow in his own language and tell him that we are not ungrateful for all his kindness.”
“I often wish we could speak in their own tongue, uncle,” I said.
“Yes, Nat, but it is next to impossible, for there are fifty or sixty different dialects spoken. There, offer to shake hands with him again. You two were always such good friends.”
I offered my hand to the black chief, but he put his own behind him and pointed to the boat, as much, it seemed to me, as to say, “There, you’ve got all you want now; go away.”
My uncle tried with no better success, and as the natives were gathering about us we reluctantly got in where the beautiful canoe lay heaving on the sands as the great rollers came in.
Everything was in readiness, our boxes snugly stowed, our provisions ready, our guns in their waterproof cases, the sail lay ready for hoisting, and all that was wanted now was to wait until a good wave came in and then shove off and ride out on it as it retired.
The canoe was so large that I wondered whether we should be able to manage it ourselves; but I had full confidence in my uncle’s skill, and it seemed to me that my help now ought to be of some use. So I seized the pole that lay ready, and prepared to use it; but Mr Ebony, as we had somehow got into the habit of calling him now, said something to the little crowd on the sands, when, as he took the lead, eight or nine ran into the water, seized the boat by the sides, and ran her right out forty or fifty yards to where the water was up to their breasts, when, giving us a final thrust, away we went upon the top of a roller, my uncle hoisting the sail at the right moment, and we glided on.
I had seized a great paddle used for steering and taken care to keep the boat’s head right, laughing to myself the while, and wondering what my uncle would say when he turned round, for he was hauling up the sail and too busy to notice anything but his work.
When at last he did turn round, just as we had glided lightly a good five hundred yards from the shore, he cried out: “Hallo!”
For there, just in front of me, squatting down upon his heels and with all his white teeth displayed, was Mr Ebony, apparently quite at home, and without the slightest intention of going back.