“There must be plenty more wonderful birds here, uncle,” I said, “if we could stop in safety.”
“I am sure there are, Nat, and there is nothing I should like better than to stay here. It is a regular naturalist’s hunting-ground and full of treasures, if we dared thoroughly explore it.”
“Just now, uncle,” I said, “I feel as if I want to do nothing else but sit down and rest by a good dinner. Oh! I am so fagged!”
“Come along, then,” he said smiling, “and we will make straight for camp, and I dare say we can manage a good repast for your lordship. Home, Ebo. Eat—drink—sleep.”
“Eat—drink—sleep,” said Ebo nodding, for he knew what those three words meant, and carefully carrying the treasures we had shot, tied at regular distances along a stick, he trudged on in advance towards our hut upon the shore.
Chapter Forty One.
Our Terrible Losses.
We had only about three miles to go if we could have flown like birds; but the way lay in and out of rocks, with quite a little precipice to descend at times, so that the journey must have been double that length. The hope of a good meal, however, made us trudge on, and after a few stops to rest I saw that we must now be nearing the shore, for the ground was much more level.