Then the king laughed, and the boys laughed again, and distributed some more acid-rock sticks, of which his majesty highly approved. Then he gave the word, the rowers dipped their paddles, and six men propelled the canoe pretty swiftly.
“I say, Dick,” whispered Jack, “black kings are not such bad fellows after all, are they?”
“Not at all. I like this one. But don’t whisper; it will make him think we are talking about him. How many cartridges have you got?”
“Twenty four. How many have you?”
“Two dozen.”
The boys laughed and compared their cartridges, when the king, who had felt suspicious of their whispering, also smiled, and took great interest in the breech-loading guns, exhibiting quite a childish delight in seeing the breech opened, and in being able to look right through the shining barrels. After which he had the pleasure of thrusting in the cartridges with his own fingers; but when they were closed he expressed his opinion that they were not safe.
Meanwhile, after being propelled for some distance up the great river, the canoes were turned off into a side stream of no great width, and whose sluggish waters serpentined amidst muddy beds of reeds, with a palm-tree raising its ornamental fronds here and there to relieve the monotony of the scene.
The canes and reeds seemed to swarm with ducks and other water-fowl; and here and there, riding in the calm reaches, they saw for the first time that curious water-bird, the darter, swimming with its body nearly submerged, and its long, snaky neck ready to dart its keen bill with almost lightning rapidity at the tiny fish upon which it fed.
“Oh! what a splendid place for a day’s fishing, Dick!” whispered Jack. “This place must swarm, I know. I wish I had brought the tackle.”
“There’s something more interesting than fishing to see,” replied Dick. “Look! look!”