“It sounds like an alligator splashing about in shallow water,” replied Brace.
“You’ve hit it first time, squire. It’s a big one lashing about with its tail to stun the fish so that they float up ready for his meal. That’s right, isn’t it, Mr Briscoe?”
“Quite,” said the American. “I’ve seen them doing it in the Mississippi swamps; but they were only small ones, five or six feet long. This one sounds as if it were a thumper.”
“Yes,” said Sir Humphrey, “I suppose there are monsters in these waters. Ah!” he continued, as the splashing grew louder; “that sounds like a warning to us not to think of bathing while we are up the river.”
“Bathing!” cried the captain. “I should think not. You can’t do it here, sir, for, besides alligators and different kinds of pike, these waters swarm with small fish that are always savagely hungry. The big ones are plentiful enough, but the little ones go in shoals and are as ready to attack as the others, and they have teeth like lancets, so take care.”
The splashing ceased, and this seemed to be the signal for fresh sounds to arise both up and down the river and from the forest depths on either bank, till the night seemed to be alive with a strange chorus, which, as Brace and his companions listened, culminated in a tremendous crash, followed by a dead silence.
“Whatever is that?” whispered Brace.
“Big tree tumbled,” said Briscoe carelessly.
“But there is no wind—there was no lightning.”
“No,” said the American, “but it had to tumble some time. You often hear that in the woods: they go on growing and growing for hundreds of years, and then they stop from old age and overgrowth, and begin to rot and rot, till all at once, night or day, the top’s too heavy for the bottom, and down they come. We’ll go and have a look at that one in the morning.”