Chapter Ten.
In the Black Forest.
There was a fascination about that night scene which kept Brace and his brother on deck for hours trying to pierce the black darkness, and whenever they made up their minds that it was time to go down to their berths something was sure to happen in the mysterious forest depths or near at hand in the river.
One time it was a piercing cry as of someone in agony; at another a sneering, chuckling laugh taken up in a chorus as if by a mocking party of strange watchers, who, accustomed to the darkness, could see everything going on aboard the brig; whisperings; sounds of crawling creatures passing over sticky mud and wallowing impatiently in their efforts to get along; peculiar angry barkings uttered by the alligators; and a dreadful rustling in the trees, which Brace felt certain must be caused by huge serpents winding in and out amongst the branches.
He suggested this to the captains who uttered a grunt.
“Very likely,” he said. “They do creep about in that way after the monkeys. ’Tis their nature to. This is the sort of country for those gentlemen, both the dry ones and the wet ones.”
“I don’t understand you,” said Brace. “Oh, you mean the boas and the anacondas.”
“That’s right, squire, and I daresay we shall see some tidy big ones. Yes, that sounds like one working about. Ah! he struck at it and missed, I should say. Bit disappointing, for snakes like their suppers as well as other people, and I’m going down to have mine. Are you coming?”