“Of course, and it’s better to be too particular than not particular enough. We should look well if we were taken by surprise. What was horrible, then?”
“I was thinking about those two Indians being seized and dragged down as I looked over the side, and of the possibility of a huge snake making a snatch at one, and then—ugh!”
“Were you?” said Briscoe, with a faint laugh. “Why, I was leaning over the side yonder, and I turned quite nervous with fancying something of the same kind. A bit cowardly, I suppose, but it would be an awful death.”
“Don’t talk about it,” said Brace. “If you’re cowardly in that way, I am. I never thought of these rivers being infested with such horrible creatures.”
“The worst being the crocodiles,” said Briscoe; “but they wouldn’t be out here in the swift stream. I should say that the place to beware of the serpents would be the shallow, still creeks in sunny parts of the forest, or in the pools of the swamps, where they lie half-torpid till some animal comes in to bathe or drink.”
“Hadn’t we better change the conversation?” said Brace, laughing. “What about the Indians? I don’t feel disposed to keep watch any more.”
“Why? The danger is as great as ever.”
“So is that of being laughed at for my false alarm.”
“Oh, you should not notice that. Let’s go forward again.”
As the pair walked to the bows it was to pass the men of the watch, the rest having gone quietly below again; and no one spoke or made allusion to what had taken place, so that Brace resumed his vigil in peace, till it was time for the relief to come on deck, when he descended, to find his brother sleeping so peacefully that, in spite of all efforts to the contrary, he could not finish the night by watching at Sir Humphrey’s side, for his head slowly sank sidewise as he sat upon the cabin locker, and then all was blank till there was a creaking noise in the adjacent cabin—a noise which made him start to his feet and look wonderingly around.