“Yes, that’s right,” cried Brace: “a bird something like our English night-hawk that sits in the dark parts of the woods and makes a whirring sound; only it isn’t half so loud as this.”
“Well,” said the captain grudgingly, “perhaps you’re right. I’m not good at birds. I know a gull or a goose or turkey or chicken. I give in.”
The strange whirring sound as of machinery came and went again; but the maker was invisible, and attention was taken from it directly by a loud splash just astern.
“Fish!” cried Brace.
“Yes, that’s fish,” said the captain. “No mistake about that, and you may as well get your tackle to work, squire, for these rivers swarm with ’em, and some of them are good eating. Bit of fish would be a pleasant change if you can supply the cook.”
“But it’s too dark for fishing,” said Brace.
“Better chance of catching something,” said the captain. “But that isn’t fish; that’s something fishing.”
There was no need for the captain to draw attention to the fact, for those near him were straining their eyes towards the shore, from which a strange beating and splashing sound arose, but apparently from beyond the black bank of trees formed by the edge of the forest.
“There must be a lake on the other side of the bank,” said Brace eagerly.
“No,” replied the captain; “only one of the creeks that run inland among the trees. Come, do you know what that is?”