“And you will take us there?” said Chumbley.
“Straight if the chief commands,” said Yusuf; and the boat was urged forward.
It was on the second day that the little boat was turned into the stream that had become familiar to the doctor, and he exclaimed at once:
“This won’t do. I know of that place. The chaplain is not there.”
“No, not there,” said Yusuf. “We shall see.”
The doctor gave a grunt of satisfaction, half an hour later, when, instead of following the windings of this minor stream, the sampan’s head was suddenly turned towards a dense mass of tall reeds, and the men paddled with all their might, driving the boat through the water-growth, and after a hundred yards of rough progression, they passed into a large lagoon, dotted with patches of a kind of lotus, and with other water-plants sufficiently beautiful to drive the doctor into raptures.
“But no,” he exclaimed; “I will not be tempted to botanise any more than I will be to look upon the spots where Sol—I mean—that is—”
“I say, doctor, we’ve been out over twelve hours,” drawled Chumbley, “and you haven’t yet said it once. Let it go.”
“Solomon’s ships came in search of gold!” cried the doctor, as if relieved.
“Well, they didn’t come here, doctor, or they would soon have been aground.”