“Strong, Mas’r Harry! I could get a toller cask down out of a van. Well, it was like this: I was, as you know, in the gold canoe; and being on my knees, I was leaning over the side expecting you to swim off to me, and at last, as I thought, there you was, when I held out my hands and got hold of one of yours and the barrel of a gun with the other, when a thought struck me—
“‘Why, surely Mas’r Harry hadn’t his gun with him?’
“But it was no time, I thought, for bothering about trifles, with the night black as ink, and the Indians collected together upon the bank; so I did the best I could to help you, and the next minute there you was in the gold canoe, and not without nearly oversetting it, heavy-laden as she was—when I whispers, ‘You’d best take a paddle here, Mas’r Harry,’ when I felt two hands at my throat, my head bent back, a knee forced into my chest, and there in that black darkness I lay for a few minutes quite stupid, calling myself all the fools I could think of for helping someone on board that I knew now was not you.
“That was rather ticklish work, being choked as I was, Mas’r Harry,” said Tom, with his pale face flushing up, and his eyes brightening with the recollection; “but above all things, I couldn’t help feeling then that, if I did get a prick with a knife, I deserved it for being such a donkey. Then I got thinking about Sally Smith, and wishing that we had parted better friends; then about you and Miss Lilla, and about how all the gold would be lost; and then I turned savage, and seemed to see blood, as I made up my mind that, if you didn’t have the treasure, the Don shouldn’t, for I’d upset the canoe and sink it all first for the crockydiles.
“I don’t know what I said, and I don’t much recollect what I did, only that fox ever so long there was a reg’lar struggle going on, which made that little canoe rock so that I expected every moment it would be overset; but I s’pose we both meant that it shouldn’t: and at last we were lying quite still on the gold, with all round us black and quiet as my lord’s vault in the old churchyard at home. Garcia had got tight hold of my hands, and I kept him by that means so that he couldn’t use his sting—I mean his knife—you know, Mas’r Harry.
“It seemed to me at last that my best plan was to lie still and wait till he give me a chance; for after one or two struggles I only found that I was nowhere, and ever so much weaker; so I did lie still, waiting for a chance, and wondering that Mas’r Landell didn’t come and lend me a hand.
“All at once there came a horrible thought to me, and that was—ah! there were two horrible thoughts—that you had missed the canoe and had gone down, and that the raft had broke away from the gold canoe while we were jerking and rocking about, and that I was left alone here on this big river, with the Don waiting for a chance to send that knife of his through me.
“Now, you needn’t go thinking it was because I cared anything about you, Mas’r Harry,” continued Tom in a sulky voice, “for it wasn’t that: it was only just because I was a weak great booby, and got a wondering what your poor mother would say when I got home, and then, I couldn’t help it, if I didn’t get crying away like a great girl kep’ in at school, for I don’t know how long, and the canoe gliding away all the time on the river.
“Getting rid of all that warm water made me less soft; and when Mas’r Garcia got struggling again I give him two or three such wipes on the head as must have wound him up a bit; and then, after nearly having the boat over again, there we lay for hour after hour in the thick darkness, getting stiff as stiff, as we kep’ one another from doing mischief. And then at last came the light, with the fog hanging over the river, thick as the old washus at home when Sally Smith took off the copper-lid and got stirring up the clothes. Then the sun came cutting through the mist, chopping it up like golden wires through a cake of soap. There was the green stuff like a hedge on both sides of the river, the parrots a-screaming, the crockydiles crawling on to the mud-banks or floating down, the birds a-fishing, and all looking as bright as could be, while my heart was black as a furnace-hole, Mas’r Harry, and that black-looking Don was close aside me.
“I ain’t of a murderous disposition, Mas’r Harry, but I felt very nasty then, in that bright, clear morning, though all the time I was thinking what a nice place this world would be if it wasn’t for wild beasts, and men as makes themselves worse; for there was that Don’s eye saying as plain as could be:—