“That wasn’t,” said the doctor, and as the smoke drifted away there was a burst of vivas again from the Spaniards as they saw their dangerous enemy writhing upon the surface with the contortions of an eel, as it turned and twined, and then lashed the water up into foam, till in a spasmodic effort it dived out of sight and was seen no more.
“Poor fellow!” said Joe Cross from the brig, in the most sympathetic of tones. “Such a fine handsome one too, Mr Rodd, sir! Talk about a smile, when he put his head out of the water, why, a tiger couldn’t touch it! It must have been three times as long.”
So the work went on, and the tyrants of the river perished slowly, but did not seem to shrink in numbers. But the carpentering party were able to do their work in safety, and when, after the interval for dinner had ended, Uncle Paul and his nephew carried on what Rodd called a reptilian execution, the Spaniard’s crew were lying about in the sunshine asleep upon their deck. They were too idle to take any interest in the shooting, while their captain, a rather marked object in the sunshine from the bright scarlet scarf about his waist, worn to keep up his snowy white duck trousers, lay upon the top of the big three-masted schooner’s deck-house with his face turned to the glowing sun, and with a cigarette always in his mouth.
“I believe he goes on smoking when he’s asleep, uncle,” said Rodd.
“Yes, Pickle, and if I were an artist and wanted to paint a representation of idleness, there’s just the model I should select. They are a lazy lot.”
“Yes, uncle, and twice over to-day I saw them talking together, and I feel sure that they were laughing at our men because they worked.”
No communication whatever took place between the strangers and the first occupants of the anchorage till after dark, when, as Rodd was leaning over the taffrail talking to Joe Cross, who said he was cooling himself down after a hot day’s work, the Spaniard’s boat was dimly seen putting off from the big schooner, and was rowed across, to come close alongside as Joe hailed her.
The Spanish skipper looked up, cigarette in mouth, and nodded to Rodd.
“You tell your ship-master,” he said, “that I have been thinking about the birds and the spotted leopards and the big monkeys. I know a place where they swarm. Good-night!” And at a word his boat was thrust off again and rowed back towards the gangway from which they came.
“Well, let ’em swarm,” said Joe Cross, as if talking to himself. “I don’t mind. This ’ere’s a savage country, and ’tis their nature to. He seems a rum sort of a buffer, Mr Rodd, sir. What does he mean by that? Was it Spanish chaff?”