“Just cast your eye back, Mr Rodd, sir,” he said; “yonder there where the stream opened out it seems to me there’s a canoe with a couple of Indians in it. Nay, I mean blacks.”
“Yes; look, captain,” said Rodd eagerly; and the Spaniard slowly raised himself up from where he was leaning back, took his cigarette from his lips, shaded his eyes, and then after a cursory glance replaced the cigarette and sank back.
“Niggers,” he said. “Fishing.”
Then they rowed on, leaving the two occupants of the canoe behind, till, coming to what he considered to be a suitable place, the Spaniard suggested that they should stay there for their meal upon an open sandy little beach some fifty yards across, beyond which the forest rose dark and thick again.
“We can land and light a fire,” he said, “and make coffee and stretch our legs.”
“It would not be safe,” said the doctor, “to rig up a tent here, would it?”
“Oh yes,” said the captain. “The only thing to trouble us here might be a leopard or two; but a shot would scare them away.”
This was good news, and heartily welcomed by the whole party, and in a short time cooking was going on in the glowing embers of a fire, for which there was abundant fuel close at hand, while a canvas tent, strengthened by branches thrust deep in the sand, was cleverly contrived by the sailors.
“I say, Morny, this is something like!” cried Rodd, as they sat together watching the men finishing their meal, with their jovial contented faces lit up by the glowing fire which flashed and cast shadows and sent up golden clouds dotted with tiny spark-like embers, as it was made up from time to time, according to the Spanish captain’s suggestion that it would keep away all wild beasts and clear off the snakes.
“Yes; my legs were beginning to feel cramped. I wonder how my father is.”