“Why, this ’ere, Mr Rodd, sir. Just you look, Dr Robson, and see what you think on it.”
“Of what, my man?”
“Why, this ’ere, sir, what I am asking you of. Can’t you see, Mr Rodd, sir?”
“I can see that we are gliding out of a muddy stream covered with green twigs and great tufts of jungle grass, into a big river flowing right across us and all thick with what seems to be a different-coloured mud.”
“That’s right, sir; and didn’t you see that splash, just as far off as you could look?”
“No, Joe.”
“Would you mind lending me that there glass of yourn, sir?” said Joe to the doctor, who passed the little field-glass to the man, whose hands trembled as he focussed it to suit his eye, and he once more stood up in the boat and swept the water as far as he could see.
“Thank you, sir,” he said, handing it back. “Perhaps you would like to have a look yourself. But it’s all right, gentlemen, and my lads. Them’s crocs out yonder, and we have been washed out into the big river again with no more trouble; and if we don’t see our brig and our schooner again before many hours, why, my name aren’t Joe!”