“I should hope not. Oh no! these trees only grow where they can feel the sea-water, I believe. As we get higher up, where the river begins to be fresh, we shall see a change.”
“But it’s all so still. No fish, no birds, and no chance of seeing the animals for those trees.”
“Patience, my lad, patience.”
“But hadn’t we better get out the guns and cartridges, or the fishing-tackle?”
“Nothing to shoot as yet, nothing to catch, I should say; but we’ll have out a gun soon. Any fish to be caught here with a line, Hamet?”
The nearest of the Malay boatmen smiled, ceased rowing, and said in fairly good English, but with a peculiar accent: “Few; not many. Shrimps when the water is low.”
“Oh! but we can’t fish for shrimps without a net,” said Ned, contemptuously; “and that’s stupid sport. I did fish with a net once down in Devonshire, but I did not want to do it again. Why, I should have thought a river like this would have been full of something.”
“Hah!” said the Malay, pointing, and Ned followed the direction indicated by the man’s long brown finger.
“Eh? what?” said the boy, staring across the water. “What is it—a bird? where?”
“Don’t you see. There, fifty yards away, on the surface of the water?”