“Here,” he cried gruffly, “what d’ye mean by scaring a fellow like that?”
“It warn’t me,” cried Pete. “You said it was our ship coming after us.”
“Never mind, now,” said my uncle. “Set the fire going again, and get yourselves some breakfast; but don’t be in such a hurry to take fright next time. We’d better have our dinner at the same time, Nat; and if there’s any wind this evening we’ll sail southward.”
There was plenty of wind, and so quite early in the afternoon the anchor was placed on board, Pete tucked up his trousers and ran the boat out, and then scrambled in to help with the sail. Then, as the boat careened over and glided away, he and his companion gave a hearty cheer.
We sailed along the coast southward for days and days, always finding plenty to interest and a few specimens worth shooting, both Bill and Pete looking on with the most intense interest at the skinning and preserving, till one day the latter said confidently:
“I could do that, Mr Nat.”
“Very well,” I said; “you shall try with one of the next birds I shoot.”
“At last,” cried my uncle a day or two later, and, seizing the tiller, he steered the boat straight for a wide opening and into what seemed to be a lake, so surrounded were we by tropical trees.
But the current we met soon showed that we were at the mouth of a good-sized river, and the wind being in our favour, we ran up it a dozen miles or so before evening.
For a long time the shores right and left had been closing in, and our progress growing slower, for the forest, which had been at some distance, now came down to the water’s edge, the trees were bigger, and for the last two miles we had sailed very slowly, shut in as we were by the great walls of verdure which towered far above the top of our mast and completely shut out the wind.