I must draw in my horns, as the snail said to the blackbird; for it was not my intention to give an elaborate account of this great land of Llanos, of broad bright rivers studded with islands like emerald gems, of cayman-haunted creeks, of green savannahs, of waving palms, of deep dark forests surrounding many a lonesome gloomy leaden lake, and of mountains towering to the moon. No; see Venezuela for yourselves, boys. If you do, you can say afterwards that you have lived, should you never visit any other foreign land save itself.
Suffice it to say that, laden with the spoils of the chase, the Queen one beautiful forenoon brought our heroes safely back to the mouth of the great river Orinoco, and that their arrival was a scene of rejoicing.
Poor Admiral Jacko was worn and thin, for sadly had he missed his Ugly Duckling, and now sprang into his arms with a fond and plaintive cry, and in his own strange language told him a weary, weary tale.
It was delightful to get home again to the ship after all, and that night, after they had dined with the captain, Miguel being also a guest, our wanderers slept more soundly than they had done for many and many a day.
CHAPTER XXV.
PROMOTION.
I may tell my would-be or will-be sailor-boys, that time flies fast enough when one is serving in a pleasant and happy ship on a foreign shore. Just a little weariness and longing there may be for the first month or two, then one settles down.
You do not cease to think of home, however. As regards love of home, absence really makes the heart grow fonder. You think of it often and often when keeping your lonesome middle-watch, as you gaze upwards at the star-studded sky, or outwards far across the darkling sea, and you dream of it while rocked in your hammock or tiny cabin-cot; and somehow these dreams are nearly always pleasant. Then again, a dear delight it is to receive letters from home. The next greatest pleasure is in writing them.
Writing letters home, as far as the Royal Navy is concerned, is an occupation one should engage in at all odd moments. The letters should be ready to go at any time, for you never know when a chance may occur. A homeward-bound ship may be sighted and lie to, then aft and forward rings the cry, "Letters for home!"
If the midshipman of the watch or a bo's'n draws aside the gun-room curtain, and shouts "Any letters for England, gentlemen?" and you have not got yours ready, owing to a spirit of procrastination that lately dominated you,—well, you will be ready to bite the tip off your tongue. You will feel just real mad with yourself.