At sundown, having covered some twenty-two miles, and made, as Tom considered, very satisfactory progress for the day, he ordered the men to run the canoe up a creek that promised well as a halting-place. After a good supper, they went on shore to find sleeping quarters for themselves, and in a very short time ran up a wattled hut, and built fires round it to keep off lions and other undesirable visitors. Tom wrapt himself in a rug, gave another to Mbutu, and settled himself to sleep in the stern of the canoe. He was kept awake for some time by the bright moonlight, the splashes of fish, quaint creakings and groanings from the trees, the grunt of rhinoceroses, the strange whine and sighing cough of crocodiles, and the inevitable howl of jackals. He fell asleep at last.
Mbutu, meanwhile, sat in the bows, dreamily watching the shimmer of the moonbeams on the water, and pondering on his wonderful luck in the change of masters. He was just dozing off to sleep when he noticed a dark form edging along the bank. A swift glance showed him that it was a crocodile, leaving on its nightly prowl for food. It slid noiselessly into the water, and, thinking that the beast was making for the opposite bank, Mbutu paid no further attention to it. But suddenly he became aware of a small dark object approaching the canoe. There was not a sound nor even a ripple on the water; but one glance was enough to a boy born and bred as Mbutu had been in the African wilds. It was the snout of the crocodile! At the same moment he observed with horror that his master, restless in his sleep, had thrown one arm over the side of the canoe, and that the hideous jaws of the reptile were within a few feet of snapping distance. Quick as thought he stooped, clutched at the rope mooring the canoe to a small overhanging acacia, and pulled with all his strength. The canoe lurched forward, striking heavily against the bulging root of the tree,--and Tom awoke with a start, to see Mbutu smite the crocodile savagely over the head with a paddle.
"What is it?" he said sleepily.
"Sah nearly gobble up. Croc'dile berrah hungry. Arm berrah nice; soon all gone, sah."
Tom shivered.
"You're a brick, Mbutu," he said, "and your head's screwed on right. But for you!--ugh! it's horrid to think of!"
"Uncle, sah--" began Mbutu.
"Yes, yes; tell me all about him another time. Call up the crew. They must take turns at watching; and tell them to do it thoroughly."
No further hazards marred Tom's rest. In the morning, while Mbutu was preparing their simple breakfast, Tom strolled up the reddish hillside above the river to survey his surroundings, carrying the field-glass presented to him by Father Chevasse. At this spot the larger trees were absent, and the country around was for the most part flat and marshy, the dark-green broken here and there by patches of gaudy blossom and red clay soil. The hill commanded a view of the river for some two or three miles, but Tom could see little but reeds, the stream itself, indeed, being scarcely perceptible as it wound in and out among the aquatic vegetation. Some distance, however, in the direction from which the canoe had come, there was a stretch of about a quarter of a mile of clear water, looking like a blue lake amid the green, and on this Tom's eye rested. Suddenly he saw a cloud rise up from the water, which he instantly judged to be a huge flock of water-fowl. Then a dark object appeared, slowly crossing the surface of the patch of blue towards him.
"Some hippo out catching the early worm," said Tom to himself, smiling afterwards as the inaptness of the phrase struck him. He raised the glass to his eyes. "No, it's not a hippo; it's a canoe! By Jove! what if it's the dago!"