“Off to the town, captain,” replied Don, “to search for old Salambo among his idols. That is, if you'll let Spottie here come with us as pilot.”
“Spottie” was the nickname with which they had dubbed the captain's black servant, whose face was deeply pitted from smallpox.
“Right, lads; he's been here afore, an' knows the lay o' the land; so take him in tow, and welcome,” was the captain's hearty rejoinder. “An' stow your knives away amidships, in case of emargency like; though blow me if they ever take ye for aught but genewine lying niggers!”
Concealing their knives about their persons in accordance with this advice, they launched the lascar's ballam upon the creek—which the captain assured them expanded a little further inland into a broad lagoon, too deep to ford—and so set out.. The paddle had been removed; but as the creek appeared to have nowhere, in its upper reaches at any rate, a greater depth than half-a-dozen feet, the boathook served admirably as, a substitute for propelling the canoe.
“What's the line for, Spottie?” Jack asked, seeing their guide throw a coil of small rope into the canoe, which he afterwards boarded in person and shoved off.
“Turkle, sar,” replied Spottie. “Plenty time me catching big turkle asleep on sand. He no come in ballam, so me taking rope to tow him astern. Him bery nice soup making, sar,” said Spottie, who had always an eye to anything.
Little as they guessed it then, this line was to play a more unique and serviceable part in the day's adventures than that indicated by the soup-loving Spottie.
The creek, as the captain had intimated, presently expanded into a lagoon fully a quarter of a mile wide, and so shallow in parts that the canoe almost touched the amber-coloured sands over which it passed. Arrived at the further side, they drew the canoe upon the beach, and continued their route to the town by way of a steep jungle-path, which, in the course of some fifteen minutes' hard climbing, led them to the crest of the rocky ridge. Here they paused a moment to look about them.
To the left lay Haunted Pagoda Hill; on their right the colossal Elephant Rock; and, nestling at its base, the native town, with its sea of dun roofs and gleaming white temples. The stirring ramp of tom-toms, and the hoarse roar of the multitude, floated up to them as they stood contemplating the scene.
“Now for it!” cried Jack, heading the descent. “We'll soon be in the thick of it, anyhow.”