“Yes.”
“Well, we can’t go there, because between us and that place is the Cornwallis River, which just now is an abyss of mud, with a strong stream running at the bottom. So we’ll have to make an angle, and go up there toward the right, and go in a straight line to Cornwallis Bridge.. It will be two miles to the grass land, and another one to the bridge. So we’ll have two miles of mud.”
“I don’t believe the mud is any different from what we found in the other place.”
“It may not be,” said Bruce, “yet there may be air-holes. We’ve got so far to go that we may find almost anything—air-holes, quicksands, or anything else. Still, I don’t believe that we’ll meet with any.”
“Well, let’s wait till the tide gets down to the bows, and then start,” said Tom.
With this the boys prepared for their journey. These preparations consisted in nothing but getting some stout sticks, which they made by splitting up a board, and smoothing each piece with a knife. After this they informed Mr. Simmons of their intention. He looked aghast, and then told them that they would get too muddy.
At this they laughed, and said that they were covered with mud from their many experiences in the voyage, and couldn’t be much worse. So Mr. Simmons looked at them from head to foot, and then at himself. By this he discovered that the boys were in a comfortably muddy condition, and what was more, that he, Mr. Simmons, he himself, was decorated with many mud marks, which sadly marred the beauty of his black attire. This discovery filled him with such horror that he hurried below, where the sound of a brush in violent exercise showed the boys that he was trying to eradicate the stains, so as to prepare himself for a solemn entry into the village. He did not appear on deck again.
Captain Corbet, however, on learning their proposal, had much more to say about it.
He listened with staring eyes, and then declared that they all were crazy.
“Crazy? Why, ye’re mad as March hares! Do ye know that that there mud is full of air-holes, an’ inhospitable for man an’ beast? Horses air lost there every year. So air knows likewise. People shun it. Death lurks there. I wouldn’t go there for all the gold in Californy There’s quicksands, and there’s air-pots, and there’s holes of all kinds, there’s deep gulps that you can’t cross no how.”