From my state of half-slumber I was awakened by the voice of Joao, which, in a sort of half-whisper, was heard repeating,—
“Senhor! senhor!”
I looked up; Joao’s face was peeping in through an opening in the back of the toldo. There was an expression upon it that told me something was in the wind.
“Well, Joao, what is it?” I inquired.
“Is your gun loaded, senhor?”
“Yes,” I said, reaching forward and taking my double-barrelled piece from its rest—“what is it?”
“There’s a queer-looking creature ahead—may be a tapin or a jacare (crocodile); I can’t make it out—come and see, senhor.”
I crept forward to the entrance of the toldo, and looked in the direction pointed out by the captain, that is, down stream, and nearly ahead of our course.
There was a point of the island that jutted slightly into the water, and against this point a small raft had formed, consisting of dead logs, branches, and river wreck.
The raft was not extensive, nor did it appear to be very firmly attached to the bank; but the logs themselves were tree-trunks of the largest size, and evidently of some light wood, as they floated high above the surface of the water.