In spite of the aid afforded by the compass the subs found, on emerging from the forest, that they were a long way out of their reckoning. They had hit the banks of the Mohoro River right enough, but either a considerable distance above or below the spot where the Myra lay moored.
The mists had rolled away. It was now very dark, yet had the tramp been anywhere in the vicinity the subs would have been able to discern her. There were ominous sounds: those of huge creatures wading over the mud-flats. Hippopotami and crocodiles were emerging from the river.
"Up or down?" asked O'Hara.
"Neither, by this bank," replied Denbigh, gripping his rifle. "It doesn't sound healthy. We'll cut inland a bit and try our luck up-stream."
"Why up-stream?" asked the Irishman.
"Because I think I've tumbled to it," answered his chum. "I've been carrying this rifle on my left shoulder for the greater part of the last hour. I have also been holding the compass within a few inches of the steel barrel. It was a silly thing to do, I admit, but I didn't think of it at the time. Consequently the needle deviated and threw us out of our course. We've gone more to the left of our outward track, and that brings us down stream."
"It's getting light, I believe," remarked O'Hara after a ten-minutes detour.
"Yes," replied Denbigh. "It's the false dawn. It will get pitch-dark for a little while before the real daybreak. Push on. This light will serve us a good turn."
Once more the adventurous twain gained the river bank. This time their efforts met with success, for showing clearly in the half-light of the false dawn was the Myra.
"Nearly slack water," announced Denbigh. "We're in luck. Keep under cover in case the watch are feeling particularly energetic."