Fatty, who was eyeing the boat and whining and giving little jumps of indecision, knew not what to do. I stepped in the craft and pushed her gently off.
“Come on then, Fatty,” I said to my good, old fellow, and bounding through the tepid water, he did actually leap into the boat and sit there, shivering with awe and delight.
“Good-bye, old camp; good-bye, my friends,” I said, as we drifted slowly away. “God keep you, poor children of the jungle.”
The chief and all the others got down on the ground, along the bank, and paid me such a tribute of genuine esteem as I shall never know again. This was their long farewell; this was their voluntary expression of love and regret. At that moment, more than any other in my life, I was a king.
CHAPTER XLII
GOLDEN GLEAMS
As long as we could see them, the Links continued to watch the boat departing. Even the goddess, who had conceived such a hatred and fear of the Blacks, felt that these simpler fellows were not wholly savage and bad; she even waved them good-bye till we passed around the point, after which we were quiet for several minutes.
Old Fatty was thoroughly frightened. He crouched down and trembled, raising his head timidly from time to time to look about, but always ducked it back under his arm as if he thought that to shut out the sight was to eliminate the imaginary danger. I pitied him, but felt a greater affection for the old fellow than ever before, to think he preferred to undergo this torture, rather than to remain behind when I had gone. It was a wonderful compliment, and so I shall always think. But I hoped his fears would soon depart, for I was sorry to see him distressed.
When I turned from the last view of our friends, to smile at the goddess, I noticed for the first time that she was minus the anaconda.
“Why—we’ve forgotten your darling, beastly old snake,” said I. “If it makes a lot of difference, why—of course—”
“I left it purposely,” she interrupted, rosy red.