At first the voyagers paddled over the glassy sea in almost total silence.
Nigel was occupied with his own busy thoughts; speculating on the probable end and object of their voyage, and on the character, the mysterious life, and unknown history of the man who sat in front of him wielding so powerfully the great double-bladed paddle. Van der Kemp himself was, as we have said, naturally quiet and silent, save when roused by a subject that interested him. As for Moses, although quite ready at any moment to indulge in friendly intercourse, he seldom initiated a conversation, and Spinkie, grasping the mast and leaning against it with his head down, seemed to be either asleep or brooding over his sorrows. Only a few words were uttered now and then when Nigel asked the name of a point or peak which rose in the distance on either hand. It seemed as if the quiescence of sea and air had fallen like a soft mantle on the party and subdued them into an unusually sluggish frame of mind.
They passed through the Sunda Straits between Sumatra and Java—not more at the narrowest part than about thirteen miles wide—and, in course of time, found themselves in the great island-studded archipelago beyond.
About noon they all seemed to wake up from their lethargic state. Van der Kemp laid down his paddle, and, looking round, asked Nigel if he felt tired.
“Not in the least,” he replied, “but I feel uncommonly hungry, and I have just been wondering how you manage to feed when at sea in so small a craft.”
“Ho! ho!” laughed Moses, in guttural tones, “you soon see dat—I ’spose it time for me to get out de grub, massa?”
“Yes, Moses—let’s have it.”
The negro at once laid down his steering paddle and lifted a small square hatch or lid in the deck which was rendered watertight by the same means as the lid in front already described. From the depths thus revealed he extracted a bird of some sort that had been shot and baked the day before. Tearing off a leg he retained it, and handed the remainder to Nigel.
“Help you’self, Massa Nadgel, an’ pass ’im forward.” Without helping himself he passed it on to Van der Kemp, who drew his knife, sliced off a wing with a mass of breast, and returned the rest.
“Always help yourself before passing the food in future,” said the hermit; “we don’t stand on ceremony here.”