Only those who know what it is to traverse hundreds of leagues of an almost tenantless wilderness, and have tried to push a few miles through roadless forests that have grown and fallen age after age in undisturbed entanglement since the morning of creation, can imagine the state of our minds at this discovery.
“Search towards the woods, men,” said Lumley, who, whatever he might have felt, was the only one amongst us who seemed unexcited. We could trace no sign of anxiety in the deep tones of his steady voice.
It was this quality—I may remark in passing—this calm, equable flow of self-possession in all circumstances, no matter how trying, that rendered our young leader so fit for the work with which he had been entrusted, and which caused us all to rely on him with unquestioning confidence. He never seemed uncertain how to act even in the most desperate circumstances, and he never gave way to discontent or depression. A gentle, good-humoured expression usually played on his countenance, yet he could look stern enough at times, and even fierce, as we all knew.
While we were stumbling in the dark in the direction indicated, we heard the voice of Salamander shouting:—
“Here it am! De bot—busted on de bank!”
And “busted” it certainly was, as we could feel, for it was too dark to see.
“Fetch a blazing stick, one of you,” cried Lumley.
A light revealed the fact that our boat, in being rolled bodily up the bank by the gale, had got several of her planks damaged and two of her ribs broken.
“Let’s be thankful,” I said, on further examination, “that no damage has been done to keel or gun’le.”
“Nor to stem or stern-post,” added Lumley. “Come, we shan’t be delayed more than a day after all.”