“We shall have to swim it, I fear,” remarked Breezy, “for there is no horse here, blind or otherwise. Perhaps that fallen tree may prove strong enough to serve as a bridge.”
He pointed to a slender tree which had evidently been placed there, with several others, for the purpose of forming a rough and ready bridge; but its companions had been removed by floods, for they lay tossed on the bank further down among other wreckage.
“It’ll be somethin’ like tight-rope dancin’,” said the sailor. “We’ll have to repair the bridge.”
“Nuffin’ ob de sort! Look here.”
Ebony ran to the tree referred to, and skipped over with admirable agility, though it bent under him not unlike a tight-rope.
“But I can’t do that,” said Hockins, “not bein’ a black monkey, d’ee see?”
With a sudden expression of intense pity the negro exclaimed—
“Oh! I beg pardin’. Didn’t I forgot; you’s on’y a white man. But stop; I come ober agin an’ took you on my back.”
He pretended to be on the point of recrossing, but the sailor had already got upon the bridge, and, with much balancing and waving of his long arms, passed over in safety. Mark was about to follow, when Hockins called out, “Better pitch over the powder-flask in case you fall in.”
“That’s true, for I mayn’t be as good as you or Ebony on the tight-rope. Look out!”