“Oh! de brutes!” exclaimed Ebony, poking the fire with a bit of stick savagely. “Don’t de mudders fight for de young uns?”
“Not they. The mothers lay their eggs in the sand and leave them to look after themselves. The others are sly, and—”
“Dat’s de fadders, brudders, an’ unkles ob de eggs, you mean?”
“Yes, that’s what I mean. The old he-crocodiles watch where the eggs are laid, an’ when it’s about time for them to break an’ let the young ones out, these monsters go into the water at the edge and wait. When the baby-crocodiles get out of prison they make straight for the water, where the old villains are ready to receive an’ devour them. Some times the young ones are stupid when they are born, they take the wrong road and escape their relations’ teeth only to get to the rice-grounds and fall into the hands of the natives. Many of the eggs, too, are destroyed, before they are hatched, by vultures and other birds, as well as by serpents. Men also gather them by hundreds, boil them and dry them in the sun to preserve them for use or sale.”
“The miserable young things seem to have a poor chance of life then,” said Mark, sleepily.
“Das so, massa. I’d rader be a nigger dan a crokindile.”
Hockins said nothing, being sound asleep.
“What makes that rattling among the cooking-pots?” asked Mark, looking round lazily.
“Rats,” replied the guide. “Didn’t you see them running along the roof when you came in?”
“No, I didn’t.”