“We could find out what all the women do after they paddle over,” Tom said. “If we report their customs, Mr. Gray ought to be willing to let us go.”
They asked, and pleaded when Mr. Gray hesitated. They promised to be careful; they urged their case, agreeing to report customs and everything they saw. The elderly scholar did not feel like accompanying them himself, for he hated the humidity and the sun’s terrific heat; he told them that if Andy would go along—Bob had taken the two white men in the boat, and had brought it back—they might row a ways up the river and they could see across the wide expanse of the inner lagoon.
“I can’t go,” Andy told them. “I’ve got to tinker with my motor—there’s one spark plug that misses, and I want to clean the whole set and adjust the timing of my motor.”
The trio showed disappointment.
“Take the spare rifle and get Bob to row you over,” suggested the engineer; but they demurred among themselves. Bob, not because he was colored, but because he had a gruff, rather surly disposition, was not a pleasant companion on an exploring trip.
“I can’t see any harm in rowing up the river,” Andy said. “Don’t get out of the boat and you’ll be all right.”
They promised with the utmost sincerity and meant fully to obey the order. The pull across the hot lagoon taxed them, for the sun was hot and even though they took turns rowing the boat was slow and they were quite wearied when, early in the afternoon, they came to a place opposite the spot where the women had beached their canoes.
“We can just draw up on the sand and eat our lunch,” Nicky suggested. “It’s shady under those mangroves.”
Tom and Cliff conceded that no harm could come of that. As they watched the women they saw that the washing for the various families was being done. It was conducted in a way quite like that they had seen in Jamaica, and among other tribes: the women, standing knee deep in the river, beat and pounded the clothes in the water.
“That’s pretty hard on clothing,” Cliff said.