But just as we are two-thirds of the way across the Timsah Lake itself, one of the many shallow lagoons through which the canal runs for a full third of its length, we see the French steamer ahead of us halt suddenly, and the next moment comes a signal that a boat has run aground in the canal beyond the lake, and that we must wait until she gets off again.
There is no help for it, and we are just making up our minds to a halt of several hours, with nothing to do but stare at the trim bonbon-like houses and dark green plantations of Ismailia[1] along the farther shore, with the big white front of the Khedive's palace standing up in the midst like an overgrown hotel, when an unexpected interruption occurs.
"Look here, mates," shouts a sailor perched on the jib-boom; "here's one o' them darkies out for a swim. He'll be coming to challenge old Jack here to swim a match for the championship of the canal."
"Let him try it," retorts a tall, raw-boned, North Country man behind him. "If that 'ere nigger thinks he can beat me, he'll know better afore long, or my name ain't Jack Hawley."
So saying, Jack strips and plunges in, heading straight for the round black head which is bobbing about like a cork in the smooth water. But just as he reaches the Arab the latter vanishes, and a sharp pinch on his right calf warns Jack that his enemy has taken him in the rear, amid a shout of laughter from the steamer.
Jack darts at his assailant, who dives again, and coming up beyond him, splashes a perfect cataract of water in his face, and instantly the two are at it with might and main, filling the whole air with showers of glittering spray.
"Will you swim me to that buoy yonder, Johnny?" challenges Jack.
"You go, me go," grins the native, and off they start.
At first the Egyptian's short, snapping, hand-over-hand stroke carries him bravely on; but little by little the long, steady, powerful strokes of the Englishman begin to tell, and at length he forges slightly ahead. The crew cheer lustily, and fancy that Jack has certainly won the race; but the young Lieutenant, who knows Arab ways, shakes his head and tells them to "wait a bit."
Poor Jack! he has forgotten in his eagerness that his head is unprotected, and that he has not one of those cast-iron Eastern skulls that can defy a tropical sun. All at once his head is seen to sway dizzily back, he throws up his arms convulsively, and down he goes.