Chapter Twenty Five.
Termination of our excursion.
We made our way along the shores of the lower lake till we came out by the side of a beautiful cascade, which fell down over the cliff into a river below us, whence the water flowed away, we concluded, towards the sea; but the dense forest prevented us seeing the course it took. The lower lake I have been describing was raised but a little way above the level of the country. The height of the cascade was fifty feet; and, giving another fifty for the fall of the river, we supposed that we were not much more than one hundred feet above the sea. My uncle, having examined his compass, now settled, as far as he was able, the course we were to take. The river would be our guide, we saw, for a considerable distance; indeed, the stream we crossed by the bamboo bridge was evidently a portion of it. Turning back, we saw, rising above us, the lofty mountain, a shoulder of which we had crossed. We were now better able to judge of its height. Numerous other lofty hills rose on either side of it—mostly bare of trees—some almost black, others of a shining white, which might have been mistaken at a distance for snow; while, from the centre of the cone, wreaths of smoke circled upwards to the sky, giving unmistakable signs of its volcanic character. Our uncle looked at it earnestly.
“It seems to me to be sending forth denser smoke than I have hitherto observed,” I heard him remark to Dick Tarbox. “I hope it is not going to play us any trick.”
“Maybe a little more tobacco has been put into the pipe,” observed the boatswain, in return; “and the old gentleman, whoever he is, who is smoking it, is having a harder pull than usual.”
“I hope so; but I had rather he had put off his smoking for a few weeks longer, till we are clear of the place,” said my uncle, turning round.
I remembered the fearful danger Oliver and I had escaped when carried off by the Papuans from our island; and I prayed that we might be again preserved from a similar catastrophe. We had made no great progress when it was time to encamp.
“I must charge you, my friends,” said Mr Sedgwick, “whoever is on the watch at night, to keep a bright look-out. The orang-outans are our least formidable enemies, for it is seldom that they will attack a person, as the one did we have just encountered; but tigers are far more daring; and if we were to allow the fire to get low, we should run a great risk of a visit from one of them.”
We had still an hour or two of daylight. We were all somewhat tired with our long climb: the girls especially required rest. We immediately set to work to form our encampment, making huts, as we had done on the previous nights. Having collected a good supply of dried leaves, we spread mats over them inside the young ladies’ bower, to which they retired to rest while supper was preparing. We had still some birds remaining; but my uncle took his gun, saying that he would try to shoot a few more for our meal, and I begged to be allowed to accompany him.