He was right. Directly afterwards, to our great satisfaction, we stumbled upon the canoe. To launch it was the work of a moment; but though we hunted in every direction, we could only find one paddle.
“One must do,” said the sailor. “I can manage. No time to be lost, though.”
Saying this, he stepped in first, and seated himself in the stern, with the paddle in his hand. He then turned the head of the canoe to the bank, and told Pedro and me to creep in carefully over the bow. We did so, and placed ourselves by his direction along the bottom. A stroke of his paddle then turned the canoe round, and we floated rapidly down the stream. I listened for any sound to indicate that we were followed, but nothing could be heard above the howling of the wind in the trees. Neither of us uttered a word, not that there was much chance of being heard by any one on shore. The water bubbled and hissed round us, and the wind threw it in sheets of spray over our heads. At times it came rippling over the sides of the canoe, and there seemed a prospect of its being filled; but the seaman held on his course without hesitation. We had shot quickly by the few lights which here and there twinkled from the houses, and were beginning to breathe more freely, thinking that we had altogether got clear of the town, when I fancied I heard the splash of oars behind us. I could not tell if the sailor had heard the sound, but he seemed to ply his paddle with even greater vigour than before. Once or twice he turned his head for an instant, which confirmed me in the idea that we were followed; but even his practised eye could not pierce the darkness which shrouded us. At last I saw that he had relaxed in his efforts, and that he kept his paddle moving sufficiently only to guide the canoe as it dropped down with the current. We had been a couple of hours in the canoe, or perhaps not quite so long, though the anxiety we felt made the time pass slowly.
“Well, I believe it was only a cayman or an alligator, or one of those sort of brutes, after all,” he exclaimed, drawing a deep breath, like a man relieved from a heavy care.
“I have not been able yet to thank you, friend, for what you have already done for us; but I should like to know what you propose doing next,” said I, as soon as I found we might venture to speak.
“Well, that’s just what I was thinking of, mate, myself,” he answered. “But you needn’t thank me, for to my mind, I haven’t done much for you yet. All I have had time for was to get you out of limbo, and afloat on this here river. We must now hold a council of war, to know what’s to be done.”
As he said this, he made the canoe glide in towards the nearest bank. We quickly found ourselves in a quiet bay, overhung with trees, into which we had by chance entered. The sailor held on by the bough of a tree, which served to keep the canoe from floating out again. The wind had much abated, and the sky had become much clearer, so that there was sufficient light to enable us to steer free of any dangers in the middle of the stream; though where we now were we should have been completely concealed from the sight of persons on board any boat which might have been passing, or even of one sent in search of us.
“Well,” said the sailor, “what do you propose, mate?”
“I must first ask you whereabouts we are,” I answered. “I promised an Indian who preserved my life, to return to him before I left the country, but I cannot tell where he is now to be found. Our wisest plan would be to try and reach the sea, so as to get on board some English ship. I do not think we shall be safe till then.”
“What has your friend, then, to say to the matter?” said the sailor.