“I can’t fancy it, unless he has been overcome by the odour of the whale,” I answered; “it is bad enough even here, and sufficient to breed a fever among the blacks, even if it does not make us sick.”
“No fear of that,” observed Burton; “they are accustomed to it. Hurrah! here comes Doyle, and our friend Pullingo with him, rubbing his stomach, as if he found walking a trouble.”
“I’ve got him,” exclaimed Doyle as he approached; “but we must keep him well supplied with food, or he’ll be off again to have another blow-out of whale’s flesh. Faith, it’s rather high flavoured; but it’s to their taste, I suppose.”
Pullingo hesitated before stepping into the boat, and cast a wistful glance in the direction of the whale.
“Don’t think about that, old fellow,” said Paddy, patting him on the shoulder; “we’ll give you as much good grub as you can want. So come along with us;” and taking his arm, he induced him to step into the boat.
I did not find him a very pleasant neighbour; but I held my nose, and endeavoured not to think about the matter. As soon as we got him on shore, we tried to make him understand what we wanted: that we purposed moving southward, and that we would reward him handsomely if he would act as our guide. We could not clearly make out whether or not he was willing to go; and as we could not start for a couple of days, Mudge offered to go up the river as far as it was navigable in the boat, with Doyle and Harry and me, and one of the other men, and to take him with us. We should thus be better able to judge whether he understood what we wished him to do.
There was no risk, in the meantime, of the natives leaving their feast; and the wind fortunately now blowing from us towards the whale, we were no longer annoyed by the disagreeable odour. One thing was certain,—that the boat could not carry us all, with our provisions and stores, and that we should, at all events, have to make two or three trips. My father, therefore, thought that the sooner we set off the better. We accordingly put on board the boat a supply of provisions, ammunition, and some other articles, which we intended storing near the landing-place at the head of the river. We also took with us such tools as we should require to build a hut. These arrangements being made, we wished our friends good-bye, and pulled away up the river.
The scenery, as we advanced, became highly picturesque, and in some places the banks on either side were fringed with trees; in others, perpendicular cliffs rose sheer out of the water to a considerable height; while numerous points projected into the stream, some rocky, others covered with the richest vegetation.
We had been curious to know how Pullingo and his family had crossed the river; but we had not got far when we caught sight of a very rough-looking canoe hauled up on the bank. We pulled in to examine it, and found that it consisted of a single large sheet of bark bent up, the ends roughly sewed together, lumps of clay being stuffed in to prevent the water from entering, while the centre part was kept open by several pieces of stick fixed across the upper edge. Such a canoe could not take many minutes to form; and we agreed that it would be well to copy the natives when we had rivers to cross, and to form similar canoes, as they would be more quickly constructed, and could be guided with less difficulty, than a raft. Pullingo made us understand that this was his canoe, but that he would leave it where it was for the use of his wife and family.
As the tide had just begun to flow when we started, we made rapid progress. We saw numerous birds, ducks and geese, which skimmed over the surface, seeking for their prey, or flew off, startled by our approach. We pulled on till the shadows which spread over the stream showed us that night was coming on, and that we must ere long look out for a place to encamp. As, however, the sun’s rays still tinged the topmost boughs of the more lofty trees, we continued our course, anxious to get as high as possible before bringing up.