Death, we are told, has been met by the brave-hearted again and again unflinchingly; but such a death as was now threatening me and the poor girl I was trying to save must have made the stoutest blench.  For my part, a chill of horror seemed to pass through every limb, thoroughly unnerving me, so that my efforts were but feeble as I felt myself sweeping through the water towards the bank, where the stream ran swiftly, but free of rocks, while its eddies and whirlpools showed that there were holes and places worn in beneath the banks, to one of which it seemed evident the monster was making.

I made one desperate struggle, as, nearing the bank, the water shallowed; but the slight figure was still dragged swiftly onward, while twice over I felt the rough slimy body of the monster in contact with my legs.  All defence or attack ­all prospect of escape, seemed out of the question, and by the action of the water I was turned over helplessly upon my back, the muddy stream flowing over my face half-strangling me.  I had during the last few moments been fast approaching to a dreamy state, which dulled the acute horror of my position, and I believe that a few more moments would have produced insensibility, when I was galvanised, as it were, back into vigorous action by a sound as something grazed my shoulder.

“Now, then, hold fast by the side ­hold fast!” was shrieked in my ears as a hand grasped mine, guiding it to the edge of the canoe, to which I clung with renewed energy as we were racing through the shallows at a tremendous rate.  Then came a shouting, and the vigorous beating of the water with a paddle, a tremendous rushing swirl, which nearly overset the canoe, and our locomotion was at an end, the vessel floating lightly in a deep pool beneath the trees.  A few strokes of the paddle and the prow struck the muddy bank; and before I could recover from the prostration I felt myself dragged on to the grass, and my arm roughly torn from the waist it so tightly encircled; but not before I had seen that the clinging garments were torn ­rent down one side, evidently where the huge beast had seized its prey; and then there was the muttering of voices, the rustling of the undergrowth as a passage was forced through it, and we were alone.

“I’d have said thanky for a good deal less than that, if it had been me,” said Tom gruffly, as he stood gazing after the retreating party.  “They’re a nice lot, Mas’r Harry ­swam off like a set of copper-skinned varmints, and left the gal to drownd; and when some one else has the pluck to save her, they look savage and disappointed, and snatch her away just as if they were recovering stolen goods.  My eye, though, Mas’r Harry, it was a narrer escape ­worse than swinging under that old donkey’s nose!”

My only reply was a shudder.

“I didn’t think it so precious bad, Mas’r Harry, when we was up at that landing-place in the ship; but I do think now as we’re getting it rather warm:  only ashore here a few days, and we’ve had our lodging shook about our ears; I’ve been pitched over a precipice like the side of a house; and you’ve been a’most swallowed and drowned by a great newt.  I’ll give in.  It is a trifle hotter than it was at home.  But say, Mas’r Harry, it ain’t going to be all in this style, is it?  Why it’s like being heroes in a book ­Robinson Crusoe and Man Friday, and all on in that tune, and us not knowing how much hotter we’re going to have it!”

“Matter of chance, Tom,” I said, wringing the water from my clothes as I stood in the hot sun.  “We may be here for years and have no more adventures.  Perhaps, after so rough a welcome, matters may turn out gloriously.”

Tom began to whistle and pick leaves to chew and spit out again, till I pronounced my readiness to proceed.

“Paddles are both in the boat,” said Tom, then, as he secured the canoe by its bark rope to a tree, “we’ve got over the river, Mas’r Harry, that’s one thing; but how far we are down below the landing-place I dunno, I’m sure.”

We proved to be much farther below than I thought for, enough time elapsing for my clothes to get nearly dry in the patches of hot sun we passed as we wound our way through the forest, the rushing noise of the river on our right guiding us in our efforts to keep within range of the bank, which we avoided on account of the huge beasts we had seen basking there.

“This is a rum sort of country and no mistake, Mas’r Harry,” said Tom at last, as he stood mopping the perspiration from his face; “but, somehow or other, one feels just the same here as one did in the old place, and I’m as hungry now as if I hadn’t had a morsel to eat for a week.  Is it much farther, Mas’r Harry?”

“I don’t know how many miles we’ve come,” I replied.

But his words had fully accounted for a strange sensation of faintness that troubled me.  A little more perseverance, though, brought us to the track ­one that we might have reached in a quarter of the time had we known the way.

A short walk showed us that we were correct, for we went along the track to the river, so as to make sure of this being the one we sought ­for being lost in these wilds was something not to be thought of for a minute.  There, though, on the other side of the stream, was the landing-place from which we had started, only to reach our present position after a roundabout eventful journey.

“All right, Mas’r Harry ­come along,” said Tom, turning.

And now, pursuing the track, we found that we were gradually mounting a slope, till the trees were left behind and we stood upon an eminence looking down upon my uncle’s house.

All that we had seen beautiful before seemed to fail before the picture upon which we now gazed, where all that was lavish in nature had been aided by the hand of man, cultivation subduing and enriching, till the region below us blushed in beauty; for we were looking down upon a lightly-built, pleasantly-shaded house, with its green jalousie-covered windows, and great creeper-burdened verandah, gaily-painted, and running right round the house.

The place stood in the midst of a grove of verdure of the most glorious golden-green, rich with the great crimson, coral-like blossoms of what is there called madre del cacao ­the cocoa’s mother ­tall, regularly planted trees, cultivated for the protection and shade they give to the plants beneath, great bananas loaded with fruit, bright green coffee bushes, and the cocoa with its pods, green, yellow, blood-red, and purple.  The roughly erected fences were, so to speak, smothered with glorious trumpet-blossomed convolvuli, whose bright hues were peering ever from a bed of heart and spear shaped richly green leaves.