“It looks bad for them, poor fellows!” said my uncle, shading his eyes to gaze seaward.  “The captain means to have them back.”

“Nonsense! uncle,” I said; “it’s a false alarm.  That’s not our ship.”

“Not our ship?” he cried, springing up.  “Of course it’s not.  And whatever she is those on board don’t see us.”

We stood watching for a few minutes before I ran to the boat and got the glass out of the locker to have a good look.

“Well, what do you make of her?” said my uncle.

“I don’t know what she is,” I said; “but there are only two people on deck ­one forward and the other leaning half asleep over the wheel.  Here, I’ll go and call those two back.”

“You’d call in vain,” said my uncle, as I replaced the glass in the case.  “They’re beyond earshot, and you could not find them.”

“What are we to do then, uncle?” I said.

“Have breakfast, my boy.  I want mine.”

“But those two poor fellows?”

“Well, they took fright, Nat.  A guilty conscience needs no accuser.  They had run from their ship, and the sight of one was enough to make them feel that they were being sought.”

“But we ought to do something, uncle,” I said.

“We can’t do anything but wait, my lad,” he replied.  “There, don’t be uneasy; they’ll come back as soon as they’ve got over the scaring.  I daresay we shall see or hear of them before night.”

My uncle’s words brought back the hungry feeling which had been swept away, and I saw to the breakfast, making the coffee and frizzling some slices of bacon, the meal being thoroughly enjoyable, eaten there in the shade of a great tree, while everything around looked beautiful in the extreme; and it was not until my morning hunger was nearly appeased that the flies and the flying thoughts of our late companions tormented me much.

Then they began to get worse; and in a fit of sympathy I felt ashamed of enjoying my meal so well while those two poor fellows were suffering from hunger and fear.

“What’s the matter, Nat?” said my uncle; and then, “Look!  Who’d have thought of seeing humming-birds so near the sea?”

I did not reply, for I did not know which part of my uncle’s remark to answer first; so I stared at the lovely little birds flitting about some flowers.

“Steamer’s getting a good way along,” said my uncle, after a few minutes’ silence.  “Here, I must have two or three of those little beauties.”

“They’re not quetzals, uncle,” I said, smiling.

“No; but I’m not going to miss getting rare specimens, Nat.  We may not find the quetzals, and we must not go back empty-handed.  Is the anchor quite fast?”

“Yes, uncle, perfectly,” I said.

“Then let’s get what good birds we can while we’re waiting.  The sound of our guns may bring those fellows back.”

He was right, for about mid-day, when we were busily preparing some skins of the lovely little humming-birds we had shot, I caught up the gun by my side, for their was a peculiar piping cry.

“What bird’s that?” I said, in a sharp whisper.

“Pee-wew!” came softly.

“Some kind of sea bird,” said my uncle.  “It sounds like a gull.”

I laughed, and laid down my gun.

“Why are you doing that?” said my uncle.

“Pee-wee!” came the cry again.

“Pee-wee!” I whistled, and then I shouted aloud, “All right!  Steamer’s gone.”

There was the cracking of twigs and a loud rustling sound, followed by the sight of Pete, who crept out from among the bushes, hot, panting, and with face and hands terribly scratched.

“Sure she’s gone, Master Nat?” he said dolefully.

“Sure?  Yes,” I cried.  “It wasn’t our ship at all.”

“There, I knowed it warn’t all the time, only Bill Cross said he was sure it were.  Here, come out!  Way he! it’s all right.”

The carpenter forced his way out of the jungle soon after, glaring at Pete.

“Here,” he cried gruffly, “what d’ye mean by scaring a fellow like that?”

“It warn’t me,” cried Pete.  “You said it was our ship coming after us.”

“Never mind, now,” said my uncle.  “Set the fire going again, and get yourselves some breakfast; but don’t be in such a hurry to take fright next time.  We’d better have our dinner at the same time, Nat; and if there’s any wind this evening we’ll sail southward.”

There was plenty of wind, and so quite early in the afternoon the anchor was placed on board, Pete tucked up his trousers and ran the boat out, and then scrambled in to help with the sail.  Then, as the boat careened over and glided away, he and his companion gave a hearty cheer.

We sailed along the coast southward for days and days, always finding plenty to interest and a few specimens worth shooting, both Bill and Pete looking on with the most intense interest at the skinning and preserving, till one day the latter said confidently: 

“I could do that, Mr Nat.”

“Very well,” I said; “you shall try with one of the next birds I shoot.”

“At last,” cried my uncle a day or two later, and, seizing the tiller, he steered the boat straight for a wide opening and into what seemed to be a lake, so surrounded were we by tropical trees.

But the current we met soon showed that we were at the mouth of a good-sized river, and the wind being in our favour, we ran up it a dozen miles or so before evening.

For a long time the shores right and left had been closing in, and our progress growing slower, for the forest, which had been at some distance, now came down to the water’s edge, the trees were bigger, and for the last two miles we had sailed very slowly, shut in as we were by the great walls of verdure which towered far above the top of our mast and completely shut out the wind.

Fortunately, the river was deep and sluggish so that progression was comparatively easy, and every hundred yards displayed something tempting to so ardent a naturalist as my uncle.

Not always pleasant, though, for the sluggish waters swarmed with huge alligators, and every now and then one plunged in from the bank with a mighty splash.

Some of the first we saw were approached innocently enough ­for to unaccustomed eyes they looked like muddy logs floating down stream, and Pete laughed at me when I told him to lift his oar as we passed one so drowsy that it paid no heed.

“Raise your oar-blade,” I said, as we glided along, “or that brute may turn angry and upset us.”

I was sitting holding the tiller, steering, and Bill Cross held the other oar, while my uncle, tired out by a tramp ashore, was lying down forward, fast asleep, in the shadow cast by the sail, which kept on filling and flapping ­for in the reach we had now entered the wind was hardly felt.

“I never saw a tree run at a boat, Master Nat,” said Pete, as he raised his oar-blade.  But before we had half passed the sleeping reptile the boy gave it a sudden chop on the back, and then, horrified by the consequence of his act, he started up in his place, plunged overboard into the deep, muddy water on the other side, and disappeared.

For a moment or two I thought that we were all going to follow, for the reptile struck the boat a tremendous blow with its tail as it plunged down, raising the river in waves and eddies, and making our craft dance so that the water nearly came over the side, and we all clung to the nearest object to our hands.

“What’s that?” cried my uncle.

“Alligator,” I said, in a startled tone.

“Where’s the boy?”

“Gone overboard.”

“Not seized by one of the loathsome monsters?”

“Oh, no, sir,” said Bill, who looked rather startled.  “He chopped it, and it scared him over the side.”

“Well, where is he?” cried my uncle, appealing to me, while I looked vainly over the surface, which was now settling down.

“I ­I don’t know,” I stammered.  “He went over somewhere here.”

“But where did he come up?” cried my uncle.  “Haven’t you seen him?”

I was silent, for a terrible feeling of dread kept me from speaking, and my uncle turned to the carpenter.

“No, sir, I haven’t seen him,” was the reply.

“Let the boat drift down.  Don’t pull, man, you’re sending us over to the other side.  Stop a moment.”

My uncle hurriedly took Pete’s place, seized the oar that was swinging from the rowlock, and began to pull so as to keep the boat from drifting, while I steered.

“Hadn’t you better let her go down a bit, sir?” said the carpenter.  “He may be drifting, and will come up lower.”

“But the lad could swim,” said my uncle, as I began to feel a horrible chill which made my hands grow clammy.

“Swim?  Yes, sir ­like a seal.  I’m getting skeart.  One of they great lizardy things must have got him.”

“Cease rowing!” cried my uncle, and he followed my example of standing up in the boat and scanning the surface, including the nearest shore ­ that on our left, where the trees came right down to the water.

They stopped together, and let the boat drift slowly with the current downward and backward, till all at once there was a light puff of hot wind which filled the sail, and we mastered the current, once more gliding slowly up stream, with the water pattering against the sides and bows.

But there was no sign of Pete, and having failed to take any bearings, or to remember by marks on the shore whereabouts he had gone down, we were quite at fault, so that when the wind failed again and the boat drifted back, it was impossible to say where we had seen the last of the poor lad.

I felt choking.  Something seemed to rise in my throat, and I could only sit there dumb and motionless, till all at once, as the wind sprang up again, filled the sail, and the boat heeled over, the necessity of doing something to steer her and keep her in the right direction sent a thrill through me, and I did what I ought to have done before.

For, as the water rattled again under the bows and we glided on, I shouted aloud ­

“Pete, lad, where are you?”

“Ahoy!” came from a distance higher up, farther than we could have deemed possible after so much sailing.

“Hooray!” shouted the carpenter.  “Why he’s got ashore yonder.”

“Where did the hail come from, Nat?” said my uncle, with a sigh of relief.

“Seemed to be from among the trees a hundred yards forward there to the left.”

“Run her close in, then, and hail, my lad,” he cried.

He had hardly spoken before the wind failed again, and they bent to their oars.

“Where are you, Pete?” I shouted.

“Here, among the trees,” came back, and I steered the boat in the direction, eagerly searching the great green wall of verdure, but seeing nothing save a bird or two.

“Are you ashore?” I shouted.

“Nay!  It’s all water underneath me.  Come on, sir.  Here I am.”

A few more strokes of the oars ran us close in beneath the pendent boughs, and the next minute the carpenter caught hold of one of the overhanging branches and kept the boat there, while Pete descended from where he had climbed, to lower himself into the boat and sit down shivering and dripping.

“Thought he’d got me, sir,” he said, looking white.  “I dived down, though, and only come up once, but dove again so as to come up under the trees; and then I found a place where I could pull myself up.  It was precious hard, though.  I kep’ ’specting one of ’em would pull me back, till I was up yonder; and it arn’t safe there.”

“Why not?” I said.

“There’s great monkeys yonder, and the biggest snake I ever see, Master Nat.”

“But did you not see the boat?  Didn’t you see us hunting for you?” said my uncle angrily.

“No, sir; I had all I could do to swim to one of the trees, diving down so as the ’gators shouldn’t see me; and when I did get up into the tree, you’d gone back down the river, so that I couldn’t see nothing of you.”

“But why didn’t you shout, Pete?” said the carpenter.  “Everyone’s been afraid you was drowned.”

“Who was going to shout when there was a great snake curled up in knots like a ship’s fender right over your head?  Think I wanted to wake him up?  Then there was two great monkeys.”

“Great monkeys!” said my uncle.  “Pray, how big were they?”

“Dunno, sir, but they looked a tidy size, and whenever I moved they begun to make faces and call me names.”

“What did they call you, Pete?” I said.

“I dunno, Master Nat.  You see, it was all furren, and I couldn’t understand it; but one of ’em was horrid howdacious:  he ran along a bough till he was right over my head, and then he took hold with his tail and swung himself to and fro and chattered, and said he’d drop on my head if I dared to move.”

“Are you sure he said that, Pete?” said my uncle drily.

“Well, sir, I can’t be quite sure, because I couldn’t understand him; but it seemed something like that.”

“Yes, but I’m afraid there was a good deal of imagination in it, Pete, and that you have bad eyes.”

“Oh, no, sir,” said Pete; “my eyes are all right.”

“They cannot be,” said my uncle; “they must magnify terribly.  Now then, take off your wet clothes, wring them out, and hang them up in the sun, while we look after this huge serpent and the gigantic monkeys.  Draw the boat along by the boughs, Cross, till we can look through that opening.  Be ready with your gun, Nat.  Put in a couple of those swanshot cartridges.  You shall do the shooting.”

I hurriedly changed the charges in my double gun and sat in my place, looking up eagerly, trying to pierce the green twilight and tangle of crossing boughs, while Pete slowly slipped off his dripping shirt and trousers, watching me the while.

“See anything yet?” said my uncle, as he helped Cross to push the boat along, pulling the boughs aside, which forced him to lower the sail and unship the mast.

“No, uncle; the boughs are too thick ­yes ­yes, I can see a monkey hanging by his tail.”

“A six-footer?  Bring him down, then.  We must have his skin.”

“Six-footer?  No!” I said.  “It’s about as big as a fat baby.”

“I thought so,” said my uncle.  “Never mind the poor little thing; look-out for the monstrous snake.  I daresay it’s one of the anacondas crept up out of the river.  See it?”

“No, uncle; but there might be a dozen up there.”

“Keep on looking.  You must see it if it’s as big as Pete here says.  Was it close to the trunk, my lad?”

“Not very, sir; it was just out a little way, where the boughs spread out.”

“I see it!” I cried.  “Keep the boat quite still.  It’s curled up all in a knot.”

“A hundred feet long?” said my uncle, laughing.

“Not quite, uncle.”

“Well, fifty?”

“I don’t think so, uncle.”

“Five-and-twenty, then?”

“Oh, no,” I said; “it’s rather hard to tell, because of the way she folds double about; but I should think it’s twelve feet long.”

“I thought so,” said my uncle.  “Pete, you’ll have to wear diminishing glasses.”

“That aren’t the one, sir,” said Pete gruffly.

“Shall I shoot, uncle?”

“No; we don’t want the skin, and it would be a very unpleasant task to take it off.  Push off, Cross, and let’s go up the stream.  I want to get to clearer parts, where we can land and make some excursions.”

Pete hung his head when I looked at him, but he said no more, and a couple of hours after, with his clothes thoroughly dry, he was helping to navigate the boat, rowing, poling, and managing the sail till night fell, when we once more moored to a great tree trunk, as we had made a practice all the way up, and slept in safety on board, with the strange noises of the forest all around.