Chapter 3. Up The River

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_ CHAPTER THREE. UP THE RIVER

It was early morning yet, and the mists hung low, but the torrid sun rapidly dissipated each opalescent gauzy vapour, and before long the sky was of that vivid blue which reflected in the surface of the river changed its muddy hue, and gave it a beauty it really did not possess. Nothing can be more dull and monotonous than the fringe of mangroves which line the tidal waters of river and creek in the tropics, and after sitting watching the dingy foliage and interlacing roots for some time, in the hope of seeing some living creature, Ned Murray began to scan the river in search of something more attractive; but for a time there was the glistening water reaching on and on before them, now fairly straight, now winding and winding, so that at times they were completely shut in by the mangroves, and the Malays appeared to be rowing in a lake.

"Not much of scenery this, Ned," said Murray, after a long silence.

"That's what I was thinking, uncle. But I say, is it going to be all like this?"

"I should hope not. Oh no! these trees only grow where they can feel the sea-water, I believe. As we get higher up, where the river begins to be fresh, we shall see a change."

"But it's all so still. No fish, no birds, and no chance of seeing the animals for those trees."

"Patience, my lad, patience."

"But hadn't we better get out the guns and cartridges, or the fishing-tackle?"

"Nothing to shoot as yet, nothing to catch, I should say; but we'll have out a gun soon. Any fish to be caught here with a line, Hamet?"

The nearest of the Malay boatmen smiled, ceased rowing, and said in fairly good English, but with a peculiar accent: "Few; not many. Shrimps when the water is low."

"Oh! but we can't fish for shrimps without a net," said Ned, contemptuously; "and that's stupid sport. I did fish with a net once down in Devonshire, but I did not want to do it again. Why, I should have thought a river like this would have been full of something."

"Hah!" said the Malay, pointing, and Ned followed the direction indicated by the man's long brown finger.

"Eh? what?" said the boy, staring across the water. "What is it--a bird? where?"

"Don't you see. There, fifty yards away, on the surface of the water?"

"No; I can't see anything. Yes, I can; two brown-looking knobs. What is it? Part of a tree. Oh! gone. I know now; it was a crocodile."

"No doubt about that, Ned, and I daresay we shall see plenty more."

"Hah!" ejaculated the Malay again; and he pointed this time toward the right bank of the river, or rather to the fringe of mangroves on that side.

"Yes, I can see that one plain, just those two knobs. Why doesn't it show more?"

"For the sake of being safe perhaps. There you can see its yes now, just above the surface."

"But the gun, uncle. Let's shoot one."

"Waste of powder and ball, my boy. It is a great chance if we could hit a vulnerable part, and I don't like wounding anything unnecessarily."

"Are there many of those things here?" said Ned, after watching the two prominences just above the water, and vainly trying to make out the reptile's body.

"Many things?" said the man, evidently puzzled.

"Yes; crocodiles?"

"Hah! Yes, plenty, many; sahib jump in and swim, crocodile--"

He ceased speaking and finished in pantomime, by raising one hand and rapidly catching the other just at the wrist.

"Snap at me?" said Ned.

"Yes, sahib. Catch, take under water. Eat."

"I say, though, is he stuffing me? Do they really seize people, or is it a traveller's tale?" said Ned, appealing to his uncle; but the Malay, who had been engaged from his knowledge of English to act as interpreter up the river, caught at the boy's words, though he did not quite grasp his meaning.

"No, no, sahib; not stuff you. Crocodile stuff, fill himself much as he can eat."

Then he turned sharply and said a few words to his companions in the Malay tongue, and they replied eagerly in chorus.

"There's no doubt about it, Ned," said his uncle. "They are loathsome beasts, and will drag anything under water that they can get hold of."

"Then we ought to kill it," said Ned excitedly. "Let's shoot it, at once."

"Where is it?"

"That one's gone too," said Ned, with a disappointed air.

"Plenty more chances, my boy; but if you do try your skill with a gun, wait till we see one of the reptiles on the bank."

"But there is no bank."

"Wait a bit, and you'll see sand-banks and mud-banks in plenty. But the appearance of those creatures answers one of your questions. There must be plenty of fish in the river, for that forms their principal food."

Just then their attention was taken up by one of the Malay boatmen drawing in his oar, and then taking out a small bag from which he extracted a piece of broken betel-nut and a half-dried leaf. Then from the same bag he took a small brass box carefully hammered to form a pattern, and upon opening this a thick white paste became visible.

"What's that?" whispered Ned.

"Lime made from coral and mixed into a paste with water."

"But what is he going to do?"

"Watch him."

Ned was already watching, and saw the man take a little of the wet lime paste from the box with his finger, and smear it over the leaf. Then the box was put away, and the scrap of nut carefully rolled up in the leaf and placed in the man's mouth, when he went on contentedly chewing as he resumed his oar and pulled steadily on.

"I never saw them get their betel ready to chew before, uncle," whispered Ned. "I say, what leaf is that?"

"Sirih, a little climbing kind of pepper."

"Well," continued Ned with a laugh; "I don't know whether that's a bad habit, but it looks a very nasty one. What savages!"

"They might say the same about our Jacks with their tobacco," said his uncle.--"How would you like to live there?"

He pointed to where, in an opening in the mangroves, a tiny village of a few houses became visible, mere huts, but pretty enough to look at with their highly-pitched, palm-thatched roofs, showing picturesque gables and ornamentally woven sides, the whole raised on bamboo piles, so as to place them six or eight feet above the level of the river. A few cocoa-nut trees grew close at hand, and a couple of good-sized boats were drawn up and tied to posts, while a group of the occupants stood gazing at the passing party.

"No; I don't think I should like to live there," said Ned, as the men rowed on, and the houses with their cluster of palm-like trees gave place once more to the monotonous green of the mangroves. And now the boy altered his tactics. For a time he had scorned the shelter of the thatched roof which covered the afterpart of the roomy boat, and been all life and activity, making the Malays smile at his restlessness, as he passed among them resting his hand first on one, then on another brawny shoulder, to get right forward to the sharply-pointed prow, and sit there looking up the river; while his uncle rearranged some of the packages and impedimenta necessary for their long trip.

"There," he said, as he finished for the time, by hanging two guns in slings from the roof, Ned having returned to sit down, and he began wiping his face. "I think that will do. If we had designed a boat to suit us for our trip, we couldn't have contrived anything better. That is the beauty of travelling in a country where the rivers are the only roads. You require no bearers, and you have no worry about men being dissatisfied with their loads, and then having to set up a tent when the day's journey is over. Here we are with a roof over us in our travelling tent, and all we have to do at night is to tether the boat to the shore, have a fire lit for cooking, and eat, sleep, and rest."

"But you will not always keep to the boat, uncle?"

"No; we shall make a few little expeditions when we can, but, from what I have learned, the country farther north and east is nearly all jungle, with only a few elephant tracks through the forest by way of roads. Here, hadn't you better sit still for a bit out of the sun."

"Yes; coming back directly," was the reply; and, going forward, Ned stood with his hands in his pockets gazing up the river. "I say, uncle," he cried at last; "I'm getting tired of these mangroves. Why, the shore's all alike, and oh, how hot it is!"

The Malays rowed steadily on with their eyes half-closed, paying not the slightest heed to the rays of the sun, which seemed now to be pouring down with a fervour that was terrible. The tide still set up the river, and very little exertion on their part kept a good way on the boat, as they swung to and fro, keeping pretty well together, their eyes half-closed, and their jaws working at the betel-nut each man had in his cheek.

"Here, come into shelter till the heat of the day is past," said Murray.

"All right, uncle."

Ned was standing right up on the prow, intently watching the two prominences over the eyes of one of the crocodiles which was gliding slowly about in the tideway on the look-out for food, when the summons came, and turning sharply, a peculiar sensation of giddiness attacked him. He threw up his hands to his head, and in an instant lost his balance, plunged in head foremost and was gone.

As the water splashed in over the bows, Hamet uttered a shout, the men ceased rowing, and Murray rushed out from beneath the shelter, tearing off his loose linen jacket, and eagerly scanning the water, ready to plunge in as soon as Ned reappeared.

"No, no," cried Hamet, hoarsely; and then, giving a sharp order to his companions, the course of the boat was changed, and he leaned over the side, the men muttering excitedly to each other, for they had seen the eyes of the crocodile sink beneath the water just as the loud splash was made when the boy fell in.

It was a matter of only a few moments before there was a movement in the dark water three or four yards away. The men on the side opposite gave their oars a sudden dip and drag, the boat swung round across the tide, and, reaching over, Hamet caught Ned's wrist, dragged him to the side just as there was a sharp shock against the forward part of the boat, a jerk, and a sensation communicated to the occupants as if they had come into collision with the trunk of a tree, and it was passing under the boat. While, as with Murray's help, Hamet hauled the boy into the boat, there was a tremendous swirl in the water, just where he had been, a great horny tail rose above the surface and struck it with a sharp slapping sound, and disappeared.

"That was close!" exclaimed Murray, as the boat glided on, and the Malays talked rapidly together, Hamet giving his employer a curiously significant look.

At that moment Ned opened his eyes, sat up quickly, and then struggled to his feet.

"Did I go overboard?" he said. "Yes; I remember," he continued quickly. "I felt giddy all at once. Oh! my hat."

This had been forgotten, but there it was floating on the surface only a short distance away, and a few strokes of the oars enabled him to recover it.

"There, get under the roof and change your things," said his uncle. "We'll wring these out, and they'll soon dry in the sun."

"Yes; but who pulled me out?" cried Ned; and on being told, he held out his hand to Hamet, who took it respectfully, and bent over it for a moment.

"Thank you," said Ned; and then, "was it the sun made me turn like that? I say, uncle, it would have been awkward if that old crocodile had caught sight of me."

"This is a bad beginning, Ned," said Murray gravely. "That hideous reptile did see you, and was within an ace of getting hold."

"Ugh!" ejaculated Ned, changing colour.

"No crocodiles much higher up," said Hamet.

"Then the sooner we are higher up the better," muttered Murray as the boat glided on; and Ned was very quiet as he changed his wet things.

"I say, uncle," he said at last, "I'm very sorry. I did mean to be careful, and not do anything to worry you. I couldn't help that, could I?"

"No, it was an accident, and will be a lesson to you to be careful. You see how soon anything goes wrong."

About this time the tide, which had helped them well on their upward journey, began to grow slack, then to pause; and the men rapidly rowed across to the edge of the mangroves, where the boat was made fast in the shade, and Hamet signified that they would rest now for some hours till the tide turned, and the sun was beginning to get low.

Food was produced, but Ned did not want much dinner, and sat with rather a disgusted look upon his countenance, gazing between the leaves at the surface of the river, watching for the muddy-looking prominences above the eyes of the crocodiles; and thinking how he should like to spend the next few days gliding about in a boat, sending bullets into the brains of the treacherous-looking brutes as they slowly swam about in the tidal stream.

The sound of heavy breathing made him turn his head at last to see that the Malays were all fast asleep, and that his uncle had followed their example; and as Ned looked, he could see the great drops of perspiration standing upon his forehead.

Perhaps it was the effect of seeing others asleep--perhaps the heat--at any rate, the result was that a drowsy sensation stole over the boy; and the dark leaves which touched the palm thatching of the roof, the metallic dazzling glare from the surface of the river, and the rippling sound of the water all passed away, as Ned dropped into a dreamless sleep, which lasted till he was touched by his uncle.

"Wake up, Ned. Going on."

"Have I been asleep?"

"Look for yourself."

The Malays were forcing the boat out into the stream once more, which, instead of glancing like molten silver with a glare which was painful to the eyes, now seemed to be of a deep glowing orange, the reflection of the wondrous sky rapidly changing in its refulgent hues from gold to orange, to a deep-red and purple, as the sun sank rapidly behind the great dark belt of trees on their left.

"The tide is just upon the turn again. Can't you feel that it is much cooler?"

"No, not yet," replied Ned. "I turned hot when we first got to Singapore, and I've never been cool since."

"Not when you plunged into the river?"

Ned gave him a sharp look.

"I don't remember anything about that," he replied; "but I say, uncle, you might let me have a shot at one of the crocs now."

Murray laughed, but made no reply, and they sat in silence watching the wonderful sunset, as the men, well refreshed, sent the boat along at a pretty good rate, the tide soon afterwards lending its help. This was kept on till long after dark, and the crew did not cease rowing till they came abreast of another tiny village. Here they fastened the boat to a post in company with a couple more, after exchanging a few words with some dusky-looking figures on the strip of shore, beyond which a group of huts could be just made out, backed by trees, which looked of an intense black, while above them was the purple sky spangled with stars which seemed double the size of those at home.

This time Ned was quite ready for his share of the evening meal, which was eaten in silence as the travellers sat watching a patch of bushes which grew where the mangroves ceased.

"Why, it's just like a little display of fireworks," Ned whispered. "As if the people there were letting them off because we had come."

"Yes; it is very beautiful. Look! they seem to flash out like the sparks in a wood fire, when the wind suddenly blows over it, and then go out again."

"Yes," said Ned thoughtfully; "our glow-worms that we used to find and bring back to put in the garden were nothing to them. Look at that!"

He pointed to where a bright streak of light glided through the darkness for a few yards, and then stopped suddenly, when all around it there was a fresh flashing out of the lights.

"Why, uncle!" cried Ned, "if we caught a lot of those and hung them up in a glass globe, we shouldn't want this lamp."

"I don't know how the experiment would answer, Ned," was the reply. "But it would be awkward to go plashing about in the mud and water to catch the fireflies, and we have no glass globe, while we have a lamp."

The coruscations of the fireflies seemed to fascinate Ned so much that he became quite silent at last, while the Malays sat huddled together chewing their betel, and talking in a low subdued tone. Then Murray struck a match to light his pipe, and the flash showed Ned's intent face.

"What's the matter, boy?"

"I was trying to puzzle it out, uncle."

"What?"

"Oh, there are three things," said Ned, as the half-burned match described a curve and fell into the water to be extinguished with a hiss, looking as it flew something like one of the fireflies ashore, but of a ruddier tint.

"Well, philosopher," said Murray, leaning over against the side of the boat, "let's have some of your thoughts."

"You'll laugh at me."

"No. Honour bright."

"Well, uncle, first of all, I was wondering why those lights in the fireflies don't burn them."

"Easily answered, Ned; because they are not hot."

"But they seem to be burning like the flame in a lamp, only of course very small."

"Seem, Ned, but they are not burning. It's light without heat, the same as you see on decaying fish; and as we shall find in some of the great mushrooms in the jungle. It is one of the puzzles scientific men have not quite settled yet. We have it, you see, in our own glow-worms. I have often seen it in a kind of centipede at home, which to me seems to be covered with a kind of luminous oil, some of which it leaves behind it on a gravel path or the trunk of a tree."

"Yes; I've seen that," said Ned thoughtfully.

"Then, again, you have it on the sea-shore, where in calm, hot weather the luminosity looks like pale golden-green oil, so thick that you can skim it from a harbour."

"But what can it all be for?"

"Ah, there you pose me, Ned. What is everything for? What are we for?"

"To go up the river, and make all sorts of discoveries."

"A good answer. Then let's roll ourselves in our blankets and go to sleep. Hamet says that we shall start again before it is light, and they are going to sleep now."

"All right. Shall I make the beds?"

Murray laughed, for the bed-making consisted in taking two blankets out of a box, and then they rolled themselves up, the lamp was turned down, and, save for a few moments' rustling sound caused by Ned fidgeting into a fresh place, all was silent, the faint whisper of the water gliding by the side of the boat hardly warranting the term sound.

"Asleep, Ned?" came after a pause.

"No, uncle."

"Thinking?"

"Yes, uncle."

"What about?"

"I was thinking how horrid it would be if those people came stealing on board with their krises, and killed us all."

"Then don't think any more such absurd rubbish, and go to sleep."

"Yes, uncle."

"The people out there have just as much cause to fear that we should turn pirates, and go and attack them."

There was another pause, and then a fresh repetition of the questioning, and this time Ned had been thinking how easy it would be for Hamet and his companions to stab and drop them overboard.

"Get out, you horrible young imaginer of evil. If they did that they would not be paid for their journey."

"No, uncle, but they'd get the guns and all our things."

"Ned, I'm beginning to think I ought to have left you at home," said Mr Murray quietly.

"Oh, I say uncle, I couldn't help tumbling overboard."

"No, sir, but you can help putting all kinds of bloodthirsty ideas in my head. Now go to sleep."

"Well, uncle, if you'll promise not to believe you ought to have left me at home, I will not think anything like that again."

"Very well, sir. It's a bargain."

There was a long silence, and then, _ping_--_ing_--_ing_--_ing_, came a sharp, piercing trumpeting.

"Here he is, Ned."

"Who, uncle?"

"The fellow who wants to have our blood."

"Shall I get the guns, uncle?" whispered Ned, in awe-stricken tones.

"Bah! Nonsense! Whoever shot at a mosquito?"

"Mosquito! Oh, I say, what a shame to scare me like that."

The insect came, filled himself full, and flew off replete; but somehow sleep would not come to either Ned or his uncle, and they were lying hot and weary longing for the repose, when they both started up, for from somewhere in the forest beyond the cottages came a deep-toned sound which can only be rendered by the word pow!

"What's that, uncle?"

"Hist! talk in a whisper. It may be some kind of ape on the prowl; but I'm afraid--"

"So am I, uncle, horribly."

"Be quiet, sir, and let me finish what I have to say," cried Murray angrily. "I was going to say I'm afraid it's a tiger."

"Oh, I say, do get down the guns," whispered Ned. "A tiger? And loose?"

"Loose? Why, you young donkey, do you think this is the zoological gardens, and the tiger's cage has been left open?"

"I don't know, I'm sure; only it seems very risky to be here like this, and not even able to shut the door. No--no--no--no, uncle," continued Ned hastily; "you promised you would not think that you ought to have left me at home."

At that moment the cry came again louder and nearer, but modified so that there could be no doubt about the animal that had given vent to the sound.

The knowledge that a tiger was prowling about somewhere near was enough to make Murray rise softly, and reach down one of the guns from the slings, and slip a couple of ball-cartridges into the barrels, and thus prepared he sat waiting, both having the consolation of knowing that if the animal attacked them, it could only be by taking to the water first and swimming to the boat.

The sound came again, exactly, as Ned said afterwards when he felt quite safe, like the cry of a magnified tom-cat.

But a couple of hours passed away without further alarm, and somewhere about that time Murray gave a start, for he had been fast asleep.

"Ned," he whispered.

A heavy breathing was his answer, and the next minute he too was fast asleep only to be awakened by the warm sun at last, and to find from Hamet that the boat had been cast off, and they had been rowing steadily up the river from the earliest dawn of day.

"Ned," said Murray. "Ned."

There was no answer, and he caught hold of the boy.

"Hi, uncle! quick! the gun! It's got hold of my arm."

"What has?"

"Oh, it's you," said Ned, with a sigh of relief. "I dreamed something seized me, and I didn't know whether it was a tiger or a croc." _

Read next: Chapter 4. Guests Or Prisoners?

Read previous: Chapter 2. Uncle Murray's Lecture

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