Through Forest and Stream Part 9

"Isn't this wild enough?" I said.

"Yes, my boy; but I want to get up into the interior, and we must find a road."

"A road means civilisation," I said.

"Ah! but I mean one of Nature's roads--a river. Sooner or later we shall find one up which we can sail, and when that is no longer possible we must row or pole."

"Then we shall find the advantage, uncle, of having a little crew, and-- what's the matter now?"

I stared in astonishment, for the minute before Pete and the carpenter were busy feeding the fire and trying to get the kettle they had swung, gypsy fas.h.i.+on, on three bamboos, to boil. Now they were both crawling towards us on all-fours, Pete getting over the ground like a dog.

"It's all over, Master Nat, and good-bye if yer never sees us again.

It's Robinson Crusoe out in the woods now."

"Why, Bill," I said, "has he gone mad?"

"Pretty nigh, sir. Look."

"Look at what?"

"Steamer, sir, found the boat, I s'pose, and they're coming round the point to pick us up. Good luck to you, gentlemen, and good-bye."

He plunged after Pete into the bed of the stream, and they disappeared in the jungle, just as the steamer in full sail and close in came gliding into our sight, towing a boat astern.

CHAPTER SIX.

A FALSE ALARM.

"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 s.h.i.+p."

"Not our s.h.i.+p?" 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 gla.s.s 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 gla.s.s 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 s.h.i.+p, 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 s.h.i.+p at all."