A fresh surprise was now in store.
As Jack, a few mornings afterwards, was standing at the bow peering through an aperture in the grass canopy above him, he suddenly turned round and cried—
“The sea! the sea!”
Dick started forwards, and looked eagerly in the same direction.
A large expanse of water was visible in the horizon, but after having surveyed it for a moment or two, he said—
“No, Jack, it is not the sea, it is a great river; it is running west, and I suppose this river runs into it. Perhaps it is the Zaire.”
“Let us hope it is,” said Mrs. Weldon earnestly.
Most cordially did Dick Sands reecho her words, being well aware that at the mouth of that river were Portuguese villages, where a refuge might assuredly be found.
For several succeeding days the canoe, still concealed by its covering, floated on the silvery surface of this newfound stream. On either side the banks became less arid, and there seemed everything to encourage the few survivors of the Pilgrim to believe that they would soon see the last of the perils and toils of their journey.
They were too sanguine. Towards three o’clock on the morning of the 18th, Dick, who was at his usual post at the bow, fancied he heard a dull rumbling towards the west. Mrs. Weldon, Jack, and Benedict were all asleep. Calling Hercules to him, he asked him whether he could not hear a strange noise. The night was perfectly calm, and not a breath of air was stirring. The negro listened attentively, and suddenly, his eyes sparkling with delight, exclaimed—
“Yes, captain, I hear the sea!”
Dick shook his head and answered—
“It is not the sea, Hercules.”
“Not the sea!” cried the negro, “then what can it be?”
“We must wait till daybreak,” replied Dick, “and meanwhile we shall have to keep a sharp lookout.”
Hercules returned to his place, but only to continue listening with ever-increasing curiosity. The rumbling perceptibly increased till it became a continued roar.
With scarcely any intervening twilight night passed into day. Just in front, scarcely more than half a mile ahead, a great mist was hanging over the river; it was not an ordinary fog, and when the sun rose, the light of the dawn caused a brilliant rainbow to arch itself from shore to shore.
In a voice so loud that it awoke Mrs. Weldon, Dick gave his order to Hercules to steer for the bank:—
“Quick, quick, Hercules! ashore! ashore! there are cataracts close ahead!”
And so it was. Within little more than a quarter of a mile the bed of the river sank abruptly some hundred feet, and the foaming waters rushed down in a magnificent fall with irresistible velocity. A few minutes more and the canoe must have been swallowed in the deep abyss.
XIX
An Attack
The canoe inclined to the west readily enough; the fall in the riverbed was so sudden that the current remained quite unaffected by the cataract at a distance of three hundred yards.
On the bank were woods so dense that sunlight could not penetrate the shade. Dick was conscious of a sad misgiving when he looked at the character of the territory through which they must necessarily pass. It did not seem practicable by any means to convey the canoe below the falls.
As they neared the shore, Dingo became intensely agitated. At first Dick suspected that a wild beast or a native might be lurking in the papyrus, but it soon became obvious that the dog was excited by grief rather than by rage.
“Dingo is crying,” said Jack; “poor Dingo!” and the child laid his arms over the creature’s neck.
The dog, however, was too impatient to be caressed; bounding away, he sprang into the water, swam across the twenty feet that intervened between the shore, and disappeared in the grass.
In a few moments the boat had glided onto a carpet of confervas and other aquatic plants, starting a few kingfishers and some snow-white herons. Hercules moored it to the stump of a tree, and the travellers went ashore.
There was no pathway through the forest, only the trampled moss showed that the place had been recently visited either by animals or men.
Dick took his gun and Hercules his hatchet, and they set out to search for Dingo. They had not far to go before they saw him with his nose close to the ground, manifestly following a scent; the animal raised his head for a moment, as if beckoning them to follow, and kept on till he reached an old sycamore-stump. Having called out to the rest of the party to join them, Dick made his way farther into the wood till he got up to Dingo, who was whining piteously at the entrance of a dilapidated hut.
The rest were not long in following, and they all entered the hut together. The floor was strewn with bones whitened by exposure.
“Someone has died here,” said Mrs. Weldon.
“Perhaps,” added Dick, as if struck by a sudden thought, “it was Dingo’s old master. Look at him! he is pointing with his paw.”
The portion of the sycamore-trunk which formed the farther side of the hut had been stripped of its bark, and upon the smooth wood were two great letters in dingy red almost effaced by time, but yet plain enough to be distinguished.
“S. V.,” cried Dick, as he looked where the dog’s paw rested; “the same initials that Dingo has upon his collar. There can be no mistake. S. V.”
A small copper box, green with verdigris, caught his eye, and he picked it up. It was open, but contained a scrap of discoloured paper. The writing upon this consisted of a few sentences, of which only detached words could be made out, but they revealed the sad truth
