قراءة كتاب The Rajah of Dah
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been hard at work, with my eyes gradually opening to the wonders on every hand, till I begin now to feel sorrow and delight at how little I know and how much there is yet to learn.”
“Yes, uncle; go on,” cried the boy, eagerly.
“You said I was not to lecture you.”
“But I like it when you talk that way.”
“Ah, Ned, Ned! there’s no fear of one’s getting to the end,” said Murray, half sadly; “life is far too short for that, but the life of even the most humble naturalist is an unceasing education. He is always learning—always finding out how beautiful are the works of the Creator. They are endless, Ned, my boy. The grand works of creation are spread out before us, and the thirst for knowledge increases, and the draughts we drink from the great fount of nature are more delicious each time we raise the cup.”
Ned’s chin was now upon his thumbs, his elbows on the table once more, and his eyes sparkled with intense delight as he gazed on the animated countenance of the man before him; for that face was lit up, the broad forehead looked noble, and his voice was now deep and low, and now rang out loudly, as if he were some great teacher declaiming to his pupil on the subject nearest to his heart. Till it suddenly dawned upon him that, instead of quenching, he was increasing the thirst of the boy gazing excitedly in his eyes, and he stopped short in the lamest way, just as he was rising up to the highest pitch of his eloquence.
“Yes, uncle, yes!” cried Ned. “Go on—go on.”
“Eh? No; that’s all, my boy; that’s all.”
“But that isn’t all!” cried Ned excitedly, rising now. “That’s only the beginning of what I want to learn. I want to road in those books, uncle. I want to drink from that glorious fountain whose draughts are sweeter every time. I want to—I want to—I want to— Oh uncle, oh uncle, go on! do take me with you, there’s a dear old chap.”
The boy stretched out his hand, which was slowly taken and pressed as Johnstone Murray said in a subdued tone: “God grant that I may be doing rightly for you, Ned. You’ve beaten me finely with my own weapons, my boy.”
“And you’ll take me?”
“Yes, Ned, I give in. You shall be my companion now.”
“Hurrah!”
Ned sprang on to his chair, then on to the table, and waved his hand above his head. A month later he was on his way in one of the French boats to Singapore, from whence, after making a few final preparations, they went up in a small trading-steamer to the little settlement of Dindong, on the Salan River. Here they made a fortnight’s stay to engage a boat and men, and learn a little more of the land they were to explore, and at last the morning came when they parted from the hospitable merchant to whom Murray had had introductions; and the bamboo wharf had faded quite from sight, when Ned Murray again cried excitedly:
“Hurrah! Off at last!”
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