The Yankee remarked, superfluously, that it
would be handy if this dod-blistered engine had a clutch; adding, as an
afterthought, that no matter how long he stayed in the tropics his nose
peeled. We asked what we should do if we over-carried our prospective
landing-place. He replied that the dod-blistered thing did have a
reverse. While thus conversing we shot around a corner into a complete
cul-de-sac! Everything was shut off hastily, and an instant later we and
the dhow smashed up high and dry on a cozy mud beach! We drew a deep
breath and looked around us.
Mangrove thicket to the edge of the slimy ooze; trees behind--that was
all we could see. We gave our attention to the business of getting our
men, our effects, and ourselves ashore. The ooze proved to be just above
knee deep. The porters had a fearful and floundering time, and received
much obvious comment from us perched in the bow of the launch. Finally
everything was debarked. F. and I took off our boots; but our gunbearers
expressed such horror at the mere thought of our plunging into the mud,
that we dutifully climbed them pick-a-back and were carried. The hard
shell beach was a hundred feet away, occupying a little recess where the
persistent tough mangroves drew back. From it led a narrow path through
the thicket. We waved and shouted a farewell to the crews of the launch
and the dhow.
The path for a hundred feet was walled in by the mangroves through which
scuttled and rattled the big land crabs.
Pages:
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77