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!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed 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 pa.s.sed 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 sh.o.r.e, 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 gla.s.s 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 gla.s.s 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 ash.o.r.e, 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-sh.o.r.e, 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?"