The Hero of Panama: A Tale of the Great CanalBrereton, F. S. (Frederick Sadleir)
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The Hero of Panama: A Tale of the Great Canal
Brereton, F. S. (Frederick Sadleir)
Panama Canal (Panama) -- Juvenile fiction
But the light just now was not so good as it had been. The moon was
waning, and the dawn half broken. In consequence, though the party
anxiously watching the strangers from the rocky eminence could make out
their numbers, and each individual member of the band, they could
distinguish nothing more than that. Phineas drew in a deep breath. He
had learned to trust Jim's judgment, but on this occasion he feared
greatly that he was making a gigantic error.
"Gee!" he cried in anxious tones. "Supposing they are enemies like the
rest. They will cut us to pieces. Get ready to shoot, you men."
"By de poker, but if dey not friends, den Tom talk to them same as he
talk wid de oders," growled the negro. "But me tink Massa Jim right;
Massa Jim neber make mistake."
It was like the huge fellow to support his young master, of whom he had
an absurdly high opinion; but Sam and Ching were just as emphatic.
"Not need fear rumpus any longer," said the former, dropping the butt of
his weapon to the ground. "Massa Jim know what him talking about. No
flies on him anyway."
"He, he, he! Velly nice for dis party," lisped the Chinaman. "A minute
ago me tink soon hab ebelyting ober. Soon be chopped to little pieces,
same as Ching chop de meat for de stew. But now ebelyting jolly. Yo see
precious soon. Ching knowee well dat dat a white man. Him seen him
before; him know de movement of him legs. Him and Ching great friends
some time ago."
Could it be true? Even Jim, as he anxiously watched the approaching
band, and with no little doubt as to their friendly intentions, could
not fail to observe that the leader, who in the dim light had the
appearance of being a white man, certainly walked in a manner with which
he was familiar. The swift fling of the legs reminded him of someone;
but whom? Where had he known that someone? That was the question. Less
than a minute later he was staggering backwards as if someone had struck
him a heavy blow. As for the strangers, there was now no doubt that a
white man led them. A tall, thin young man, with somewhat cadaverous
cast of countenance, halted within ten paces of the party, still waving
his white banner, and gave vent to a cry of astonishment, a cry which
Jim echoed. Then Sadie, half-hidden behind the men of her party, pushed
her way resolutely through them, ran forward, and gazed at the man. In
an instant she had thrown herself upon him.
"Jim!" she screamed; "it's George, George come back to life! George
alive, when we thought he was dead in the jungle."
[Illustration: "IT'S GEORGE, GEORGE COME BACK TO LIFE!"]
The meeting staggered our hero. He could hardly believe that it could be
his brother, he whom they had lost in the jungle now so long ago. Even
the strong grip which George gave him failed to convince.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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