With the day, came the day's labour. What I should have done--without
the labour, I don't know. We were afloat again at the usual hour, and
were again making our way down the river. It was broader, and clearer of
obstructions than it had been, and it seemed to flow faster. This was
one of Drooce's quiet days; Mr. Pordage, besides being sulky, had almost
lost his voice; and we made good way, and with little noise.

There was always a seaman forward on the raft, keeping a bright look-out.
Suddenly, in the full heat of the day, when the children were slumbering,
and the very trees and reeds appeared to be slumbering, this man--it was
Short--holds up his hand, and cries with great caution: "Avast! Voices
ahead!"

We held on against the stream as soon as we could bring her up, and the
other raft followed suit. At first, Mr. Macey, Mr. Fisher, and myself,
could hear nothing; though both the seamen aboard of us agreed that they
could hear voices and oars. After a little pause, however, we united in
thinking that we _could_ hear the sound of voices, and the dip of oars.
But, you can hear a long way in those countries, and there was a bend of
the river before us, and nothing was to be seen except such waters and
such banks as we were now in the eighth day (and might, for the matter of
our feelings, have been in the eightieth), of having seen with anxious
eyes.

It was soon decided to put a man ashore, who should creep through the
wood, see what was coming, and warn the rafts. The rafts in the meantime
to keep the middle of the stream. The man to be put ashore, and not to
swim ashore, as the first thing could be more quickly done than the
second. The raft conveying him, to get back into mid-stream, and to hold
on along with the other, as well is it could, until signalled by the man.