I had thought of those elms more than once under the
burning sun of the first day. I had imagined that we should land at
last on some green bank, where the shelter of a majestic grove might
tempt Mr. Rowe to sleep, while Fred and I should steal gently away to
the neighbouring city, and begin a quite independent search for
adventures. But I think I must have mixed up with my expectations a
story of one of the captain's escapes--from a savage chief in a
mango-grove.
Our journey's end was not quite what I had thought it would be, but it
was novel and interesting enough. We seemed to have thoroughly got to
the town. Very old houses with feeble lights in their paper-patched
windows made strange reflections on the river. The pier looked dark
and dirty even by moonlight, and threw blacker and stranger shadows
still.
Mr. Rowe was busy and tired, and--we thought--a little inclined to be
cross.
"I wonder where we shall sleep!" said Fred, looking timidly up at the
dark old houses.
I have said before that I find it hard work to be very brave after
dark, but I put a good face on the matter, and said I dared say old
Rowe would find us a cheap bedroom.
"London's an awful place for robbers and murders, you know," said
Fred.
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