Through the thick fringe of bushes hiding the mouth of the creek she saw
the tall spars of some European-rigged sailing vessel overtopping the
summits of the Nipa palms. A brig was being hauled out of the small
creek into the main stream. The sun had set, and during the short
moments of twilight Nina saw the brig, aided by the evening breeze and
the flowing tide, head towards Sambir under her set foresail. The girl
turned her canoe out of the main river into one of the many narrow
channels amongst the wooded islets, and paddled vigorously over the black
and sleepy backwaters towards Sambir. Her canoe brushed the water-palms,
skirted the short spaces of muddy bank where sedate alligators looked at
her with lazy unconcern, and, just as darkness was setting in, shot out
into the broad junction of the two main branches of the river, where the
brig was already at anchor with sails furled, yards squared, and decks
seemingly untenanted by any human being. Nina had to cross the river and
pass pretty close to the brig in order to reach home on the low
promontory between the two branches of the Pantai. Up both branches, in
the houses built on the banks and over the water, the lights twinkled
already, reflected in the still waters below.
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