It was an old war-canoe,
crumbling to dust. Being supported by the same rude blocks upon
which, apparently, it had years before been hollowed out, in all
probability it had never been afloat.
Outside, it seemed originally stained of a green colour, which, here
and there, was now changed into a dingy purple. The prow terminated
in a high, blunt beak; both sides were covered with carving; and upon
the stern, was something which Long Ghost maintained to be the arms
of the royal House of Pomaree. The device had an heraldic look,
certainly - being two sharks with the talons of hawks clawing a knot
left projecting from the wood.
The canoe was at least forty feet long, about two wide, and four deep.
The upper part - consisting of narrow planks laced together with cords
of sinnate - had in many places fallen off, and lay decaying upon the
ground. Still, there were ample accommodations left for sleeping; and
in we sprang - the doctor into the bow, and I into the stern. I soon
fell asleep; but waking suddenly, cramped in every joint from my
constrained posture, I thought, for an instant, that I must have been
prematurely screwed down in my coffin.
Presenting my compliments to Long Ghost, I asked how it fared with
him.
"Bad enough," he replied, as he tossed about in the outlandish rubbish
lying in the bottom of our couch.
