I have often found, from experience, that the more one tries to collect one’s thoughts, the more one’s thoughts pertinaciously scatter themselves abroad, almost beyond the possibility of discovery. Such was the case with me, after escaping from the sea and the sharks, as related circumstantially in the last chapter. Perhaps the truth of this may best be illustrated by laying before my readers the dialogue that ensued between me and Jack on the momentous occasion referred to, as follows:—  
Jack. “I say, Bob, where in all the world have we got to?”
 
Bob. “Upon my word, I don’t know.”
 
Jack. “It’s very mysterious.”
 
Bob. “What’s very mysterious?”
 
Jack. “Where we’ve got to. Can’t you guess?”
 
Bob. “Certainly. Suppose I say Lapland?”
 
Jack. (Shaking his head), “Won’t do.”
 
Bob. “Why?”
 
Jack. “’Cause there are no palm-trees in Lapland.”
 
Bob. “Dear me, that’s true. How confused my head is! I’ll tell you what it is, Jack, I can’t think. That’s it—that’s the cause of the mystery that seems to beset me, I can’t tell how; and then I’ve been ill—that’s it too.”
 
Jack. “How can there be two causes for one effect, Bob? You’re talking stuff, man. If I couldn’t talk better sense than that, I’d not talk at all.”
 
Bob. “Then why don’t you hold your tongue? I tell you what it is, Jack, we’re bewitched. You said I was mad some time ago. You were right—so I am; so are you. There are too many mysteries here for any two sane men.” (Here Jack murmured we weren’t men, but boys.) “There’s the running away and not being caught—the ship ready to sail the moment we arrive; there’s your joining me after all your good advice; there’s that horrible fight, and the lions, and Edwards, and the sinking of our ship, and the—the—in short, I feel that I’m mad still. I’m not recovered yet. Here, Jack, take care of me!”
 
Instead of replying to this, Jack busied himself in fitting a piece of wood he had picked up to his wooden leg, and lashing it firmly to the old stump. When he had accomplished his task, he turned gravely to me and said—
 
“Bob, your faculties are wandering pretty wildly to-day, but you’ve not yet hit upon the cause of all our misfortunes. The true cause is that you have disobeyed your father, and I my mother.”
 
I hung my head. I had now no longer difficulty in collecting my thoughts—they circled round that point until I thought that remorse would have killed me. Then suddenly I turned with a look of gladness to my friend.
 
“But you forget the letter! We are forgiven!”
 
“True,” cried Jack, with a cheerful expression; “we can face our fate with that assurance. Come, let us strike into the country and discover where we are. I’ll manage to hop along pretty well with my wooden leg. We’ll get home as soon as we can, by land if not by water, and then we’ll remain at home—won’t we, Bob?”
 
“Remain at home!” I cried; “ay, that will we. I’ve had more than enough of foreign experiences already. Oh! Jack, Jack, it’s little I care for the sufferings I have endured—but your leg, Jack! Willingly, most willingly, my dear friend, would I part with my own, if by so doing I could replace yours.”
 
Jack took my hand and squeezed it.
 
“It’s gone now, Bob,” he said sadly. “I must just make the most of the one that’s left. ’Tis a pity that the one that’s left is only the left one.”
 
So saying he turned his back to the sea, and, still retaining my hand in his, led me into the forest.
 
But here unthought-of trouble awaited us at the very outset of our wanderings. The ground which we first encountered was soft and swampy, so that I sank above the ankles at every step. In these circumstances, as might have been expected, poor Jack’s wooden leg was totally useless. The first step he took after entering the jungle, his leg penetrated the soft ground to the depth of nine or ten inches, and at the second step it disappeared altogether—insomuch that he could by no means pull it out.
 
“I say, Bob,” said he, with a rueful expression of countenance, “I’m in a real fix now, and no mistake. Come to anchor prematurely. I resolved to stick at nothing, and here I have stuck at the first step. What is to be done?”
 
Jack’s right leg being deep down in the ground, it followed, as a physical consequence, that his left leg was bent as if he were in a sitting posture. Observing this fact, just as he made the above remark, he placed both his hands on his left knee, rested his chin on his hands, and gazed meditatively at the ground. The action tickled me so much that I gave a short laugh. Jack looked up and laughed too, whereupon we both burst incontinently into an uproarious fit of laughter, which might have continued ever so long had not Jack, in the fulness of his mirth, given his fixed leg a twist that caused it to crack.
 
“Hallo! Bob,” he cried, becoming suddenly very grave, “I say, this won’t do, you know; if I break it short off you&rsq............