CHAPTER X.
THE BATTLE AT A DISTANCE.
Morning dawned as mornings do in the tropics. There is no gradual coming on of daylight. The sun came up in all of its fiery splendor, and day was at hand, hot, oppressive, and enervating. To look around one would have thought that it had not rained for a week, yet there was a steam in the air—a steam that by noon gave place to a peculiar vapor laden with that smell which, once experienced, is not easily forgotten, the smell of rank vegetation mingled with the delicious odor of spices.
"And how do you feel, Oliver?" asked the first mate, as I sat up and rubbed my eyes. "Perhaps you forget where you are?"
"No, I don't forget, but I am tremendously sleepy yet," I answered, as I stretched myself. "What time is it, do you think?"
"Not seven yet."
"Then I haven't slept very long, after all. I thought by the light it must be close upon noon." I paused. "I wish I had something to eat."
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