WANT OF WATER. 
187 
Perhaps want of fresh water was one cause of 
our constant suffering. All our so-called fresh 
water was skimmed off the surface of holes made 
in the coral, and was brackish and unpalatable. 
There are no mountains in the islands, and no 
fresh- water streams. There was a spring in the 
village over the strait, but, as I have said, the 
boats could not always cross on account of the 
strong winds and currents. Then towards the 
end of our stay our villagers quarrelled with 
them, so that war was on the point of commenc- 
ing, and our men would not venture across. 
The natives are not unhealthy themselves. 
Occasionally they had fever, and the old had 
rheumatic limbs, but they seem to have excel- 
lent constitutions, and we never heard of any 
epidemic disease having appeared among them. 
I can recall one sickly lad. He looked about 
twenty, and was so thin ; he never tried to join 
the sturdy merry lads of his own age, but stayed 
by a fire tending the smoking of pigs’ flesh. 
All immigrants, however, suffer greatly in 
acclimatising. Every one of the post-holder’s 
party, who preceded us by three months, got 
sadly emaciated ; his child died, and one woman 
seemed dying. Marcus, an Amboinese police- 
man, was a great boon amongst the men; he 
