104 BLOOMFIELD RIVER chap. 
It was the first time a boat of its kind had come up 
this river and the natives on the bank were very much 
excited. I had arranged to lodge with a woman here 
whose husband owned the little cutter which runs 
backwards and forwards with stores. We had been 
told that he had already gone home and prepared her for 
my coming. We landed and filed up the narrow path- 
way to the house, Mr. Gurner and I leading, three blue- 
jackets in the rear carrying my portfolio, Gladstone 
and dressing-bag ; and no wonder Mrs. D. looked scared 
when she saw us. 
Here I suffered some surprise and many disappoint- 
ments. The husband had not arrived, and I had to 
explain my mission as best I could, for she was a Nor- 
wegian and didn’t understand much English. She told 
me afterwards that her brothers had been drowned here 
and a boat-load of people came to break the news to her, 
and she thought that we had come to say her husband 
would never return. Nor did he return for three weeks 
after, by which time all provisions had run short, and 
everyone had given him up for lost. From all accounts 
I do not think he would have been very much missed. 
It was a very fevery-looking spot in a hollow on the 
bank of the river ; oily, greenish, stagnant water lay 
beside it, and, as the night came on, there was a strong 
smell of rank vegetation and mangrove swamp combined. 
I felt as if already I had swallowed whole syndicates of 
germs. The Crotons were growing 1 2 and 1 6 feet high, 
and everything else was equally luxuriant. I sat on 
the top log of the three steps leading up to the house, 
with a very dirty, chattering crowd of natives round me, 
until it grew dark. A thin half-ring of crescent moon 
shone coldly down on us, the stars came out one by 
one, a chilly, cold gray mist crept along the river 
blotting them out, while perfect clouds of insects dinned 
