VIII 
CROSSING THE RIVER 
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scrambling along the bank under the bushes into the 
mud. It caught on a snag, and, in another moment, I 
hooked it with my rod. 
But now my fun commenced. The fish — for he 
was a very big one — was off again, and he tugged and 
dashed as I tried to play him, but dared not pull him 
up ; I might as well have tried to play an alligator, for 
he played me, as, streaming with heat and panting for 
breath, I still held on. Then a hidden stump, a stumble, 
a plunge and a jerk, and my fish and line had gone ! 
Darkness, when it came, was most welcome, but the 
evening, spent in battling with heat, and mosquitoes and 
other insects, seemed to have no end. I caught some 
beautiful moths, which were attracted by the light 
inside the house, but by morning the cockroaches had 
eaten off their bodies. I cooked and prepared a 
pumpkin for breakfast next morning, and the natives 
ran down a lean, scraggy hen, which, roasted, gave us 
a most sumptuous meal, and I felt so well fortified that 
I had made up my mind that day to cross the river by 
other means, and make my way up to Mr. H.’s station. 
I was just starting on an improvised raft when he 
himself appeared — what a joy it was ; he had accidentally 
heard of my arrival, and in five minutes my things were 
packed, and Timothy Cox, a regular Paddy from Cork, 
was ready to take us over the river in the smallest 
and ricketiest of punts with a pair of decrepit oars. 
“ Now don’t fear, Missus, I’ll land yez safe,” he said, and 
so he did, but on a sandbank in the middle of the river. 
From that bank we escaped only to run, lower down, 
on to another, where the stream and strong tide together 
caught us and we went up and down in a most 
unsatisfactory manner, but we were finally landed on a 
muddy bank, from which we made our way along a 
pretty pathway all overgrown on both sides with a 
