156 
SOMERSET 
CHAP. 
sea chasing us, and after (to me) a weary day of more 
rough seas and depressing sea-sickness, we anchored at 
six in the evening off Murray Island. The friendly 
planets were merging into one, and the golden light of 
the setting sun behind the jagged outlines of the cocoa- 
nut palms was very beautiful, native huts lined the 
shore, which was strewn with dug-out canoes, while 
larger and more imposing-looking ones were at anchor 
in the little bay. The whole village had congregated 
on the beach and seemed in a state of great excitement, 
for white visitors here are of very rare occurrence. 
We anchored a short distance off, and, not knowing 
if we could get quarters near, dined on board. Before we 
had finished our meal the steamer was surrounded with 
canoes, and Mr. Bruce, one of three brothers, the 
only white people on the island, came off in his 
boat to ask us to stay on shore. This was joy to me, 
and my pent-up spirits at once rebounded with energy 
at the thought of leaving that tiny, stuffy cabin which 
Mrs. Jardine and I had shared together. It was un- 
bearably hot, and the Albatross rolled whatever the 
weather was. We were warmly greeted by the 
natives on landing, who insisted on shaking hands, — 
men, women, and children. There was no getting out 
of it, and I was very glad that I had my gloves on. 
Mr. Bruce’s house was on the edge of the shore, and 
we sat on the sands until the moon had risen two hours 
above the horizon, enjoying what cool air there was. 
Then Mr. Bruce and his people lighted Mrs. Jardine 
and me up the hill to an empty house, which belonged at 
one time to the last Missionary. We had brought all 
requisites with us, bedding, towels, etc., and our beds 
had been made up on the floor for us. Here we were 
left in sole possession with the inevitable dog “ Snap,” 
which goes everywhere with his mistress. 
