t. Under the trees the water was all in shadow and
the night had the effect of lurking still. We were in great spirits. We
had no towels or any costume and in my prudence I wondered how we were
going to dry ourselves. None of us had much on and it did not take us
long to snatch off our clothes. Nelson, the little supercargo, was
stripped first.

"I'm going down to the bottom," he said.

He dived and in a moment another man dived too, but shallow, and was out
of the water before him. Then Nelson came up and scrambled to the side.

"I say, get me out," he said.

"What's up?"

Something was evidently the matter. His face was terrified. Two fellows
gave him their hands and he slithered up.

"I say, there's a man down there."

"Don't be a fool. You're drunk."

"Well, if there isn't I'm in for D. T's. But I tell you there's a man
down there. It just scared me out of my wits."

Miller looked at him for a moment. The little man was all white. He was
actually trembling.

"Come on, Caster," said Miller to the big Australian, "we'd better go
down and see."

"He was standing up," said Nelson, "all dressed. I saw him. He tried to
catch hold of me."

"Hold your row," said Miller. "Are you ready?"

They dived in. We waited on the bank, silent. It really seemed as though
they were under water longer than any men could breathe. Then Caster
came up, and immediately after him, red in the face as though he were
going to have a fit, Miller. They were pulling something behind them.
Another man jumped in to help them, and the three together dragged their
burden to the side. They shoved it up. Then we saw that it was Lawson,
with a great stone tied up in his coat and bound to his feet.

"He was set on making a good job of it," said Miller, as he wiped the
water from his shortsighted eyes.

VI

_Honolulu_

The wise traveller travels only in imagination. An old Frenchman (he was
really a Savoyard) once wrote a book called _Voyage autour de ma
Chambre_. I have not read it and do not even know what it is about, but
the title stimulates my fancy. In such a journey I could circumnavigate
the globe. An eikon by the chimneypiece can take me to Russia with its
great forests of birch and its white, domed churches. The Volga is wide,
and at the end of a straggling village, in the wine-shop, bearded men in
rough sheepskin coats sit drinking. I stand on the little hill from
which Napoleon first saw Moscow and I look upon the