80 RIVERS IN SUMMER

pattered on the tent above our heads. Massed bands
of mosquitoes outside the bar kept upasteady drone.
And through these monotones there broke from
time to time a sound of water slapping against wood
as our boat swung out and back with the current.
In rain and darkness the rising river swept past its

crumbling banks.

Morning sunlight fell upon the river, upon the
wet grass of the bank, upon the dark logs of the
cabin. We stood in the boat, arranging the load;
just room for the frying-pan, axe and kettle up
under the covered-in bow; heavy grub-boxes next,
placed well forward to keep the nose down; the two
eiderdowns wedged in to make a seat for the bow-
man; then a space left for rowing; amidships, a box
of pans and the dunnage bags; next to them, the
cases of gas and oil; in the stern, a box of tools and
a pump. The tank of the motor was being filled;
a little of the oil was spilled into the bottom of the
boat, and spread in rich curves and curls of colour
upon the water that had collected there. The pump
squeaked and coughed as it threw water in spurts
over the side. When the tank was filled, the water
baled and the tarpaulins spread over the load, we