Our island camp is like a miniature United States, composed of a variety of nationalities, but all submerged into a family unionism. The Irishman is the real Commandant, but he is obliged to be away most of the time. He sends in his absence members of his firm, those who need a rest or a holiday, and are a protective force. These men are of varying types, most of them simple hardworking people whose literary tastes run no further than detective stories and who do not deeply think nor discuss the world’s problems! They have a certain kind of humor which usually consists of teasing the cook, or telling stories about getting drunk. The only cultured one among them is the Irishman, who reads Schopenhauer and Ibsen. He has just arrived for two days. This morning we walked down to the foot of the island, crossed two rivers, by means of felled trees, and walked back along the mainland, expecting to be able to recross the river opposite the camp without going back the way we came. We had a pleasant and varied walk, half in the water to our knees--so that my top boots became like water bottles--and then to our waists, all to no purpose, the river was unfordable. Eventually being hot and weary we plunged in up to our necks. It is a lovely climate that enables one to do these things, which in England would produce pneumonia. Finally in desperation at not accomplishing our purpose, we resolutely stepped out, into the shallowest of the rapids to effect our crossing. I watched the man walking rather insecurely, trying the riverbed ahead of me; at each footmove one’s leg with great difficulty withstood the current. We seemed to be nearly over the worst, when I had a sensation of wavering, I put out my hand, he grabbed it, and together we were carried off our feet and rushed like tumbling logs down-stream. Everything seemed dark and chaotic. I was not conscious of my head being under water. The only thing that impressed me was our utter helplessness and the futility of his strong grasp. Very clearly I said to myself “This is the end.” It must come some day, somehow, and this was the day and this was the way. I wondered how long it would take and if it would hurt. Then in the muddle when one seemed to be turning over and round, any sort of way, a mere bundle of rubbish, I came on top, and saw the river bank quite close--I snatched at grass, at roots, all failed, and then something held--“I’ve got it, I’ve got it,” I shouted in triumph, and when we regained our feet, and stood waist deep, spluttering we looked at one another, without a word, in great surprise, and laughed, but my laughter was very nearly tears.