The carriers, I was now using, were men recruited from Mekeo; their time had expired, and they were keenly anxious to return to their homes. It was only by a vigorous use of cleaning rod that we could “induce” them to work, and we had to keep them under perpetual guard, lest they should desert; also they could not swim, so that when we came to a deep crossing we had to haul them through on a rope, and, in addition, forcibly tie them to the rope, as the procedure was not one they relished. Mile by mile we fought our way up that awful river; the constabulary and I stripped naked, hauling, sweating, swimming, and swearing, until at last we came to a whirlpool under a rapid. The police were swimming alongside the punt, the carriers hauling on the rope, I was steering the ark by a rough paddle, when suddenly a swirl of the current carried her into the whirlpool. I yelled at the carriers to slack the rope, but they lost their heads and pulled harder: punt, stores and I, accordingly disappeared into the swirl, and then those mutton-headed carriers let go the rope altogether. I am a bad swimmer at the best, and was about done in the swirl: the police were doing their best to stem the current and get to me. At last Keke managed to crawl out on a bank and, running along, dived from a rock, caught me round the waist as he swept past, and carried me to a sharp-edged rock, upon which he tore his feet badly in climbing out. I lay on a rock, and coughed up about half the Brown River. Rifles, stores, clothes, all were gone; mother-naked stood the constabulary and I, with the exception of one flannel police shirt which had washed ashore, and which I promptly annexed. Nothing now remained for us but to return to our first camp, get fresh stores, and start again.