and habitation for the com- places lagoons are - nature's mandante, with whom we lunched, we providing the food and he the invitation, for this community was in a condition bordering on starvation. There was practically no food in this part of the country. This was positively the last community possessing a commandante; in fact, the last semblance to an ordered world.

Another four hours along the coast and we ambled wearily into a little Indian community by the side of the broad and swift waters of the black river. In the morning we had to cross it in the usual fashion, close to where it meets the sea, by seating ourselves in a dug-out canoe and holding on to our mules, one swimming on each side. It was a hard swim for them in the swift current. However, we arrived without mishap on the other bank, and continued our journey over the glittering sand. In order to avoid taking the packing-cases across the mouths of numerous coastal rivers in this vicinity, our Roatan guide now suggested that he should conduct us by a short-cut through certain lagoons, which lay a few miles in the interior, whilst Valdo would carry on along the coast with the mules and meet us later at a prescribed point. We agreed to this and started inland, and Roatan, as we now nicknamed him, after his island home, obtained the necessary canoes from the natives in which to cross the lagoons. What dismal

cesspools, into which all waste products drain and lie stagnant. We started off keeping close to the banks, and between the entanglement of trees could see the little Indian settlements, the inhabitants of which were practically naked. It seemed incredible to think that even the natives could endure the torment of insects that would attack them at night. A lone spot with nothing to recommend it. We had divided ourselves and gear between the two canoes, and were now well on our journey along the lagoon, when Chatsworth and I began to look at each other somewhat uneasily. Our canoe seemed to be getting lower in the water; it was undoubtedly leaking. We hailed our other canoe, and unloaded a few more things into that one. Then we baled ours dry; but it was no good. The water began to dribble in again slowly and almost imperceptibly, but nevertheless steadily, till the gunwale was only a few inches above the lagoon. The absurdity of the situation raised my ire, and I let fly at the fates which had brought us to this impasse.

"Vituperation is no argument," Chatsworth snapped.

66

No, perhaps not," I retorted, "but it's a relief."

The question was, what were we to do? We thought of paddling quickly to the bank, climbing through the trees, and dossing down for the night among those half-naked and

primitive creatures in their After waiting what seemed

swampy and tangled home;
but it looked precious unin-
viting, and then what sort of
a reception should we get?
On the other hand, there was
little doubt that in the course
of the next ten minutes this
problem would solve itself. We
should merely sink ignomini-
ously beneath the muddy waters
of the lagoon. Discussing the
situation with perfect equan-
imity, we decided on logical
grounds that it was better to
get the Indians to assist us
before we had lost everything
than afterwards; but when
logic dictates one thing and
instinct another, it is usually
better to follow the latter, and
so we did nothing. Nature
seemed to be utterly callous
concerning our fate. The sun
shone out of a clear blue sky;
tiny wavelets rippled over the
otherwise stolid face of the
lagoon; and the hideous trees
growing out of the mire swayed
lazily and nastily in the gentle
breeze. Time itself seemed to
pause for a moment and look
askance at us, believing that
we, like Canute, were calmly
sitting there defying the waters
to rise, when suddenly a big
canoe with a sail came bearing
round the corner. We hailed
her frantically. She hauled
down her sail and came along-
side us.
We bargained with
the coal-black occupants, who
quickly transferred us, bag and
baggage, to their much larger
craft, and some two hours
later arrived safely at the end
of these lagoons.

to be an interminable period,
Valdo arrived with the animals,
and we rode through the wilder-
ness to the coast and along
those sandy shores until night
fell. We were now within a
mile of Brewer's Lagoon, a
large stretch of water, some
eight miles across and twenty
miles long. An English-speak-
ing native, the only occupant
here, offered us his hut, but
we preferred to pitch our tent
on the shore. A meal, and
then into our camp beds, with
a wonderful starry firmament
above and a gentle zephyr to
fan us to sleep. I don't think
I shall ever forget that night.
My bed happened to be full of
ants, fleas, sand-flies, and mos-
quitoes. About four o'clock I
crept out of the tent. Chats-
worth shouted to me. I paid
no heed, but wandered on
down to the shore and sat in
the ocean. My body was on
fire with irritation. Chats-
worth followed me. He was
suffering too, but not so badly.
He had some of the varieties,
but not all of them. The cur-
rents round here were very
dangerous, and the sea was
full of sharks. I, however,
cared for nothing but to bathe
my tortured skin, and so we
sat there in the sea until the
first glimpse of dawn. Then
the sun rose, and the pest of
insects disappeared.

Brewer's Lagoon is separated from the sea by a long sand-bar, about half a mile wide and some fifteen to twenty miles long, with two outlets to the

A few hours later another plunge into those swift waters, balancing the tiny canoe and the animals battling on each side with the heavy current. At times I thought we should lose them and ourselves, but we paddled away, assisting them as much as we could. The tide was going out, and the waters from Brewer's Lagoon were racing strongly through this outlet into the sea.

sea, one of which was exactly we had to cross that racing opposite us, a swift broad outlet again before nightfall. water. We decided to explore a few miles of that sand-bar, and swam our mules across the outlet, whilst as before we paddled ourselves over in canoes, holding on to the animals by the leading string. It was a somewhat perilous journey, but it had to be done. Riding along the sand-bar we noticed the mark of what in civilisation would probably have been taken for a caterpillar tractor, but which here in this lonely spot must have been a monster turtle. A little farther on we saw something black and oily floating on the water. Our spirits rose. At last, perhaps, our efforts were to meet with success, but even so, what about landing machinery and stores on this dangerous coast There was no harbour or refuge for ships between Trujillo and Nicaragua. Early navigators had found this perfectly innocent-looking coast most dangerous and difficult, screened as it was by breakers and a tremendous undercurrent for a hundred miles along those shores. They called this coast "The Deeps," and named the country after it "Honduras." Honduras." All this was vividly passing through my mind when we reached the spot where the oil was floating. Alas! it was only tar, which had been used for the seams of one or more of the many vessels which had been wrecked here.

For twenty minutes or more we and the animals fought with this sweeping tide. To be carried down too far meant certain death, for the current, when it reached the sea, ran out some distance, and then parallel with the coast. At last we gained the opposite shore, and rested for the night on the same spot as previously, but carefully examined our sleeping-bags first for ants. It was, however, a pestilential place.

The next morning we were ready to start across the big lagoon, but our petrol launch, which we had ordered from the island of Roatan, had not arrived. We began to heckle our nicknamed guide as to the cause of this delay. Roatan feared it was due to the bad weather. Perhaps, he suggested, the small boat had been swamped in crossing the forty miles of open sea, or perhaps it had had to put back. Chatsworth and I then

We now turned back, for consulted together concerning