Nothing, I say, till sailing down the last stretch of the Indian Ocean, where mosquitos came by hundreds from rain-water poured out of the heavens.

Simply a barrel of rain-water stood on deck five days, I think, in the sun, then music began.

I knew the sound at once; it was the same as heard from Alaska to New Orleans.
Again at Cape Town, while dining out one day, I was taken with the song of a cricket, and Mr.Branscombe, my host, volunteered to capture a pair of them for me.

They were sent on board next day in a box labeled, "Pluto and Scamp." Stowing them away in the binnacle in their own snug box, I left them there without food till I got to sea--a few days.

I had never heard of a cricket eating anything.