This would perhaps be a year after my advent amongst the blacks.

As usual, Yamba was my only companion, and we soon reached a likely island.

As I could find no suitable place for landing, I turned the canoe up a small creek.

From this course, however, my companion strongly dissuaded me.

Into the creek, nevertheless, we went, and when I saw it was a hopeless _impasse_, I scrambled ashore and waded through five inches or six inches of mud.
The little island was densely covered with luxuriant tropical vegetation, the mangroves coming right down to the water's edge; so that I had actually to force my way through them to gain the top of the bank.