f us went ashore in surf-boats, paddled by the kind of men
that figure prominently in the school geographies. It was a chapter
from "Swiss Family Robinson,"--the white surf lashing the long
yellow beach; the rakish palm-trees bristling in the wind; a Stygian
volcano rising above a slope of tropic foliage; the natives gathering
around, all open-mouthed with curiosity. At Camaguin, where the boat
stopped at the sultry little city of Mambajo, an accident befell our
miner. When we found him, he was sleeping peacefully under a _nipa_
shade, guarded by a municipal policeman, with the ring of Filipinos
clustering around. He had been drinking native "_bino_" (wine), and it
had been too much even for him, a discharged soldier and a Californian.

It was almost a pleasant change, the transfer to the tiny launch
_Victoria_, that smelled of engine oil and Filipinos, and was commanded
by my old friend Dumalagon. The _Victoria_ at that time had a most
unpleasant habit of lying to all night, and sailing with the early
dawn. When I had found an area of deck unoccupied by feet or Filipino
babies, Chinamen or ants, I spread an army blanket out and went to
sleep in spite of the incessant drizzle which the rotten canopy seemed
not to interrupt. I was awakened in the small hours by the rattle of
the winch. These little boats make more ado in getting under way than
any ocean steamer I have ever known. Becoming conscious of a cloud of
opium-smoke escaping from the cockpit, which was occupied by several
Chinamen, I shifted to windward, stepping over the sprawling forms
of sleepers till I found another place, the only objection to which
was the proximity of numerous brown feet and the hot engine-room. The
squalling of an infant ushered in the rosy-fingered dawn.

Most of the transportation of the southern islands is accomplished by
such boats as the _Victoria_. I can remember well the nights spent
on the launch _Da-ling-ding_, an impossible, absurd craft, that
rolled from side to side in the most gentle sea. She would start out
courageously to cross the bay along the strip of Moro coast in Northern
Mindanao; but the throbbing of her engines growing weaker and weaker,
she would presently turn back faint-hearted, unable to make headway, at
the mercy of a sudden storm, and with the possibility of being swept up
on a hostile shore among bloodthirsty and unreasonable Moros. Another
time, and we were caught in a typhoon off the north coast. We thought