"Come back! Come back, at once."
"Oh no, my friends; pull, you must pull!" and while they are discussing
we are paddling. I tell them it would be dangerous to attempt going
back. On we go, beyond small islands in sight of vessel, and now they
give up speaking of returning. We got off, and I paid the fellows well.
Anxious to get in, we tried in many places at high tide to enter the
shore channel, but all was useless. For several miles we were sailing
deep in mud, unable to work the engine. A canoe came near, and I told
them to inform those ashore that we could not get in.
At Port Glasgow, the people cleared out, bag and baggage, leaving us in
quiet possession. At Port Moresby, I had heard of a woman's land, a land
where only women--perfect Amazons--lived and ruled. These ladies were
reported to be excellent tillers of the soil, splendid canoeists in
sailing or paddling, and quite able to hold their own against attacks of
the sterner sex, who sometimes tried to invade their country. At the
East End they knew nothing of this woman's land, and nowhere east of Hula
have I ever heard it spoken of.
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