The end of it all was that we left our ship, having padlocked
up the door (the padlock, we explained, was a magical instrument
that bit worse than Tommy), and moved inland in a kind of
triumphal procession, priests and singers going before (the
Orofenans sang extremely well) and minstrels following after
playing upon instruments like flutes, while behind came the
bearers carrying such goods as we needed. They took us to a
beautiful place in a grove of palms on a ridge where grew many
breadfruit trees, that commanded a view of the ocean upon one
side and of the lake with the strange brown mountain top on the
other. Here in the midst of the native gardens we found that a
fine house had been built for us of a kind of mud brick and
thatched with palm leaves, surrounded by a fenced courtyard of
beaten earth and having wide overhanging verandahs; a very
comfortable place indeed in that delicious climate. In it we took
up our abode, visiting the ship occasionally to see that all was
well there, and awaiting events.

For Bickley these soon began to happen in the shape of an
ever-increasing stream of patients. The population of the island
was considerable, anything between five and ten thousand, so far
as we could judge, and among these of course there were a number
of sick. Ophthalmia, for instance, was a prevalent disease, as
were the growths such as Marama had suffered from, to say nothing
of surgical cases and those resulting from accident or from
nervous ailments. With all of these Bickley was called upon to
deal, which he did with remarkable success by help of his books
on Tropical Diseases and his ample supplies of medical
necessaries.