The dinghy was launched and, after a little preliminary wading in the
gum-boots, the crew embarked. Betty's future profession will, I am sure, be
that of quick-change artist. In less than ten minutes she had risen from
cabin-boy to skipper, _viâ_ ordinary seaman, A.B., bo'sun and various
grades of mate. My rank, which had at the outset been that of admiral, as
speedily declined, until I was merely the donkey-engine greaser, whose
duties appeared to include that of helmsman (Betty is not yet an adept with
two sculls).

Our vessel also changed its character with lightning rapidity. It was in
turn a ferry-boat--imitation of passengers descending the gangway by
rhythmical patting of hand on thwart; a hospital ship chased by a
submarine--cormorant's neck and head naturally mistaken for periscope; a
destroyer attacking a submarine--said cormorant kindly obliging with quick
diving act when approached; a food-ship laden with bananas represented by
rushes culled from the banks; and a smuggler running cargoes of French wine
contained in an elderly empty bottle discovered in the mud above high-water
mark. It was breathless work.

The disaster occurred when Betty, against my maturer judgment, insisted
upon the exploration on foot of a mangrove swamp on the shore of a
cannibal-infested South Sea island. The immediate cause was a suddenly
developed attachment on the part of one of Daddy's sea-boots to the mud on
the lake-side. The twain refused to be parted, and the youthful explorer
measured her length in the mire.

Generously overlooking my carelessness in not warning her that we were
traversing a quicksand, Betty, rather shaken, very muddy and with a
suspicion of tears in her voice, bound me by a blood-curdling nautical oath