my raft to land, fortunately upon the left bank of the river, which was
the one I wanted. When I had landed I found that I was about a mile, or
perhaps a little less, below the point from which I started. My swag was
wet upon the outside, and I was myself dripping; but I had gained my
point, and knew that my difficulties were for a time over. I then lit my
fire and dried myself; having done so I caught some of the young ducks
and sea-gulls, which were abundant on and near the river-bed, so that I
had not only a good meal, of which I was in great want, having had an
insufficient diet from the time that Chowbok left me, but was also well
provided for the morrow.

I thought of Chowbok, and felt how useful he had been to me, and in how
many ways I was the loser by his absence, having now to do all sorts of
things for myself which he had hitherto done for me, and could do
infinitely better than I could. Moreover, I had set my heart upon making
him a real convert to the Christian religion, which he had already
embraced outwardly, though I cannot think that it had taken deep root in
his impenetrably stupid nature. I used to catechise him by our camp
fire, and explain to him the mysteries of the Trinity and of original
sin, with which I was myself familiar, having been the grandson of an
archdeacon by my mother's side, to say nothing of the fact that my father
was a clergyman of the English Church. I was therefore sufficiently
qualified for the task, and was the more inclined to it, over and above
my real desire to save the unhappy creature from an eternity of torture,
by recollecting the promise of St. James, that if any one converted a
sinner (which Chowbok surely was) he should hide a multitude of sins. I
reflected, therefore, that the conversion of Chowbok might in some degree
compensate for irregularities and short-comings in my own previous life,
the remembrance of which had been more than once unpleasant to me during
my recent experiences.