on my lap and tried to abide patiently, but I had not been long
enough in New Zealand to have any confidence in the climate, and as
I felt how damp my clothes were, and recollected with horror my West
Indian experiences of the consequences of exposure to night air and
heavy dew, my mind _would_ dwell gloomily on the prospect of a
fever, at least. It seemed a long and weary while before I
perceived a figure coming towards me; and I am afraid I was both
cross and cold and sleepy by the time we set our faces homewards.
"I have only caught three," said F---. "How many have you got?"
"None, I am happy to say," I answered peevishly, "What could Nettle
and I have done with the horrible things if we had caught any?"

The walk, or rather the stumble home, proved to be the worst part of
the expedition. Not a ray of starlight had we to guide us,--nothing
but inky blackness around and over us. We tried to make Nettle go
first, intending to follow his lead, and trusting to his keeping the
track; but Nettle's place was at my heels, and neither coaxing nor
scolding would induce him to forego it. A forlorn hope was nothing
to the dangers of each footstep. First one and then the other
volunteered to lead the way, declaring they could find the track.
All this time we were trying to strike the indistinct road among the
tussocks, made by occasional wheels to our house, but the marks,
never very distinct in daylight, became perfect will-o'-the-wisps at
night. If we crossed a sheep-track we joyfully announced that we
had found the way, but only to be undeceived the next moment by
discovering that we were returning to the creek.

From time to time we fell into and over Spaniards, and what was left
of our clothes and our flesh the wild Irishmen devoured. We must
have got home somehow, or I should not be writing an account of it,