Maurice arrived on Friday week, and is as happy as can be, he says he
never felt so well and never had such good snipe shooting. Little
Darfour's amusement at Maurice is boundless; he grins at him all the time
he waits at table, he marvels at his dirty boots, at his bathing, at his
much walking out shooting, at his knowing no Arabic. The dyke burst the
other day up at Bahr Yussuf, and we were nearly all swept away by the
furious rush of water. My little boat was upset while three men in her
were securing the anchor, and two of them were nearly drowned, though
they swim like fish; all the dahabiehs were rattled and pounded awfully;
and in the middle of the _fracas_, at noonday, a steamer ran into us
quite deliberately. I was rather frightened when the steamer bumped us,
and carried away the iron supports of the awning; and they cursed our
fathers into the bargain, which I thought needless. The English have
fallen into such contempt here that one no longer gets decent civility
from anything in the _Miri_ (Government).
Olagnier has lent us a lovely little skiff, and I have had her repaired
and painted, so Maurice is set up for shooting and boating. Darfour
calls him the 'son of a crocodile' because he loves the water, and
generally delights in him hugely, and all my men are enchanted with him.