In order to keep mosquitoes out we had to light a smudge in the sand-box below.

The smudge added to the heat, and the heat drove men to the open air to gasp a few minutes in the rain for breath and go down again to make room for the next in turn.
Sleep on shore was impossible, for thereabouts were crocodile and snake swamps, fuller of insect life than dictionaries are of letters.

Poling was next to impossible, because the soft mud bottom gave no purchase.
And the oars we made out of poles were clumsy affairs; there was not room for more than two boys to try to use them at a time, even if the deck would have stood the strain of more feet, which it certainly would not have done.
Lady Waldon slept seated in her corner, with her head wrapped in a veil over which the mosquitoes prospected in gangs.

Coutlass and his lady-love endured rain and insects in the open, too, but suffered less, because of mutual distraction.

The rest of us took turns with the natives below, lying packed between them, much as sardines nestle in a can, wondering whether the famous Black Hole of Calcutta was really such a record-breaker as they say.