Before we halted for the night I was subjected to a most severe attack of fever, and upon the boat reaching a certain spot I was carried on a litter, perfectly unconscious, to a village, attended carefully by my poor sick wife, who, herself half dead, followed me on foot through the marches in pitch darkness, and watched over me until the morning.

At daybreak I was too weak to stand, and we were both carried down to the canoes, and crawling helplessly within our grass awning we lay down like logs while the canoes continued their voyage.
Many of our men were also suffering from fever.

The malaria of the dense masses of floating vegetation was most poisonous, and upon looking back to the canoe that followed in our wake I observed all my men sitting crouched together sick and dispirited, looking like departed spirits being ferried across the melancholy Styx.
The woman Bacheeta knew the country, as she had formerly been to Magungo when in the service of Sali, who had been subsequently murdered by Kamrasi.

She informed me on the second day that we should terminate our canoe voyage on that day, as we should arrive at the great waterfall of which she had often spoken.

As we proceeded the river gradually narrowed to about 180 yards, and when the paddles ceased working we could distinctly hear the roar of water.