We kept ourselves alive, but did not solve the problem of the ever-diminishing supplies of rice for our men.
Somebody thought of fishing.

We found hooks in a crevice in the Queen of Sheba's bow, and made lines from a frayed rope.

But although the shore was lined with traps in which the inhabitants no doubt took fish in proper season, all that we caught was one miserable finny specimen, all head and mouth and tail, that the natives said would poison any one who ate it.

The truth was, of course, that they preferred rice to anything, and, African native-like, would eat nothing else as long as rice was to be had, having no earthly notions of economy.

When the rice was all gone on the fifth day out of Muanza they raided a banana plantation before we knew what they were up to, and came back gorged, with bunches enough to feed them for two or three more days.
The fat was in the fire then, of course.