The path from this continued
its perilous character, in one place traversing a precipitous face
of rock only passable on all fours, beneath which a thick cover of
long grass and weeds hung over the deep, treacherous-looking pools of
the torrent. Having on a pair of grass shoes which had already done
one day's work, I had broken down about half way, and was now nearly
bare-footed. I consequently did not arrive till nearly the last of
the party, and found the tent pitched and fires lit under a group of
large trees, in the wooden village of about a dozen houses, called
Sucknez. It was then getting dusk, and after waiting a reasonable
time, we sent out a party from the village to make search for our
missing man, while F. and I, lighting a fire almost in the tent door,
proceeded to cook our own dinner.
The materials consisted of an unlimited supply of eggs and a box
of sardines, hitherto neglected, and despised among the artistic
productions of our lost professor. F. superintended the frying
of the eggs, and produced a conglomeration of some eight of them,
which we pronounced unusually delicious, while I laid the table and
looked after the kettle, for we thought it better, under our bereaved
circumstances, to knock tea and dinner into one meal.
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