This wretched fare, in our exhausted state from fever and general
effects of climate, so completely disabled us, that for nearly two
months my wife lay helpless on one angarep, and I upon the other;
neither of us could walk. The hut was like all in Kamrasi's country, a
perfect forest of thick poles to support the roof (I counted
thirty-two); thus, although it was tolerably large, there was but little
accommodation. These poles we now found very convenient, as we were so
weak, that we could not rise from bed without hauling by one of the
supports.
We were very nearly dead, and our amusement was a childish conversation
about the good things in England, and my idea of perfect happiness was
an English beefsteak and a bottle of pale ale; for such a luxury I would
most willingly have sold my birthright at that hungry moment. We were
perfect skeletons; and it was annoying to see how we suffered upon the
bad fare, while our men apparently throve. There were plenty of wild red
peppers, and the men seemed to enjoy a mixture of porridge and legumes a
la sauce piquante. They were astonished at my falling away on this food,
but they yielded to my argument when I suggested that a "lion would
starve where a donkey grew fat." I must confess that this state of
existence did not improve my temper, which, I fear, became nearly as
bitter as the porridge.
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