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Updated: May 4, 2025
The woman Fadeela died of fever. I am rather better, and the chief is already here to escort us to Kamrasi. After a quick march of three hours through immense woods, we reached the capital a large village of grass huts, situated on a barren slope. We were ferried across a river in large canoes, capable of carrying fifty men, but formed of a single tree upwards of four feet wide.
The country, forest interspersed with villages: the Somerset generally parallel to the route. There are no tamarinds in this neighbourhood, nor any other acid fruit; thus one is sorely pressed in the hours of fever. One of the black women servants, Fadeela, is dying of fever." "FEB. 5th. Heaven help us in this country! The altitude of the river level above the sea at this point is 4,056 feet."
Their backs were cut to pieces, and they were literally covered with blood. The brutes had taken upon themselves the task of thus punishing the women for a breach of discipline in being absent without leave. Fadeela had escaped before her punishment had been completed, and narrowly escaped being shot by running to the tent without giving warning.
My hand had quietly drawn the revolver from under my pillow and noiselessly pointed it within two feet of the dark crouching object, before I asked, "Who is that?" No answer was given until, upon repeating the question, with my finger touching gently upon the trigger ready to fire, a voice replied, "Fadeela." Never had I been so near to a fatal shot!
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