It was after sundown when the party reached their destination. The cook
had stubbed his toe against a root in the path.
Taking advantage of the remaining light, Wrenshaw helped the interpreter
to pitch the patrol tent. The cook collected wood for an all-night fire
and then fetched water from the nearest stream half-a-mile away. The
gunbearer cut coarse grass for bedding for the horses. Each servant had
his job, which he performed with the precision born of long practice.
The camping ground was well-chosen. In front was a level plain, probably
a mile wide. After the first quarter of a mile it was very swampy; a
single path led across it to the high ground which flanked the river
beyond. Wrenshaw knew this path, he was probably the only living white
man who did. The high ground was thickly covered with palm trees; behind
the spot chosen for the camp was mile upon mile of thin forest.
When bringing in his last load of grass the gunbearer stumbled over a
native lying face downwards on the ground.