quailed at having charge of these two fragile girls. "Oh," he repeated
several times, "if anything were to happen to the Misses Shaw I should
never get over it, and they don't know what roughing it is; they never
should have been allowed to come." So I thought, too, as I looked at
one of them lying limp and helpless on a Malay bed; but my share of the
responsibility for them was comparatively limited. Doubtless his
thoughts strayed, as mine did, to the days of traveling "without
encumbrance." There was another encumbrance of a literal kind. They had
a trunk! This indispensable impediment had been left at Malacca in the
morning, and arrived in a four-paddled canoe just as we were about to
start!

Mr. Hayward prescribed two tablespoonfuls of whisky for Miss Shaw, for
it is somewhat of a risk to sleep out in the jungle at the rainy
season, for the miasma rises twenty feet, and the day had been
exceptionally hot. Our rather dismal procession started at seven, Mr.
Hayward leading the way, carrying a torch made of strips of palm
branches bound tightly together and dipped in gum dammar, a most
inflammable resin; then a policeman; the sick girl, moaning and
stumbling, leaning heavily on her sister and me; Babu, who had grown
very plucky; a train of policemen carrying our baggage; and lastly,
several torch-bearers, the torches dripping fire as we slowly and
speechlessly passed along. It looked like a funeral or something
uncanny. We crawled dismally for fully three-quarters of a mile to cut
off some considerable windings of the river, crossed a stream on a
plank bridge, and found our boat lying at a very high pier with a
thatched roof.

The mystery of night in a strange place was wildly picturesque; the
pale, greenish, undulating light of fireflies, and the broad, red