However, about dawn Ralph's fever lessened, his skin became cool and moist, and he fell asleep. That fear was off his mind for the time, but the peril in which they stood had by no means lessened.
[CHAPTER XXV]
DESPERATION
No, the peril was none the less to any of the villagers, and greatly increased to the Englishmen, for the natives began to look darkly at them.
Kirke had made them all leave their inflammable houses, perched like dovecots high upon poles, and had encamped in a little clearance at the edge of the jungle.
This he insisted upon enlarging to the best of their ability, cutting down all cover beneath which the dacoits could steal upon them unperceived. So dense was the scrub that this was hard work, and the Burman hates hard work.
Kirke, with British energy, set the example himself, hacking, hewing, and felling, with promptitude which was far from being seconded. He caused the débris to be built up around a circle, within which he entrenched the women and children, with all the household effects that could be gathered together, and would fain have thrown up earthworks to the best of his ability, but the Burmans would not dig them out.
He insisted upon the houses which remained being cut down from their elevations, lest the dacoits should succeed in mounting to them, and firing down upon the camp; and this annoyed the short-sighted owners more than anything else.
"Why should we destroy our houses?" they said. "The dacoits are gone now. We have given them the fire to eat, and they have had enough of it. We wear the charm against fire and sword, the blessed nats will protect us, ours are stronger than theirs; and the houses must be put up again before the next flood-time comes."