In another hour the excellent meal prepared by Dan had been enjoyed, and the regular preparations were made for passing the night on board; but in a very short time everyone had come to the conclusion that it would be impossible to sleep in the neighbourhood of the sand-spits, on account of the myriads of tiny sandflies, whose poisonous bites were raising itching bumps and threatening to close the eyes of all who were exposed to them.
“It’s getting too late to drift down the river a little way,” said Lynton, “and, besides, it wouldn’t be safe.”
“And we should only be getting out of Scylla into Charybdis,” said Sir Humphrey.
“I should like to be buried in sand up to my nose,” cried Brace, whose face was getting terribly swelled.
“Strikes me,” said Briscoe, “that we’d better go ashore and sleep there after making up a good smother on the fire with green stuff that will smoke well. There’s plenty about.”
This was agreed to unanimously after an announcement from the mate that, if they were to spend the night ashore, a proper watch would have to be set and kept.
After the necessary preparations had been made in the dry, slightly-raised clearing in the middle of which the fire had been lighted, the party covered themselves with their blankets and rejoiced in the success of the plan, for the smoke rose and in the moist night air hung low, spreading itself out in a thin layer a few feet from the ground; and beneath this canopy the weary party lay down to sleep.