"Him sick too much in tummick, sah," said Mbutu gravely. "Too much cheese, sah. Better next time soon."
"Is that their cure for dyspepsia, then? I must tell Dr. Corney about this. What a fine poster it would make for advertising somebody's pills! As the howls have stopped, I suppose the poor fellow is better?"
"Berrah well now, sah. Him no eat cheese not much no more. Cheese too much nice."
Tom laughed. The sun was rapidly dispersing the mist, which rolled back like a circular curtain. The surface of the lake was clear for half a mile round, though clear was after all not the word for it, papyrus sticking up thickly in all directions. Tom felt again rather depressed as he scanned the dismal prospect, but did his best to shake off the weight. Unable to eat anything himself, he ordered his men to have their breakfast and prepare to start.
The whole of that day was occupied in paddling down the lake. Tom could hardly endure the slowness of their progress. The crew would paddle for half a mile, then find the canoe entangled in a maze of subaqueous creepers, and have to try back for twenty yards or so and look for another passage. Once, going at a fair pace, it embedded itself in a submerged bank of black mud, and all its occupants had to jump overboard, and partly by heaving, partly by loosening the mud with the axes, free the craft from the obstruction. Then, as the afternoon wore on, mosquitoes and ticks innumerable buzzed about their heads. The natives paid little heed to these importunate visitors, but Tom's face, neck, and arms were stung in scores of places, and he suffered almost intolerable torture. He found some mental relief in opening on his knees the writing-case given him by Mr. Barkworth, and penning an account of his adventures, intending to send the letter by one of the crew on their return journey. In course of time they came opposite a small native village on the lake-side, and Mbutu, with Tom's permission, leapt overboard and waded to the shore. He returned in about half an hour carrying a closely-woven straw basket, which he handed to Tom.
"Drink, sah, fust; berrah well. Next time, rub hands and face, so; berrah well. Berrah nice, sah; hurt all go too soon."
Tom saw that the basket was half-full of delicious new milk. He drank more gratefully than ever in his life before, then washed his face and arms in what was left.
About five o'clock they reached a point which the natives declared was the southern extremity of the lake, and beyond which they had been forbidden by their chief to go. Tom heaved a sigh of relief.
"There is an hour before sundown," he said. "We ought to be able to find a native hut or two by that time--eh, Mbutu?"
"Sure nuff, sah."