That evening, when Peter Gross had returned to the ship, Muller and Van Slyck met to compare notes. The captain was still boiling with anger; the resident's visit to Fort Wilhelmina had not soothed his ruffled temper.
"He told me he brought twenty-five irregulars with him for work in the bush," Van Slyck related. "They are a separate command, and won't be quartered in the fort. If this Yankee thinks he can meddle in the military affairs of the residency he will find he is greatly mistaken."
"Where will they be quartered?" Muller asked.
"I don't know."
"Maybe he will place them in the huts he has ordered me to build back of the residency," Muller remarked, rubbing his bald pate thoughtfully.
"He told you to build some huts?" Van Slyck asked.
"Yes, some long huts. Big enough for thirty men. He said they were to be a protection against the fevers."
"The fevers?" Van Slyck exclaimed in amazement.
"Yes, the fevers that killed Mynheer de Jonge, he said."
Van Slyck's face became livid with passion. "Against the fevers that killed de Jonge, eh?" he snarled. "The damned Yankee will find there are more than fevers in Bulungan."