“Can they go on, my father?” I asked.

“Nay, my son, they must go on.  If they stop here they will certainly die; also, they will be better in the litters than on the ground.  By to-night, if all goes well, we shall be across the marsh and in good air.  Come, let us lift them into the litters and start, for it is very bad to stand still in this morning fog.  We can eat our meal as we go.”

This we accordingly did, and with a heavy heart I once more set out upon our strange journey.  For the first three hours all went as well as could be expected, and then an accident happened that nearly lost us the pleasure of the company of our venerable friend Billali, whose litter was leading the cavalcade.  We were going through a particularly dangerous stretch of quagmire, in which the bearers sometimes sank up to their knees.  Indeed, it was a mystery to me how they contrived to carry the heavy litters at all over such ground as that which we were traversing, though the two spare hands, as well as the four regular ones, had of course to put their shoulders to the pole.

Presently, as we blundered and floundered along, there was a sharp cry, then a storm of exclamations, and, last of all, a most tremendous splash, and the whole caravan halted.

I jumped out of my litter and ran forward.  About twenty yards ahead was the edge of one of those sullen peaty pools of which I have spoken, the path we were following running along the top of its bank, that, as it happened, was a steep one.  Looking towards this pool, to my horror I saw that Billali’s litter was floating on it, and as for Billali himself, he was nowhere to be seen.  To make matters clear I may as well explain at once what had happened.  One of Billali’s bearers had unfortunately trodden on a basking snake, which had bitten him in the leg, whereon he had, not unnaturally, let go of the pole, and then, finding that he was tumbling down the bank, grasped at the litter to save himself.  The result of this was what might have been expected.  The litter was pulled over the edge of the bank, the bearers let go, and the whole thing, including Billali and the man who had been bitten, rolled into the slimy pool.  When I got to the edge of the water neither of them were to be seen; indeed, the unfortunate bearer never was seen again.  Either he struck his head against something, or get wedged in the mud, or possibly the snake-bite paralyzed him.  At any rate he vanished.  But though Billali was not to be seen, his whereabouts was clear enough from the agitation of the floating litter, in the bearing cloth and curtains of which he was entangled.

“He is there!  Our father is there!” said one of the men, but he did not stir a finger to help him, nor did any of the others.  They simply stood and stared at the water.

“Out of the way, you brutes!” I shouted in English, and throwing off my hat I took a run and sprang well out into the horrid slimy-looking pool.  A couple of strokes took me to where Billali was struggling beneath the cloth.