Their furious attack even disturbed my rest, provided though I was with curtains; while the sufferings of over a hundred European soldiers, ranged along the lower deck of our cargo boat, were displayed next morning in unequivocal signs. The language used throughout that trying night was more forcible than polite, though considerably more justified than the foul language one constantly hears at home from a certain class of people whom a heredity, as strong as that of drink or gout, has taught to embellish every sentence of their conversation with irrelevant oaths. On this occasion I believe even the “Contemplative One” would have indulged in expressive language, at the risk of having to undergo a few more transmigrations, extending perhaps over a trifling billion of years. Besides being free from the attacks of the mosquitoes, of which only a few stragglers continued to harass us, it was far more pleasant away from the trees, which shut out the little breeze there was; and, to my way of thinking at least, much safer, as the Burmese are adepts at stealing noiselessly through their own jungles, and we might have easily been boarded and cut down in cold blood. As soon as the anchor held, and the boat pointed bow up stream, the all-important process of cooking commenced, and I was soon served with a curried fowl, an omelette, and a bottle of beer. The natives of Eastern lands can cook as no other race knows how; their curries and omelettes are unequalled at any restaurant in Paris, and they will improvise a kitchen of the simplest materials and under the most trying circumstances. In camp, under the leafy canopy of a mango tree, I have often sat down to a dinner consisting of soup, fish, entrées, joints, game and pastry, all served _secundum artem_. Things are sadly otherwise at home; if the kitchen range gets temporarily out of order—a very common occurrence—the cook becomes as irritable as a bear with a sore head, and even the simplest substitute for a meal is served to the accompaniment of _parliamentary_ language. Dinner over, I retired with my pipe to the stern to ruminate. After the excitement of the day came the inevitable reaction, and I certainly felt to all intents and purposes alone in the world.