Our position was on an elevated plain, lying about half a quarter of a mile west of the village, between us and which ran a copious stream of water, occasionally swollen to a considerable size by the rains. Around a clear spot, of about two acres, we erected several huts. We soon found, however, they were neither sufficiently solid to withstand the violence of the tornados, nor well enough thatched to keep out the rain, in consequence of which the men were continually getting wet, and falling sick. Mr. Burton and Mr. Nelson, and nearly all the Europeans, were labouring under fever and dysentery. On the 18th, the former was reduced to the very last stage, and Mr. Pilkington, and three men, were so ill when we left Boolibany, that they could not be moved. Had we been able to continue our journey to the east, those officers and men must have been left behind; and to this, unpleasant as it might have been to our feelings, we must in that case have submitted. Mr. Burton’s sufferings, however, were of short duration; he died on the 19th, having been only a few days ill. This sudden and melancholy event appeared to cast a gloom over all, and, when his remains were committed to their last abode, every European present shewed evident symptoms of apprehension that such might be his own fate in a few days. As it was necessary that the officer we intended sending to Sego should be accompanied by a guide and messenger from Almamy, I had, previous to leaving Boolibany on the 20th, obtained a promise from him that he would come to Samba Contaye in a few days, and bring with him a person fitted for that service. He did not, however, make his appearance until the 21st, when I was informed that he had arrived at Wooro Samba, a small village, or rather farm, belonging to one of his own relations, about a mile south of our camp. There I went to see him, when he immediately named a person to accompany Mr. Dochard[13] to Sego, and said that it would be my business to clothe and subsist him during the journey, which of course I made no difficulty in consenting to. On the following day, the guide came to our camp, and having said much about the unpleasantness of such a long journey, the dangers and privations to be encountered, &c., told me that he wished some stated reward to be held out to him on his return, in default of which he would not go. Although I was much astonished at this declaration, I thought it better to let him suppose it was my intention to give him something, and therefore said, that the nature and amount of his reward must altogether depend on his own conduct, and his exertions to forward our business, which, if he did to my satisfaction, he should be well rewarded. He, however, did not like this mode of payment “after his trouble was over”; insinuating that I might then give him little or much as I wished, and that, moreover, it was quite “optional with him whether he went or not, as he was no slave of Almamy’s”.