On the last night of our long immurement in the forest, we camped for the first time in an open glade where the sun had warmed and dried the ground, and the wood also was dry enough to enable us to have a big camp-fire. We kept the fire all night, and for the first time on the way got our clothes well dried. Not only were they dry; they were even warm when we dressed in the morning. We were in high spirits and greatly enjoyed our breakfast. But immediately upon starting out, and before our blood was in vigorous circulation, we came to a long stretch of water covering acres of ground. We were greatly surprised at this, for Dr. Good knew this place and had not expected any such thing. The explanation, as we found two hours later, was that a little town had just been built near by and the people, being at war with their neighbours, had dammed a stream so as to surround their town with water and marsh for defense against the approach of their enemies. This unsightly and disgusting place they were very proud of as serving admirably their purpose of safety. When we came to the water we waded in and walked on and on not knowing its extent. But at last we were in almost to our shoulders, and Dr. Good suggested that I should wait while he looked for the road, for he knew the way better than I. It was long before he found it and I stood for an hour in the water. I had never felt any ill effects from wading water, but now I was standing, not wading; and I had not done any walking that morning to invigorate me. Before we had proceeded far after leaving the water, my joints were stiff and muscles sore, especially the tendons of the heel and the knee, and every step cost pain. But we had the longest day of all before us, and our food supply being exhausted, we must reach Batanga that night. It was a day I shall never forget. To the pain of aching joints and sore muscles was soon added that of exhaustion. It happened that I had been quoting Heine and passing severe moral verdicts upon him for saying somewhere—“Psychical pain is more easily borne than physical; and if I had my choice between a bad conscience and a bad tooth, I should choose the former.” This, no doubt, is pure paganism; but now when I was suffering something of the weakness and pain that poor Heine endured, I am afraid that if I had been offered a bad conscience in exchange for physical suffering, with the sure promise that I could get my better conscience back again at the beach, I might have succumbed to the temptation. Thank God that in the crises we seldom have the choice. At any rate, Heine did not seem so much of a pagan that day as when I sat by the warm camp-fire the night before descanting on another’s pain, and Dr. Good did not have to listen to further moral dissertations on my part. Hours before we reached the beach my legs were fainting under me but still we walked on with long strides and at the usual rapid pace, threading the forest while hour was added to hour.