In the afternoon a young boy was placed in
a hammock next to mine, and soon after they brought in a big, heavy
Brazilian negro, whom they put on the other side. Like me they were
suffering from Javary fever and kept moaning all through the afternoon
in their pain, but all three of us were too sick to pay any attention
to each other. That night my fever abated a trifle and I could hear
the big fellow raving in delirium about snakes and lizards, which
he imagined he saw. When the sun rose at six the next morning he was
dead. The boy expired during the afternoon.
It was torture to lie under the mosquito-net with the fever pulsing
through my veins and keeping my blood at a high temperature, but I
dared not venture out, even if I had possessed the strength to do so,
for fear of the mosquitoes and the sand-flies which buzzed outside in
legions. For several days I remained thus and then began to mend a
little. Whether it was because of the greater vitality of the white
race or because I had not absorbed a fatal dose, I do not know,
but I improved. When I felt well enough, I got up and arranged with
the rubber-estate manager to give me two Indians to paddle me and my
baggage down to Floresta. I wanted to get down there where I could
have better accommodations before I should become sick again.
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