The riverboat eased downstream Wallace resting
on sacks of fruit, he cursed his boots as his feet swelled.
Two laconic barefoot fishermen squinting in the evening light
ran lines into the opaque waters.
He could observe the jungle expanse from his post,
verdant and vined, primitive noises and life, it seemed neither friend nor foe.
At least he had met Atkins, who he trusted with jungle lore, and despite his
apparent predilection for opium, he knew Atkins had sway with the village elders, and could muster men to a cause. Tomorrow they would set out across the flats towards the hills, with rifles, supplies, water and quinine.