The newcomers started a fire of their own, and their servants
cooked their food. The white men were in momentary danger of
their lives. But they sat on the ground before the fire and
quietly ate their supper while hundreds of savage eyes were fixed
upon them in suspicious, watchful silence.
The meal over the servants prepared a place for the travelers to
sleep, and while they were so doing, the young missionary was not
idle. He longed to speak to these poor, darkened heathen, but
they could not understand Chinese. However, he found several poor
fellows lying prostrate on the ground, overcome with malaria, and
he got his guide to ask if he might not give the sick ones
medicine. Being allowed to do so, he gave each one a dose of
quinine. The poor creatures tried to look their gratitude when
the terrible chills left them, and soon they were able to sink
into sleep.
Before he retired to his own bed of boughs, the young missionary
sang that grand old anthem which these lonely woods and their
savage inhabitants had never yet heard:
All people that on earth do dwell,
Sing to the Lord with cheerful voice.
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