sted itself during the night, and
even deprived me of the hope of being able to return to Senegal.

I was incapable of doing any thing. The good Etienne, touched with my
condition, took his fowling-piece, and went into the neighbouring woods,
to endeavour to shoot me some game. An old vulture was the only produce
of the chase. He brought it to me, and, in spite of the repugnance I
expressed for that species of bird, he persisted in boiling some of it
for me. In about an hour afterwards, he presented me with a bowl of that
African broth; but I found it so bitter, I could not swallow it. I felt
myself getting worse, and every moment seemed to be the last of life. At
last, about noon, having collected all my remaining strength, I wrote to
my father the distressed state I was in; Etienne took the charge of
carrying my letter, and left me alone in the midst of our island. At
night I experienced a great increase of fever; my strength abandoned me
entirely; I was unable to shut the door of the house in which I lay. I
was far from my family; no human being dwelt in the island; no person
witnessed my sufferings; I fell into a state of utter unconsciousness,
and I knew not what I did during the remainder of the night. On the
following morning, having recovered from my insensibility, I heard some
person near me utter sorrowful cries; it was my good sister Caroline. I
opened my eyes, and, to my astonishment, found myself at Senegal,
surrounded by my afflicted family. I felt as if I had returned from the
other world. My father had set off on the instant he received my letter,
with Etienne to the island, and, finding me delirious, took me to
Senegal without my being conscious of it. Recovering by degrees from my
confusion, I was desirous of seeing my brothers, who had been attacked
the same way as myself. Our house looked like an hospital. Here a dying
child wished them to take away the monster he imagined he saw before his
bed; there another demanded something to drink, then, refusing to take
the medicines which were offered to him, filled the house with his
groans; at a distance my feeble voice was heard asking something to
quench the thirst which consumed me.

However, the unremitting care we received, as well as the generous
medicine of M. Quincey, with the tender concern of my father and my
sister Caroline, soon placed us out of danger. I then understood that
the flowers I had had the imprudence to collect in the wood of Safal,