The woods were gradually thinning. I was tormented by strange hallucinations. I gazed at the weird tree trunks, around some of which were coiled thick, flesh-colored snakes; suddenly I thought I saw, between the trunks, as though through my fingers, the mirror of a half-open wardrobe with dim reflections, but then I took hold of myself, looked more carefully, and found that it was only the deceptive glimmer of an acreana bush (a curly plant with large berries resembling plump prunes). After a while the trees parted altogether and the sky rose before us like a solid wall of blue. We were at the top of a steep incline. Below shimmered and steamed an enormous marsh, and, far beyond, one distinguished the tremulous silhouette of a mauve-colored range of hills.

‘I swear to God we must turn back,’ said Cook in a sobbing voice. ‘I swear to God we’ll perish in these swamps – I’ve got seven daughters and a dog at home. Let’s turn back – we know the way …’

He wrung his hands, and the sweat rolled from his fat, red-browed face. ‘Home, home,’ he kept repeating. ‘You’ve caught enough bugs. Let’s go home!’

Gregson and I began to descend the stony slope. At first Cook remained standing above, a small white figure against the monstrously green background of forest; but suddenly he threw up his hands, uttered a cry, and started to slither down after us.