|
H. Wilfrid Walker - Wanderings Among South Sea Savages
old chief told us that his favourite son was dying with it; next my neighbour and his wife were prostrated
with it, and when they had slightly recovered, they left their hut and returned to Florida Blanca. Vic
himself was next laid up with it, and seemed to think he was going to die. When I was at work in the
evening he would shiver and groan under a blanket by my side; this, coming night after night, was rather
depressing for me, all alone as I was. At other times he would imagine we were hunting the wary and
elusive PITTA, and would start up crying, "AH! EL TINKALU, it is there! POR DEOS, shoot, my
English, shoot!" or he would imagine we were after butterflies, and would cry out, "CARAMBA,
MARIPOSA AZUL MUY GRANDE, MUY BUENO, BUENO!" I was forced to do all the cooking for
both of us, though it was quite pathetic to see poor Vic's efforts to come to my assistance, and his
indignation that his "English" should do such work for him. At one time I half expected that he would
die, but with careful nursing and doctoring I gradually brought him round.
During all the time that he was ill. I did but little collecting, and no sooner was Vic on the road to
recovery than I myself was seized with it, and Vic repaid the compliment by nursing me in turn. It was a
most depressing illness, especially as I was living on the poorest fare in a close and dirty hut. When you
are ill in civilization, with nurses and doctors and a good bed, you feel that you are in good hands, and
confidence does much to help recovery. But it is a different matter being sick in the wilds, without any of
these luxuries, and you wonder what will happen if it gets serious. Then you long for home and its
luxuries, with a very great longing, and cordially detest the spot you are in, with all those wretched birds
and butterflies! It is Eke a long nightmare, but as you get better you forget all this, and the jaundiced
feeling soon wears off, and you start off collecting again as keen as ever. One day a small skinny brown
dog somehow managed to climb up the bamboo step into my hut during Vic's temporary absence, and I
suddenly awoke to find it helping itself to the contents of a plate that Vic had placed by my side. I was
far too ill to do more than frighten it away. This happened a second time before I was strong enough to
move, but the third time I was well enough to seize my small collecting gun (which was loaded with very
small cartridges), and when it was about thirty yards away I fired at it, simply intending to frighten it, as
at that distance these small cartridges would hardly have killed a small bird. It stopped suddenly and,
after spinning round a few times yelping, it turned over on its back. Even then I thought it was
shamming, but on going up to it I found it was dead, with only one No. 8 shot in its spleen. On Vic's
return he was much alarmed, as he said the dog belonged to the Negrito chief, who was very fond of it,
and would be very angry with me if he knew. So we hid the body in the middle of a clump of bamboo
about a quarter of a mile away from the hut. But the following day the sky was thick with a kind of
turkey buzzard, which had evidently smelt the dog's corpse from some distance, and they were soon
quarrelling over the remains. Vic worked himself up into a state of panic, saying that it would be
discovered by the Negritos, but a few days later I sent him over to the Negrito chief's hut to get me some
rice, and the chief mentioned that his chief wife had lost her dog, which she was very fond of, and that he
thought that I must have killed it. Vic in reply said that that could never be, as in the country that I came
from the people were so fond of dogs that they were very kind to them, and treated them like their own
fathers. The chief then said that a pig must have killed it, and so the incident ended.
About this time Vic asked my permission to return to Florida Blanca for a few days, as he had heard that
his wife had run away with another man, and he offered to send his brother to take his place. His brother
could also speak English a little, and was assistant schoolmaster to the American. He proved, however,
an arrant coward, and, like most Filipinos, lived in great fear of the Negritos. When out with me in the
forest he would start, if he heard a twig snap or a bamboo creak, and look fearfully about him for a
Negrito. He told me that the Negritos will kill and rob you if they think there is no chance of being found
|
