Now Phinn was of course an Irishman; an excellent fellow, a dead
hand at tramping a bog and killing a snipe, but (without the
slightest intention of impugning his veracity) Phinn's ideality
was largely developed. He was never by himself for five minutes
in the jungle without having seen something wonderful before his
return; this he was sure to relate in a rich brogue with great
facetiousness.
However, we had just finished dinner one night, and Phinn had
then taken his master's vacant place (there being only one room)
to commence his own meal, when up he jumped like a madman,
spluttering the food out of his mouth, and shouting and skipping
about the room with both hands clutched tightly to the hinder
part of his inexpressibles. "Oh, by Jasus! help, sir, help! I've
a reptile or some divil up my breeches! Oh! bad luck to him, he's
biting me! Oh! oh! it's sure a sarpint that's stinging me! quick,
sir, or he'll be the death o' me!"
Phinn was frantic, and upon lowering his inexpressibles we found
the centipede about four inches long which had bitten him. A
little brandy rubbed on the part soon relieved the pain.
CHAPTER VIII. Observations on Nature in the Tropics - The Dung
Beetle - The Mason-fly - Spiders - Luminous Insects - Efforts of
a Naturalist - Dogs Worried by Leeches - Tropical Diseases -
Malaria - Causes of Infection - Disappearance of the "Mina" -
Poisonous Water - Well-digging Elephants.
