But what did it matter? If it wasn't yaws, it was
something else in the Solomons.
I noticed that from this moment Martin displayed a swiftly
increasing interest in his own yaws. Dosings with corrosive
sublimate were more frequent, while, in conversation, he began to
revert with growing enthusiasm to the clean climate of Kansas and
all other things Kansan. Charmian and I thought that California was
a little bit of all right. Henry swore by Rapa, and Tehei staked
all on Bora Bora for his own blood's sake; while Wada and Nakata
sang the sanitary paean of Japan.
One evening, as the Snark worked around the southern end of the
island of Ugi, looking for a reputed anchorage, a Church of England
missionary, a Mr. Drew, bound in his whaleboat for the coast of San
Cristoval, came alongside and stopped for dinner. Martin, his legs
swathed in Red Cross bandages till they looked like a mummy's,
turned the conversation upon yaws. Yes, said Mr. Drew, they were
quite common in the Solomons. All white men caught them.
"And have you had them?" Martin demanded, in the soul of him quite
shocked that a Church of England missionary could possess so vulgar
an affliction.
Mr. Drew nodded his head and added that not only had he had them,
but at that moment he was doctoring several.
