The Only Entrance To Our Tiny Cabin Is Through
The Main Cabin, And We Jam Our Way Through Them Or Walk Over Them.
Nor Is This Nice.
One and all, they are afflicted with every form
of malignant skin disease.
Some have ringworm, others have bukua.
This latter is caused by a vegetable parasite that invades the skin
and eats it away. The itching is intolerable. The afflicted ones
scratch until the air is filled with fine dry flakes. Then there
are yaws and many other skin ulcerations. Men come aboard with
Solomon sores in their feet so large that they can walk only on
their toes, or with holes in their legs so terrible that a fist
could be thrust in to the bone. Blood-poisoning is very frequent,
and Captain Jansen, with sheath-knife and sail needle, operates
lavishly on one and all. No matter how desperate the situation,
after opening and cleansing, he claps on a poultice of sea-biscuit
soaked in water. Whenever we see a particularly horrible case, we
retire to a corner and deluge our own sores with corrosive
sublimate. And so we live and eat and sleep on the Minota, taking
our chance and "pretending it is good."
At Suava, another artificial island, I had a second crow over
Charmian. A big fella marster belong Suava (which means the high
chief of Suava) came on board. But first he sent an emissary to
Captain Jansen for a fathom of calico with which to cover his royal
nakedness. Meanwhile he lingered in the canoe alongside. The regal
dirt on his chest I swear was half an inch thick, while it was a
good wager that the underneath layers were anywhere from ten to
twenty years of age. He sent his emissary on board again, who
explained that the big fella marster belong Suava was
condescendingly willing enough to shake hands with Captain Jansen
and me and cadge a stick or so of trade tobacco, but that
nevertheless his high-born soul was still at so lofty an altitude
that it could not sink itself to such a depth of degradation as to
shake hands with a mere female woman. Poor Charmian! Since her
Malaita experiences she has become a changed woman. Her meekness
and humbleness are appallingly becoming, and I should not be
surprised, when we return to civilization and stroll along a
sidewalk, to see her take her station, with bowed head, a yard in
the rear.
Nothing much happened at Suava. Bichu, the native cook, deserted.
The Minota dragged anchor. It blew heavy squalls of wind and rain.
The mate, Mr. Jacobsen, and Wada were prostrated with fever. Our
Solomon sores increased and multiplied. And the cockroaches on
board held a combined Fourth of July and Coronation Parade. They
selected midnight for the time, and our tiny cabin for the place.
They were from two to three inches long; there were hundreds of
them, and they walked all over us. When we attempted to pursue
them, they left solid footing, rose up in the air, and fluttered
about like humming-birds. They were much larger than ours on the
Snark. But ours are young yet, and haven't had a chance to grow.
Also, the Snark has centipedes, big ones, six inches long. We kill
them occasionally, usually in Charmian's bunk. I've been bitten
twice by them, both times foully, while I was asleep. But poor
Martin had worse luck. After being sick in bed for three weeks, the
first day he sat up he sat down on one. Sometimes I think they are
the wisest who never go to Carcassonne.
Later on we returned to Malu, picked up seven recruits, hove up
anchor, and started to beat out the treacherous entrance. The wind
was chopping about, the current upon the ugly point of reef setting
strong. Just as we were on the verge of clearing it and gaining
open sea, the wind broke off four points. The Minota attempted to
go about, but missed stays. Two of her anchors had been lost at
Tulagi. Her one remaining anchor was let go. Chain was let out to
give it a hold on the coral. Her fin keel struck bottom, and her
main topmast lurched and shivered as if about to come down upon our
heads. She fetched up on the slack of the anchors at the moment a
big comber smashed her shoreward. The chain parted. It was our
only anchor. The Minota swung around on her heel and drove headlong
into the breakers.
Bedlam reigned. All the recruits below, bushmen and afraid of the
sea, dashed panic-stricken on deck and got in everybody's way. At
the same time the boat's crew made a rush for the rifles. They knew
what going ashore on Malaita meant - one hand for the ship and the
other hand to fight off the natives. What they held on with I don't
know, and they needed to hold on as the Minota lifted, rolled, and
pounded on the coral. The bushmen clung in the rigging, too witless
to watch out for the topmast. The whale-boat was run out with a
tow-line endeavouring in a puny way to prevent the Minota from being
flung farther in toward the reef, while Captain Jansen and the mate,
the latter pallid and weak with fever, were resurrecting a scrap-
anchor from out the ballast and rigging up a stock for it. Mr.
Caulfeild, with his mission boys, arrived in his whale-boat to help.
When the Minota first struck, there was not a canoe in sight; but
like vultures circling down out of the blue, canoes began to arrive
from every quarter. The boat's crew, with rifles at the ready, kept
them lined up a hundred feet away with a promise of death if they
ventured nearer. And there they clung, a hundred feet away, black
and ominous, crowded with men, holding their canoes with their
paddles on the perilous edge of the breaking surf.
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