He was a very sick white man. He rode pick-a-back
on a woolly-headed, black-skinned savage, the lobes
of whose ears had been pierced and stretched until
one had torn out, while the other carried a circular
block of carved wood three inches in diameter.
The torn ear had been pierced again, but this time
not so ambitiously, for the hole accommodated no more
than a short clay pipe. The man-horse was greasy
and dirty, and naked save for an exceedingly narrow
and dirty loin-cloth; but the white man clung to him
closely and desperately. At times, from weakness,
his head drooped and rested on the woolly pate.
At other times he lifted his head and stared with
swimming eyes at the cocoanut palms that reeled and
swung in the shimmering heat. He was clad in
a thin undershirt and a strip of cotton cloth, that
wrapped about his waist and descended to his knees.
On his head was a battered Stetson, known to the
trade as a Baden-Powell. About his middle was
strapped a belt, which carried a large-calibred automatic
pistol and several spare clips, loaded and ready for
quick work.
The rear was brought up by a black boy of fourteen
or fifteen, who carried medicine bottles, a pail of
hot water, and various other hospital appurtenances.
They passed out of the compound through a small wicker
gate, and went on under the blazing sun, winding about
among new-planted cocoanuts that threw no shade.
There was not a breath of wind, and the superheated,
stagnant air was heavy with pestilence. From
the direction they were going arose a wild clamour,
as of lost souls wailing and of men in torment.
A long, low shed showed ahead, grass-walled and grass-thatched,
and it was from here that the noise proceeded.
There were shrieks and screams, some unmistakably
of grief, others unmistakably of unendurable pain.
As the white man drew closer he could hear a low
and continuous moaning and groaning. He shuddered
at the thought of entering, and for a moment was quite
certain that he was going to faint. For that
most dreaded of Solomon Island scourges, dysentery,
had struck Berande plantation, and he was all alone
to cope with it. Also, he was afflicted himself.
By stooping close, still on man-back, he managed to
pass through the low doorway. He took a small
bottle from his follower, and sniffed strong ammonia
to clear his senses for the ordeal. Then he shouted,
“Shut up!” and the clamour stilled.
A raised platform of forest slabs, six feet wide,
with a slight pitch, extended the full length of the
shed. Alongside of it was a yard-wide run-way.
Stretched on the platform, side by side and crowded
close, lay a score of blacks. That they were
low in the order of human life was apparent at a glance.
They were man-eaters. Their faces were asymmetrical,
bestial; their bodies were ugly and ape-like.
They wore nose-rings of clam-shell and turtle-shell,
