Transcribed from the 1911 Thomas Nelson and Sons edition by DavidPrice, email ccx074@coventry.ac.uk
“We are those fools who could not rest
In the dull earth we left behind,
But burned with passion for the West,
And drank strange frenzy from its wind.
The world where wise men live at ease
Fades from our unregretful eyes,
And blind across uncharted seas
We stagger on our enterprise.”“THE SHIP OF FOOLS.”
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 stretcheduntil one had torn out, while the other carried a circular block ofcarved wood three inches in diameter. The torn ear had been piercedagain, but this time not so ambitiously, for the hole accommodated nomore than a short clay pipe. The man-horse was greasy and dirty,and naked save for an exceedingly narrow and dirty loin-cloth; but thewhite man clung to him closely and desperately. At times, fromweakness, his head drooped and rested on the woolly pate. At othertimes he lifted his head and stared with swimming eyes at the cocoanutpalms that reeled and swung in the shimmering heat. He was cladin a thin undershirt and a strip of cotton cloth, that wrapped abouthis waist and descended to his knees. On his head was a batteredStetson, known to the trade as a Baden-Powell. About his middlewas strapped a belt, which carried a large-calibred automatic pistoland several spare clips, loaded and ready for quick work.
The rear was brought up by a black boy of fourteen or fifteen, whocarried medicine bottles, a pail of hot water, and various other hospitalappurtenances. They passed out of the compound through a smallwicker gate, and went on under the blazing sun, winding about amongnew-planted cocoanuts that threw no shade. There was not a breathof wind, and the superheated, stagnant air was heavy with pestilence. From the direction they were going arose a wild clamour, as of lostsouls wailing and of men in torment. A long, low shed showed ahead,grass-walled and grass-thatched, and it was from here that the noiseproceeded. There were shrieks and screams, some unmistakably ofgrief, others unmistakably of unendurable pain. As the white mandrew closer he could hear a low and continuous moaning and groaning. He shuddered at the thought of entering, and for a moment was quitecertain that he was going to faint. For that most dreaded of SolomonIsland scourges, dysentery, had struck Berande plantation, and he wasall alone to cope with it. Also, he was afflicted himself.
By stooping close, still on man-back, he managed to pass throughthe low doorway. He took a small bottle from his follower, andsniffed strong ammonia to clear his senses for the ordeal. Thenhe shouted, “Shut up!” and the clamour stilled. Araised platform of forest slabs, six feet wide, with a slight pitch,extended the full length of the shed. Alongside of it was a yard-widerun-way. Stretched on the platform, side by side and crowded close,lay a score of blacks. That they were low in the order of humanlife was apparent at a glance. They were man-eaters. Theirfaces were asymmetrical, bestial; their bodies were ugly and ape-like. They wore nose-rings of clam-shell and turtle-shell, and from the endsof their noses which were also pierced, projected horns of beads strungon stiff wire. Their ears were pierced and distended to accommodatewooden plugs and sticks, pipes, and all manner of barbaric ornaments. Their faces and bodies were tattooed or scarred in hideous designs. In their sickness they wore no clothing, not even loin-cloths, thoughthey retained their shell armlets, their bead necklaces, and the