“‘The end of the world arrived and they sent some kind of a brass band to lead the battalions of the dead heathens into shadowland; that’s what it is,’ yelled Deny, cheering up when I touched him, to assure myself that we were still in the flesh.
“I think Sanga cheered us up more than anything. She even laughed, just as we thought we were about to die too!
“She was a plucky youngster, and good-looking to boot.
“When dawn came the sun burst through the sky as though it was in a hurry. It seemed to boil the soaking mountain forests. We could see the chameleon-like colours sparkling, as the steam from the heated tropical vegetation rolled away over the rugged hills. We were drenched through. By nightfall I was seized with pains in the back. It was a kind of malaria. My limbs began to quiver. By midnight I was delirious.
“‘Don’t die, pal,’ said Deny, as I begged him, for old-time’s sake, to strangle the mighty heathen god who kept peering through the clouds, putting his stinking mop-head against my nose as he struck me tremendous blows on the head with a war-club! But I could not die. When I had slept for an hour and got a bit sane, things seemed as bad. For the thousands of insects that had sought refuge from the storm in our hut attacked me. Scorpions, fat-bodied lizards, and huge red ants, as big as walnuts, and red land-crabs formed up in regiments and attacked us. I felt strange things creeping up the inside of my pants as they flapped their rudimentary wings. Then Deny took me outside and gave me a drink of rum. In a few minutes the fever had abated. By midday I was as fit as a fiddle.
“Deny was a splendid cook. He gathered some feis (bananas) and yams from the garden of the deserted heathen hut, and made a glorious meal.
“Then we started off, Sanga singing cheerily behind us as we trekked it up into the higher ranges.
“By this time we were near Nisao, and had already sighted one of the native villages to the S.W. Though we had heard that the natives of that part were friendly, still we were not taking any risks, so we sent Sanga across the gullies as an advance-guard. She whipped off like an arrow, without the slightest fear. When she came back she was accompanied by four stalwart chiefs and two women. To our relief they were waving their hands friendly-wise, welcoming us to their village.
“As we crossed the gully bridge—a huge breadfruit trunk—the sight of the small conical homesteads beneath the feathery palms, the beautiful moss-ferns, and scarlet-flowered ndralas, gave one the impression that we were entering some perfect, pagan city of shadowland. Romping children stopped their games, rushed out of the shadows and hut doorways to gaze on Deny and me in astonishment. The shaggy-haired women by the huts were smoking clay pipes, squatting on mats, and staring stolidly at the pretty native girls, who fawned about us, stroked our hands, and said in their own lingo, ‘O beautiful Papalagis, with blue eyes!’
“It was all right, I can tell you. Suddenly a giant of a fellow stood up from among a huddled group of savages and come towards us. By the distinguished tattooesque coat-of-arms on his massive chest and shoulders, I knew that he must be the tribal chief. Besides, as he came towards us, he was followed by an obsequious retinue of eight half-decayed-looking old women, who were crawling on their wrinkled stomachs as they placed their travelling hands in their august master’s footprints. They were his old, cast-off wives. The new batch of young wives were squatting by the big palavana, showing their pearly teeth and making eyes at Deny and me. One cheeky little wench, who was clad in a tappa-gown of two inches in width and half a yard in length, took a flower from her hair and threw it towards us.