“Jimmy no know. Jimmy tink doctor somewhere right long—big hill. Gib black white fellow topper topper make um tink more.”
“No, no,” I whispered, for he had grasped his waddy and was about to clear our guide’s misty brain in this rough-and-ready way. “Be quiet and follow him.”
Just then our guide stopped and let me go to his side.
“Fever—my head,” he said softly, and as if apologising. “Can’t think.”
“But you will come with us?” I said. “My friend the doctor will help you. You shall help us. You must not go back to that degraded life.”
“Doctor!” he said, as if he had only caught that word. “Yes, the doctor. Can’t leave the people—can’t leave him.”
“Him!” I said; “that boy?”
“Hush! come faster.” For there were shouts and cries behind, and he hurried us along for some distance, talking rapidly to me all the while in the savages’ tongue, and apparently under the impression that I understood every word, though it was only now and then that I caught his meaning, and then it was because they were English words.
After catching a few of these I became aware, or rather guessed, that he was telling me the story of his captivity among these people, and I tried eagerly to get him to speak English; but he did not seem to heed me, going on rapidly, and apparently bent on getting us away.
I caught such words as “fever—prisoner—my head—years—misery—despair—always—savage—doctor”—but only in the midst of a long excited account which he said more to himself. I was at last paying little heed to him when two words stood out clear and distinctly from the darkness of his savage speech, words that sent a spasm through me and made me catch at his arm and try to speak, but only to emit a few gasping utterances as he bent down to me staring as if in wonder.