While the traders were busy telling their narrow experiences with the cannibals and about the different fellows who had gone to the roasting pot, I had backed out of the group and was anointing my foot with the antiseptic wash. It was necessary for me to roll up my trousers, exposing the red scars of my yaws. This attracted Bannerman's attention.
"What's the matter with your legs?" he asked.
"Nothing now," I answered. "Have just recovered from a slight dose of yaws."
"What's yaws?"
"You'll know soon enough," a trader spoke up. "Wait a few weeks from now. Everybody down here gets yaws—won't be healthy if you don't. You see, it's just a slight form of leprosy."
"But a man can be careful and not catch it, can't he?" quavered the now thoroughly discomfited Bannerman.
"No use; it catches the new fellows who have not p347 been 'climatised;' after you have a good dose of it once, you'll be all right."
"But I was told it was such a healthy climate."
The men laughed this remonstrance down.
"Sure it's a healthy climate, and you'll enjoy it as soon as you get over your first attack of yaws or fever. Of course, the fever may hold off the yaws for awhile—depends on which comes first."