[Note: this transcription was produced by an automatic OCR engine]
CHAPTER IX
SANTO (continued)—PIGS
THE sun had hardly risen, yet the air hung heavy
in the shrubs surrounding my sleeping—hut. Damp
heat and light poured into the shed-like room, where
hundreds of flies and as many mosquitoes sought an
entrance into my mosquito-net. It was an atmo-
sphere to sap one’s ENERGY ; not even the sunshine, so
rare in these parts, had any attraction for me, and
only the long—drawn “Sail ho!” of the natives,
announcing the arrival of the steamer, had power to
drive me out of bed.
She soon came to anchor and sent a boat ashore,
and when I entered my host’s house, I found some of
the ship’s officers there, ready for business and
breakfast. Probably to drown the touch of home-
sickness that the arrival of a steamer brings to those
who are tied to the islands, our host set about
emptying his cellar with enthusiasm and perseverance,
while the visitors would have been satisfied with
much smaller libations, as they had many more
Stations to visit that day.
While the crew was loading the coprah and land-
ing a quantity of goods, the host started his beloved
gramophone for the general benefit, and a fearful
hash of music drifted out into the waving palms.
