My interview with the Watchnight, when I was washed and dressed, and more or less in my right mind, was prolonged and angry. At the end I had him bound and standing between two husky men who were, I informed him, going to take him to the District Officer to give him in charge for neglect of duty, attempting to kill me and my collection, sleeping at his post, failing to sound the alarm, and a host of other crimes. I told him, with relish, how the District Officer would take a very stern view of his crimes, and the least he could hope for was two years in jail. At last, cheese-colour with fear, he begged to be let off. With a great show of reluctance I promised him one more chance. But, I warned him, if driver ants came within a hundred yards of the camp again, and he failed to give the alarm, he would be dealt with in the most severe manner. . . . I even hinted darkly at life imprisonment. The threat worked, and after that his night patrols in search of ants were models of perfection, and every driver-ant column was seen and headed off in time.
Another thing I had to impress on the Watchnight was that should an animal escape from its cage during the night he was directly responsible. Twice animals had found a loose bar, or a corner of wire unnailed, and they had faded into the forest, while the Watchnight snored on his kerosene tin, supporting his nodding head on his enormous spear. Apart from a lecture I did nothing, for the animals in question were common enough and could be procured again. But I determined that, when a suitable opportunity arose, the Watchnight should have a lesson. It happened one evening after dark that a hunter brought in a half-grown Pangolin. I bought it and placed it in the makeshift box with a variety of things piled on top to prevent its escape. Knowing the strength that these creatures have in their front claws, I warned the Watchnight to keep a close watch on the box to see it did not escape. Before retiring to bed each night I would make a round of all the cages to make sure all was in order, and that every door was securely locked. On peering into the box which had housed the Pangolin I found it empty: how it got out was a mystery, for the articles were still piled undisturbed on top. But I was used to these Houdini-like escapes, and so I did not waste any time trying to puzzle it out. I called to the Watchnight, and pointed to the empty box:
“Watchnight, dis catar beef done run.”
“I no see um, sah,” mumbled the Watchnight, peering at the box.
“No, I know you no see um, because you no do your job properly. Now, dis beef no get plenty power run quick-quick. Sometime ’e dere dere for bush. Take your light and go look um. If you no find um I go take five shillings from your pay, you hear?”
“I hear, sah,” said the Watchnight dismally. He took his lamp and his spear and wandered off into the undergrowth. For an hour I could hear him moving about, breathing heavily, talking to himself to keep his spirits up:
“Catar beef, catar beef . . . eh . . . aehh! Now, which side dat beef done run? Eh . . . aehh! na trouble too much for me dis ting . . . which side dat blurry beef run? . . . I no see um. . . . Catar beef, you make trouble too much for me. . . .”
At length, just as I was dozing off, he uttered a yell of triumph:
“I find um, sah, I done find um here for bush.”
“All right, bring um quick.”
After some time he reappeared carrying a Pangolin by its tail, beaming delightedly at me. I carried it to the box, noticing as I did so that by lamplight the Pangolin seemed to have grown bigger. Taking the things off the top of the box, I thrust my hand in to shake up the dried banana leaves in the bottom, and my hand touched something round and hard and warm. There, buried under the banana leaves, was the original Pangolin: the Watchnight had caught an entirely different animal! I thrust this new addition inside and went back to bed. It was rather a problem, for, by my own laws, the Watchnight should be paid for this new beef he had caught. But to tell him that I had made a mistake and that the Pangolin had not escaped under his very eyes would, I felt, destroy the lesson. So I decided to say nothing, and salved my conscience by heavily overpaying him for some frogs he brought some days after. He seemed to be an extraordinarily lucky person, for some weeks later he did exactly the same thing with a giant spider that had escaped. This time the spider really had escaped and the Watchnight, hunting for it, discovered another wandering around camp of similar dimension but of a totally different and much rarer species. Bearing his capture back to its box, held gingerly on the end of a stick, he nearly stepped on the original arachnid in the middle of the compound.
These great Palm spiders were one of the few specimens I had that I could never bring myself to like wholeheartedly. Their bodies were the size of an egg and their long legs, spread out, would have exceeded the circumference of a saucer. They were a deep, shiny chocolate in colour, and covered with a thick pelt of tawny fur. Their small glittering eyes seemed to have a nasty evil expression. Most of them, if annoyed or teased with a twig, would retreat, but one or two of them would attack. They could jump two feet in a bound, leaping six inches off the ground or more. They would tilt themselves so that their great curved fangs could come into play, and the first pair of legs would be outspread, welcoming you into their hairy embrace. That their bite was poisonous I knew, but I doubt if it could kill you unless you were prone to blood poisoning.
One afternoon a man turned up with two little wicker baskets, one containing a fat, beautiful, and deadly Gaboon viper, and the other one of these revolting Palm spiders. When I had purchased them, the man asked me if I could attend to his hand which was wrapped up in a filthy piece of cloth. He had a deep wound in the thumb, which was slightly discoloured and swollen. I examined it, washed it, and put a clean bandage on. Then I asked him what had caused the wound.
“Beef done chop me,” he said laconically, gesturing at the baskets.
“Good God,” I said, really startled, “which beef, the snake or the other?”
“Oh, no, sah, not de snake . . . dat other beef . . . it de pain me too much, Masa. You no fit give me some kind of medicine for dis bite, sah?”
I gave him two aspirins and a strong glass of vivid yellow lime-juice, and assured him that it would cure him. He was very gratified, and returned the next day to ask for some more of that medicine that had done his bite so much good. I offered him two more aspirins, but he refused them. No, he didn’t want that medicine, he wanted the yellow one, as that was the one that had really done the trick.