In any case they would not have had the slightest chance of
overtaking the fleet Agai Ambu in their own canoes. It looked very
much as if after all we were not to have the chance of verifying
the strange reports about the formation of these people. As a last
resource we sent over our two Baruga guides in a canoe to speak with
those of the tribe who had not fled. As the guides approached they
shouted out that we were friends, and that as we were friends of the
Baruga tribe, we must be friends of the Agai Ambu tribe as well.
We held up various tempting trade goods, including a calico known as
Turkey-red, bottles of beads, etc. This and a long conversation with
the Baruga men seemed to carry some weight with them, for the Baruga
soon returned with one of their number, who turned round in the canoe
with his arms outstretched to his friends and cried or rather chanted,
in a sobbing voice, what sounded like a very weird song, which seemed
quite in keeping with the mournful surroundings and lonely life of
these people.
This weird song, heard under such circumstances, quite thrilled me,
and wild and savage though the singer was, the song appealed to me
more than any other song has ever done. It looked as if he might
be a ne'er-do-weel or an idiot whom his friends could afford to
experiment with before taking the risk of coming over themselves,
but his song was no doubt a farewell to his friends, whom he possibly
never expected to see again.
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