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By ALAN BROWNING, Jr.
UNCLE OSCAR AND THE CANNIBALS
"Having never been eaten by a cannibal, of course I am not
in position to say just what the inside of a cannibal looks like,"
Simpson remarked Tuesday from his perch astride the curtain
rod, "but I think I can safely say that I liave come as close to be
ing eaten as any man alive." «»
To which we muttered something under-our breath about
certain savages missing a good case of acute indigestion as we
noticed Elkin's number one pest settle himself for a long dis
course on his travels to odd parts of the world—discourses that
always grow longer and more impossible at each telling.
"It was in the Dutch West Indies on an island south of
Borneo that I had gone in search of my Uncle Oscar, who, as a
missionary, had spent many years's
of his life attempting to put spats
and silk hats on uncivilized savages.
Just why Uncle Oscar felt it his life's
work to go galloping about the
jungles and out-of-the-way spots
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of the world in hope of converting
the heathens when there are so
many right here at home, I never
could figure out. Nevertheless, he
had departed for this particular is
land some months previous, and
nothing had been heard of him
since.
"Frankly—and I say it without
fear of contradiction —it has never
been my ambi
tion in life to
be eaten by
cannibals.
Somehow or
other the
thought never
app e a led to
me. Thus it
was with a
feeling some
what akin to
fear that I
rbandoned my
rowboat, in
which I had SIMPSON
ravelled from San Francisco, on the
lonely coast of Lost Island, the out
of-the-way spot in the Dutch West
Indies where Uncle Oscar had fig
ured he could do most good among
the heathens.
"Throwing my pack of supplies
across my back, and expecting at
any moment to see wild savage na
tives, their teeth filed to sharp
points, come rushing out of the jun
gle in anticipation of a square meal,
I pushed inland. As I walked quick
ly along, I recalled the many mys
terious stories I had heard of this
particular island, and one of them
was that no white man who had
ever penetrated far into its dense
jungles had ever been known to re
turn. Stories had it that they re
mained to form a substantial portion
of some cannibal's diet.
"I had travelled perhaps five miles
when there came to my ears the dis
tant beat of drums. The sound
seemed to rise and fall with the
jungle breeze, ever growing as I
warily approached.
"Creeping with that stealth for
which the entire Simpson family is
noted, I made my way closer to a
larger clearing. Night was falling
with that swiftness peculiar to the
jungles of the south seas, and the
flickering red flare of a large fire
cast weird shadows among the lush
jungle growth.
"As I approached the edge of the
clearing my eyes quickly took in
the entire scene. At the far edge
of the clearing were numerous
thatched huts, while about the fire
in the center wildly danced a horde
of practically naked cannibals, their
glistening, greased bodies and bushy
heads swaying to the beat of the
drums. I knew then that prepara
tions for a feast were under way—
that some even of more than usual
importance was about to take place.
"In my excitement, I had forgot
ten all about poor old Uncle Oscar
until suddenly from a nearby hut
two figures emerged. My heart
jumped to my throat! For one of
the figures was Uncle Oscar said
the other the chief of the. cannibal
tribe!
"You may well imagine the grief
which overwhelmed me," 1 Simpson
went on, wiping a tear from his
face, "at the plight of my uncle. In
an instant it dawned upon me that
he—and he alone—was the reason
for this fiendish celebration. I
needed not be told that soon he was
to vanish, piece by piece, down those
cannibalistic gullets, while I, armed
only with a rifle, lay helpless, un
able to interfere.
"No sooner had the two made their
ipearance than the drums rose to
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even louder »fury. Faster and farter
whirled and shouted the savages as
they whetted appetites for "long pig"
in a mad dance about the fire. Sud
denly the circle closed in, surround
ing both Uncle Oscar and the chief,
and I could see no more.
"I lay still, stunned with grief. To
think that my own uncle, practical
ly before my very eyes, was to be
eaten. Cooked and eaten like an
ordinary fowl! And I knew by the
odor of burning flesh that the meal
was being prepared. Screams of an
guish came to my ears above the
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savage shouts of the cannibals. But
it was too late. I could do nothing."
Simpson suddenly climbed down
from the curtain rod and prepared
to depart. "It was very sad—■" he
mumbled, making his way to the
door.
"But wait," we yelled, "you didn't
inish. Did the cannibal chief eat
your uncle?"
■
"Oh no," Simproh replied sorrow
fully. "Uncle Oscar ate the canni
bal chief. He always was a persua
sive cuss."
WE DONT KNOW. ASK US
The tale is going around that a
traveling man, slightly ossified on
that which the prohibitionists say
prevaileth not in North
walked up to the clerk of Elkin's
leading hotel the other night, and
asked:
"John, what room wush it that
man died in the other night?" To
which Mr. Hawks replied: "Oh, it
wasn't here It happened, it was in
a North Wilkesboro hotel."
"Well," said the drunk, not to be
f*-vs—lf L af nor
put off, "if he had of died here what
room would it have been?"
• * *
One .of these days we are going
to stop writing this column. Then
you'll see what you're missing.
• • •
Any seconds?
If there is anybody in Surry coun
ty entirely satisfied with everything
let him come forward and receive
the boob award.
The joke is on the neighbor's
chickens when you fail to plant a
garden.