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Updated: June 3, 2025
This was the message: That they had better make haste to destroy the god Harmac, since otherwise his head would move to Mur according to the prophecy, and that when it did so, the Fung would follow as they knew how to do.
You're bughouse." Fung Wah sat there, his small, astute eyes, in a saffron face, fixed alternately upon the speakers, with an appraising grimace but half-veiled. And as he sipped his grenadine syrup and soda water, he admired his three-inch thumbnail, the token of his rise from the estate of a half-naked coolie in Quan-tung to equality with these Taipans, the whites of Tahiti.
White man kill the god who sit there from beginning of world, now day of Fung finished according to prophecy. Run away, people of Fung, run away! "Barung the Sultan tear his clothes too, and say 'Run away, Fung, and my half-wife, she tear her clothes and say nothing, but run like antelope. So they all run toward east, where great river is, and leave me alone.
My think 'm dlinkee too muchee, too muchee vahine, maybe play cart, losee too muchee flanc. He thlinkee mo' bettah finish." The words of Fung Wah were poison in the ears of Llewellyn. He leaned forward and, raising his forefinger, pointed it at the Chinese. "Aue! You hold your damned yellow mouth!" he said huskily. "I'll get out of the islands if you people keep up this any longer.
Of course the matter was duly investigated, but as I know, for I went with the search party, when we got to the place no trace of the Fung could be found, except one of their spears, of which the handle had been driven into the earth and the blade pointed toward Mur, evidently in threat or defiance.
The agony of Colonel Starbottle on finding his wash bill made out on the unwritten side of one of these squares, and delivered to him with his weekly clean clothes, and the subsequent discovery that the remaining portions of his letter were circulated by the same method from the Chinese laundry of one Fung Ti of Fiddletown, has been described to me as peculiarly affecting.
"Gibraltar and Spain over again," suggested Orme. "Yes, with this difference that the position is reversed, the Abati of this Central African Gibraltar are decaying, and the Fung, who answer to the Spaniards, are vigorous and increasing." "Well, what happened?" asked the Professor. "Nothing particular.
You've told us that once you were a prisoner among the Fung and thrown to these holy lions, but got out. Now just explain what happened." "This, O Quick. After ceremonies that do not matter, I was let down in the food-basket into the feeding-den, and thrown out of the basket like any other meat.
Yonder, he said, rose the impregnable mountain home of the Abati, but all the vast plain included in the loop of the river which he called Ebur, was the home of the savage Fung race, whose warriors could be counted by the ten thousand, and whose principal city, Harmac, was built opposite to the stone effigy of their idol, that was also called Harmac "Harmac that is Harmachis, god of dawn.
"See here, Shadrach," I said, "unless you unsay those words and make peace at once, you shall be bound and tried. Perhaps we shall have a better chance of passing safely through the Fung if we leave you dead behind us than if you accompany us as a living enemy." On hearing this, he changed his note altogether, saying that he saw he had been wrong.
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