Part eight of the diary of famed explorer F.H. Longwell.
Longwell and his trusty man servant Tipton search for the treasure of the Golden Pants – and face-off against giant jungle spiders!
F.H. Longwell III was a gentleman explorer, a renowned naturalist and a scholar who traveled with his manservant Tipton on behalf of The World’s Most Curious Curiosities Museum in the early hours of the 19th century.
8 Legged Toothy Dogs
July 11, 1830
Spiders! But not your common tegeneria domestica variety. These fellows were big around as Tipton’s head and as furry as Tipton’s back.
Before long we were surrounded and Tipton absorbed bite after bite from these 8-legged-devils. Tipton suddenly expelled a horrendous “YELP!” and whether it be from exhaustion, dehydration, fear, gas or copious amounts of venom – he passed out.
Harsh words don’t wake him and before I can thrash him about the torso and head the fuzzy beasts set upon me. It’s all mandibles crunching and eight legs a clicking and webs a spraying. Like a Holiday celebration. Sort of.
I gave a severe whacking to the first few toothy dogs but they kept coming. I feared for a moment that this would be my end. Webs covered my eyes and I fainted to the ground as venom pumped into my body. I dreamt of elephants.
When I awoke Tipton was ripping the webs from my face. ‘Good show old man,’ I mumbled. But the effects of the venom made it sound more like ‘GuppSowFoDaNan’. Or something like that.
When my eyes were fully clear and I saw what shape Tipton was in – I collapsed again into gloomy slumber.
When I came to I was propped against a tree with a welcoming fire and water boiling. A bit late for teatime, but it’s better than nothing. Tipton was all chattering teeth and sweaty faced. Just like every evening before his constitutional. I decided it was best not to ask what had transpired, but judging by the number of giant spider legs strewn about and the welts covering Tipton’s body, it seems that perhaps the spider’s venom had an unexpected biological affect on Tipton. His deep fear of spiders had turned into a raving hatred causing him to lose all restraint. Tipton 1, Spiders 0.
He refused any tea that night. Even though I offered him a cup of the high-grade Breakfast tea. But he said nothing. To commemorate the day I began to sing a short limerick – ‘Spiders here, spiders there. Guarding the pants of gold…’ but Tipton slouched off before I could finish and not even my vigorous attempts of rough-housing could awaken him. I made a note that he missed a wonderful sing-along.