There is a grim uncertainty2 about the life of a South Sea trader. To-day he is alive and the centre of a crowd of cringing3 natives who bow down before him, offering their goods in exchange for others, obeying his every word, for he is their lord and they are his slaves. But to-morrow may alter everything, and find that all that is left of the once boastful trader is a mangled4 corpse5.
He may curse the Papuan, he may cheat him and rob him of his wives up to a certain point, then the worm turns, and one dark night, when the trader is lying unsuspectingly in his lonely hut, murder steals through the jungle in the shape of a naked savage6 whose eyes gleam with revenge. Yes, there are no half-measures with these savages7, {72} no gentle stabbing, no single shot, but absolute mangling8 in a ghastly form.
Sooner or later death has come to nine-tenths of the traders; sometimes it has been unjust, but more often richly deserved. The remaining one in ten lives free from all trouble and in harmony with his men, and he prospers9 and enjoys his life.
The majority of the men who trade out there are rough, uncouth10 beggars, but they have a jovial11, devil-may-care way with them, taking both life and death as they come; they rise in the morning, not knowing if they will ever see their beds again in this world, but they don’t mind that. Some of them are as plucky12 as they are coarse, and as jolly as they are muscular; but it is deplorable to think that they are the men who are civilising and forming the future of the natives, and with such guides it is not surprising that they steal and murder, and that in some parts no trader dare leave his store for a night lest it be sacked by daybreak. A trader’s existence is no life for a peaceful white man; it means, as Louis Beck so aptly puts it, “a pistol in one hand and your life in the other.” Yet there is room for the honest man and plenty of money to be made, for these islands abound14 in untouched wealth, as the success of Messrs. Burns Philp {73} shows. They have made money, and their advancement15 shows that with honesty and enterprise there is plenty of room for good men. A few more such firms and the place would soon change and become a prosperous colony, where decent folks could live with some certainty of dying a natural death.
GOLD MINERS LEAVING A TRADING SHIP, BRITISH NEW GUINEA
There are tales galore, all filled with a grim humour, of the small traders in these islands; many of them are characters in their way, who have drifted over the whole world and finally settled, or become stranded16, on these shores.
Perhaps one of the best known about New Guinea was Nicolas the Greek, whom Mr. Hardy17 met at Samarai and describes as a man of medium height and burly build, with a dark complexion18 and a clean-shaven, Yankee-cut face. He dealt chiefly in pearls, and had come on board the Titus (the boat on which Mr. Hardy was) to sell some. That day he wore a pair of canvas trousers, soiled and very much damaged, a soft hat that had at one time been black, and a dirty white jersey19, which was tucked up in a roll at his waist. In this roll he kept his valuable pearls, and to get at them he would unroll a little of the jersey, and then having got hold of his pearl box he would work it up his chest and bring it out below his chin. His life {74} was not a rosy20 one, as he was wanted in all quarters by white and black men, and several attempts had been made to kill him, but he generally managed to get the first shot home, and so lived on. He was quite used to wrecks21, for it almost seems that the sea required his life too, but that also went disappointed, for nothing seemed to be able to kill Nicolas. He was a dangerous man to chaff22, even when he was well filled with wine, and most men kept clear of him, or when they did have dealings with him they were very civil and never gave him a chance of picking a quarrel.
Old Harry23 Hutten, who blew his arm off with a charge of dynamite24 whilst fishing, was a man with a history as long as your arm, but he fell foul25 of the natives, and was, I believe, found dead one morning. Johnnie Pratt, one of the most decent men out there, married a native bush girl, and by doing so offended the shore natives, who eventually killed him and carried her off, to show how hurt they were at his not choosing a wife from the “Women belong Sea.”
JOHNNIE PRATT WITH HIS IVORY NUTS, AT SIMBO, SOLOMON ISLANDS
At the time when I did the original sketch26 from which this picture was made, Johnnie Pratt, a French trader, was in health and prosperity. He had his small house with the copra and boat sheds down on a narrow beach under the shelter of a tropical forest that spread upwards27 over the hills round a lovely little bay. He was a jolly chap, and when last I saw him was singing among his “boys” at work. He had married a native girl, daughter of a local chief, and at the birth of their child this chief gave him the fore-shore round the bay. He seemed to have had a happy time as times go in these parts, though his life had been attempted more than once on a neighbouring island. I do not remember now when it happened, but not far from his place he was murdered, and so came to the end many traders do in the wild Solomons.
The drawing shows Pratt taking tally28 of the weight of the sacks of ivory nuts which the “boys” are bringing from the sheds to be put into boats. The native in the foreground is wearing a sunshade.
But Dick Eade is one of the straightest traders there, and will tell you, if ever you meet him, more tales of the ups and downs of a trader’s life in half an hour than you will hear elsewhere in a lifetime. {75} A few years back he decided29 to take a trip home to the Old Country, as he had made enough money for a good holiday, so he left his partner in charge of his store and sailed away. But directly he reached Melbourne a letter was sent to him to say that his partner had been killed, and that his boat was high and dry on the rocks with a perforated bottom. So instead of going home he had to return and make a fresh start.
There is plenty of excitement in the South Seas, and a glorious uncertainty in the life, and none know it better than the traders and miners. The most surprising thing is that often no cause can be found to account for the natives rising. The Mambare river massacre was one of these strange risings, and when the survivors30 came to Port Moresby the story they told of that mining venture was grim indeed.
It appears that a party of miners, under the leadership of a man named George Clark, went up the river on a prospecting31 tour. They succeeded in making friends with all the natives they came across near the mouth of the river, and purchased several canoes from them.
For the first week or so all went well, and in every village they came to they were well received {76} by the natives, who even assisted them to get their canoes over the rapids which abound in the river. In spite of these friendly demonstrations32 the miners noticed that several canoes were following them and that each one contained armed natives, but as they showed no hostility33 and kept some distance behind, it was decided to take no notice of them.
They had travelled about forty miles up the river, when they reached a point where it was found necessary for all to disembark in order to get the boat up a particularly difficult rapid. Clark, however, remained in the boat to steer34 it, whilst the other miners, assisted by the natives, hauled the boat along with a tow-rope; the white men were at the far end of the line whilst the natives were close to the bow of the boat, there being in all about a dozen natives.
Suddenly, when the boat was nearly at the top of the rapid, the tow-line snapped, and after a moment’s confusion one of the miners sprang back and tried to seize the piece still attached to the boat, when to his horror he saw it had been cut. He yelled to his mates, but before they could come half-a-dozen natives had sprung into the boat and were being carried swiftly down the stream. {77}
All thought that they had done this to assist Clark in managing the boat, and no one suspected treachery. Even Clark appears to have been unalarmed, as he continued to guide the boat by means of the steer oar13.
From the banks the miners watched the boat drifting until it reached the native canoes behind. Then the truth flashed upon them; in a moment a shower of spears were sent at Clark, and the natives in the boat rushed at him. From the banks the miners fired their revolvers, and two of them sprang into the river and swam to rescue Clark. In the meantime he fought like a Trojan, but several spears had struck him, and suddenly the miners saw him leap into the river, but directly he came to the surface one native struck him full on the head with a paddle, and just as he was sinking another drove a spear into him.
The whole ghastly episode happened before the swimmers could reach Clark, for the tide was strong and the men were carried helplessly along. As soon as Clark was disposed of, the natives threw all the firearms out of the boat; the provisions were taken to the other canoes and the boat abandoned, whilst the perpetrators of the crime beat a hasty retreat, but not before they had been {78} well peppered by the miners, who by now had all come to the scene of the tragedy.
Clark’s body was never found, and the miners, having lost all their provisions, tools, and practically all their arms, decided to return to the mouth of the river. On the way down they were greeted with spears and jeers35, and had to clear their way every now and then with a shower of bullets from their revolvers, and yet when they had come by these same villages on their way up the river they had met with nothing but friendliness36.
To this day the reason of the attack is not known, in spite of the fact that the Queensland Government sent an expedition to inquire into the matter, and to capture the natives responsible for Clark’s death.
Besides the grim stories of the Pacific there are plenty of amusing ones, and sometimes funny anecdotes37 are told of weird38 traders who have taken up their quarters along the coast. No one can go round far without meeting one, if not more, of these oddities.
Aoba, in the New Hebrides, however, stands unique in possessing the most original, if unorthodox, trader who has visited these islands for many a long year. Maybe the old chap is dead and {79} buried now, for I am writing of 1894 when “Tartan Jock” lived on Aoba. He was a wild Highlander39 with chest and shoulders like an ox. His face was as rugged40 as the mountains of his native country, and his accent was one you could cut with a knife. From his youth upwards he had led a life of adventure, and had come at last to the most God-forsaken island in the world to finish his days in peace and quietness, and to this end he had chosen the most dangerous and cut-throat part of the New Hebrides. Yet he seemed to have no particular desire that his death should be a sudden one. A year or so before going to Aoba he had paid a visit to his birthplace to see the old folks, but his stay there had been a short one, and the only result of it was that the brogue had gotten into his nostrils41 again, and judging by the sound of it would remain there till the sharp spear of one of his black neighbours let it out.
As tough a customer as ever trod these islands was Jock, but, strange to say, the natives rather liked him, as was proved by the fact that his tenancy of the tumble-down trader’s house on the beach had been longer than that of any of his predecessors42.
Aoba has a reputation for being a trader’s burial {80} ground, but, as far as I know, Jock is still above ground; he was a man, too, who seemed to love it. If ever you managed to come across him unawares he was stretched out at full length on the bright warm sand, with his arms at right angles to his body, and his great legs spread out like young logs. Jock could sleep all day like this, when there was nothing else to do and no trading boats about where he could get a “wee drappie”—Jock’s wee drops were bottles. But when the wine was in, his wits were out, and then it was a case of “look out for yourself,” for at these times Jock was dangerous, but basking43 on the beach he was a picture, and a quaint44 one too, for he had an absolute horror of civilisation45 and clothes, and a tartan shawl and a Tam o’ Shanter hat, with more than one hole in it, constituted his complete attire46.
Stretched out at full length he could often be seen on the beach, with his shawl wrapped round his shoulders and chest, a great pair of bare, brown, hoary47 legs sticking out, and his woollen hat pulled right over his face with the nob of it where his nose ought to have been. Like this he was a sight that would have scared the life out of his “puir mither.” But such was Jock, and when sober a more amusing man would be hard to find.
SOLOMON ISLAND BOY CLIMBING AFTER GREEN COCOA-NUTS, NEAR GAVATU, NEW FLORIDA.
Nothing was to me more refreshing48 after or during a hot day in these islands than a long draught49 of milk from the green nut. On arrival at a trader’s or settler’s station, if you did not care for a “tot” of rum or “square face,” young cocoa-nuts were brought. If there were none about, a boy was sent up the nearest palm to fetch some down; when he brought them, one end was cut off with a large knife, and then you could drink long and deep. A large nut will hold more than one man can take at once. If you felt inclined you could eat the soft inside with a spoon.
In the South Seas no one thinks of eating the nut when the hard shell has come, it is then “Kaikai, belong pig,” and also made into copra.
{81}
His hut lay a hundred yards back from the sea, hidden away in the densest50 part of a clump51 of bush, and not a white man slept within miles of him, yet Jock was happier there than he had been for years, and when the boat called he always had plenty of copra and as good a show of ivory nuts as any of the traders.
Fifty miles from here there was one day a curious scene enacted52: James Clark, a new trader, whom Messrs. Burns Philp were starting, had refused to go ashore53 at the island for which he was destined54, owing to some ghastly reports he had heard whilst the steamer was lying outside it. The supercargo, a splendid fellow, was puzzled to know what to do, but at last suggested that he should try Aoba, where a trader was waiting to give up his store. Clark jumped at the idea, though he was warned it was, if anything, worse than the place at which he had refused to stop: he was sure, he said, no place could be.
A more depressed55 man than Clark during the remaining week of his voyage could not have been met, for bad accounts of murdered and boycotted56 traders were in the air just then. However, Aoba was reached at last, and after having supplied “Tartan Jock” with his goods and relieved him of {82} his copra, the steamer sailed on to Clark’s landing-place.
Here a most awful picture presented itself to the unhappy man.
The retiring trader rushed to the shore as he sighted the boat and waved frantically57. He was an old worn-out man in a filthy58 pair of pyjama trousers and a coat torn and ragged59. He looked as if he had neither washed nor slept for weeks, and he afterwards told the crew he hadn’t had a decent feed for a month. His account of the place was horrible in the extreme.
For some unknown reason the natives there had strong objections to traders in their territory: the one before him had been killed, and this man, I do not know his name, had been warned several times that, unless he went, he too would share the fate of the last. The natives had point blank refused to bring him copra, and to add to his discomforts60 had stolen nearly all his food. Day and night he had had to watch lest they killed him. His copra shed had been burnt down, and all his clothes, except those he stood in, had been seized and distributed.
This was the place on which poor Clark was landed, and his misery61 was too awful for words; {83} but there was no other station vacant, and so the only thing he could do was to stay.
Accompanied by the supercargo and a few of the crew he was taken to his hut, which lay a little way from the beach. It was almost in ruins, and contained nothing but a bed, a few empty boxes, and some soiled pages of illustrated62 magazines. After looking inside, he turned to one of the crew, who had shown sympathy for him, and said in the most plaintive63 tone:—
“This is a fitting end to a wasted life.”
Fifteen minutes later the steamer left the bay, and the last those on board saw of Clark was as he stood by his boxes on the shore waving a farewell to them.
Bad as the natives were to him they did not butcher him, and some months after a vacancy64 was found at Tanna Island which Clark took. His stay there was very short, for within a month a bullet sent him to a better land.
Such were the lives of the majority of the traders a few years ago, but things are better now, though there is still room for improvement, and still plenty of opportunities for good men.
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1
massacre
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| n.残杀，大屠杀；v.残杀，集体屠杀 | |
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uncertainty
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| n.易变，靠不住，不确知，不确定的事物 | |
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cringing
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| adj.谄媚，奉承 | |
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mangled
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| vt.乱砍（mangle的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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corpse
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| n.尸体，死尸 | |
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savage
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| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
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savages
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| 未开化的人，野蛮人( savage的名词复数 ) | |
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mangling
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| 重整 | |
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prospers
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| v.成功，兴旺( prosper的第三人称单数 ) | |
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uncouth
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| adj.无教养的，粗鲁的 | |
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jovial
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| adj.快乐的，好交际的 | |
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plucky
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| adj.勇敢的 | |
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oar
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| n.桨，橹，划手；v.划行 | |
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abound
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| vi.大量存在；(in，with)充满，富于 | |
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advancement
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| n.前进，促进，提升 | |
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stranded
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| a.搁浅的，进退两难的 | |
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hardy
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| adj.勇敢的，果断的，吃苦的；耐寒的 | |
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complexion
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| n.肤色；情况，局面；气质，性格 | |
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jersey
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| n.运动衫 | |
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rosy
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| adj.美好的，乐观的，玫瑰色的 | |
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wrecks
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| n.沉船( wreck的名词复数 )；（事故中）遭严重毁坏的汽车（或飞机等）；（身体或精神上）受到严重损伤的人；状况非常糟糕的车辆（或建筑物等）v.毁坏[毁灭]某物( wreck的第三人称单数 )；使（船舶）失事，使遇难，使下沉 | |
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chaff
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| v.取笑，嘲笑；n.谷壳 | |
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harry
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| vt.掠夺，蹂躏，使苦恼 | |
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dynamite
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| n./vt.(用)炸药(爆破) | |
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foul
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| adj.污秽的；邪恶的；v.弄脏；妨害；犯规；n.犯规 | |
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sketch
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| n.草图；梗概；素描；v.素描；概述 | |
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upwards
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| adv.向上，在更高处...以上 | |
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tally
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| n.计数器，记分，一致，测量；vt.计算，记录，使一致；vi.计算，记分，一致 | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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survivors
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| 幸存者，残存者，生还者( survivor的名词复数 ) | |
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prospecting
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| n.探矿 | |
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demonstrations
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| 证明( demonstration的名词复数 )； 表明； 表达； 游行示威 | |
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hostility
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| n.敌对，敌意；抵制［pl.］交战，战争 | |
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steer
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| vt.驾驶，为…操舵；引导；vi.驾驶 | |
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jeers
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| n.操纵帆桁下部（使其上下的）索具；嘲讽( jeer的名词复数 )v.嘲笑( jeer的第三人称单数 ) | |
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friendliness
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| n.友谊，亲切，亲密 | |
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anecdotes
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| n.掌故，趣闻，轶事( anecdote的名词复数 ) | |
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weird
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| adj.古怪的，离奇的；怪诞的，神秘而可怕的 | |
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highlander
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| n.高地的人，苏格兰高地地区的人 | |
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rugged
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| adj.高低不平的，粗糙的，粗壮的，强健的 | |
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nostrils
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| 鼻孔( nostril的名词复数 ) | |
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predecessors
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| n.前任( predecessor的名词复数 )；前辈；（被取代的）原有事物；前身 | |
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basking
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| v.晒太阳，取暖( bask的现在分词 )；对…感到乐趣；因他人的功绩而出名；仰仗…的余泽 | |
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quaint
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| adj.古雅的，离奇有趣的，奇怪的 | |
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civilisation
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| n.文明，文化，开化，教化 | |
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attire
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| v.穿衣，装扮[同]array；n.衣着；盛装 | |
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hoary
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| adj.古老的；鬓发斑白的 | |
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refreshing
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| adj.使精神振作的，使人清爽的，使人喜欢的 | |
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49
draught
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| n.拉，牵引，拖；一网（饮，吸，阵)；顿服药量，通风；v.起草，设计 | |
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densest
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| 密集的( dense的最高级 )； 密度大的； 愚笨的； （信息量大得）难理解的 | |
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clump
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| n.树丛，草丛；vi.用沉重的脚步行走 | |
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enacted
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| 制定（法律），通过（法案）( enact的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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ashore
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| adv.在(向)岸上，上岸 | |
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destined
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| adj.命中注定的；(for)以…为目的地的 | |
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depressed
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| adj.沮丧的，抑郁的，不景气的，萧条的 | |
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boycotted
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| 抵制，拒绝参加( boycott的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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frantically
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| ad.发狂地, 发疯地 | |
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filthy
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| adj.卑劣的；恶劣的，肮脏的 | |
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ragged
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| adj.衣衫褴褛的，粗糙的，刺耳的 | |
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discomforts
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| n.不舒适( discomfort的名词复数 )；不愉快，苦恼 | |
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misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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illustrated
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| adj. 有插图的，列举的 动词illustrate的过去式和过去分词 | |
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plaintive
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| adj.可怜的，伤心的 | |
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vacancy
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| n.（旅馆的）空位，空房，（职务的）空缺 | |
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