As we near the wharf a motley crowd greets us with a variety of expressions. The throng6 is composed for the most part of Malay-speaking Javanese or Ambonese, but here and there one sees pajama-clad Chinese and over there near the godown, or warehouse7, is the white-clad 14figure of a white man. He is approaching us rapidly. We scramble8 up the rickety, slippery stairway to the dock and find ourselves in a chattering9 gang who clamor to be allowed to carry our barang to the passangrahan or resthouse, which in these Dutch possessions is the only shelter available to the stranger. It is maintained by the Government for this purpose and in it one finds every convenience, but one must supply one’s own servants and food.
We arrange with a Chinaman, who seems to be a sort of “straw boss” of the coolies, for the transfer of our luggage, and dismiss the matter from our minds. He will care for it and will not worry us, for the whole bill will not be over two guilders, or about sixty cents. There are twenty-two pieces to be moved. If we cared to argue the matter out we might get the job done for one guilder, but it’s too warm for an argument.
The white-clad figure is close to us now. He evidently is worried about the arrival of something or other that he expects the boat to bring 15him. He does not notice us, but goes directly to the ship’s officer who is giving orders to the men lightering the cargo11 ashore. They engage in an animated12 but good-natured conversation. Farther down the dock a scuffle is taking place. The crowd thins out rapidly, and we can glimpse the combatants now and then between the intervening onlookers13. They are slashing14 at each other with knives and whole-souled abandon. They are Malay stevedores15. From the lower end of the mole16 a grotesque17 native policeman espies18 the affray and shouts to the battlers to desist,—this with wild waving of his arms and dire10 threats of punishment. His shrill19 admonitions do not seem to have the desired effect, and he suddenly projects himself (that is the only word for it) in the general direction of the mêlée. His old navy cutlass flashes in the waning20 sunlight as he draws it with a great flourish and comes bouncing down the wharf. The scabbard disconcertingly inserts itself between his legs and he performs an absurd contortion21 to regain22 his footing. By miraculous23 intervention24 of Providence25 16he maintains his footing and arrives. Smack26! smack! and the belligerents27 depart in opposite directions. The policeman’s cutlass has accomplished28 its purpose. The fighters have been spanked29 into peace with the flat of the blade.
As the pair separate a gentle voice beside us is raised in soft-toned remonstrance30. It is directed toward the misguided policeman. “Gad, man!” it says, “don’t stop ’em; let ’em fight.” Then turning to us, the speaker continues, “I just love to see the blood fly.” Our jaws31 drop. We turn to scan the ferocious32 one and look him over in amazement33. Before us is a little man of somewhat uncertain age, clad largely in a huge Vandyke that rambles34 in a casual fashion over his face. His voice is soft, soft as a girl’s, and his eyes as we look into them lose their bloodthirsty, anticipatory35 glint, and sparkle with kindliness36 and good-fellowship.
Malays bringing on board their varied37 possessions
As the last of the praus was cleared of baggage they clustered on the gangway, shouting adieus
17He extends his hand, a hand wrinkled and seamed like a last-year’s apple and brown as a claro from Sumatra. “My moniker’s Reache,” he tells us, and we tell him our names. He continues: “You are Americans, eh? Well, put ’er there! I like the way you fellows handled the railroad situation in France. Here for long? Wait: stay here a moment while I see the mate there, and I’ll take you over to the club for a drink. We’ll spin a yarn38 and get acquainted. Can’t spin a yarn or get chummy sudden, ’less there’s some square-face in sight; that’s solid. Back in a minute.”
As we watch him go we smile. So there is a club in Merauke! Five white men,—and a club! It is proper. Where there is a club there must be a bar. The barkeeper draws a salary, after a fashion. He must be kept awake to lend an air of liveliness to the institution, so the members foregather of an evening and sing raucously39 in the wee sma’ hours expressly for that purpose. True, the club is but a palm-thatched edifice40 with a slightly corrugated41 floor and reputation; nevertheless it is a club. Nondescript furniture ungraces its airy spaciousness42 and mud-wasps’ nests now and then fall upon one’s head as some 18fly-hungry chick chack lizard43 carelessly dislodges them, but it is still “The Club.” It being “The Club,” one must always remember to wear his coat therein, for the etiquette44 of fleshpots is brought to this land of the stewpots and observed with due reverence45. No matter how deep in his cups the superior white man may be, he must never appear at “The Club” in negligée. It isn’t done.
The native may wander in the simmering heat of midday clad in what approximates nothing, but the Tuan, being superior even when most satisfyingly inebriated46, to maintain his proper dignity must wear at all times a coat over his regulation soft-collared shirt. Of course we Americans are not really bound to do this, for our many eccentricities47 are passed over without undue48 comment. When one of those who really “belong” does make some allusion49 to one of our—what shall I say?—indecorums, one of his fellows offers the all-sufficient excuse or explanation, “Oh, he’s American.” This always suffices; and, too, it is said as though the speaker 19expected as much and would have been disappointed otherwise. And despite all this they like us. They really like our devil-may-care expediency50, and I think secretly envy us. In this they “have nothing on us,” though, for it seems to be a human tendency to envy something in the other fellow.
Reache joins us in a few moments, and we are soon ensconced in rather rickety chairs on the veranda51 of the club. Between tumblerfuls of square-face gin and long draws at an excellent Dutch cigar, he entertains us with tales of bird-of-paradise hunting, which avocation52 he follows somewhat successfully. He now and then makes our flesh creep with a particularly hair-raising recital53 delivered somewhat in this fashion:
“You fellows know, I guess, what I’m here for. It’s paradise. Not the country, no! The country is hell and no mistake, but the birds,—that is what I go after, and get, too. I outfitted54 in Moresby and when I got my hunters together and plenty of petrol for the launch I headed for the upper Diegul. It’s way up in the interior 20where we get the best birds. It’s bad country up there, and no mistake, for the natives have a little habit of lunching off one another when pig becomes scarce. The governor warned me that I was taking my life in my hands, but I don’t know any one else’s hands I’d rather have it in, so I went inside. My crew of hunters was as ripe a gang of cutthroats as one would wish to see and they tried cutting a few didoes among themselves, but after I’d knocked a couple of them cold they took to behaving and I let things go at that.
“You want a gang like that for hard going. They’re necessary. The only way to keep them happy is to give them plenty of work or, what they like best, plenty of scrapping56. Then they haven’t time to brood over differences of opinion amongst themselves. I loaded a couple of bushels of shells like that nigger out there has on. They wear them for pants. One shell and Mr. Cannibal is all dressed up. Well, I use those shells for currency. One first-class shell which costs me about ten cents Dutch money buys a 21bird-of-paradise skin that is worth twelve hundred guilders a cody,—that is, twenty skins,—or, as it figures out in real money, forty dollars a skin. It’s a fair margin58 of profit.” Here Reache grins and absorbs another tumblerful of square-face.
“Well,” he continues, “we went inside,—I, seven shooters, and some other Moresby boys for packers. Soon we had all the shooting and trading we wanted. Everything went all right for a time and there was no trouble with the natives. I gave them one nice shiny shell for one prime skin and they were as pleased as possible. The trouble started over some fool thing that one of my boys said or did to one of the native women and soon matters began to tense up a little. There was a Chinese outfit55 inside, too, that were doing some trading and they tried to take advantage of the natives. They gummed the game that season. The natives stood for the Chinamen for a time, but pretty soon the old women of the tribe called all the younger women and girls aside and told them that the men were taboo59 till 22the Chinamen were put out of the way, and as usual the younger ones agreed to what the old women said. (They always have their way.) One fine evening the Kia Kias had a little dinner-party to celebrate the resumption of domestic felicity attendant upon the demise60 of the Chinese.
“The Chinamen were the guests of honor. They had been roasted to a turn. Next day I visited the place and when I saw the kampong clearing I knew what had happened. This piece of jade61 was the only thing left of the Chinamen that I could see. The rest was eaten. I took this from one of the children, who was playing with it. My gang were pretty sore about it. I don’t think it was on account of the Chinese, particularly, but because they had missed a good scrap57, and they began to grouch62. The next day one of the natives came to the launch with a couple of skins. Ula was working on the engine. The rest of my gang were all away in the jungle, shooting. The skins were a little ruffled63 up, but I think what made Ula angry 23was the fact that the native had on a pair of Chinese trousers.
He never collected for the skins, for Ula picked up a spanner that he’d been working on the engine with and tapped him with it. Then he tossed him into the kalee alongside to drift down the stream for the crocodiles to dine on.
“The other natives all cleared out and that night we heard them singing and beating drums in the jungle near their kampong. There was trouble in the air. My boys began to rifle the barang for some heavier shells and a couple of them built a big fire in the center of our clearing. About ten in the evening one of them had walked out across the circle of the firelight to throw on some more wood, when he stopped, straightened up, and then collapsed64 in a heap.
“I jumped for my gun. A Kia Kia ten-foot spear had finished him. A minute later hell broke loose. The natives did a queer thing for them. They rushed us. Man, it was a beautiful fight! There was a sick sort of a moon trying to see what was going on and the fire gave us 24a little light, so we just lined up along the bank of the kalee and let them come. Ula was a bird of a fighter. I’ve never seen more methodical slaughter65. He and I were lying a little apart from the rest and as each bunch of howling painted devils came for us across the clearing we would let them have it.
“They shot clouds of arrows at us, but as we were lying down in the tall grass they all went high, though some of them whizzed by uncomfortably close. When they ran out of arrows they came at us with stone-headed clubs and we’d let them have what was in our twelve-gauges at thirty feet. It was bang! bang! bang! along the bank of that kalee, like a clay-pigeon trap match.
The prison-yard in Merauke, New Guinea
25“Before long I noticed that things were pretty quiet over to my left where the rest of my boys were, and I rose up to look. As I did so I heard Ula grunt66, “Look out!” and I swung around just in time to stop a burly Kia Kia who was planning to do me with a stone club that would have killed an elephant. Then Ula went down. They were coming at me from both sides, for I could see the grass moving slowly where they were sneaking67 up on me. I reached into my pocket to get some more shells and got the shock of my life. I had shot my last one. My gun was empty. There was nothing to do but get away, and I turned toward the spot on the bank where the launch was tied. I had taken maybe a dozen steps toward it when I heard a couple of plumps from the engine and then she caught on and got to hitting regular.
“I rose up from the shelter of the tapa grass and made time toward the sound. Ammed, the only one of the boys left, had started the kicker and was pulling out. He saved my bacon that night. We didn’t waste any time in getting down the river,—just kept going.”
Reache turns and shakes his head. While his hand gropes for the bottle of square-face he sighs and concludes, “I lost some fine guns that night.” We look at each other in speculation68. The story sounds all right, but— “Ah, here he comes!” exclaims Reache. “Here comes the Controlleur.” 26Reache rises and goes to the railing of the veranda and calls to a brown-skinned, black mustached, military-looking fellow. After a moment’s conversation the Controlleur comes in with Reache, greets us cordially, and tells us that he has the passangrahan ready for us.
The Resident in Ambon has sent a letter by our steamer, telling of our coming, and has ordered things done for us. It is the way these kindly69 Dutch officials always treat the visitor. The Controlleur informs us—much to his embarrassment70, however—that there is a government charge of what equals thirty-four cents a day for our accommodation. Much as he regrets it, he says, there are no exceptions to this rule. We drown his embarrassment with a liberal libation of Reache’s square-face and, escorted by both of our new friends, go to inspect our quarters. We shall be here in Merauke several days before proceeding71 up the coast, so we must be very comfortable, they say.
As we near the passangrahan we take note of a group of sheet-iron buildings surrounded by a 27high wire fence. It is the jail and watching us intently are a score of prisoners. As we look in their direction they break into smiles and call to us in Malay. They are asking us to secure them for additional servants during our stay and, noting our surprise at this, the Controlleur assures us that he will loan us all the help we want. Later he makes good his word, for he sends several of the prisoners over to the resthouse where we have taken up our abode72. They are accompanied by a native sergeant73, who sits in the shade all day, smoking. He never bothers about what the prisoners are doing and they dutifully report to him at meal-times. In the evening, when their house-cleaning and grass-cutting are over, they line up and return to the jail. We even send them on errands, which they do conscientiously74 but not at all hastily.
The Controlleur and Reache leave us—to get our things straightened out, they say—and promise to call again to-morrow. They also say that we must meet the other Europeans who are connected with the little trading-company. 28We shall not be able to see the Assistant Resident on business until the steamer sails, we are informed, for he has many reports to forward to his chief in Ambon. These are always made up at the last moment and the rush is terrible. The assistant is even now writing the first of the two. One of them is to tell the chief that Merauke is still in New Guinea, and the other that we have arrived and are being well cared for. He must rest from this labor75 for a day; then he will receive us with the formality due the distinguished76 guest. He will inquire with solicitous77 concern as to our health, and what we most desire to do, and will grant our every wish, after due deliberation. Things of such weighty nature as our coming on a little friendly visit must be treated with painstaking78 consideration. It is too warm to decide too much in one day, for then judgment79 might be erroneous, and—oh, well! why talk business when there is so much else to talk about? There hasn’t been a stranger in Merauke for months, and we can’t blame them, can we? No! We shall let the purpose of our coming go hang, and 29just sit down and be entertained for the best part of a week. They will enjoy it almost as much as we, so why not?
At the passangrahan we find that Moh has dinner ready. He shows us where the bath-house is and we go there and revel80 in the cool splashing of the water upon our perspiring81 bodies. The mode of bathing, here, is new to us, but we feel we shall come to like it. The bath-house is exactly like all others found throughout the Dutch East Indies. It is placed right alongside the cook-house, which is detached from the main bungalow82, that the heat and smell of cooking may not invade the domain83 of the Tuan.
Within the palm-thatched room are several great jars of rain-water, a wooden grid84 to stand upon, and a tin dipper of gallon size. One drenches85 himself from head to foot, lathers86 thoroughly87, then sluices88 down with more gallons and the bath is complete. It is quick, easy, and exhilarating. We are told not to try it much after nightfall, however, unless we wish to be eaten alive. There are cannibalistic mosquitos here 30that will charge en masse, drive in their lances, and bear you away in chunks89. They are nocturnal in their habits and we are profoundly thankful that this is so, for at night one sleeps behind a protecting klambu or mosquito curtain which completely enshrouds the bed. There one falls into slumber90 secure from their attacks and lulled91 by their incessant92 droning. Now and then some persistent93 fellow manages to find entrance and one becomes aware of a more shrill note in the general hum that increases in pitch until it is punctuated94 with a hesitant quaver followed by a red-hot stab,—upon almost any spot, but generally on the temple, where it accomplishes most. This is the occasion of two things. The first, a hunting-expedition with a lighted wax taper95, which ends in the incineration of the intruder, and an angry determination to murder Moh the very next morning for leaving an opening in the folds of the net. Justly or unjustly, Moh always serves as scapegoat96. He thrives on it.
Dinner over, we hunt up a tin cigar box to 31serve as an ash-tray and take it to bed with us. It is too early to go to sleep and too mosquito-y, if I may use the term, to be up and around. In New Guinea one hides from these pests as soon as darkness falls. Moh, though he has a leather skin, builds a great smudge of cocoanut husks. The smoke of it makes him weep and gasp97, but he persists in his friendly gossip with a man from Java lately come to Merauke, telling him the latest news and of his latest wife. The other listens with sparkling eyes and rapt attention to Moh’s description.
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1
wharf
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| n.码头，停泊处 | |
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gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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ashore
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| adv.在(向)岸上，上岸 | |
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vernacular
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| adj.地方的，用地方语写成的；n.白话；行话；本国语；动植物的俗名 | |
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thereby
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| adv.因此，从而 | |
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throng
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| n.人群，群众；v.拥挤，群集 | |
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warehouse
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| n.仓库；vt.存入仓库 | |
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scramble
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| v.爬行，攀爬，杂乱蔓延，碎片，片段，废料 | |
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chattering
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| n. （机器振动发出的）咔嗒声，(鸟等)鸣，啁啾 adj. 喋喋不休的，啾啾声的 动词chatter的现在分词形式 | |
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dire
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| adj.可怕的，悲惨的，阴惨的，极端的 | |
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cargo
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| n.(一只船或一架飞机运载的)货物 | |
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animated
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| adj.生气勃勃的，活跃的，愉快的 | |
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onlookers
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| n.旁观者，观看者( onlooker的名词复数 ) | |
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slashing
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| adj.尖锐的；苛刻的；鲜明的；乱砍的v.挥砍( slash的现在分词 )；鞭打；割破；削减 | |
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15
stevedores
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| n.码头装卸工人，搬运工( stevedore的名词复数 ) | |
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mole
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| n.胎块；痣；克分子 | |
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grotesque
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| adj.怪诞的，丑陋的；n.怪诞的图案，怪人（物） | |
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espies
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| v.看到( espy的第三人称单数 ) | |
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shrill
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| adj.尖声的；刺耳的；v尖叫 | |
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waning
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| adj.（月亮）渐亏的，逐渐减弱或变小的n.月亏v.衰落( wane的现在分词 )；（月）亏；变小；变暗淡 | |
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contortion
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regain
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| vt.重新获得，收复，恢复 | |
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miraculous
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intervention
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providence
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| n.深谋远虑，天道，天意；远见；节约；上帝 | |
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smack
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| vt.拍，打，掴；咂嘴；vi.含有…意味；n.拍 | |
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belligerents
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accomplished
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| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
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spanked
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| v.用手掌打( spank的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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remonstrance
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| n抗议，抱怨 | |
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jaws
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| n.口部；嘴 | |
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ferocious
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| adj.凶猛的，残暴的，极度的，十分强烈的 | |
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amazement
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| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
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rambles
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| （无目的地）漫游( ramble的第三人称单数 )； （喻）漫谈； 扯淡； 长篇大论 | |
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anticipatory
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| adj.预想的，预期的 | |
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kindliness
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| n.厚道，亲切，友好的行为 | |
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varied
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| adj.多样的，多变化的 | |
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yarn
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| n.纱，纱线，纺线；奇闻漫谈，旅行轶事 | |
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raucously
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| adv.粗声地；沙哑地 | |
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edifice
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| n.宏伟的建筑物(如宫殿，教室) | |
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corrugated
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| adj.波纹的；缩成皱纹的；波纹面的；波纹状的v.（使某物）起皱褶(corrugate的过去式和过去分词) | |
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spaciousness
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| n.宽敞 | |
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43
lizard
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| n.蜥蜴，壁虎 | |
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etiquette
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| n.礼仪，礼节；规矩 | |
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45
reverence
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| n.敬畏，尊敬，尊严；Reverence:对某些基督教神职人员的尊称；v.尊敬，敬畏，崇敬 | |
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inebriated
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| adj.酒醉的 | |
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eccentricities
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| n.古怪行为( eccentricity的名词复数 )；反常；怪癖 | |
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undue
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| adj.过分的；不适当的；未到期的 | |
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allusion
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| n.暗示，间接提示 | |
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expediency
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| n.适宜；方便；合算；利己 | |
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51
veranda
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| n.走廊；阳台 | |
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avocation
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| n.副业，业余爱好 | |
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53
recital
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| n.朗诵，独奏会，独唱会 | |
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54
outfitted
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| v.装备，配置设备，供给服装( outfit的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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outfit
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| n.（为特殊用途的）全套装备，全套服装 | |
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56
scrapping
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| 刮，切除坯体余泥 | |
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57
scrap
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| n.碎片；废料；v.废弃，报废 | |
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58
margin
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| n.页边空白；差额；余地，余裕；边，边缘 | |
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59
taboo
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| n.禁忌，禁止接近，禁止使用；adj.禁忌的；v.禁忌，禁制，禁止 | |
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60
demise
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| n.死亡；v.让渡，遗赠，转让 | |
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61
jade
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| n.玉石；碧玉；翡翠 | |
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62
grouch
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| n.牢骚，不满；v.抱怨 | |
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63
ruffled
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| adj. 有褶饰边的, 起皱的 动词ruffle的过去式和过去分词 | |
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collapsed
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| adj.倒塌的 | |
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slaughter
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| n.屠杀，屠宰；vt.屠杀，宰杀 | |
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grunt
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| v.嘟哝；作呼噜声；n.呼噜声，嘟哝 | |
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67
sneaking
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| a.秘密的，不公开的 | |
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68
speculation
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| n.思索，沉思；猜测；投机 | |
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69
kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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embarrassment
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| n.尴尬；使人为难的人(事物)；障碍；窘迫 | |
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71
proceeding
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| n.行动，进行，(pl.)会议录，学报 | |
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72
abode
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| n.住处，住所 | |
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sergeant
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| n.警官，中士 | |
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conscientiously
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| adv.凭良心地；认真地，负责尽职地；老老实实 | |
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labor
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| n.劳动，努力，工作，劳工；分娩；vi.劳动，努力，苦干；vt.详细分析；麻烦 | |
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76
distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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solicitous
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| adj.热切的，挂念的 | |
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78
painstaking
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| adj.苦干的；艰苦的，费力的，刻苦的 | |
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judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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80
revel
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| vi.狂欢作乐，陶醉；n.作乐，狂欢 | |
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perspiring
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| v.出汗，流汗( perspire的现在分词 ) | |
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82
bungalow
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| n.平房，周围有阳台的木造小平房 | |
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domain
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| n.(活动等)领域，范围；领地，势力范围 | |
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grid
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| n.高压输电线路网；地图坐标方格；格栅 | |
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drenches
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| v.使湿透( drench的第三人称单数 )；在某人（某物）上大量使用（某液体） | |
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86
lathers
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| n.肥皂泡( lather的名词复数 )；紧张；激动；（马的）汗沫v.（指肥皂）形成泡沫( lather的第三人称单数 )；用皂沫覆盖；狠狠地打 | |
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thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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sluices
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| n.水闸( sluice的名词复数 )；（用水闸控制的）水；有闸人工水道；漂洗处v.冲洗( sluice的第三人称单数 )；（指水）喷涌而出；漂净；给…安装水闸 | |
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chunks
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| 厚厚的一块( chunk的名词复数 )； （某物）相当大的数量或部分 | |
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slumber
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| n.睡眠，沉睡状态 | |
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lulled
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| vt.使镇静，使安静（lull的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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incessant
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| adj.不停的，连续的 | |
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persistent
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| adj.坚持不懈的，执意的；持续的 | |
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punctuated
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| v.（在文字中）加标点符号，加标点( punctuate的过去式和过去分词 )；不时打断某事物 | |
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taper
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| n.小蜡烛，尖细，渐弱；adj.尖细的；v.逐渐变小 | |
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scapegoat
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| n.替罪的羔羊，替人顶罪者；v.使…成为替罪羊 | |
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gasp
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| n.喘息，气喘；v.喘息；气吁吁他说 | |
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