The Call Of The South, George Lewis Becke [best management books of all time txt] 📗

easily and went up it for a mile, we walking along the bank, which was free of undergrowth, but covered with high, coarse, reed-like grass. Then the boat's progress was barred by a huge fallen tree, which spanned the stream. Here we spelled for half an hour, and had something to eat, and then again Poore and I set out, following the upward course of the creek. Finding it was leading us away from the spur we wished to examine, we stopped to decide what to do, and then heard the sound of two gun-shots in quick succession, coming from the direction of the place in which the boat was lying. We were at once filled with alarm, knowing that the men must be in danger of some sort, and that neither of them could have fired at a wild pig, no matter how tempting a shot it offered, for we had told them not to do so.

"Perhaps they have fallen foul of an alligator," said Poore, "all the creeks on Rook Island are full of them. Come along, and let us see what is wrong."

Running through the open, timber country, and then through the long grass on the banks of the stream, we had reached about half-way to the boat when we heard a savage yell--or rather yells--for it seemed to come from a hundred throats, and in an instant we both felt sure that the boat had been attacked.

Madly forcing our way through the infernal reed-like grass, which every now and then caused us to trip and fall, we had just reached a bend of the creek, which gave us a clear sight of its course for about three hundred yards, when Poore tripped over a fallen tree branch; I fell on the top of him, and my face struck his upturned right foot with such violence that the blood poured from my nose in a torrent, and for half a minute I was stunned.

"Good God, look at that!" cried Poore, pointing down stream.

Crossing a shallow part of the creek were a party of sixty or seventy savages, all armed with spears and clubs. Four of them who were leading were carrying on poles from their shoulders the naked and headless bodies of our two unfortunate sailors, and the decapitated heads were in either hand of an enormously fat man, who from his many shell armlets and other adornments was evidently the leader. So close were they--less than fifty yards--that we easily recognised one of the bodies by its light yellow skin as that of Anteru (Andrew), a native of Rotumah, and one of the best men we had on the _Samana_.

Before I could stay his hand and point out the folly of it, Poore stood up and shot the fat savage through the stomach, and I saw the blood spurt from his side, as the heavy, flat-nosed bullet ploughed its way clean through the man, who, still clutching the two heads in his ensanguined hands, stood upright for a few seconds, and then fell with a splash into the stream.

Yells of rage and astonishment came from the savages, as Poore, now wild with fury, began to fire at them indiscriminately, until the magazine of his rifle was emptied; but he was so excited that only two or three of them were hit. Then his senses came back to him.

"Quick, into the creek, and over to the other side, or they'll cut us off."

We clambered down the bank into the water, and then, by some mischance, Poore, who was a bad swimmer, dropped his rifle, and began uttering the most fearful oaths, when I told him that it was no use my trying to dive for it, unless he could hold my shot gun, which I was carrying in my left hand. We had scarcely reached the opposite bank, when thin, slender spears began to whizz about us, and one, no thicker than a lead pencil, caught Poore in the cheek, obliquely, and its point came out quite a yard from where it had entered, and literally pinned him to the ground.

I have heard some very strong language in the South Seas, but I have never heard anything so awful as that of Poore when I drew out the spear, and we started to run for our lives down the opposite bank of the creek.

For some minutes we panted along through the long grass, hearing nothing; and then, as we came to an open spot and stopped to gain breath, we were assailed by a shower of spears from the other side of the creek, and Poore was again hit--a spear ripping open the flesh between the forefinger and thumb of his left hand. He seized my gun, and fired both barrels into the long grass on the other side, and wild yells showed that some of our pursuers were at least damaged by the heavy No. I shot intended for cockatoos.

Then all became silent, and we again started, taking all available cover, and hoping we were not pursued.

We were mistaken, for presently we caught sight of a score of our enemies a hundred yards ahead, running at top speed, evidently intending to cross lower down and cut us off, or else secure the boat Poore took two quick shots at them, but they were too far off, and gave us a yell of derision. Putting my hand into the game bag to get out two cartridges, I was horrified to find it empty, every one had fallen out; my companion used more lurid language, and we pressed on. At last we reached the boat, and found her floating bottom up--the natives had been too quick for us.

To have attempted to right her would have meant our being speared by the savages, who, of course, were watching our every movement. There was nothing else to do but to keep on, cross the mouth of the creek, and make for the ship.

Scarcely had we run fifty yards when we saw the grass on the other side move--the natives were keeping up the chase. Another ten minutes brought us to the mouth of the stream, and then to our great joy we saw that the tide had ebbed, and that right before us was a stretch of bare sand, extending out half a mile. As we emerged into the open we saw our pursuers standing on the opposite bank. Poore pointed his empty gun at them, and they at once vanished.

We stopped five minutes to gain breath, and then kept straight on across the sand, till we sighted the schooner. We were seen almost at once, and a boat was quickly manned and sent to us, and in a quarter of an hour we were on board again.

That was one of the joys of the "gentlemanly" employment of "recruiting" in the South Seas.



CHAPTER XIV ~ MAKING A FORTUNE IN THE SOUTH SEAS

A short time ago I came across in a daily newspaper the narrative of a traveller in the South Seas full of illuminating remarks on the ease with which any one can now acquire a fortune in the Pacific Islands; it afforded me considerable reflection, mixed with a keen regret that I had squandered over a quarter of a century of my life in the most stupid manner, by ignoring the golden opportunities that must have been jostling me wherever I went. The articles were very cleverly penned, and really made very pretty reading--so pretty, in fact, that I was moved to briefly narrate my experience of the subject in the columns of the _Westminster Gazette_ with the result that many a weary, struggling trader in the Solomon Islands, the New Hebrides and other groups of islands in the South Pacific rose up and called me blessed when they read my article, for I sent five and twenty copies of the paper to as many traders. Others doubtless obtained the journal from the haughty brass-bound pursers (there are no "supercargoes" now) of the Sydney and Auckland steamers. For the steamers, with their high-collared, clerkly pursers, have supplanted for good the trim schooners, with their brown-faced, pyjama-clad supercargoes, and the romance of the South Seas has gone. But it has not gone in the imagination of some people.

I must mention that my copies of the _Westminster Gazette_ crossed no less than nine letters written to me by old friends and comrades from various islands in the Pacific, asking me to do what I had done--put the true condition of affairs in Polynesia before the public, and help to keep unsuitable and moneyless men from going out to the South Sea Islands to starve. For they had read the illuminating series of articles to which I refer, and felt very savage.

In a cabin-trunk of mine I have some hundreds of letters, written to me during the past ten years by people from all parts of the world, who wanted to go to the South Seas and lead an idyllic life and make fortunes, and wished me to show them how to go about it. Many of these letters are amusing, some are pathetic; some, which were so obviously insane, I did not answer. The rest I did. I cannot reproduce them in print. I am keeping them to read to my friends in heaven. Even an old ex-South Sea trader may get there--if he can dodge the other place. _Quien sabe?_

Twenty-one of these letters reached me in France during February, March and April of last year. They were written by men and women who had been reading the above-mentioned series of brilliant articles. (I regret to state that fourteen only had a penny stamp thereon, and I had to pay four francs postal dues.) The articles were, as I have said, very charmingly written, especially the descriptive passages. But nearly every person that the "Special Commissioner" met in the South Seas seems to have been very energetically and wickedly employed in "pulling the 'Special Commissioner's leg".

The late Lord Pembroke described two classes of people--"those who know and don't write, and those who write and don't know".

Let me cull a few only of the statements in one of the articles entitled "The Trader's Prospects". It is an article so nicely written that it is hard to shake off the glamour of it and get to facts. It says:--

"The salaries paid by a big Australian firm to its traders may run from L50 to L200 a year, with board (that is, the run of the store) and a house."

There are possibly fifty men in the Pacific Islands who are receiving L200 a year from trading firms. Five pounds per month, with a specified ration list, and 5 per cent, commission on his sales is the usual thing--and has been so for the past fifteen years. As for taking "the run of the store," he would be quickly asked to take another run. The trader who works for a firm has a struggle to exist.

*****


"In the Solomons and New Hebrides you can start trading on a capital of L100 or so, and make cent, per cent, on island produce."

A man would want at least L500 to L600 to start even in the smallest way. Here are some of his requirements, which he must buy before leaving Sydney or Auckland to start as an independent trader in Melanesia or Polynesia: Trade goods, L400; provisions for twelve months, L100; boat with all gear, from L25 to L60; tools, firearms, etc, L15 to L30. Then there is passage money, L15 to L20; freight on his goods, say L40. If he lands anywhere in Polynesia--Samoa, Tonga,