There was a culminating growth of irritation on board the Merrie Monarch.
The Captain was markedly fitful and, to a layman's eye, unreliable at the
helm; the Hon. Skye Terryer was smoking violently, and the Newspaper
Correspondent--representing an American syndicate--chewed his cigar in
silence.
"Yes," Gregson, the Member of Parliament, continued, "if I had my way I'd
muster every mob of Chinamen in Australia, I'd have one thundering big
roundup, and into the Pacific and the Indian Sea they'd go, to the crack
of a stock-whip or of something more convincing." The Hon. Skye Terryer
was in agreement with the Squatting Member in the principle of his
argument if not in the violence of his remedies. He was a young
travelling Englishman; one of that class who are Radicals at twenty,
Independents at thirty, and Conservatives at forty. He had not yet
reached the intermediate stage. He saw in this madcap Radical Member one
of the crude but strong expressions of advanced civilisation. He had the
noble ideal of Australia as a land trodden only by the Caucasian. The
Correspondent, much to our surprise, had by occasional interjections at
the beginning of the discussion showed that he was not antipathetic to
Mongolian immigration. The Captain?
"Yes, I'd give 'em Botany Bay, my word!" added the Member as an anti-
climax.
The Captain let go the helm with a suddenness which took our breath away,
apparently regardless that we were going straight as an arrow on the
Island of Pentecost, the shore of which, in its topaz and emerald tints,
was pretty enough to look at but not to attack, end on. He pushed both
hands down deep into his pockets and squared himself for war.
"Gregson," he said, "that kind of talk may be good enough for Parliament
and for labour meetings, but it is not proper diet for the Merrie
Monarch. It's a kind of political gospel that's no better than the creed
of the Malay who runs amuck. God's Providence--where would your Port
Darwin Country have been without the Chinaman? What would have come to
tropical agriculture in North Queensland if it had not been for the same?
And what would all your cities do for vegetables to eat and clean shirts
to their backs if it was not for the Chinkie? As for their morals, look
at the police records of any well-regulated city where they are--well-
regulated, mind you, not like San Francisco! I pity the morals of a man
and the stupidity of him and the benightedness of him that would drive
the Chinaman out at the point of the bayonet or by the crack of a rifle.
I pity that man, and--and I wash my hands of him."
And having said all this with a strong Scotch accent the Captain
opportunely turned to his duty and prevented us from trying conclusions
with the walls of a precipice, over which fell silver streams of water
like giant ropes up which the Naiads might climb to the balmy enclosures
where the Dryads dwelt. The beauty of the scene was but a mechanical
impression, to be remembered afterward when thousands of miles away, for
the American Correspondent now at last lit his cigar and took up the
strain.
"Say, the Captain's right," he said. "You English are awful prigs and
hypocrites, politically; as selfish a lot as you'll find on the face of
the globe. But in this matter of the Chinaman there isn't any difference
between a man from Oregon and one from Sydney, only the Oregonian isn't
a prig and a hypocrite; he's only a brute, a bragging, hard-handed brute.
He got the Chinaman to build his railways--he couldn't get any other race
to do it--same fix as the planter in North Queensland with the
Polynesian; and to serve him in pioneer times and open up the country,
and when that was done he turns round and says: 'Out you go, you Chinkie
--out you go and out you stay! We're going to reap this harvest all
alone; we're going to Chicago you clean off the table!' And Washington,
the Home of Freedom and Tammany Tigers, shoves a prohibitive Bill through
the Legislature, as Parkes did in Sydney; only Parkes talked a lot of
Sunday-school business about the solidarity of the British race, and
Australia for the Australians, and all that patter; and the Oregonian
showed his dirty palm of selfishness straight out, and didn't blush
either. 'Give 'em Botany Bay! Give'em the stock-whip and the rifle!'
That's a nice gospel for the Anglo-Saxon dispensation."
The suddenness of the attack overwhelmed the Member, but he was choking
with wrath. Had he not stone-walled in the New South Wales Parliament
for nine hours, and been placed on a Royal Commission for that service?
"My word!" But the box of cigars was here amiably passed, and what
seemed like a series of international complications was stayed. It was
perhaps fortunate, however, that at this moment a new interest sprang up.
We were rounding a lofty headland crowned with groves of cocoa-palms and
bananas and with trailing skirts of flowers and vines, when we saw ahead
of us a pretty little bay, and on the shore a human being plainly not a
Polynesian. Up the hillside that rose suddenly from the beach was a
thatched dwelling, not built open all round like most native houses, and
apparently having but one doorway. In front of the house, and near it,
was a tall staff, and on the staff the British Flag.
In a moment we, too, had the British Flag flying at our mast-head.
Long ago I ceased to wonder at coincidences, still I confess I was
scarcely prepared for the Correspondent's exclamation, as, taking the
marine glass from his eyes, he said: "Well, I'm decalogued if it ain't
a Chinaman!"
It certainly was so. Here on the Island of Pentecost, in the New
Hebrides, was a Celestial washing clothes on the beach as much at home
as though he were in Tacoma or Cooktown. The Member's "My oath!"
Skye Terryer's "Ah!" and the Captain's chuckle were as weighty with
importance as though the whole question of Chinese immigration were now
to be settled. As we hove-to and dropped anchor, a boat was pushed out
into the surf by a man who had hurriedly come down the beach from the
house. In a moment or two he was alongside. An English face and an
English voice greeted us, and in the doorway of the house were an English
woman and her child.
What pleasure this meeting gave to us and to the trader--for such he was,
those only can know who have sailed these Southern Seas through long and
nerveless tropic days, and have lived, as this man did with his wife and
child, for months never seeing a white face, and ever in danger of an
attack from cannibal tribes, who, when apparently most disposed to amity,
are really planning a massacre. Yet with that instinct of gain so strong
in the Anglo-Saxon, this trader had dared the worst for the chance of
making money quickly and plentifully by the sale of copra to occasional
vessels. The Chinaman had come with the trader from Queensland, and we
were assured was "as good as gold." If colour counted, he looked it. At
this the pro-Mongolian magnanimously forbore to show any signs of
triumph. The Correspondent, on the contrary, turned to the Chinaman and
began chaffing him; he continued it as the others, save myself, passed on
towards the house.