THE END OF THE VOYAGE
At the dock, I got my luggage and Jack's ashore and into a van,
while Jack and Mrs. London went on up to the Metropole Hotel. After
the luggage had passed the customs, I left it with Nakata, and got
in a cab which took me to my rooms in Elizabeth Street. As I passed
through the streets of Sydney, I could almost imagine I was in
Chicago, with its traffic and hurry, its bustling and crowding. The
Sydney street railways seemed to give excellent service. The stores
are on the American plan, not the little shops so common in England.
I had expected to see a city very much English, but my sober
judgment is that Sydney is much more American than otherwise. In my
Kansas home, I had always supposed Australia to be a bush country;
so it was an agreeable surprise to find it as civilised as the
States.
Sydney has nearly three quarters of a million people, and they dress
and talk like Americans. There are dozens of good theatres, wherein
are often enacted American plays. ("The Girl from the Golden West,"
and "The Merry Widow," were on at that very time.) About the only
thing I could find fault with at first glance was the excessive
amount of jewellery worn by the women, and, as it seemed to me,
very old-fashioned jewellery--the kind we had sold over our counters
in Independence a dozen years before. But anyway, I had a special
grudge against all jewellery, after seeing the South Sea Islanders
with their shell finger-rings, their big nose-and ear-rings, and
uncouth anklets and bracelets, for, after all, was it not the same
instinct for barbaric adornment that actuated the rude natives and
the highly decorated women of Australia? or that actuates
jewellery-wearing people the world round?
The manager of the moving picture expedition at Penduffryn had given
me a letter to his agents, asking that they secure these rooms in
Elizabeth Street for me. It was a suite of three well-furnished
rooms, cool and comfortable, and heavenly after the weary months at
sea, where I had slept in a bunk some inches too short for me. It
had been six months since I had slept ashore--at Vila, New Hebrides,
was the last place--and it was with difficulty I could persuade the
rooms to stand still. I caught myself propping things up so they
wouldn't roll off the table or the dresser; and it seemed strange
that my bed did not buck and try to pitch me out on the floor.
That evening I dined with the Londons, and then we went to the
theatre. Mrs. London still had attacks of island fever. Jack had had
the fever in its worst form. But none the less, we enjoyed this
evening, which, for all we knew, might be the last we could spend
together for a long time; for on the morrow, the Londons were to go
into hospital.
They went to the St. Malo Hospital, in Ridge Street, North Sydney.
Here the doctors found that Jack was indeed a very sick man. The
fever they could subdue, but his mysterious ailment baffled them.
Jack's hands grew worse every day.
I went to a doctor, who burnt out my yaws with caustic potash. He
advised me to lay up for a time, but I foolishly disregarded his
counsel, and walked about the streets of Sydney. As a consequence,
my yaws and fever grew more troublesome, and I was forced to go to
bed. It all ended by my going into the Sydney Homeopathic Hospital,
in Cleveland Street. Here I received competent medical treatment,
under which my yaws rapidly healed. But the island fever has a trick
of recurring most unexpectedly; and so it was with me. Just as I
thought myself cured, another attack of fever would prostrate me.
As I lay in that hospital, I often wondered what would be the next
stage of our journey. Where next would the little _Snark_ carry her
anxious crew? From now on, we would find ourselves among people very
much different from the men and women of the South Seas. The world
was broad, I reflected; there was no knowing what further adventures
might come our way, or what strange things our wanderings would show
us. One thing was sure. Greater things lay before us than we had
left behind. Much as we had seen, we still had much to see. And I
lay there and planned the various things I would do when I got well
to make life on the yacht more comfortable; the appliances I would
buy, the ventilators needed, and a hundred and one other things.
And then everything was dashed in a minute. The matron of the
hospital brought me a letter from Jack, which contained discouraging
news. I learned that he was little better; and that he might be
getting much worse. His fever was pretty well conquered, but his
other ailment was unrelieved.
This other ailment was a puzzler. "The doctors do not know what it
is," ran the letter. "The biggest specialist in Australia in
skin-diseases has examined me, and his verdict is that not only in
his own experience has he never seen anything like it, but that no
line is to be found about it in any of the medical libraries. My
hands are getting worse. They are so bad to-day that I cannot close
them. What it may lead to, I do not know; but one thing I do know,
and that is that I must get back to my own climate. I shall have to
give up my voyage around the world. I shall have a captain . . . to
bring the _Snark_ down to Sydney, where I shall sell her. The
steamer does not sail for between three and four weeks from now. I
shall want you to go back on said steamer, and run the engines,
etc., on the trip down to Sydney . . . I can assure you that I am not
a bit happy over all this."
I was dazed. I experienced a sense of deep loss. For an hour I did
not know what to do. To abandon the voyage! To sell the yacht! For
two years the _Snark_ had been home to me; and now I could hardly
bear to think of quitting her.
Securing my clothes from the matron, I went to the St. Malo Hospital
and enquired for Jack. I was shown up to where he was lying. Mrs.
London was in bed in the same room, sick with the fever. She could
scarcely speak of the _Snark_, she felt so bad. Jack's hands were
certainly in terrible condition. The skin was thick and hard, so
that he could hardly close them. And, of course, it was impossible
for him to write. He explained to me. There were many chances to see
the world, he said, and many voyages; but he had only one pair of
hands. Writing was his profession. He could not give it up.
Therefore, the voyage of the _Snark_ must be abandoned. The doctor
had told him that even if he were cured, the affliction might return
should he go among the deadly Solomons again. Furthermore, a change
of diet was necessary. The things we had aboard the _Snark_ were not
suited to the needs of a sick man. Fresh fruit and vegetables, and
fresh meats--not canned foods and salted meats--were what he must
have. So back he was going to California, his native state, where
his health had always been perfect.
This was on December 9, 1908. The steamer _Moresby_, on which a
captain and myself were to go back to the Solomons after the
_Snark_, did not sail till the 31st. With good luck, we ought to be
back in Sydney by February 1.
The interval I spent in sightseeing. Australia is a very interesting
place, and, as I have said, reminds one very much of the States. In
the business section, the streets are extremely narrow, but
elsewhere they broaden out. The street-car service is excellent, as
is the railway service. On the express trains they have large
American engines and the broad-gauge tracks.
The people are very enterprising; but I think the heads of
government must all be preachers or missionaries, judging by the
strange laws they make. For instance: Unless a person is a guest at
a hotel, he is not allowed in on Sunday; if he wishes to see a
friend at one of the big hotels, he must stand outside until the
friend is called. The street-cars stop during church hours, both in
the morning and in the evening, and so do the trains--even the fast
express trains stop wherever they happen to be at the time, and do
not start up again until church service is over. Few restaurants are
open on Sunday; and there are no Sunday papers.
Anything said about Sydney is not complete without a mention of the
harbour--the largest and finest in the world. It is miles and miles
around, from head to head, and the water is deep enough anywhere for
the greatest vessel to float. Almost anywhere, a ship can tie up to
the shore. An enormous amount of shipping goes in and out of the
heads every day; about a dozen lines run to Europe by way of South
Africa and the Suez canal; and there are nearly as many lines to
America. A hundred steamers ply from here to the South Seas and
Asia. And there are tramp steamers and independent sailing vessels.
When I went to see one ship off for the Gilbert and Ellis Islands, I
was amazed to find several old friends. The first officer I had met
in Vila, New Hebrides. On a nearby sailing vessel I met old David
Wiley, the trader we had visited at Tanna. And Mr. Darbishire was
leaving on the steamer for the Gilberts, to take up a government
position at Ocean Island. The crew was composed of Gilbert
Islanders, the first I had ever seen.
Near the close of December, Jack and Mrs. London came out of
hospital. We went to the great Johnson-Burns prize fight; and while
it was not much of a fight--too one-sided, for the negro was by far
the better man--I would not have missed it for anything. The
Australians are worse negro-haters even than Americans, and they
hooted Johnson and cheered Burns--which was not at all fair; and I
did not grieve much to see their idol beaten until he looked like a
piece of raw beefsteak.
Jack wrote up the fight for the American press, and then gave me the
original manuscript, which I value highly. My valuation will be
justified when I say that, with one exception, I am the only person
in the world to whom has been given an original manuscript of Jack
London, though more than one has asked.
I had Christmas dinner with Mr. Darbishire at the Hotel Metropole. I
ran the risk of arrest by going in on a holiday. Just imagine a
Christmas dinner in a tropical climate. I had always associated
Christmas with some amount of snow. And we had no cranberries!
Christmas without cranberries! But we made up for other deficiencies
with the finest of strawberries, and watermelon; which is something
my friends in America never do have at this season of the year.
At last we secured our captain--an old man who seemed to know
considerable of the South Seas. Jack and Mrs. London and Nakata went
over to Hobart, Tasmania, where it was thought the cooler climate
would be better for them. Captain Reed and I boarded the _Moresby_
and left Sydney at ten o'clock on the evening of January 8. We
should have left much earlier, but delayed cargo kept the ship
waiting.
There were fourteen first class passengers on board. Two were French
missionaries, and the rest traders; these last returning to the
islands after a few weeks of drunkenness in Sydney. (They called it
their "vacation.") In the morning they all looked alike--like pieces
of yellow cheese-cloth. Three or four were down to breakfast, but
soon left--one man with his hand rather suspiciously over his
mouth.
The old captain who was to navigate the _Snark_ back to Sydney
seemed a queer old chap. As he read much and talked little, we got
along all right. Soon I felt so good that I had to go round
tantalising the seasick people. I knew most of the traders. I opened
a fresh box of chocolates, and with exaggerated generosity passed
them around. One fellow was so ungrateful as to throw a stick at me.
The _Moresby_ was a regular old tub--not so large as the _Makambo_,
that we had come down in. Built in 1879, she was condemned in 1905,
as the underwriters declared the boilers were not safe; but they
gave them a coat of paint, and the _Moresby_ continued to run. The
accommodations were not bad--electric lights, fans, and very good
food. The officers and the stewardess were very jolly. While I was
sorry to leave Sydney, if only for a few weeks, I found my sorrow
somewhat alloyed by the very good time I had aboard the _Moresby_.
We were to get into Brisbane on the 11th, and from there it is only
nine or ten days to the Solomons.
[Illustration: A FLORIDA CANOE, SOLOMONS]
We got in Brisbane on Monday morning. After finding out that we
would not sail until ten o'clock that night, the most of the
passengers went up to the city. I got away from the crowd, and
walked around to see the place. I think, if I were going to live in
Australia, I should choose Brisbane in preference to Sydney. Sydney
is a livelier and busier city, and Brisbane is just the opposite:
quiet and slow; but it has such broad, pretty green streets,
houses like the California bungalows, and such splendid car service,
that Sydney is far outshadowed. It is very tropical, too, in
Brisbane; the people dress in white, and only get busy toward
evening.
His name was Bannerman, and he came aboard here at Brisbane. It was
nearly midnight before we cast off and headed down the river. At
eight o'clock Bannerman had been deposited with several trunks and
suitcases on board by a crowd of noisy young fellows. They had
strolled the deck arm-in-arm until we cast off, singing: "For He's a
Jolly Good Fellow," and "The King of the Cannibal Islands." And
after we had swung away from the wharf, they cried after him to
bring them back a few human heads, and they gave him advice as to
how to handle the cannibals.
In the cabin the traders had been playing cards all evening, and
before turning in I stopped to watch them.
Bannerman was standing behind, telling the traders who he was and
where he came from; and from his pretentious talk, he must have been
a person of some importance in Brisbane and elsewhere. Now he was
going to the islands to rest for awhile at a trading station. He had
signed on for a two-year job; as he expressed it, he was tired of
civilisation, and of people; he wanted to get to a place where he
could rest and take things easy. Of course, he knew that there
might be a little trouble with the natives, but that did not bother
him.
He went on talking in a loud voice of what he had done and what he
could do. The traders paid slight heed to him; poker, as these men
played it, took all their attention. Finally, I went to my cabin and
turned in. Next morning we were out of sight of land, with a rough
head-sea retarding our progress, and sending spray all over the
ship. We pitched and rolled as only a South Sea trading steamer can
roll. The traders were at their poker game when I went below, but
Bannerman was not to be seen, and for several days he failed to show
up at the table, and was nearly forgotten until we were half-way to
the islands.
The sea was now as smooth as a mill-pond. The after-poop-deck had
been covered with an awning. We were gathered on deck one morning
after breakfast, the traders telling stories of the islands, when
Bannerman came up rather shaky on his legs and joined us. He had
nothing to say about himself now. A trader, Swanson by name, had
been among the islands for thirty years and had had some bad
experiences with the savages. He was relating some trouble he had
had with a new bunch of tough recruits, where all the crew on his
trading schooner was killed, and he had reached a missionary's house
after days without food or water.
"On what island did this happen?" enquired Bannerman.
"On Guadalcanar," replied Swanson; and turning, he seemed to see
Bannerman for the first time. "Why, I believe that is where you are
to be stationed, isn't it? What part do you go to?"
I could see by the way the traders looked at each other that Swanson
was about to "string" this green recruit.
"Why, I will be with Collins Brothers, but--"
"What! Collins Brothers?" and turning to another trader, Swanson
asked: "Wasn't that where Jack Dupretz was killed?"
"Yes," the other assured him. "Only a few months ago, too. But I
hear it was the bush boys did the work, so it's safe enough there
now for nearly a year--you know, they never come down, only once a
year."
"But they told me this was the most peaceful place in the islands,"
began Bannerman.
"Well, I reckon it is 'bout as peaceful as any place in the group;
but don't you think for a minute that you can go to sleep anywhere
up here with both eyes shut. Of course, you are well armed and have
plenty of ammunition?"
"I have a revolver and plenty of cartridges," panted Bannerman.
"That's good; but if I were you I would get several guns and a
barrel of ammunition; you can never tell what will happen here."
Now that the traders were tired of poker and had found an easy mark,
they started in to throw him into a state of panic.
I had scratched my foot that morning, and careful that the yaws did
not get started again in the wound, I was washing the cut every
half-hour with permanganate of potash and mercury.
While the traders were busy telling their narrow experiences with
the cannibals and about the different fellows who had gone to the
roasting pot, I had backed out of the group and was anointing my
foot with the antiseptic wash. It was necessary for me to roll up my
trousers, exposing the red scars of my yaws. This attracted
Bannerman's attention.
"What's the matter with your legs?" he asked.
"Nothing now," I answered. "Have just recovered from a slight dose
of yaws."
"What's yaws?"
"You'll know soon enough," a trader spoke up. "Wait a few weeks from
now. Everybody down here gets yaws--won't be healthy if you don't.
You see, it's just a slight form of leprosy."
"But a man can be careful and not catch it, can't he?" quavered the
now thoroughly discomfited Bannerman.
"No use; it catches the new fellows who have not been 'climatised;'
after you have a good dose of it once, you'll be all right."
"But I was told it was such a healthy climate."
The men laughed this remonstrance down.
"Sure it's a healthy climate, and you'll enjoy it as soon as you get
over your first attack of yaws or fever. Of course, the fever may
hold off the yaws for awhile--depends on which comes first."
This was about the last straw to Bannerman. He drew off to himself
to think over his troubles to come.
The traders let him alone for the rest of the day; but they were
preparing new tales to tell him. They had intended to help things
along that night at dinner, but Bannerman kept to his bunk, although
the sea was as smooth as it ever gets, and it was not until lunch
next day that they got a chance to make his life more miserable.
This was his first appearance at the table.
"That's right; come and fill up on white man's grub while you've got
the chance, for two years is a long time to live on native _kai-kai_
and tinned foods."
"Well, I can stand it, if you fellows can," answered Bannerman
bravely.
"Right you are! Now that's the way I like to hear a man talk. I tell
you, men, he will be able to handle the black boys, all right. Don't
ever let them see you are afraid of them," he cautioned the other,
"or they will sure get you."
Every trader present had a tale of horror to tell. By the time the
meal was over, Bannerman was in a state of collapse. The captain
sat at the head of the table and said nothing during the meal. After
we had finished eating, I went on the bridge with him, and we got to
talking over this new trader.
"He's the easiest mark I ever saw," exclaimed the captain. "The men
generally have a good time with the new traders each trip, but this
fellow seems to take it more seriously than any of the others. If he
don't get wise before we reach Tulagi, I'll have to set him
right--wouldn't be the square thing to send him ashore in the state
he's in."
We got in Tulagi just after dark, and the dozen schooners that
always come after their mail and as much liquor as they can hold,
were anchored in the bay. Immediately after our anchor was dropped,
their passengers swarmed aboard, all heading for the bar. I knew
some of them, and I told all of them of the way we had frightened
Bannerman, and they determined to help the thing along. So one
captain asked three of us and Bannerman to go over to his schooner.
As we got alongside, thirty natives just recruited from Malaita gave
a yell, and the captain told us to get our guns ready. Poor
Bannerman said he had no gun. Then the captain asked him if he had
come to the Solomons to commit suicide. "Why, no man ever has one
hand off his gun here!" the captain declared. At this, Bannerman
wanted to go back to the steamer, but the captain said he thought
the blacks were in a good humour now. The blacks were a raw, savage
lot, stark naked, and adorned, as they thought, most becomingly,
with big plugs in their ears, and nose-rings, shell anklets and
armlets. But it was their bleached woolly hair that made them look
most terrible.
We told Bannerman stories, and the captain, innocently as could be,
mentioned a big massacre up near Collins Brothers' plantation, where
Bannerman was to work. Bannerman told him this identical place was
to be his future home; whereupon the captain elaborated a fiction as
to three white men who had lost their heads at Collins' place a few
weeks before. (As a matter of fact, Collins' plantation is really
one of the most peaceful spots in the Solomons.) Bannerman then and
there declared that he would go back to Brisbane on the same steamer
that had brought him. But by next morning, he informed us that he
had decided to try a few months of it. I think the captain of the
_Moresby_ had seen the joke was too far advanced, and had told him
that we were "stringing" him.
Governor Woodford, whose station is at Tulagi, had just bought a
steamer in order to keep in touch with the other islands, and the
traders were having great fun about it. It was just about the size
of the _Snark_, and looked like a tug-boat. It was painted slate
colour, the same as the British warships, and had several small guns
mounted on deck. All the discipline of a warship was maintained. A
native had been trained to blow a bugle; at eight in the morning
the flag went up, and at sunset it came down, while the black bugler
played his best, and all the schooners followed example in the
raising and lowering of flags. At a civilised place, this would seem
all right, but at Tulagi it was comical. The traders talked proudly
of the "Solomon Island fleet" and were even facetiously arranging
for it to follow the American fleet's example and make a trip around
the world.
The next morning after our arrival, this little steamer came in from
Malaita, where it had been enforcing the law. A white missionary at
Ulava had had trouble with the natives, and they had threatened to
kill him; so he cleared out in a whale-boat to the governor's, who
sent the steamer there. As they steamed up the lagoon they were
fired on by the natives, who had old Snyder rifles. When they landed
fifty police natives, they were attacked with spears and arrows,
several being killed. Then the steamer sent several shells into the
village, and killed seven natives. Poor Bannerman's heart throbbed
on hearing this--for the captain of the _Moresby_ could not say that
this was a joke. He left the next morning for his plantation,
accompanied by six natives, and I never heard of him again. Anyway,
I'll bet that he wished more than once on that trip that he were
back in Brisbane.
We found the _Snark_ in good condition at Aola. We put fuel and
water aboard, stored provisions, and unfurled the sail; and then we
set out on the backward trip to Sydney.
On January 27 we set out. If the weather were favourable, we ought
to get into Sydney in about twenty days. That we did not do so was
owing to the captain's overcarefulness. We quickly discovered that
Captain Reed was a very timid skipper. But let the words I wrote at
the time tell the story.
_Friday, January 29, 1909._--It's nine o'clock, and Henry and Wada
and Tehei are asleep on the deck for'ard. It is Henry's turn at the
wheel, but I'm supposed to be on the lookout. It's such a fine
night, with nearly a full moon, and so warm and cool at the same
time that it seems there could be no more perfect a night than this.
A four-knot breeze and an uncommonly quiet sea, and not a cloud.
I am wearing a _lava-lava_ only, and feel as if I'd like to discard
it--not from heat, but it seems wicked to wear anything such a night
as this. Those two mystical islands we have been heading for ever
since we left the Solomons are just ahead about five miles--Belonna
and Rennell. In an hour we will have to go about on the other tack
to keep from cutting off a few hundred feet of Rennell. If I had my
way, I should heave-to until morning, then go ashore, for these
people are the most primitive in the world--no stranger has ever
reported setting foot ashore here, unless a man named Stephens, who,
when we left Sydney, was just getting up an expedition to visit
these two islands, has been here by now. I am anxious to see
Stephens about it.
But what a night! I can't get over it. The sails are just drawing
comfortably, and there is no sound except the swish of the water
around the bow as we cut through it. It seems as if millions of
stars are trying to help the moon in making things lighter; and the
Southern Cross is just overhead. Henry has gone to the wheel, and
sits gazing at the stars and singing South Sea songs--now of Samoa,
now of Hawaii, and now of Tahiti, taking me back to the good times
we had in those islands. The _Snark_ really needs no steering
to-night, but someone must be at the wheel.
And this is my last of the South Seas for perhaps a long time,
perhaps forever. Those tall cocoanut trees on Rennell, which we can
plainly see, are the last links of the islands. The next trees we
see will be of the white man's country. I'm almost sorry to get
back, although the last few months among the South Sea islands have
played havoc with the crew of the _Snark_. My legs have scars that
will never disappear--a sure sign I am not welcomed here. Yes, it is
better that we are leaving.
_Sunday, January 31, 1909._--Well, I'm contented now, for I've seen
the wonderful natives of Rennell, and this is how it happened.
Yesterday morning, when I came on deck, I found the _Snark_ too
close to the shore of Rennell to be comfortable, and it was not a
nice shore to see, either, for the whole coast seemed to be jotted
with rocks, and the sides of the island were nearly perpendicular. I
called the captain and we went about, having decided it would be
better to go around the island from the other end, for the wind was
dead ahead the way we were going and we were making more leeway than
anything else. So we sailed along the coast all morning, and right
after dinner Henry discovered a canoe putting off to us. We backed
the head-sails and waited for them. There were two natives in the
first canoe, and right after them came a canoe with three natives.
The canoes were well-built Polynesian outriggers, and larger than
any I've seen, but the natives, big, brown-skinned, long-haired
fellows, none under six feet in height, and all muscle, were the
strangest yet. Each had a short spear with a long bone point--very
fine pieces of work. Two of them had big iron-wood clubs. The
largest, most intelligent fellow, whom we found to be the king, was
seated in a curious chair, made to fit into the canoe. After they
had got aboard, I collected the five spears, two clubs, and the
chair together on the skylight, then took a half-tin of biscuits, a
few fish-hooks, several strings of beads, four old files, a broken
sheath-knife, and the hoop-iron off an old water-cask; and putting
my things in a pile next to theirs, offered to trade. They jumped on
my things with a whoop. I made some photographs of them. They did
not object, but I know they didn't catch on to what I was doing, for
they wore a look of wonder during all the time I was photographing
them. One thing that particularly struck me was the fine white teeth
they all had, and their hair would have made any girl proud.
All the time they were aboard, they were trying to make me
understand something that excited them. They would shout and throw
their hands in the air, and jump around the deck, frightening the
captain nearly into fits. He would have nothing to do with them, but
sat on a box with a gun in his hands throughout their stay. But they
did not know what a gun was. I am always interested in this kind of
people, so tried to talk to them, as did Henry, but it was the first
time I've seen him unable to use the few words he knows. The natives
would have nothing to do with him or with the others, for they were
too near their own colour, but I was white, and therein lay a great
mystery. All the time they jabbered and pointed ashore. As near as I
could make out, they wanted us to go in and anchor; but I would not
get in among such a crowd of savages for anything, though I should
have liked to see their women.
They wore only a small loin-cloth, made from the bark of a tree, and
no other ornaments. They were tattooed all over with designs that
were new to me and the king had a small ring of shell in his nose.
[Illustration: TRADING STATION, LANGAKAULD-UGI SOLOMONS]
They finally got so excited that the captain was frightened, and to
make them leave he pointed his gun at them. But they only grabbed
for it, thinking it was a present. The iron and brass work
interested them the most. They would feel of it and try to break
pieces off, and the boats they examined all over, making queer
noises at everything they could not understand. Finally the captain
got so aroused that he could stand it no longer; he told me to start
the engines. While I was getting it ready, five excited faces
watched me through the skylight, but as the first gas explosion
came, those five excited faces vanished. Our visitors had jumped
overboard into their canoes, leaving behind the things I had given
them in exchange for their spears and the chair. Also, they had left
two strings of porpoise teeth (worth about £2 in the Solomons, where
they use them for money). I kept the porpoise teeth, but the other
things we wrapped in an old oilskin and threw into one of the boats.
I went below and threw on the clutch, and when I came up, I saw the
five men fighting over the old iron I had given them. They fought
and squabbled, and dropped the biscuits overboard into the water,
apparently not recognising their value. One, to whom I had given a
stick of tobacco, had tasted it, and finding it nauseous, had thrown
it away.
We steamed ten miles into the passage between the two islands; then
I stopped the engine and we slowly drifted through. At sunset a
canoe followed us for an hour, but we drifted too fast for them, and
they gave it up when about five miles from shore. I'll wager it was
a tired canoe-load of natives that put in to land last night, for
they had to paddle hard against the current.
The captain seems to have a notion in his head that we mustn't make
any speed. What his reason is, I don't know.
To-day we are calmed about twenty miles off the islands, and it's
hotter than sin. The tar in the deck is melting and bubbling up
through the seams, so that a person feels as if walking on molasses,
when compelled to walk.
_Saturday, February 13, 1909._--The day after we cleared Rennell we
were struck by a southeast squall, which settled down into a gale
that lasted for four days--the most miserable four days I ever spent
on the _Snark_. Rain, wind, and combing seas all the time! The seas
were so high that it was no use trying to beat against them, so we
just lay and pitched and rolled, with the seas breaking on the deck
all the while, until every stitch of our clothing was wet through.
Oilcloth and rubbers are useless against such weather. The salt
water would get below, in spite of all we could do. We had the
skylights and hatches battened down, too. Only the staysail remained
set. The fourth day we tried to set a jib, but it was carried away,
and the main jib-boom stay broke off, so we were in danger of having
the flying-jib smashed, but we made it solid with watch tackles, and
when the wind had settled a little we hoisted the mizzen
double-reefed, and another jib. We soon had to lower the jib, and
Henry, instead of taking it on deck, lashed it to the jib-boom, and
in one night it was torn to threads by the constant plunging into
the seas. Now we have only a small storm-jib left to take us into
Sydney.
The fifth day, the wind let us, but we still had the heavy seas. On
trying to make a little sail, we found the rigging on the
mizzen-mast to be in bad condition, and it took all hands a day to
repair it. Then the gooseneck on the staysail broke, and as we have
no other, we patched it up with ropes. On raising the mainsail, the
throat-halyards carried away, and when they were repaired, the peak
did the same. A good stiff wind and the heavy seas continued, so we
dared not put on full sail, but have been creeping along under
double-reefed main and mizzen sails and have not attempted to set
the other jib. This old captain is certainly afraid to make sail,
for during the last few days we could easily have had reefs out of
the sails and the jib set; but as the barometer is still low and he
does not like the look of the leaden sky, he will not do it. He and
I had a hot argument a few days ago because I wanted more sail put
on, and he informed me that he was captain, and for me to tend to my
own business--so that is what I am doing. But I know we could be a
couple of hundred miles to the south if he would not be so careful.
Henry is madder than a hornet; says if we stop anywhere south of
Sydney he will go ashore, for he does not want to work for such a
timid old man. But he couldn't do what he threatens, for the
authorities would not allow a dark-skinned man ashore.
Henry has a fit of grouchiness, so he is snappy and growling all the
time. Tehei is so homesick that he can't be cheerful. Wada is
cheerful enough; but take it all in all, it is mighty unpleasant
company.
Here we are only about three hundred and fifty miles from the
Solomons, and we've been out eighteen days, with sixteen hundred
miles yet to go, and Wada says there are only provisions enough for
ten days more, by economising; and it's not the best of grub,
either. Salt-horse, sea biscuit, tinned salmon, beans, rice, and
about twelve pounds of tea. More of the captain's folly, for he does
not know how to stock a vessel of this kind. At first, when we left
the Solomons, I did not know that there was not plenty of
provisions, or what poor stuff it was, for I was living on fruit and
fish nearly all the time; but now the fruit is gone and the fish
that we catch are the deep-water kind, dry and tasteless, and only
fit for soup or for eating raw.
I hooked an enormous shark a few days ago, but it broke a large iron
hook--a foot long and of 3/8 inch iron. It was all of sixteen feet
long. Tehei says that's the reason that we don't get fair wind--the
shark is hoodooing us.
_Sunday, February 14, 1909._--Last night we rolled about on the
swells of a calm, and we all felt better, for surely by morning the
wind would freshen, and it would be a northeast wind, for that's the
wind that should be blowing at this time of the year, but up to now
it's still calm, and the little wind that is blowing is from the
same old direction--southeast, and it's hotter than blazes.
I'm commencing to chafe under so long a spell of hard luck. For
awhile I did not care, but to-day I've been looking over old
pictures of home, and home postcards. But one thing is certain--I'll
be home in less than one year now, probably before another
Christmas. I'll leave Australia as soon as I can get away from the
_Snark_. A short time in Europe, and then home.
I don't think I've mentioned a dog Mrs. London got off the wrecked
_Minota_ in the Solomons--a scotch terrier, only a pup when she came
aboard, but grown since to full size. All aboard liked to play with
her. She would sit and cock her head to one side while a person
talked to her. Even the old, grumpy captain liked to play with her.
During the heavy weather last week, Peggy could not walk on deck
without being thrown from one rail to the other, and I think
possibly she was injured internally; and with the lack of fresh food
and exercise, she died. Mrs. London will feel bad about it, for she
told me to take particular care of Peggy--that she was going to take
her back to California. Now it seems as if one of the crew were
gone, and the naturally superstitious Kanakas are mumbling that it
is a "no good" sign.
This morning I caught a small shark--six feet four inches--but threw
him overboard again, for the Kanakas were too lazy to cut him up;
and after cutting up one shark, I never want to tackle another.
Besides, it's so hot that no one wants to exert himself. No wind, so
no one is needed at the wheel. Everyone is stretched on deck, under
the boats or in the cockpit.
_Sunday, February 21, 1909._--To-day is like last Sunday, only more
so. No wind, plenty of sun, and the pitch runs cheerfully down the
deck-seams. Last week we had some pretty fair weather that would
take us along at six knots for as long as half a day, then the
eternal flap, flap of the sails again. One day we made a hundred
miles, but from seven to forty was the run on other days. Sharks are
getting thick around us--so thick that when we try for other fish,
these brutes swallow our bait. Then we have to hook a tackle to
them, and heave on deck to get our hook and line back again. One day
we caught three while fishing for dolphin. It's interesting to find
the miscellaneous assortment of fish in their stomachs. Often, the
fish will be still alive. But we get other things besides sharks.
Other fish are plentiful, too. Henry speared a five-foot dolphin,
and Tehei catches two or three twenty and twenty-five-pound bonita
every day with his pearl shell hooks. If we happen to have a little
headway at night, flying fish will come aboard, and if I can find
them before the Kanakas, I have a good breakfast. But if they see
them first, they pull off their wings and head, and eat them raw.
When a bonita is pulled aboard, while it's still flopping on deck,
the Kanakas will slice out a few steaks and start eating--very much
to the disgust of the captain.
And nearly every night we take on a few passengers--big reef-birds
that have flown too far from their homes, and have come aboard to
rest. They will get in the life-boat or on the stern-sail, and tuck
their heads under their wings and pay no attention to us, unless we
try to touch them, and then they will give a sharp peck which is not
pleasant, for their long beaks have edges like a saw. In the morning
they go away hunting for fish; then at night I think I sometimes
recognise the same birds back again.
We are now under regular deep-sea discipline, with watches the same
as on a full-rigged ship. This captain is not used to sailing a
small vessel like this. Probably he would be all right on a
square-rigger, but he makes entirely too much fuss here. Henry and I
come on watch at six o'clock until eight; then the captain and Tehei
until twelve, midnight; then Henry and I until four; then the
captain and Tehei and Wada until eight. Wada goes below to prepare
breakfast, and at eight Henry and I go on until noon. Then the
captain and Wada until four. Wada takes the wheel from two to four
every afternoon, then Henry and I the first dog-watch to six. Now,
we do not need a lookout here in the open sea, where there are no
steamer routes, and with such a long time on deck at night, one
must get some time for sleep, so of course it must be gotten in the
daytime; and the consequence is that we don't get any work done on
deck, and it's precious little I can do in the engine room.
The most serious thing now is the grub. It's running pretty low. The
potatoes and onions are all gone. We have enough rice and beans for
about ten days longer, with eleven small tins of meat for variety.
The sugar is all gone, and we have enough graham flour for a week.
It's so full of weevils that I don't care how soon it goes; but we
have enough sea-biscuit (also full of weevils) to last several
months; five gallons of molasses, and two hundred cocoanuts, so I
guess we won't starve. And then, fish are very plentiful, but I do
hope it will not come down to a fish diet, for I'm sick of them
already.
Tehei, Henry and Wada take turns about being sick, but the captain
makes them stand watch just the same. Tehei is useless when he is
the least bit sick. He will sit at the wheel in a daze and cannot
possibly steer closer than a point to the course; which makes the
captain furious, as he watches the wake zig-zag like a serpent
astern. He will let loose a round of adjectives that I have
difficulty in understanding; and of course Tehei cannot understand,
but he knows he is in some way to blame, so he sits up and looks
wildly about to see what is wrong. Captain often curses the weather,
the wind, the _Snark_, and everything he can think of that keeps us
from getting to Sydney any faster; then Tehei sits up again to see
what is wrong this time, for he thinks that of course, whatever it
is, it must be his fault.
We are twenty-five days out to-day, and just half-way; the kerosene
is nearly finished, so we are sailing along without sidelights.
And the captain swears, the Kanakas growl, Wada feigns sick, and I
keep hunting in different lockers hoping to find something to eat.
_Sunday, February 28, 1909._--Thirty-three days out to-day, and the
grub nearly gone. Our five-gallon can of molasses proved to be only
an empty tin, so now we have only weevily hardtack, half-spoiled
beans, and tea. We find that soaking the hardtack in tea for fifteen
minutes will bring most of the weevils to the top so that they can
be skimmed off. But the beans are hopeless. They are eatable, and
that's all. The fish have deserted us, too; but as poor as eating
is, it will keep us alive for a couple of weeks, if necessary. But
we might go into the Clarence river to-morrow, if we do not get a
fair wind. If we get the wind, we could make Sydney in three days,
but it's a nasty head-wind now, and we are only pitching up and down
and not going ahead. Clarence river is twenty miles away, only three
hours, if I had gasolene; but what I have will only run about five
miles, and that will be needed to take us through the bar.
Since last Sunday we have had a fair wind for two days, which set
us along one hundred miles a day. Then, when everyone had visions of
a square meal in Sydney inside of two or three days, the wind
shifted and blew a stiff gale for two days. We put double reefs in
the mizzen and mainsails, and a single one in the staysail, then put
on our oilskins and settled down to two days and nights on deck,
with only a few hours' sleep. Everything wet, and no food. Imagine
our tempers! Yesterday the sea and wind quieted down, but we still
have the head-wind. The sky is clear, however, and the barometer has
gone up; so we are hoping.
Tehei is quite surprised at the number of steamers in this world.
Every day, from ten to twenty pass us, going all directions, and
Tehei wonders where they all come from. A revolving light from a big
lighthouse twenty miles ashore also makes him wonder. I'm going to
have a good time with him in Sydney.
_Friday, March 5, 1909._--At last we are at anchor in Sydney
Harbor--thirty-six days from the Solomons. It seems mighty good to
get an all night in, and something to eat. Sunday night, we got a
stiff squall from the northeast, which settled down into a steady
wind, taking us along over one hundred miles a day--the best we had
since leaving the islands.
Wednesday evening, at five o'clock, I started the engines just
outside the heads, and we steamed up the harbour faster than the
harbour regulations allow, for we wanted to catch the doctor before
six o'clock and be allowed to land; and we were lucky enough to
catch him as he was leaving a steamer just in from China. He passed
us all. Then we proceeded up the harbour and anchored in Rose Bay.
The customs officers soon came aboard; then a boat-load of
reporters. I did not care for reporters, for I was hungry; so Tehei,
the captain, and I pulled ashore. The captain took a tram for
Sydney, while I hunted up a grocery store, and loaded myself down
with provisions--all I could carry. Tehei was supposed to stand by
the boat, but I found him, wild-eyed, watching the trains.
Thursday morning we got a tug to take us up the harbour, for my
gasolene tanks were so near empty that I was afraid of the engine's
stopping before we got up, all of which would have caused us no end
of trouble. We anchored at Johnson's Bay, only fifteen minutes from
Sydney by ferry. Jack and Mrs. London and Nakata came out in the
afternoon and were glad to see everything all right--except Peggy.
Mrs. London felt very bad over her dying. I went to Sydney with
them, to the Australian Hotel. I took Tehei, who had the time of his
life on the ferries and trams and elevators. Nakata took him out for
supper, and I ate with Mr. and Mrs. London. I was a strange
spectacle, with two months' growth of hair, nearly over my ears. But
Jack made me come with them; and if he could stand it, I knew I
could. Everyone else was in evening dress, for the Australian is the
aristocratic hotel of Australia! And the way I did eat! and Jack
piled more and more in front of me. He said he knew how good fresh
food tasted after a long sea-trip. Then we took Tehei to the Tivoli
Theatre (vaudeville), where he amused the audience by his open
appreciation of each turn. But the moving pictures were his greatest
delight. On the way home, we got an immense watermelon; and after we
got to the _Snark_, he woke Wada and Henry, and the last thing I
heard was Tehei telling them about it--and the first thing in the
morning.
Now people are coming aboard to look at the _Snark_, and she will
soon be sold. I shall remain until another engineer takes hold; then
I shall go to Europe and home.
* * * * *
From the time of our arrival in Sydney with the _Snark_, things
moved swiftly to their conclusion. When a couple of weeks had gone
by, and a new engineer had been secured to take charge of the boat,
the day came for me to say good-bye to the genial people with whom I
had journeyed for so long. It was hard, but it had to be done. One
consolation, however, I had. Some day we should see each other
again. The Londons and I were residents of the same country; and the
Tahitians would probably be found as long as they lived somewhere in
the confines of Polynesia. And of course, Wada and Nakata I should
meet at some future date in Honolulu.
Poor Jack and Mrs. London! They were quite broken-hearted at giving
up the cruise. They could speak of nothing else. At the last, after
having said good-bye to the _Snark_ and to those aboard, I went up
to take dinner with the Londons at the Australian Hotel.
We said little in parting. There was nothing to say. Our grief at
the break-up of the little _Snark_ family was too deep for words.
For two years, through savage seas, we had fared together; comforts
and discomforts, good luck and bad luck, all had been borne
together. And now it was at an end. The cruise of the _Snark_ was a
thing of the past.
The time came for me to go. We shook hands, promising that we should
meet again in America. Then I turned and walked very slowly from the
room.
POSTSCRIPT
So ended the cruise of the _Snark_. Henry, the Polynesian sailor,
left Sydney on March 30, 1909, for Pago-Pago, Samoa. A week before,
Tehei, the Society Islander, had gone with a sailor's bag full of
gaudy calico, bound for Bora Bora. Wada San, the Japanese cook,
sailed on April 11th for Honolulu.
Martin Johnson left Sydney on March 31st, on the steamer _Asturias_,
after an unsuccessful attempt to join the South African expedition
of Theodore Roosevelt. His letter did not reach Mr. Roosevelt until
after all preparations for the trip had been made, when it was of
course too late to consider his application.
The _Asturias_ stopped for several days in Melbourne, Adelaide, and
Perth, as well as in Hobart, Tasmania. Then it proceeded up through
the Indian Ocean to Ceylon; thence through the Arabian Sea to Aden;
and from there up the Red Sea and through the Suez Canal to Port
Said. At Port Said, Mr. Johnson made another effort to get in
communication with the Roosevelt party, but found that they had left
three days before. Passing through the Mediterranean to Naples, Mr.
Johnson left the _Asturias_, and spent some days viewing Rome,
Pompeii, and other interesting historical spots. His next objective
was Paris, where he arrived in June. Here he secured a position as
an electrician at Luna Park, but not long after, feeling a desire
to see his home again, he crossed the channel to England. At
Liverpool, early in September, he stowed away on a cattle-boat, and
after a trying thirteen days arrived in Boston, the only member of
the _Snark_ crew to make the complete circuit of the world.
Mr. and Mrs. Jack London took Nakata, the Japanese cabin-boy, and
sailed on a tramp steamer for Ecuador, South America. They arrived
at their Glen Ellen, California, ranch in June. Mr. London found his
native climate most healthful, and though all three were frequently
brought down by attacks of fever during the ensuing six months, his
mysterious ailment soon disappeared, and his hands regained their
normal appearance.
RALPH D. HARRISON.
* * * * *
TRANSCRIBER'S ENDNOTE.
Most of the illustrations were located on un-numbered pages, and
were listed as "facing page xxx", and followed by a blank page. The
blank pages were eliminated. Illustrations that split paragraphs
were moved to nearby spots between paragraphs. In this text version
page numbers have been eliminated. They may be available in other
versions. Small-caps text has been converted to all uppercase.
_Italicized text_ has been marked with low lines before and after.
The words "graphophone" and "graphaphone" occur each several times.
Page viii: changed "Santa Cruz Croup" to "Santa Cruz Group".
Page xi: "photograhic" changed to "photographic".
Page 13: "have never see" to "have never seen".
Page 28: "un-understand" to "understand".
Page 68: "Long. 139°--22′ 15″." to "Long. 139°--22′--15″."
Page 73: The figure originally facing page 73 "Leper Band at Molokai
. . . " is in the List of Illustrations said to be facing page 132, and
that does indeed fit the context better. Therefore the illustration
has been moved to page 132.
Page 146: In "Another remarkable think about"; "think" to "thing".
Page 214: In "paddled past as and bombarded"; "as" to "us".
Page 331: "Pendufffryn" to "Penduffryn".
* * * * *