“We are brothers,” he said, “all men are brothers but unfortunately our
pride prevents us from acknowledging the truth.”
Then we drifted into conversation and I learned that he belonged to an
excellent family in the north of Ireland. He had obtained his degree at
Trinity College, Dublin, taken orders and proceeded to South Australia
where the Bishop gave him a large parish in the pastoral country.
Suddenly the relator became reticent and relapsed into silence. I
divined the cause and pointed to the glasses. He hesitated and then
drank off another but with the disgust shewn when one is compelled to
take medicine. The effect of this potion was unexpected. The parson, for
such I must call him, burst into song, at first sentimental and then
comic. They were certainly not acquired at a divinity school. He fairly
rollicked in the patter songs, so famous years ago in the London music
halls. When he drew a comparison between a monkey and a dude, in which
the monkey had the best of it, he was irresistible and I laughed till
the tears ran down my cheeks. The reckless abandon, the rollicking
gaiety, the quip and quirk,—all were perfect. I forgot who he was and
what he was.
As the last patter song died on his lips he turned ashy pale and began
to tremble violently. I handed him another glass but he dashed it from
my hand and poured out upon me such curses as I had never heard before.
They froze my blood and gave me a sight of the very soul of the man,
reeking with blasphemy and hatred and a savage malevolence so vindictive
that a fiend from the bottomless pit would have turned and fled. As I
darted to the door he seized me and with the strength of a mad man
hurled me into a chair, his horrible laugh ringing out with sardonic
glee, piercing the ears and running into a mocking refrain. Turning to
the table he swallowed all the laudanum which remained. Two minutes
later he was another man. His mouth was that of a child with the
pathetic pucker always seen before an infant bursts into tears. I forgot
his violence, his obscenity, everything, in the new character before me,
I felt that the curtain was up for the last act, when it fell there
would be darkness, the light would fail and the green door come back.
“I have never told the story,” he exclaimed, “but the time has come when
it must be told.” His voice was so low that I was compelled to bend
forward and listen as the words fell from his lips. Then he dashed into
the recital startling in its intensity.
“In my parish was one great squatter who made his home upon the estate,
the other squatters living at Adelaide or Melbourne. John Bond held by
the good old English practice and lived upon his estate. ‘If the land
did so much for him,’ he said, ‘then he was bound to stand by the land.’
At my first visit I fell in love with John Bond’s daughter Helen. Up to
that moment I had been bound up in the work of the church. Men called me
an enthusiast, a dreamer. I believed and acted upon my belief. I know
that I had a mission, tidings to impart, hope and comfort to offer. I
was a priest consecrated to the work, not an interpreter. I believed
that a priest should not marry. Twenty-four hours spent at John Bond’s
house made me a new man. I looked back on the past as a dream. I saw
myself a phantom, a church instrument, but for the first time I felt
myself a man. I had been a slave, I became a living fire. I had dreamed
of happiness for mankind, mankind were swallowed up in Helen Bond. She
constituted the universe, my universe. I pouted out my passion and found
my love returned, what more could priest or man demand? Half the summer
I lived in a dream, an ecstasy, a delirium. I had not saved a sovereign,
for my creed was, ‘Give all to the poor,’ that is, it had been my creed
before I met Helen. She took absolute possession of my heart, my
emotions. My first pang came when my would-be bride told me that the
dream of her life had been Melbourne, when we married there we must
live. I implored the Bishop of Adelaide to secure for me a parish in the
great metropolis and received in reply to my letter a curt refusal, with
an admonition relative to neglected duties. Helen was adamant, the
condition was Melbourne. She suggested that I should appeal to her
father for assistance but my pride revolted. At this juncture the news
came describing the new gold fields of Western Australia. Helen
whispered in my ear, it was but a hint. I caught at it and drove to
Adelaide and tendered my resignation. The bishop refused to accept it
and told me that I was mad and upbraided me for deserting a sacred cause
for mammon. Stung by his reproaches I confessed my secret. I painted
Helen as I saw her, her beauty, grace, sweetness, but nothing moved the
ecclesiastic. I flung all to the winds and sailed for Perth on the next
steamer. The terrible march to Coolgardie did not abate my ardour. At
the mines I was one of the few successful. In four months I wrung out
three thousand pounds, but at a fearful cost. The toil, the damp earth,
the coarse food and the delirium which drove me on by day and harassed
me by night, sapped the very springs of my life, ate up my imagination,
devoured my sympathies, obliterated my faith, and planted in their stead
a greed for gold behind which I saw the smiling face of Helen. The mail
brought me no tidings, though I sent letter after letter down to the
coast. Sleep forsook me. I resorted to opiates. My luck deserted me and
this increased my fury. I was soon known as the mad miner. I laughed at
the taunts. Was not a priceless reward before me? Helen ever beckoning
me on. I saw her face in every nugget, her form in the little smoke
clouds as they rolled away from the candle in my miner’s cap, her smile
in the water running over the ripples. I could endure the torment no
longer. With my treasure I started for the coast. I watched it by day
and slept beside it at night. A thousand times I woke with a horrible
start believing that it was gone. How much opium I used on that journey
I shall never know. I landed at Larges Bay and hurried into Adelaide.
The green belt which girts the city, the blue sky above, the camellias
bursting into bloom made no appeal to me. I had burned up my capacity
for enjoyment. I was no longer a man but a husk, a mere cinder, a bit of
scoria sucked up by a mighty tempest and driven forward. At the Bank of
Australia I drew up and as I did so Helen came tripping down the steps
and smiling as only Helen could smile. I rushed forward and caught her
in my arms, the next instant I was hurled half senseless into the
gutter. The bishop, my bishop, stood towering over me in a rage.”
“‘How dare you sir, how dare you affront my wife in such a manner, you
hair-brained?’ he exclaimed. He raised his hand to strike me, but Helen
interposed. ‘Your grace, my dear, forgive him, we both know that he is
not always responsible for his actions.’”
“Then they entered a carriage and drove away. When I turned and saw my
box of gold how I cursed it. Once to-night I saw it again, pardon me if
I shocked you. The box lies in the bank vaults at Adelaide, it has been
there for five years, I shall never touch it again, never, never.”
“How have I lived?”
“As the birds live, on the crumbs. I have begged, the opium fiend has
me, you know it, sir, but here take this,” and he thrust into my hand a
sealed paper. He lived for a week after, I went out daily to see him at
the Alfred Hospital, St. Kilda Road.
The Lilburn wing of the new Adelaide Hospital was built with the
treasure and the Lord Bishop delivered a most eloquent address upon the
occasion of the laying of the corner stone, but that was many years
before the present bishop arrived in the colony.
THE THREE GREAT
PEARLS.
A New Guinea Story.
At the Queensland National Club, Brisbane, I made the acquaintance of an
Englishman, Leonard Chapman, who fascinated me. I can describe the charm
of his manner, his fund of information, and the originality of his
conversation in no other terms. He had travelled extensively and
possessed a thorough knowledge of the South Pacific. Chapman was not
over thirty-five years of age, he spent his money with a lavish hand,
even for that lavish country, and I learned from some of his
acquaintances that he paid Brisbane an annual visit, and that he was
engaged in pearl fishing in Torres Straits, off the north coast of
Queensland. No one appeared to know the precise locality. His appearance
was striking in the extreme. No taint of the beach-comber hung about the
man. On the contrary, he reminded me of a College professor out for a
holiday. His fund of anecdotes was unlimited, yet he was as modest and
unassuming as he was undoubtedly brilliant. From the tenor of his
conversation I gathered that he took a special interest in scientific
discoveries and inventions, and I soon learned that he had not only read
of the nineteenth century marvels, but possessed a thorough knowledge of
the means by which they were wrought. I inclined to the opinion that he
had devoted many years to the study of chemistry, but he was equally
conversant with the principles of electricity and of molecular research.
So varied were his gifts and so accurate his knowledge, combined with
originality, that I marvelled he should bury himself on an island in a
half-known sea, for I gathered that his was an island home. So startling
were his views relative to changes to come in the near future that there
were times when I sat spell-bound. He held that science would extract
nitrogen from the air by a simple and inexpensive process enabling man
to increase a thousand-fold the fertility of the earth. In one of his
conversations he said, “From that hour man will no longer toil for his
daily bread.”
“Now he is grovelling in the earth, then he will be a giant, with nature
as his hand-maid. By artificial processes we shall produce gold and
silver and all the precious stones. We shall, in a few hours, from the
elements, bring forth pearls and all the most prized and beautiful
things which nature has provided. It was never intended that we should
dig and delve for these things, they were provided as samples, as
illustrations. Nature turned them out of her laboratory in the twinkling
of an eye and man can do the same if he is guided by her hints. The
water wheel, the steam engine and the electrical engine are but the
implements of a savage, they will disappear the moment we have cast off
our swaddling clothes. The motive power of the future will be the sun’s
rays. Tens of millions of tons of energy, but another name for force,
are daily going to waste on the earth’s surface, while the blind toil
with pick and shovel and plough. The air was intended for navigation,
not the water. We shall not be mere copyists but shall improve upon
nature. She only produces the bitter plum, orange and grape. It remained
for man to render them sweet and luscious. The same principle applies,
not only to the fruits and grains, but to every created thing. Then and
not till then will life be worth living.”
Many of his views were so new and startling that I refrain from stating
them, and yet they were presented with such an air of plausibility and
so butressed by facts drawn from recent discoveries, that no one in the
club ventured to dispute them, and yet the following day when other men
tried to restate them, they appeared most visionary. I have never been
able to decide whether this was due to want of knowledge or to a charm
which Chapman wove around his hearers.
From a prospector I learned that several rich quartz claims had been
discovered in the north and thither I decided to proceed. I secured
passage on a coast steamer for Port Darwin, the point where the cable
from Asia lands on the Australian coast. Arriving at Port Darwin I made
a trip into the interior but found nothing of value. At the Port I
secured a large sailing boat and set out to explore the coast. With a
plentiful supply of provisions I set sail, taking care to skirt the
coast as closely as possible. I camped at night and on the second day,
in making a run across a large bay, a sudden squall came up, prevalent
in that latitude. The boat was rapidly driven out to sea and the
Australian coast soon lost sight of. The wind increased in fury and I
gave myself up for lost. Night was coming on, the haze and spray
prevented my seeing a dozen yards in advance. I knew that I was rapidly
approaching the coast of New Guinea and the reputation which the
cannibals of that island enjoyed in the southern hemisphere did not add
to my peace of mind. I heard the breakers roaring and caught sight of
the white crests of foam. I was powerless to change the course of the
boat by a single point. I threw off my coat and boots and determined to
make a fight for my life. Suddenly the boat struck, broached broadside
and rolled over. I was seized by the waters for a brief moment and then
flung upon the beach. The warmth of the sand was comforting, and worn
out as I was, I soon fell asleep, nor did I awake until the sun was high
in the heavens. I was in a small bay where the woods came down to the
very shore and nothing was visible which would indicate that a white man
had ever visited that part of the coast. Fortunately I was provided with
a water tight match safe and I determined to secure some shell fish on
the beach and cook them for breakfast. I waded into the surf and soon
had a supply of pearl oysters which I cooked. They were extremely tough
and unpalatable but they satisfied my hunger. The boat had been washed
ashore and was a complete wreck and I was compelled to abandon all hopes
of using it again. I made my way into the thicket and had proceeded but
a few yards, when I came upon a small, square building made of rough
logs. There was no window and the massive door was secured by two large
padlocks. I knew that the structure was the work of a white man but for
what purpose it had been built I could not determine. It might be a
place used for storing provisions by pearl fishers, if so, I would not
die from starvation. I tried the door and then attempted to peer between
the logs, but as the interior was pitch dark all of my efforts were
fruitless. By climbing an adjacent tree I reached the roof and after an
hour’s hard work succeeded in removing two logs. I saw that the hut only
contained machinery. I clambered down inside; there was a small naptha
engine and a network of wires with several other devices, the use of
which I did not know. Then I made my way out and and as I was replacing
the roof I heard a whizzing sound which was followed by a stinging
sensation in the leg in which stuck a long bamboo arrow. Instantly I
dived through the opening into the hut. There at least I would be safe
for a time. Immediately I heard voices in a language which I did not
understand, followed by the running of feet. I was surrounded and it was
but a question of time when I should not only be captured but probably
eaten. I seized an iron bar and determined to sell my life for its full
worth. Then came a lull. Were the savages building a fire for the
purpose of roasting me out or of cremating me for their next meal? Half
an hour of dread suspense went by, followed by a knocking at the door
and a voice asked in English, “Hello! who are you and what are you doing
in there?”
“I am a shipwrecked man. I have been shot in the leg by the natives and
I am hiding in here to save my life.”
The key turned in the locks, the door opened and I was face to face with
Leonard Chapman. For a moment he did not recognize me, so woe-begone was
I without coat or boots and the blood oozing from the wound in my leg.
“Chapman!” I exclaimed.
Then he recognized me and reached out his hand, but not with the
cordiality which I had expected. I noticed that a look of vexation, if
not of distrust, was written on his face.
“How did it happen,” he asked.
In a few hurried words I told him the story.
“It is fortunate that the arrow was not poisoned,” he said “or you would
have been booked with a through ticket. Can you hobble for half a mile
or shall I send the natives for a boat?”
“I think I can manage it,” I answered.
A little way off stood a number of natives with great bushy heads and
holding in their hands immense bows and spears made of bamboo.
“Your retainers gave me a warm reception,” I remarked.
Chapman smiled. “They are not my retainers, they are natives who protect
my property along the coast and to whom I give a few pounds of tobacco
and occasionally a bottle of square gin.”
Half a mile brought us to a deep bay. A yawl lay near the shore manned
by four as villainous looking Malays as I ever set eyes on. At a signal
from Chapman they brought the boat along side, we stepped in and they
pulled away. The water was shallow and the bottom muddy. A third of a
mile from shore we came to Chapman’s home. Large bamboo poles had been
planted in the mud and at a distance of twenty feet above the water
other poles had been lashed in a horizontal position, thus forming the
foundation of the floor of the hut. The floor was also of bamboo poles
and over it was built a substantial camp thirty feet long and twenty
feet wide. When we arrived a ladder was let down and up it we scrambled.
“This is most extraordinary,” I said.
“Not for New Guinea,” Chapman answered. “Let me see the wound?
Fortunately only a flesh wound, it will be troublesome for a couple of
weeks, the only danger is inflammation in this hot climate. I have a
medicine chest and a lotion which will remove the soreness.”
When the bandage and the lotion had been applied I felt more
comfortable.
“Why did you build your house on stilts?” I asked.
“To guard against attacks by the natives.”
“Then they are not to be trusted?”
“No, I have been attacked three times since I took up my quarters here.
On the shore one would certainly be murdered. The jungle is so thick
that they creep up to the door and make a rush, then all is over. Out
here they must come in canoes, I keep a watch day and night, if they are
seen approaching we are prepared. By this windlass we draw up the
cutter, we have an ample supply of ammunition, pointing to a heap of
stones on the floor. They can only climb up by means of a ladder and
before they can accomplish that we simply drop a stone through the
bottom of their canoes, then there is trouble down below. A few shots
from a Winchester and the battle is won. The natives in the immediate
vicinity have learned that I am not to be trifled with and with them I
am now at peace. The danger lies with the fellows down the coast, who
come up on expeditions against other tribes and incidentally take in the
white man.”
“Prospecting for gold is sufficiently hazardous for me and I shall leave
the pearl fishing to others,” I remarked.
When a substantial meal had been served I asked, “Why do you employ
Malays?”
“They are good fighters and the best pearl fishers.”
“What did you build the hut in the woods for?” I inquired.
“When I first came to the coast I had the hut built for the purpose of
conducting a series of scientific experiments.”
For several days my leg was so stiff that I could not get out.
Each morning Chapman, with four of the six Malays, went off in the
cutter and did not return till noon. I noticed that only a few pearl
oyster shells had been stored in the hut. I saw no signs of a diver’s
apparatus or of the small nets used by the divers to bring up the
shells. There was an air of constraint upon Chapman out of harmony with
the man I had known in Brisbane.
The Malays did not speak English, and even if they had, I doubt whether
I should have been able to extract any information from them. They were
devoted to Chapman and evidently could be relied upon in an emergency.
Daily when Chapman returned I looked in the bottom of the cutter but saw
no pearl oysters.
“The fishing must be poor,” I said one day.
“Months are frequently spent in searching for new beds,” Chapman
answered.
“Do you bring the oysters here when you find them?” I inquired.
“No, the stench would be unbearable, we have to let them decay before we
can search for the pearls.”
When my leg improved I wondered that I was not invited to accompany my
host in his daily trips, but he gave no sign. A week slipped by and I
was beginning to discuss how I was to get away from the perch, as I had
grown to call it, when the natives came down to the shore, late in the
afternoon and made signs, which immediately threw the Malays and Chapman
into a violent state of excitement. Rifles were loaded and a plentiful
supply of ammunition lowered into the cutter. When all was ready Chapman
turned to me and said: “Don’t be alarmed, one of my stations is in
danger of being looted. I must teach these savages the rights of private
property.”