RECRUITING AND SHORE LEAVE
Otaheite, generally called Tahiti, was originally the garden of the
world. After the white man came there were great changes, but not
for the better. The soil remained as fertile as before and fruits
and flowers were just as abundant, but the natives lost the charm of
simplicity and innocence, and many of them imitated or adopted the
bad traits and habits of the whites. A similar misfortune befell
Nukahiva, so we were informed that we were not going into the
harbor, but were to get water at a place on the island some distance
from the settlement. The captain, we were told, was familiar with
the spot, as he had been there before. The men had been looking
forward to shore leave, and there was much disappointment, but the
privilege of going ashore to fill the casks with water, even in an
uninhabited country, was something. Just think of it—to walk once
more on the earth after all these months of virtual imprisonment in
a whaling vessel!
I heard the captain say to Lakeum, as we approached the shore, “Good
anchorage and deep water, and, when the men get ashore, quick work,
too.” Hardly had the anchor touched bottom when the casks were
lowered, and certain men were picked to man two boats; I was happy
in being one of them.
“They don’t want no deserters here,” I heard an old hand say.
The pull was a short one. We landed at a beautiful spot and there,
before us, was an expanse of tropical splendors. How nice it was to
feel earth beneath one’s feet once more.
“You don’t have to bail and fill here,” said Lakeum.
This was the expression of a fact we were all aware of, for down an
elevation only a few feet from the shore poured a bounteous stream
of water. When the casks were landed, came the order “Let every man
drink all he wants.” We drank as animals drink, with our faces to
the stream. Oh! What luxury! It seemed as if we never could get our
fill, but the word came, “Better stop now and drink again after the
casks are filled.” A canvas hose with a square mouth was
forthcoming, and in less than an hour the casks were filled and
bunged up by the carpenter. Then we drank again to our hearts’
content. We were soon on ship, the casks were raised, the windlass
was started, the ship took the wind and away we went. The men who
had been compelled to remain on the ship were alternately noisy and
sullen. We who had been permitted to land were equally discontented,
for our brief taste of this tropical paradise only made us long for
more. We fancied that we were now to seek the “Offshore Ground,” and
that it would be many months before we would see land again. A
pleasant surprise was in store for us.
The following day was so beautiful as to be beyond my powers to
describe. We had a fair wind, and the air was not excessively warm.
I think we all felt rather indifferent, and the recollection of the
spot we had left the day before did not quicken our energies. In the
afternoon the crew were called aft. Captain Gamans stood with hands
in his pockets, and we knew that he was about to address us. Was he
to upbraid us for something we had done? That seemed improbable. Was
he to convey to us bad or good news? We were anxious to know. The
captain took the pipe out of his mouth and spoke as follows:
“You men know that just so often you must have a supply of fresh
water and a change of food. We’ve got the water, and now we are
going to get the food. The owner put aboard of this vessel a lot of
cotton cloth, fancy prints, shoes, fishhooks, axes, hatchets, pipes,
bar soap and a lot of other things for trade. Now you see if you go
into port like Nukahiva, where the natives have become what you call
civilized, there’s no barter but money, and you pay a good deal more
for things than they are worth. If you trade with the natives where
there’s no money, and they ain’t been civilized, you can get a lot
of recruits for a mere song. That’s what we are going to do. We are
bound for Roa Pona, and we’ll be there to-morrow. After the trading
is all done, there’s going to be shore leave for everybody. I have
been there before and it’s a good place to trade, but it’s just as
well to keep your eyes open. About twenty years ago a whaler went in
there to trade and took on board a native as hostage and left on
shore a Kanaka, a foremast hand, as the other hostage. In the night
the natives killed the Kanaka and roasted and ate him. So now, in
trading, ships take a native hostage, but they don’t give one. The
trading is done in and from boats, and it’s slow work and takes half
a day. The second day’s when you have shore leave, and you can take
ashore what trinkets and odds and ends you have, if you want to, and
trade with the women for the things they make. You may want to take
some of these things home with you to give to your folks.
“Now there’s one thing more. When I was here, before, there was a
beach comber on this island named Pete Ellyon. He’s a deserter from
a New Bedford whaler and acts as a kind of trader and interpreter.
He’s meaner and lower than the meanest and lowest native, and you’d
better look out for him. You can’t offer a sailor a greater insult
than to call him a beach comber. This man Ellyon’s folks are pretty
decent people, and he’s had some education, but he’s a renegade.”
There is no need of saying that the address afforded us great
satisfaction. Early the next morning land was sighted, and a
favorable wind soon brought us within a mile of the shore. A
curious-looking boat, containing three natives, approached. It was
curious in that it had so little beam and was so light and fragile.
It was built for speed and not for carrying merchandise. One of the
men boarded our vessel, and from signs he made and from his familiar
air, we knew that he offered himself as hostage and that he had
already served in that capacity. His dress consisted of a cloth
around the loins and a broad-brimmed straw hat. He was brown-skinned
and his arms were tattooed.
Soon we saw boats leaving the shore, and we dropped our boats to
meet them. All the articles and fittings which a whaleboat carries
were taken out of two of our boats, and what little trade we took
(and we didn’t take much) was placed in one of them. Each was towed
by a whaleboat, one of which was in charge of the captain and the
other of Lakeum. The meeting was about half a mile from the shore.
The sea was remarkably calm. While the boats of the South Sea
islanders are generally not made for commercial purposes, the two
which approached were exceptions. They were large, clumsy affairs,
each propelled by two men, and in one of them was a white man with a
scraggly beard and a repulsive countenance. He wore a tattered straw
hat, rusty trousers and an old dirty shirt. There was no need of an
introduction. We knew that he was Pete Ellyon. Our own captain did
not even deign to address him. In one of these boats were yams which
resembled potatoes, some of which weighed from twelve to fifteen
pounds, tarrows, which resembled turnips, oranges, bananas,
breadfruit, coconuts and other vegetables and fruits, and in the
other boat goats, pigs and fowl. The trading went on slowly.
Bargains were made largely by signs, Ellyon serving as a hindrance;
for as he spoke both English and the local jargon, he constantly
interrupted the proceedings and always, of course, in the interests
of the islanders. It took the whole morning to transfer the entire
merchandise to our boats, and I was astounded to see how little of
our own trade we parted with. I remember particularly two
transactions greatly to our advantage—one in which the captain gave
a small hatchet for about five bushels of oranges and a dozen
bunches of bananas, and the other, in which he traded three yards of
cotton cloth for a large pig.
When we reached the ship, the bananas were suspended from the lower
rigging, the fruit and vegetables were deposited in the two spare
boats which were turned over for that purpose, and goats, pigs and
fowl were taken care of forward.
“Them live things will go faster than the vegetables and fruit,”
said one of the men.
And now we put for the open sea. When the hostage was aware of it he
gave a shriek and started to jump overboard. Lakeum and Silva
grabbed him, and he was soon in the place reserved for men who are
put in irons. The crew were excited and almost mutinous, for they
had a double grievance: they felt that they were to be deprived of
shore leave and that the poor hostage was to be carried away as a
captive. The whole matter was soon explained. Now that the trading
was over the captain feared that the hostage, if not restrained,
would jump overboard and swim ashore, and he wanted to retain him
until after the men had had shore leave on the following day. The
vessel was merely to move about on short tacks during the night.
The morning was one of the loveliest I ever saw. The sun rose
without a cloud, and the water seemed tinged with gold. The Kanaka
and three other men declined the general invitation to go ashore and
they and the captain served as shipkeepers. The Kanaka said, with
great emphasis, “Me stay here; dey get no chance to eat me.” Most of
the crew had articles or trinkets, and I took with me about a third
of the cotton cloth my father had given me. The captain said that,
if the women and children were gathered on the beach, there was
little to fear.
On our arrival there they were, and the only man with them was Pete
Ellyon. Just up the beach was rich, thick foliage, and an apparently
dense forest beyond. I heard Kreelman say, “This looks kind of
suspicious. That vile beach comber is the only man here, and it
wouldn’t surprise me if there was a gang of natives up there in the
bushes.” The women were fine-looking, wholesome creatures and, when
they smiled, they showed beautiful, dazzling teeth. The boys and
girls seemed rather shy at first; they were well-shaped and pictures
of health. There was a remarkable display of articles for
trade—necklaces and bracelets made from richly tinted shells joined
together by a kind of thread about like silk and made, I suppose,
from some plant or vine, and an abundance of other fancy articles
which one would think beyond the conception of savages. However,
these people were plainly superior to the ordinary South Sea
islanders. There were beautiful little mats and baskets made of
tapa, which is the bark of the paper mulberry, and there was a lot
of clubs, spears and paddles with wonderful carvings made with
sharks’ teeth or bits of shells. As the trading went on, Ellyon was
particularly pleasant and gracious. He would say, “Don’t let them
cheat you;” “Offer the woman half as much cloth as she asks for”;
“These young ones round here are regular thieves; look out for ’em.”
At first I wondered why this change from yesterday and then began to
suspect that he had some sinister purpose. When the business was
over, I was no longer the possessor of the cotton cloth, but
rejoiced in the ownership of a number of articles which I proposed
to take home to my mother, and of a spear, a paddle and a club,
which I intended to show to my young friends and to preserve as
mementos or trophies.
“Now, boys,” said Ellyon, “Come up on the island and let me show you
round. There’s no spot on the earth any finer than this. There’s
fruit of all kinds and plenty of shady places where you can lay down
and rest.”
We all wanted to go, but there was no response, not even a word of
thanks on our part. Most of us suspected treachery. We had no
firearms and, in case of ambush, we would be defenceless. On first
seeing Ellyon, the day before, and listening to his babbling while
the trading was going on, I would have said that it was impossible
for so repulsive a creature to be so polite as he now was.
“Come, boys, come,” he repeated, “I don’t suppose you’ve had shore
leave before on this voyage, and now make the most of it. Where are
you bound to, ‘Offshore Ground’ or ‘Coast of Japan’ before you go to
the Arctic? I take it you’re goin’ to the Arctic. There’s nothin’
like terra cotta for a man whose been treadin’ wood at sea for eight
or ten months. We gentlemen, who live in these Pacific Ocean islands
in order to spread civilization, are only too glad to entertain our
guests from the homeland. Come along to my lodge up on the high
land.”
The captain had said that Ellyon had had some advantages, but the
reference to terra cotta drew a smile from one at least of the crew.
I think he saw it, for his expression changed. Then in a moment he
was pleasant again, and insistent that we should accept his
hospitality. It was now time for our good manners, so we thanked him
cordially and pleaded our excuses. One man had not walked any
distance for so long that he had almost forgotten the use of his
limbs; another preferred to rest by the sea and simply enjoy the
beautiful prospect; a third was so exhausted from rowing that he was
incapable of further effort, and so on. The beach comber now played
his last card. “Shipmates,” he declared, “there’s a lot of rum up in
my place. I can’t bring it down here, but, if you want to go up
there with me, you shall have all you want of it.”
Most of the men became greatly interested. No grog had been served
during the voyage, and the very word “rum” had a pleasant sound.
“You see, shipmates,” the beach comber continued, “you folks at home
don’t know what rum is. The rum you drink is made from molasses—that
is, made second-hand. Did you ever hear of Jamaica rum, worth its
weight in gold—the smartest drink on the other side of land that
ever tickled the palate? And why, shipmates? Made from the cane
first-hand, and not from molasses, second-hand. And how is it on
this side of land? Right here on this lovely island is the finest
rum that is made on any island in the Pacific. From what? The sugar
cane. By whom? Peter Ellyon. I’ve got a still that beats the Dutch.
Now come along with me and enjoy yourselves.”
If safety had been assured I think most of the men would have
accompanied him, but the old ship, which had been our home for so
many months, now began to look more attractive than this garden
spot. One of the crew, who during the voyage had bewailed his lot in
being deprived of liquor, accepted the invitation cheerfully. We all
stared at him, but there was no disposition to sound a warning in
the presence of Ellyon.
The two men walked up the beach to a little opening in the trees and
disappeared. Our men were ordered to be ready to man the boats. I
heard a man say, with a laugh, “He didn’t call himself Pete, but
Peter. He’s pretty high-toned, even out here among savages.” Another
man said in a very low tone, “What was Lakeum up to in not stoppin’
that man from goin’? He’ll never come back, sure.”
The women and children showed no disposition to go, and this seemed
to indicate to me that, while our departed shipmate was rather
imprudent, there was reason to believe that he would return. I was
right. He did return and in a hurry. Suddenly there rang out a
piercing shriek; the women and children disappeared, and out of the
thicket sprang our shipmate, followed by Ellyon, and ran for us like
a deer. Word came to push off, and into his place leaped the man as
agile as a cat. The crews bent to the oars, and there on the beach
stood our would-be entertainer, his face fairly livid with rage. He
sent after us a torrent of vile language; strange to say, no natives
appeared on the shore, and, as we widened the breach, the form of
our late associate was still visible and still active, but the
billingsgate language kept growing less and less distinct.
[Illustration: Out of the thicket sprang our shipmate.]
It was no time to learn the story of our shipmate’s adventure. When
we reached the _Seabird_ our boat remained in the water while the
other boats were raised. There was soon commotion on the deck, and
the hostage appeared in the custody of a couple of the men. By sign
and gesture he was ordered into our boat, and he complied. It was
not a long haul to a spot suitable to dump him. Lakeum declared:
“See here, hostage, there’s your friend on shore. He’s waiting for
you and you’d better go overboard.”
The hostage was indifferent. Lakeum smiled, and then imitated a man
about to leap over. The hostage, who had rebelled when he thought
the ship was bound out to sea, still seemed indisposed. Lakeum
laughingly declared, “We will do what is usual under the
circumstances.”
Lakeum and another man seized the native and pitched him into the
sea. There was nothing cruel in the performance. The sea was the
man’s element, and he struck out in the direction of Ellyon as if he
was going to rejoin an old companion.
And now, what was the explanation of the adventure of our shipmate
with the beach comber? It seems that Ellyon insisted on his
companion taking the lead on the ground that he would have an
unobstructed vision, and there was much that was beautiful to
behold. The man, who, by the way, was not overburdened with
intelligence, entertained no fear and complied. They had proceeded
only a short distance when an enormous snake crossed the path, and,
in order to avoid colliding with him our man stopped suddenly, and
Ellyon, having no warning, ran into him with such force that Ellyon
was thrown to the ground. As our man made all speed for the shore it
was the enraged Ellyon who let out the shriek.
Hence we knew that the vile language he showered on us as we pulled
away was prompted by the mishap.
In the second dogwatch the day’s doings were the theme of
conversation. What was Ellyon’s purpose? Did he intend to lead the
men to their death and then endeavor with the help of the natives to
capture the ship? Or was he merely socially inclined and anxious
after so long a separation from his own people to entertain us for
the pleasure it afforded him? Something, of course, hinged on his
alleged production of rum. If his story was true, there was some
reason to credit him with good intentions; if untrue, it was evident
that he had designs upon our lives and not upon our property, for we
hadn’t any property. His story as to the rum was discredited by one
of the men, who declared that all vegetation on the island was very
rank, and that the rum made from cane which grew rankly was of poor
quality.
“That settles it,” said one of the old hands, who was something of a
wit, “Ellyon never had any decent rum in his life, and this rank
stuff he makes is as good as any he ever had. What he calls good rum
we sailors would call slops. Judge the old renegade by himself. I
don’t believe he meant no harm. The trouble is he got knocked down,
and that made him angry.”
Ohoo, who had been a listener, now observed, “Me no go in boat
’cause fear trouble. Cap’n tell o’ Kanaka killed and eat on island
long ’go. That Kanaka man my uncle. Beach comber, he bad man. Good
luck for crew get back. Ship good ’nough for Ohoo.”
As we broke up, Kreelman came to me and asked pleasantly, “How did
you know, Fancy Chest, that we were goin’ to stop at the Marquesas?”
“I guessed it from what Ohoo told me.”
“What did he tell you?”
I felt like saying that an old sailor may be very much like an old
woman. However, I graciously told him of the inference I drew from
Ohoo’s remarks.
“Fancy Chest,” said Kreelman, “if you live long enough you’ll be a
boat-steerer or a lawyer, I don’t know which.”