I start for New York--The religious atmosphere on shipboard--"Flu"
attacks the Javanese--The missionaries refuse to help--Sharks as
scavengers--The little mother's end--Evils of liquor--Assembling my
party in New York--Passage as freight--St. Lucia and a little
excitement--The thin magistrate--Released on bail.
When I reached the ship I found the reason for the captain's peculiar
telegram. He had more than three thousand Javanese on board whom he
was taking from the East Indies to Paramaribo, Dutch Guiana. From
there he would go on to New York. These people were practically deck
cargo, since there were no accommodations for them inside the ship.
While making arrangements for my cabin, I found that there was a woman
who also had to go to New York. Although my friend, the captain,
objected, I gave up my cabin to her and agreed to share the cabin of
an old Javanese gentleman who was supposed to be in charge of the
others. He was very primitive and ignorant, but spoke Dutch fluently,
and I learned a great deal about Java and the East Indies--that is,
while he lived, which was not long.
The first night out of Cape Town there were twenty-four of us at the
long table in the saloon. All the officers ate with us, and there must
have been sixteen or seventeen passengers all told.
Most important of the passengers were seven American missionaries
returning from their godly work in the waste places of Africa and the
East Indies. They were most conspicuous at all times and did
everything possible to keep table conversation confined to religious
topics. I chummed with a Canadian who represented an American
agricultural firm in South Africa, and we soon became weary of
religion at all meals.
"There's a place for everything in this world," he said one morning
after breakfast, "but I'll be damned if I want to combine kippered
herrings with my soul's salvation!"
It was not long before both of us were in the bad graces of the
missionaries, who did not hesitate to murmur that "it was no wonder
that the savages did not heed the call of Christ when the white men of
their country were so irreligious!"
About the third day both the Canadian and I had had our fill of the
missionaries. We were thinking of asking the captain to allow us to
eat at another hour when something happened that changed the whole
aspect of the ship. I had gone to my cabin to get some "smokes" when
the little old Javanese crept in. He answered my cheerful greeting
very quietly and then shut the door. I could see that something had
hit him and that he wanted to talk. So I sat down on my bunk,
wondering what the trouble was.
"Doctor, there is great trouble among my people," he said in a low
voice. "Last night eleven of them died, and now they are dying all the
time. Some terrible plague is among them and they die, they die!"
This startled me. I had not noticed that there was anything amiss
forward, but then I remembered I had spent practically all my time
aft. Instantly there came to me the recollection of the sudden deaths
of my friends at the ford of the Masuto River. I asked him what form
the disease seemed to take and he gave me a lot of rambling details,
none of which made much sense. He was plainly in a blue funk. I told
him to stay where he was and then went to the captain's cabin.
"I was just about to send for you, Doctor O'Neil," he said in
greeting. "Something has broken loose among those Java coolies and
they are dying like flies. As you know, we have no doctor on board.
Will you go and see what's the matter?"
Then he told me that the first officer had buried more than a dozen
the first thing that morning and that he would have to throw another
lot overboard by noon.
"Why, they're dying like flies," he continued, "and we've got to do
something to stop it. I shipped a full three thousand of them, but at
the rate they're going I won't have a thousand left when I reach
Paramaribo!"
So the captain and I went into the forecastle, taking with us the
little Javanese head man. It took me about five minutes to find out
what was the trouble.
"They've got the 'flu' and got it bad," I told the skipper. "It looks
as though we are in for a bad time."
I was right. Here we were in the midst of nearly three thousand
ignorant people who had no idea of what was the matter. All they knew
was that the man who was sick now would be dead in a short time. They
sat about, perfectly quiet, waiting for death. I have never seen such
resignation. In the scuppers there were six or seven bodies waiting
for the first officer and his burial crew. No one paid any attention
to the dead; they just sat about as though stupefied by what was
happening.
"There's just one thing to do," I told the captain when we got back to
his cabin, "and that's to organize a life-saving corps and get to
work. Let's get all the medicine you have and as much brandy as there
is on board and make a fight."
He agreed with me, and we overhauled the medical stores, finding
little of any use in the present crisis. I have forgotten now what
there was, but I remember thinking that we would have to put our trust
in God and alcohol. I told the captain how inadequate his medicines
were and he threw up his hands.
"Who'd ever expect to get the 'flu' on board, anyway," he asked, as
though it were my fault. "I've got all the medicines I need for the
usual ailments and brandy will cure most of the sicknesses that occur
on this ship. I'll give you all the brandy, rum, and gin there is, and
then you go to it!"
He was panic-stricken and practically told me I was to take command of
his ship, except that he would take care of the navigation and
discipline. I told him the first thing I wanted was assistants, and
asked him to summon all the passengers to the saloon. When they were
assembled, I got up and told them what it was all about.
"These poor devils of Javanese are dying like rats in a hole," I said,
"and I want volunteers to help me save them. There isn't much we can
do, and every time you go among them you stand a chance of catching
the 'flu.' They may not be good Christians, but they are certainly our
fellow men and it is our duty to help them! I want volunteers and want
them now. Who will join my life-saving crew?"
Instantly the lady to whom I had given my cabin and my Canadian friend
volunteered. The others followed one by one, with the prominent
exception of the missionaries. I was astounded that they were not
among the first, and turned to them.
"What's the matter?" I asked, by that time annoyed at their holding
back. "Don't you want to practice a little practical Christianity? Are
none of you going to give us a hand in this fight?"
They did not deign to answer. Instead, they looked at their leader, a
tall gentleman with lean jowls, and he calmly turned and left the
saloon. They trooped after him, and then our captain exploded.
"Of all the yellow dogs!" he exclaimed. "So that's the sort of people
they send out as missionaries! I'd like to throw them all overboard!
Why, they'll hoodoo my ship! I was brought up to believe a parson put
a curse on a ship, and now I know it's so!"
Well, we pitched in and laid out our fight. It was a seemingly
hopeless job. These Javanese did not appear to want to help
themselves. Their only idea was to die, if they were called, and there
was never a peep out of any of them.
Men died and were sent to the sharks, leaving their women mute in
their agony; wives and mothers died, and their men never turned a
hair; children died in their mother's arms and were cast into the sea
without the least outward sign.
I mention the sharks, but even now I hate to think of them. They
loafed along beside the ship, their great bodies slipping easily
through the water, with now and then the flash of a white belly as
they turned to meet the falling body. The Javanese were dying at a
rate of between fifteen and twenty a day, and we soon ran out of
weights for their bodies. The sharks increased in number until it
seemed as though word had been sent out that there was a "death ship"
on the sea. Before long they were fighting for the bodies. I watched
one such conflict, but one was quite enough.
My volunteers and I worked day and night to stem the tide of the
"flu," and through it all the ship plugged along across a sea that was
more like beaten brass than copper. It was hot, very hot, and at night
the decks seemed to steam. Always the impi of sharks kept pace with
us, their bodies throwing up streaks of phosphorescence as they lunged
for their food. The whole thing was like a living nightmare and it
seemed as though it would never end.
Out of the haze of those ghastly days there comes to me one vivid
incident. One of the Javanese women, a mother of seventeen or
thereabouts, had a child of less than a year in her arms. I first
noticed her when she held up her baby to me as I was going among the
sufferers. The look in her eyes was so pleading, so trusting, that I
took the little boy from her and examined him. The baby was as good as
dead already. I gave it a sip of the stuff I was carrying, and the
poor little thing opened its eyes and looked at me. I knew it could
not live, but smiled encouragement as I gave it back to the
outstretched arms.
It was about sunset that night when the little mother realized that
her son, her first-born, had gone. I was standing on the companionway,
looking down on the fore-deck and wondering how long the plague would
last, when some of the crew began picking bodies out of the scuppers
and throwing them overboard. The glory of the sunset seemed a mockery
and the thought came to me that I would be fortunate if I saw many
more such sights. Slowly the young Javanese mother got to her feet and
stood swaying as she wrapped her baby in a gay shawl. This done, she
pressed it to her breast and began to walk to the rail.
"She is going to bury her son herself," I thought, and I was partly
right.
She stood at the rail for a moment and then, the dying sun bright on
her wistful face, turned and smiled at me. I smiled back, but the
smile died aborning, for with one motion she rolled over the rail and
was gone!
I rushed to the place and looked over. The shadow of the ship was
broken by some swirling streaks of phosphorescence, and that was all.
There was no sign of the little Java wife who could not live without
her baby.
That night I asked the old Javanese chief about her. In his clear
Dutch he told me that she was the wife of a Javanese who had gone to
Guiana some months before. She was to join him and bring his son, of
whom he was very proud, when he had established their home in the new
land.
"Now, how can I tell him about this?" the old fellow asked. "He will
want his wife and child, and I will only have a sad story for him."
But he was spared this. Early the next morning I noticed that he was
ill, and in spite of all I could do he passed away before noon.
Shortly before he lapsed into unconsciousness he sent for me.
"I must go with those who have already gone," he said. "They need me
and have sent for me. I can only go if I know that you, the great
white doctor, will guard and care for those whom I leave behind. Will
you do this?"
Naturally, I promised, and that was the last I saw of him. He was a
kindly, simple, old soul and the misfortune of his people would have
broken his heart, had he lived.
In a little while the "flu" began to lose its grip. Fewer and fewer
died each day, and I had begun to think that the end was in sight when
the white lady who was going to America came down with it. She had
been tireless in her efforts to help in caring for the Javanese and I
was not surprised when she fell ill. She was the only white person
aboard to catch the "flu." We did everything possible for her, but she
died on the second day.
As her body went overboard the captain read aloud from the Bible,
choosing the passage, "Greater love hath no man than this, that a man
lay down his life for his friends." This struck me as particularly
appropriate, since she had truly given her life for those Javanese.
After her death the "flu" devil seemed satisfied and abandoned us.
Before the end, however, we had lost more than twelve hundred of the
Javanese!
The missionaries kept close to their cabins during the whole "flu"
visitation, only appearing now and then on the afterdeck. They even
gave this up as soon as the captain suggested that the wind might
carry "flu" germs to them. In spite of their protestations, they had
to eat with the rest of us or go hungry. The captain insisted on this
point, since he felt that they deserved no consideration and it was
also highly entertaining to watch their indignation when we all took a
stiff nip of brandy with our meals. They spoke of what a great thing
prohibition was for the United States, and every time they said it
they would look meaningly at the Canadian and me. In fact, after the
"flu" left us the missionaries varied their religious conversations by
giving table-talks on the evils of liquor. I remember how shocked they
professed to be when I told them how much old Labotsibeni liked her
toddy and how we always brought it to her when we visited Swaziland.
When we reached Free Town, in the Barbadoes, an incident happened
which was very amusing, but which these fanatics used to point out the
evils of liquor. I knew some people there, and the Canadian and I went
ashore and called on them. Of course there was "a party," and we
enjoyed ourselves in free and easy fashion.
Now the ship lay about a mile off port, because there was not
sufficient water to allow her to dock. We went ashore in rowboats and
came back in the same way. The deck was reached by a thirty-foot
ladder, which is not the safest sort of footing at best. On our return
from the party my friend missed his step at the top of the ladder and
fell plump into the sea. There were a number of boats about and he was
fished out without difficulty. The captain and I regarded the mishap
as a good joke on the Canadian, but at dinner that night the
missionaries used it as the text for an extended discourse on the
evils of strong drink.
One female missionary told us a story which led to a retort that is
worth repeating.
"Forty-odd years ago three prominent Philadelphia doctors decided that
drink and tobacco were the two great evils of the world," she said,
"so they agreed never to touch either as long as they lived. They
agreed that they would all meet after forty years and see how they
compared with their drinking, smoking, dissipating friends. All lived
up to the agreement faithfully. Then they met in Philadelphia as
before, and were amazed to see how energetic, health-perfect, and
generally superior they were to those who remained of their friends.
They were now between seventy and eighty years old and yet were as
active as men scores of years younger.
"This proves conclusively," she concluded, "that all the ills of old
age are directly due to drink and tobacco."
Naturally, we agreed with her. This, of course, we should not have
done, since the fanatic gets no pleasure unless able to argue for his
creed. My Canadian friend, however, could not contain himself.
"Dr. O'Neil told me a similar case this morning," he said quite
seriously. "It was about his uncle. This uncle is now one hundred and
five years old and is beginning to worry about his health. Not long
ago he was talking about drink and tobacco and told the doctor here
that he had smoked steadily since he was seven years old; also that
since he was fourteen he had drunk like a fish. 'And look at me,' he
concluded; 'look at me! I know this whiskey will get me in the end!'"
There was a roar of laughter about the table, but the seven
missionaries did not join in it. Instead, we went out of their lives
forever, and in the long days that followed, the skipper, the
Canadian, and I spent most of our time together.
The remainder of our voyage was uneventful and we finally reached New
York. Here I found a cable from Oom Tuys saying that the coronation
was to be held soon and advising me to return as quickly possible.
I realized that no time could be lost and rushed about the city
getting my equipment and party together. I engaged Dr. Leonard Sugden,
the arctic explorer, as art and field director, William T. Crespinell
as technical expert, and Earl Rossman as camera-man. Since they were
to do the work, I had them buy the equipment. A feature of this was
the manner in which the reels of film were packed. Knowing the
difficulties of the Transvaal climate, Crespinell had them soldered in
tins which were again placed in other tins. These were also soldered
and the air exhausted between the outer and inner tins, so that the
films practically traveled in a thermos bottle.
After assembling my party and equipment, the next step was to get the
whole outfit to Swaziland. This was a terrific undertaking. The war
had so disarranged the world's shipping that I spent days on the docks
of Staten Island and South Brooklyn trying to find a ship that would
take us to Cape Town. Finally, after almost despairing, I was able to
book passage for Crespinell and Rossman on the steamer "City of Buenos
Aires," which went direct to Cape Town. A day later the captain of a
freighter for the same port was induced to include Dr. Sugden and
myself in his cargo. He did not know when he would start, but assured
me that it would be soon.
This was on a Saturday, and I told Sugden to stand by and wait for
word to go on board. I saw that our equipment was stowed in the
forward hold of the ship, and then went up to Fairfield, Connecticut,
where some friends of my Harvard days were living. They invited me to
stay until I had to sail, and I settled down to have a pleasant visit.
They have a fine farm and a barbecue was arranged in my honor. This
barbecue was held in the woods, and we were in the midst of it when a
servant came from the house with a telegram from the captain of the
ship. He said that he would sail at eleven o'clock the next morning!
At once commenced a mad rush. I got Sugden's hotel on the long
distance telephone, but they only knew that he had gone somewhere in
the country to spend the week-end. I hurried back to New York and
looked up every address where I might get information about him, but
was unable to locate him. I kept trying up to the last moment, but
finally could only leave word at his hotel that I was sailing. I went
aboard very low in mind because his duties with my proposed expedition
were of great importance.
But Sugden is one of those mortals who seldom gets left. As we swung
down the bay past the Statue of Liberty, I spied a tug coming after us
with great speed. In addition, she was whistling and generally acting
as though she was trying to catch our freighter. We were going slowly,
so that in a short time the little craft fussed up alongside--and
there was Sugden waving his hand from her forward deck! A rope-ladder
was lowered, and a moment later I was gleefully shaking hands with him.
Now this was to be one of the most memorable voyages of my life--and I
have traveled a good deal. To begin with, we had the worst
accommodations I have ever endured on any vessel. Our ship was only a
cargo boat and there were no passenger-cabins whatever. We slept in a
sort of steerage in the hold, in company with twelve of the crew. It
was the most filthy hole I was ever in and reeked with vermin,
including rats of the largest and most ferocious kind. The crew were
the usual scum found on such boats and were the dirtiest human beings
I have ever seen. They disapproved of us--and we of them--to such a
degree that I often expected they would try to do us harm. Sugden,
however, took all this as part of the game, and his sporting spirit
made it possible for us to exist. His experiences in the Far North had
made him familiar with all sorts of white men, but I had never seen
such as these. People now and then speak slightingly of the kaffir,
but the Swazi, with his daily ablutions, is a very superior person
when compared with these so-called "white men."
When our ship reached the warmer latitudes our hole became unbearable
and we moved our pallets to the poop-deck, where we managed to get
some sleep in spite of the terrific rainstorms we ran into. We felt
that it was better to be drowned by clean rainwater than to suffocate
and die slowly in our steerage bunks. However, our miserable existence
used to get on our nerves now and then and we would drown our sorrows
with whatever liquor we could obtain.
There was one other passenger on the boat. He was a typical American
of the western type who had lived in South Africa for years. Every
year he made a trip to the United States and brought back blooded
stock of various kinds. He was the slap-dash, breezy kind of
big-hearted soul and soon became chummy with us. Owing to the fact
that he was a regular tripper on this boat, he was able to share
accommodations with one of the officers.
It soon became his custom to visit us. He would sing out, "Look out
below!" and then would creep down the shaky ladder which was the only
means of entry to our place of misery. Always he brought a bottle, and
the excellent "hootch," as he called it, did much to make our lives
bearable. He was a good story-teller and would always introduce a
preposterous yarn with the preface, "Now this _is_ true!" We gave him
quite a run for his money when it came to yarning, as both of us had
been about a bit, Sugden in the north and I in the south of the world.
The first break in the monotony of this dreadful voyage came when we
reached St. Lucia, in the British West Indies. This is a gorgeous bit
of the tropics set in an opal sea, with cloud-covered mountain-tops
that seem to rake the sky.
When the ship tied up in the roadstead, Sugden and I felt that we were
due to go on the loose a bit and went ashore with the express purpose
of forgetting our troubles. We certainly succeeded in doing so, but
ended by jumping out of the frying pan into the fire. Several of the
ship's officers went with us, as they felt there were events at hand
which they must not miss. Our "party" started at the first hotel we
entered. This, it seems, was exclusively for the colored section of
the population, for the place fairly reeked with blacks.
After we had had several drinks, Sugden turned to me and asked:
"Well, what are we here for? What do we want?"
"Excitement!" was my answer, and we proceeded to get it.
There was a billiard-table in the room, and this, with its torn green
baize, suggested a battle-ground. We started a series of fights
between the blacks, with a prize of five shillings to each winner. The
conditions of the battles were that the two blacks should fight on the
billiard-table, the loser being the one knocked off. There were some
gallant battles, and every winner fairly earned his crown.
The noise of the cheering drew a crowd, and soon the large bare
bar-room was jammed with black boys and a sprinkling of whites. We
whetted our interest by betting on the combatants, and I was doing
quite nicely when the police broke in and stopped the fun.
There was a squad of these funny black policemen, led by what I took
to be a sergeant. They carried authority, and the blacks seemed to
regard them with a great deal of respect.
The sergeant wanted to know what I was doing. I told him that I was
conducting a boxing tournament for the benefit of something or other.
He asked if I had "official permission," and I admitted that I had
overlooked this formality.
"Then you are inciting riot and rebellion," he said in his clipped
English. "I arrest you in the name of the King!"
At this, Sugden commenced to laugh. This was a great mistake, since
the black sergeant seemed to think that we were scoffing at the king.
Without more ado, he invited us to accompany him to the court.
"This, my dear sirs," he said severely, "is a very serious matter. It
is not allowed to stir up strife in His Majesty's colonies."
The court was in an old-style Spanish house, and the room was vacant
except for buzzing flies. These zoomed like infant meteors through the
narrow streaks of sunlight from the long windows. The benches were
worn and comfortable, and I remember dropping off to sleep with the
thought that even these flies had more luck than we did, since they
had sunlight and fresh air, while our home was that dreadful steerage
hole.
I was awakened by Sugden's elbow. There on the high bench sat a thin
old gentleman all in white. He had a thin hooked nose much like an
eagle's beak, and his eyes were of the well-known gimlet type. As I
took him in, the sergeant was reciting the charge against us.
"These are desperate men," I heard him say, "from the ship now in the
harbor. They were in the St. Lucia Hotel and were--"
"Yes! Yes!" interrupted the thin magistrate in a voice as sharp as his
nose. "But what is the charge? What have they done? Never mind the
oration; get to the charge!"
By this time I was wide awake. I suddenly came to a full realization
that I was one of those "desperate men" and found myself deeply
interested.
"They were inciting riot and rebellion," the sergeant went on,
undaunted by the magistrate's impatience. "A boy ran to the
police-station and said murders were being done at the hotel. I called
out all the police and went there as fast as we could run. Inside the
billiard-room were hundreds of whites and blacks, all shouting with
their desire for blood. On the billiard-table were two black men
trying to kill one another. As I watched, one struck the other. He
fell from the table and the crowd cheered.
"Then this man," he went on, pointing at me, "hands money to the man
on the table and says, 'You win!' After this he takes money from the
other white man"--pointing at Sugden--"and tells him that he is rotten
at picking fighters."
"What next? What next?" the magistrate snapped.
"Then the first man demands that more men come and fight," continued
the sergeant, "and there was a rush by the blacks to see who could get
on the table. Then I brought my men in and arrested them both.
Entirely unashamed at being arrested, this man"--again indicating
Sugden--"laughs out loud when I say the name of the king!"
It seemed that we were guilty of disturbing the peace and quiet of His
Majesty's island of St. Lucia and were very reprehensible characters.
The lean magistrate regarded us with severe eye, and I am not
surprised that he looked at us with suspicion. The voyage had not
improved our looks much and we had come ashore in much-worn "ducks."
In fact, we must have looked like a couple of beach-combers.
"You have heard the charge?" he snapped at us. "Guilty or not guilty?"
We were as guilty as could be, of course. Therefore we answered in one
voice:
"Not guilty!"
The magistrate raised his eyebrows at our effrontery and then cleared
his throat again.
"Then you'll have to stand trial," he said. "I shall admit you to
bail. Five pounds each!"
We promptly produced the bail, and I think the "thin dash of vinegar,"
as Sugden christened him, was surprised that we had it. Certainly we
did not look as though we had a shilling between us. After our
pedigrees were taken, we were informed that we would be tried at "ten
o'clock next Thursday morning."
Outside the court-room we found one of the ship's officers in a state
of frenzy. It seems that he had been sent to get us, as the ship ought
to have sailed several hours before.
"She's been blowing and blowing and blowing for you!" he informed us
in an aggrieved tone, "The old man is fair beside himself with rage."
"Oh, that's what all the noise is about," Sugden innocently remarked.
Then he suggested that we take our time and stop at several places. He
argued that so long as we kept the officer with us the captain would
not dare to sail. But I vetoed this proposition, feeling that we had
already run afoul of "His Majesty the King" and not caring to take
another chance.