Blithelygo and I were at Levuka, Fiji, languidly waiting for some
“trader” or mail-steamer to carry us away anywhere. Just when we were
bored beyond endurance and when cigars were running low, a Fijian came
to us and said: “That fellow, white fellow, all a-same a-you, long
a-shore. Pleni sail. Pleni Melican flag.”
We went to the beach, and there was Jude Van Blaricom, our American. We
had left him in New Zealand at the Pink Terraces, bidding him an eternal
farewell. We wished it so. But we had met him afterwards at Norfolk
Island, and again at Sydney, and we knew now that we should never cease
to meet him during our sojourn on this earth.
An hour later we were on board his yacht, Wilderness, being introduced
to MacGregor, the captain, to Mr. Dagmar Caramel, C.M.G., his guest,
and to some freshly made American cocktails. Then we were shown over the
Wilderness. She looked as if she had been in the hands of a Universal
Provider. Evidently the American had no intention of roughing it. His
toilet requisites were a dream. From the dazzling completeness of the
snug saloon we were taken aft to see two coops filled with fowls. “Say,”
said the American, “how’s that for fresh meat?” Though a little ashamed
of it, we then and there accepted the Chicagonian’s invitation to take
a cruise with him in the South Pacific. For days the cruise was pleasant
enough, and then things began to drag. Fortunately there came a new
interest in the daily routine. One day Van Blaricom was seen standing
with the cook before the fowl coops deeply interested; and soon after
he had triumphantly arranged what he called “The Coliseum.” This was
an enclosure of canvas chiefly, where we had cock-fights daily. The
gladiators were always ready for the arena. One was called U. S., after
General U. S. Grant, and the other Bob Lee, after General Robert Lee.
“Go it, U. S. Lift your skewers, you bobtail. Give it to him, you’ve
got him in Andersonville, U. S.” Thus, day by day, were the warriors
encouraged by Van Blaricom.
There is nothing very elegant or interesting in the record so far, but
it all has to do with the annexation of Pango Wango, and, as Blithelygo
long afterwards remarked, it shows how nations sometimes acquire
territory. Yes, this Coliseum of ours had as much to do with the
annexation as had the American’s toilet requisites his hair-oil and
perfume bottles. In the South Pacific, a thousand miles from land, Van
Blaricom was redolent of new-mown hay and heliotrope.
It was tropically hot. We were in the very middle of the hurricane
season. The air had no nerve. Even the gladiators were relaxing their
ardour; and soon the arena was cleared altogether, for we were in the
midst of a hurricane. It was a desperate time, but just when it seemed
most desperate the wheel of doom turned backward and we were saved. The
hurricane found us fretful with life by reason of the heat, it left us
thankful for being let to live at all; though the Wilderness appeared
little better than a drifting wreck. Our commissariat was gone, or
almost gone, we hadn’t any masts or sails to speak of, and the cook
informed us that we had but a few gallons of fresh water left; yet,
strange to say, the gladiators remained to us. When the peril was over
it surprised me to remember that Van Blaricom had been comparatively
cool through it all; for I had still before me a certain scene at the
volcano of Kilauea. I was to be still more surprised.
We were by no means out of danger. MacGregor did not know where we were;
the fresh water was vanishing rapidly, and our patch of sail was hardly
enough to warrant a breeze taking any interest in it. We had been saved
from immediate destruction, but it certainly seemed like exchanging
Tophet for a slow fire. When the heat was greatest and the spiritual
gloom thickest the American threw out the sand-bags, as it were, and
hope mounted again.
“Say, MacGregor,” he said, “run up the American flag. There’s luck in
the old bandana.”
This being done, he added: “Bring along the cigars; we’ll have out U. S.
and Bob Lee in the saloon.”
Our Coliseum was again open to the public at two shillings a head.
That had been the price from the beginning. The American was very
business-like in the matter, but this admission fee was our only
contribution to the expenses of that cruise. Sport could only allay, it
could not banish our sufferings. We became as haggard and woe-begone a
lot as ever ate provisions impregnated with salt; we turned wistfully
from claret to a teaspoonful of water, and had tongues like pieces of
blotting-paper. One morning we were sitting at breakfast when we heard
a cock-crow, then another and another. MacGregor sprang to his feet
crying: “Land!” In a moment we were on deck. There was no land to be
seen, but MacGregor maintained that a cock was a better look-out than a
human being any time, and in this case he was right. In a few hours we
did sight land.
Slowly we came nearer to the island. MacGregor was not at all sure where
it was, but guessed it might be one of the Solomon Islands. When within
a few miles of it Blithelygo unfeelingly remarked that its population
might be cannibalistic. MacGregor said it was very likely; but we’d have
to be fattened first, and that would give us time to turn round. The
American said that the Stars and Stripes and the Coliseum had brought us
luck so far, and he’d take the risk if we would.
The shore was crowded with natives, and as we entered the bay we saw
hundreds take to the water in what seemed fearfully like war-canoes. We
were all armed with revolvers, and we had half a dozen rifles handy. As
the islanders approached we could see that they also were armed; and a
brawny race they looked, and particularly bloodthirsty. In the largest
canoe stood a splendid-looking fellow, evidently a chief. On the shore
near a large palm-thatched house a great group was gathered, and the
American, levelling his glass, said: “Say, it’s a she-queen or something
over there.”
At that moment the canoes drew alongside, and while MacGregor adjured us
to show no fear, he beckoned the chief to come aboard. An instant, and
a score of savages, armed with spears and nulla-nullas were on deck.
MacGregor made signs that we were hungry, Blithelygo that we were
thirsty, and the American, smoking all the while, offered the chief
a cigar. The cigar was refused, but the headman ordered a couple of
natives ashore, and in five minutes we had wild bananas and fish to eat,
and water to drink. But that five minutes of waiting were filled with
awkward incidents. Blithelygo, meaning to be hospitable, had brought up
a tumbler of claret for the headman. With violent language, MacGregor
stopped its presentation; upon which the poison of suspicion evidently
entered the mind of the savage, and he grasped his spear threateningly.
Van Blaricom, who wore a long gold watch-chain, now took it off and
offered it to the chief, motioning him to put it round his neck. The
hand was loosened on the spear, and the Chicagonian stepped forward
and put the chain over the head of the native. As he did so the chief
suddenly thrust his nose forward and sniffed violently at the American.
What little things decide the fate of nations and men! This was a race
whose salutation was not nose-rubbing, but smelling, and the American
had not in our worst straits failed to keep his hair sleek with
hair-oil, verbena scented, and to perfume himself daily with new-mown
hay or heliotrope. Thus was he of goodly savour to the chief, and the
eyes of the savage grew bright. At that moment the food and drink came.
During the repast the chief chuckled in his own strange way, and, when
we slackened in our eating, he still motioned to us to go on.
Van Blaricom, who had been smiling, suddenly looked grave. “By the great
horn-spoons,” he said, “they have begun already! They’re fattening us!”
MacGregor nodded affirmatively, and then Van Blaricom’s eyes wandered
wildly from the chief to that group on the shore where he thought he
had seen the “she-queen.” At that moment the headman came forward again,
again sniffed at him, and again chuckled, and all the natives as they
looked on us chuckled also. It was most unpleasant. Suddenly I saw the
American start. He got up, turned to us, and said: “I’ve got an idea.
MacGregor, get U. S. and Bob Lee.” Then he quietly disappeared, the eyes
of the savages suspiciously following him. In a moment he came back,
bearing in his arms a mirror, a bottle of hair-oil, a couple of bottles
of perfume, a comb and brush, some variegated bath towels, and an
American flag. First he let the chief sniff at the bottles, and then,
pointing to the group on the shore, motioned to be taken over. In a few
moments he and MacGregor were being conveyed towards the shore in the
gathering dusk.
Four hours passed. It was midnight. There was noise of drums and
shouting on the shore, which did not relieve our suspense. Suddenly
there was a commotion in the canoes that still remained near the
Wilderness. The headman appeared before us, and beckoned to Blithelygo
and myself to come. The beckoning was friendly, and we hoped that
affairs had taken a more promising turn.
In a space surrounded with palms and ti-trees a great fire was burning.
There was a monotonous roll of the savage tom-tom and a noise of
shouting and laughter. Yes, we were safe, and the American had done it.
The Coliseum was open, MacGregor was ring-master, and U. S. and Bob
Lee were at work. This show, with other influences, had conquered Pango
Wango. The American flag was hoisted on a staff, and on a mighty stump
there sat Van Blaricom, almost innocent of garments, I grieve to say,
with one whom we came to know as Totimalu, Queen of Pango Wango, a
half circle of savages behind them. Van Blaricom and MacGregor had been
naturalised by having their shoulders lanced with a spear-point, and
then rubbed against the lanced shoulders of the chiefs. The taking of
Pango Wango had not been, I fear, a moral victory. Van Blaricom was
smoking a cigar, and was writing on a piece of paper, using the back
of a Pango Wango man as a desk. The Queen’s garments were chiefly
variegated bath-towels, and she was rubbing her beaming countenance and
ample bosom with hair-oil and essence of new-mown hay.
Van Blaricom nodded to us nonchalantly, saying: “It’s all right--she’s
Totimalu, the Queen. Sign here, Queen,” and he motioned for the obese
beauty to hold the pencil. She did so, and then he stood up, and, while
the cock-fight still went on, he read, with a fine Chicago fluency, what
proved to be a proclamation. As will be seen, it was full of ellipses
and was fragmentary in its character, though completely effective in
fact:
Know all men by these Presents, et cetera, et cetera, et cetera.
Seeing that all men are born free and equal (vide United States
Constitution), et cetera. We, Jude Van Blaricom, of the city of
Chicago, with and by the consent of Queen Totimalu, do, in the name
of George Washington, Abe Lincoln, Grover Cleveland, and the State
of Illinois, and by the Grace of Heaven, et cetera, et cetera, et
cetera, hereby annex the Kingdom of Pango Wango to be of the
territory of the American Union, to have and to hold from this day
forth (vide Constitution of the United States), et cetera.
Signed, JUDE VAN BLARICOM, TOTIMALU X (her mark).
“Beat the drums, you niggers!” he cried, and patted Totimalu’s shoulder.
“Come and join the royal party, gentlemen, and pay your respects. Shake!
That’s right.”
Thus was Pango Wango annexed.