SHORE LEAVE--THE WEB-TOED SAILOR--THE MISSIONARY SHIP
I was wondering whether to go ashore to look for the crew, when I heard
the second mate's voice saying: "Easy on your port oars. Give away hard
on your starboard." As they came alongside the gangway I could see Riley
and the Russian-Finn asleep in the bow of the cat-boat. Dago Joe was
missing, and the others had had about all the rum they could stand. I
gave the second mate orders to leave Riley and the Russian-Finn in the
boat, as it was dangerous to try to get them on board while they were so
drunk. Swanson spoke up, saying: "To Hell with you, we do what we damned
please."
I was rather upset by this remark coming from the big Swede. I should
have thought that he would have had enough of fighting on the trip
south. Evidently the booze was working on him and he was intending
revenge. I stepped over to the pin-rail and pulled out a wooden
belaying-pin. Booze or no booze, I was going to make this brute respect
me if I had to resort to old-time methods. Running down the gangway, I
ordered all that could walk up to get there damned quick and pointed to
Swanson, saying: "You will be the first to leave the boat." As the ship
swung with the outgoing current, the moon revealed the expression
of hatred on Swanson's face. The high cheek bones, the knitted
viking-brows, the large cruel mouth, showing the irregular and
vicious-looking tusks, the eyes no longer blue, whose pupils were so
enlarged that the color had disappeared,--all this gave him just the
look of a wild animal at bay.
Swanson jumped from the stern-sheets to the center of the boat,
shouting: "Shove her off and we will go ashore again, and you may go to
Hell." As he reached for the boat hook to shove her off or to use it on
me if it should come handy, I did not wait for him to decide. Jumping
into the boat, I knocked him down and ordered the others aboard.
Whether my sudden irruption amongst them with the belaying-pin was a
counter-irritant for the booze they had within them or not I don't
know. But the boat was cleared in two minutes, leaving Swanson, Riley
and the Finn lying in the bottom. The second mate, although trying with
a thick tongue to proclaim his innocence of having had even a glass of
ale, was making heavy weather of it while going up the gangway. I
reached for the water dipper and poured the salt, but warm, sea water
over Swanson. After a few applications of this stimulating treatment he
arose to his feet saying, "I tank I go on board now." I followed him up
the gangway and forward to his bunk to make sure there would be no
tricking from this brute. I remembered the cowardly kick on my forehead
and resolved if there was any kicking to be done I would do it.
Walking aft, I heard splashing as if some one was overboard. On reaching
the gangway I discovered that the Finn was missing from the boat. Ahead
of the cat-boat lay a raft of lumber, and on the outside of it I could
plainly see bubbles coming up, and wondered if this could not be the
action of a vegetable gas.
But to my horror the Russian's head popped out of the water, and with it
came a blood-curdling scream as he writhed about in his death
struggles. Instead of making for the raft, he was fanning and kicking
the water away from it.
I dropped the belaying-pin, and, slashing the shoe strings of the
Captain's boots, jumped out of them and overboard after the drowning
Finn. As I swam near him his hands went up and with a shriek he sank
below. After several attempts at diving, I finally caught him by the
arm, and arose to the surface. Swimming over to the gangway, I caught
hold of the boat painter, and, throwing his arms over the rope, I
managed to crawl onto the lower platform, then pulling and struggling
with this dead burden, I gradually made my way to the deck.
I dumped him down on the break of the poop and ran for the cook's pork
barrel. It wasn't that I was so terribly interested in this lifeless
thing, but I was interested in knowing that should I lose him I would be
forced to sail short-handed, as there were no sailors here who cared to
stray far away from the cocoanuts and yams.
When it came to rolling I gave him the benefit of the doubt. I rolled
him under the barrel and over it, and stimulated him with artificial
respiration. After about one hour he began to show signs of life. I then
carried him forward to his bunk, taking off his shoes and stockings.
My attention was caught by his feet, for he had one large toe on each
foot, and in place of the smaller toes all that remained was a thin
tissue or web, extending from the large toe to where the smaller one
should be. Then it dawned upon me that the reason this man never went
barefooted was his bashfulness of these duck-like feet. After covering
him over in the bunk, I hurried to where Riley was lying in the boat,
finding him cuddled up with his head between his legs.
I decided to leave him there, but secured him fast with a rope, in such
a way that when he became sober it would be necessary for some one to
come to his rescue; I was not going to take any chances on having to be
the pearl diver to fish Riley from the depth of Suva Harbor.
Away to the eastward the faint rays of a new day were shown in an amber
sky streaked with brilliant pink. Taking the cook's alarm clock, I went
below to secure some sleep before five o'clock. While fixing the
mosquito net over the port hole in my room I was startled by hearing a
cry which resolved itself into, "Murder, murder, begorra it's tied they
have me. Hivenly Father, to think I should be ate up by those damned
cannibals and not a soul in sight to see the last of Michael Dennis
Riley."
I would gladly have left Riley tugging and pulling at the diamond hitch
that bound him, but I was afraid that his cries of murder would attract
the Fiji policemen ashore. It required tact and skill and diplomacy to
untie Riley. He was snapping and kicking, and dangerous to get near. He
was calling on all the angels in Heaven to witness the terrible crime he
was about to be subjected to. I assured him that his old tough and tarry
hide was not even fit for a shark to eat, let alone a decent Fiji
cannibal.
He seemed to scent a kindly influence, but was rather inclined to resent
the idea of having a tarry hide. After his hands and feet were free he
wanted to fight it out there, and then saying that it did not matter a
tinker's damn who called him this name, but there was no man that could
get away with an insulting remark like calling him a tarry-hide or an
old shell-back.
"Be Hivins, the cannibals are bad enough," he said, "but to call a
dacent man a name like this is too much for the pride of Ireland to
stand."
As he struggled to his feet I stepped over to the blind side of him and
tightened the clove hitch around his neck. I had no desire to let this
drunk-crazed Irishman loose on the boat. After much coaxing and
reassuring he finally recognized me and offered an apology. I took the
hitch off his neck, and let him up to the deck, where he begged for one
more hour's sleep. I called the cook to get breakfast, as it was nearly
five o'clock, and had a look at the Finn, who seemed none the worse for
his plunge in the harbor. The freaky and webby toes were sticking out
over the bunk and I wondered if it were possible to drown a man with
feet like these, since they had all the characteristics of a duck's
foot.
There were yet two hours left before it was time to start work for the
day, so I hastened to my room and was soon asleep. After breakfast it
was a sickly-looking crew that came on deck, some of them very much
ashamed, others complaining about not having ice on board, as the fresh
water was too warm and did not have the soothing effect it otherwise
would have.
The ten Solomon Islanders ate their beans and hardtack as if nothing had
happened, much to the disgust of the sailors, who seemed to feel the
nauseating effect of this act. The work of moving the lumber was going
slowly. It seemed that the sailors could not get enough oatmeal water.
Nothing pleased them, everything was wrong. The lumber was too long. It
was too heavy. It was not sawed right at the mill. Why did they have to
work, and so on and so on?
I realized that if this kept up it would be many weeks before we would
be ready to sail for home. With this thought in mind, I jumped into the
small boat and pulled ashore to get three quarts of Black and White
Scotch whiskey. I felt that after they had had a drink of this famous
brand the lumber would move with a will. After giving each one a drink
of this murky liquor the lumber seemed to move as if by magic. No longer
was it too large and heavy. Each one was trying to outdo the other. The
Solomon Islanders were in great danger from the flying two-by-fours, and
even the cook was wielding the axe with greater skill as he drove it
into the fibrous yams. This was a new departure in the handling of
sailors, but so far it was working well. If it was necessary for Scotch
whiskey to enter into the discharging of this cargo, I was going to see
that each man had enough to stimulate him to even greater results.
While ashore in the afternoon ordering fresh meat and vegetables, I met
Captain Kane, who insisted that I pay a visit to His Majesty's ship
"Pongon." In walking down the wharf, the Captain noticed a ship in the
offing. He seemed interested as he hurried along to the cutter.
"You know," said he, "my eyes are not as good as they should be, and
I'll be damned if I know whether she is a coolie or a missionary ship."
Contract labor is used here in working the rice fields and sugar
plantations. The coolies sign a five-year contract for sixpence (twelve
cents) per day, and all the rice they can eat. They live by themselves
and don't associate with the natives, as they consider them unclean
because they eat pig. They are very devout in their worship of Allah and
adhere strictly to fish and vegetables as a food. They are the type seen
in Bombay and Calcutta. Many of them, after being here for a few years,
form a company and buy a small sloop of five to ten tons to haul cobra
from the different islands to Suva, the capital of the Fijis. The latter
town is a distributing center for the Archipelago, and here is where
ships of many nations come and load this dried cocoanut for the foreign
markets of the world. It is one of the chief industries of these
islands.
On boarding the revenue cutter, I noticed the native crew standing
around the gangway. They all came to a salute, as their proud Captain
swung over the rail. Their uniform resembled that of the policemen, but
instead of a red border in a blue field, it was white. This white border
with the white-washed hair gave them a clean and wholesome look, very
different from the policemen.
Captain Kane led the way to the bridge, and, picking up a pair of
binoculars, he made out the strange craft to be a missionary ship. "You
will notice," said he as he handed the glasses to me, "that she has
painted ports,--damn them painted ports, I know what it means, not a
blasted drink as long as she is here. And that's not all, when them
missionaries come ashore, especially the older women, all a person sees
around here is Hell's burning fires."
The coming of the missionary ship held no charm for Captain Kane. His
proud and dignified bearing gave way to that of a child, or one who has
lost a near and dear friend. "It is too damned bad," he shouted, "that
she should come here at this time; I and a few old friends were about to
have a little party." Here he pulled his cheese-cutter cap down with a
jerk, so that the bleary eyes were no longer visible.
"And now I suppose I'll have to be converted again. Yes, Hell and
damnation, I have been converted to every religion that was ever heard
of. Oh, yes, they commercialize it down here, and we all chip in to keep
the brass work shining on the missionary ships."
Here Captain Kane made a hasty exit from the good ship "Pongon" and laid
out a course for the Pier Hotel, saying: "Little does the world know
the troubles that some people have who are trying to do their duty to
their God and their King."
At half-past four in the afternoon the missionary ship dropped anchor
about a cable's length off our starboard bow. Her crew were dressed in
man-o'-war uniforms. They lowered a boat, and as they pulled ashore I
could see five portly-looking dames sitting in the stern. They were
discussing our ship, and, from the scowling glances they gave us, I felt
that we were safe in standing by to repel boarders. They cast loving
glances at His Majesty's ship "Pongon," perhaps consulting as to what
form of baptism would be most impressive for Captain Kane.
The crew had no desire to go ashore this evening. The last strenuous
night and a hard day's work, had left them in a rather sullen mood. Even
Old Charlie and Riley were not on speaking terms. Swanson's jaw showed
the mark of a belaying-pin, and he seemed quite conscious of it as he
chewed his evening meal. The web-toed Russian-Finn looked as if the hum
of the mosquito would be a welcome lullaby to the land of dreams.
The cook, though silent and morose, would lift his head occasionally
from the dishes to listen to the natives singing their evening hymn,
"Shall We Gather at the River Where Bright Angels' Feet Do Tread."
Anything with angels in it was displeasing to our cook. He even seemed
to take a sudden dislike to Toby as he kicked him out of the galley
door, exclaiming, "Get out of here, damn you; I suppose they will be
putting wings on you before long."
The Solomon Islands workmen, although tired from the day's work, were
laughing and chatting in their native tongue as they circled around a
large dishpan of Mulligan stew.
Knives and forks were not much in evidence, the natives preferring to
use their hands to eat with. Although trained for centuries to eat in
this manner, I must say that the cook's Mulligan stew kept them
guessing. I decided that tomorrow, if perchance the cook should arise
under the refining influence of a good night's rest, I would ask him to
thicken the Mulligan stew in the interest of the Solomon Islanders.
The discharging of cargo was progressing satisfactorily, since we now
had the deck load off, and were commencing on the hold. In a few days I
had hopes of clearing from Suva and starting on our long voyage home.