The Cruise of the Snark (30 page)

“I know what you think,” the missionary called out to them. “You think plenty tobacco on the schooner and you're going to get it. I tell you plenty rifles on schooner. You no get tobacco, you get bullets.”

At last, one man, alone in a small canoe, took the letter and started. Waiting for relief, work went on steadily on the
Minota
. Her water-tanks were emptied, and spars, sails, and ballast started shoreward. There were lively times on board when the
Minota
rolled one bilge down and then the other, a score of men leaping for life and legs as the trade-boxes, booms, and eighty-pound pigs of iron ballast rushed across from rail to rail and back again. The poor pretty harbor yacht! Her decks and running rigging were a raffle. Down below everything was disrupted. The cabin floor had been torn up to get at the ballast, and rusty bilge-water swashed and splashed. A bushel of limes, in a mess of flour and water, charged about like so many sticky dumplings escaped from a half-cooked stew. In the inner cabin, Nakata kept guard over our rifles and ammunition.

Three hours from the time our messenger started, a whale-boat, pressing along under a huge spread of canvas, broke through the thick of a shrieking squall to windward. It was Captain Keller, wet with rain and spray, a revolver in his belt, his boat's crew fully armed, anchors and hawsers heaped high amidships, coming as fast as wind could drive—the white man, the inevitable white man, coming to a white man's rescue.

The vulture line of canoes that had waited so long broke and disappeared as quickly as it had formed. The corpse was not dead after all. We now had three whale-boats, two plying steadily between the vessel and shore, the other kept busy running out anchors, rebending parted hawsers, and recovering the lost anchors. Later in the afternoon, after a consultation, in which we took into consideration that a number of our boat's crew, as well as ten of the recruits, belonged to this place, we disarmed the boat's crew. This, incidently, gave them both hands free to work for the vessel. The rifles were put in the charge of five of Mr. Caulfeild's mission boys. And down below in the wreck of the cabin the missionary and his converts prayed to God to save the
Minota
. It was an impressive scene: the unarmed man of God praying with cloudless faith, his savage followers leaning on their rifles and mumbling amens. The cabin walls reeled about them. The vessel lifted and smashed upon the coral with every sea. From on deck came the shouts of men heaving and toiling, praying, in another fashion, with purposeful will and strength of arm.

That night Mr. Caulfeild brought off a warning. One of our recruits had a price on his head of fifty fathoms of shell-money and forty pigs. Baffled in their desire to capture the vessel, the bushmen decided to get the head of the man. When killing begins, there is no telling where it will end, so Captain Jansen armed a whale-boat and rowed in to the edge of the beach. Ugi, one of his boat's crew, stood up and orated for him. Ugi was excited. Captain Jansen's warning that any canoe sighted that night would be pumped full of lead, Ugi turned into a bellicose declaration of war, which wound up with a peroration somewhat to the following effect: “You kill my captain, I drink his blood and die with him!”

The bushmen contented themselves with burning an unoccupied mission house, and sneaked back to the bush. The next day the
Eugenie
sailed in and dropped anchor. Three days and two nights the
Minota
pounded on the reef; but she held together, and the shell of her was pulled off at last and anchored in smooth water. There we said good-by to her and all on board, and sailed away on the
Eugenie
, bound for Florida Island.
¹

 

1
. To point out that we of the
Snark
are not a crowd of weaklings, which might be concluded from our divers afflictions, I quote the following, which I gleaned verbatim from the
Eugenie's
log and which may be considered as a sample of Solomon Islands cruising:

 

ULAVA, THURSDAY, MARCH 12, 1908.
Boat went ashore in the morning. Got two loads ivory nut, 4000 copra. Skipper
down with fever.

ULAVA, FRIDAY, MARCH 13, 1908.
Buying nuts from bushmen, 1½ ton. Mate and skipper down with fever.

ULAVA, SATURDAY, MARCH 14, 1908.
At noon hove up and proceeded with a very light E.N.E. wind for Ngora-Ngora.
Anchored in 8 fathoms—shell and coral. Mate down with fever.

NGORA-NGORA, SUNDAY, MARCH 15, 1908.
At daybreak found that the boy Bagua had died during the night, on dysentery.
He was about 14 days sick. At sunset, big N.W. squall. (Second anchor
ready) Lasting one hour and 30 minutes.

AT SEA, MONDAY, MARCH 16, 1908.
Set course for Sikiana at 4 P.M. Wind broke off. Heavy squalls during the night.
Skipper down on dysentery, also one man.

AT SEA, TUESDAY, MARCH 17, 1908.
Skipper and 2 crew down on dysentery. Mate fever.

AT SEA, WEDNESDAY, MARCH 18, 1908.
Big sea. Lee-rail under water all the time. Ship under reefed mainsail, staysail,
and inner jib. Skipper and 3 men dysentery. Mate fever.

AT SEA, THURSDAY, MARCH 19, 1908.
Too thick to see anything. Blowing a living a gale all the time. Pump plugged
up and bailing with buckets. Skipper and five boys down on dysentery.

AT SEA, FRIDAY, MARCH 20, 1908.
During night squalls with hurricane force. Skipper and six men down on
dysentery.

AT SEA, SATURDAY, MARCH 21, 1908.
Turned back from Sikiana. Squalls all day with heavy rain and sea. Skipper and
best part of crew on dysentery. Mate fever.

And so, day by day, with the majority of all on board prostrated, the
Eugenie's
log goes on. The only variety occurred on March 31, when the mate came down with dysentery and the skipper was floored by fever.

Given a number of white traders, a wide area of land, and scores of savage languages and dialects, the result will be that the traders will manufacture a totally new, unscientific, but perfectly adequate, language. This the traders did when they invented the Chinook lingo for use over British Columbia, Alaska, and the Northwest Territory. So with the lingo of the Kroo-boys of Africa, the pigeon English of the Far East, and the bêche de mer of the westerly portion of the South Seas. This latter is often called pigeon English, but pigeon English it certainly is not. To show how totally different it is, mention need be made only of the fact that the classic
piecee
of China has no place in it.

There was once a sea captain who needed a dusky potentate down in his cabin. The potentate was on deck. The captain's command to the Chinese steward was: “Hey, boy, you go top-side catchee one piecee king.” Had the steward been a New Hebridean or a Solomon islander, the command would have been: “Hey, you fella boy, go look 'm eye belong you along deck, bring 'm me fella one big fella marster belong black man.”

It was the first white men who ventured through Melanesia after the early explorers, who developed bêche de mer English—men such as the bêche de mer fishermen, the sandalwood traders, the pearl hunters, and the labor recruiters. In the Solomons, for instance, scores of languages and dialects are spoken. Unhappy the trader who tried to learn them all; for in the next group to which he might wander he would find scores of additional tongues. A common language was necessary—a language so simple that a child could learn it, with a vocabulary as limited as the intelligence of the savages upon whom it was to be used. The traders did not reason this out. Bêche de mer English was the product of conditions and circumstances. Function precedes organ; and the need for a universal Melanesian lingo preceded bêche de mer English. Bêche de mer was purely fortuitous, but it was fortuitous in the deterministic way. Also, from the fact that out of the need the lingo arose, bêche de mer English is a splendid argument for the Esperanto enthusiasts.

A limited vocabulary means that each word shall be overworked. Thus,
fella
, in bêche de mer, means all that
piecee
does and quite a bit more, and is used continually in every possible connection. Another overworked word is
belong
. Nothing stands alone. Everything is related. The thing desired is indicated by its relationship with other things. A primitive vocabulary means primitive expression, thus, the continuance of rain is expressed as
rain he stop
.
Sun he come up
cannot possibly be misunderstood, while the phrase-structure itself can be used without mental exertion in ten thousand different ways, as, for instance, a native who desires to tell you that there are fish in the water and who says
fish he stop
. It was while trading on Ysabel island that I learned the excellence of this usage. I wanted two or three pairs of the large clam-shells (measuring three feet across), but I did not want the meat inside. Also, I wanted the meat of some of the smaller clams to make a chowder. My instruction to the natives finally ripened into the following: “You fella bring me fella big fella clam—
kai-kai
he no stop, he walk about. You fella bring me fella small fella clam—
kai-kai
he stop.”

Kai-kai
is the Polynesian for
food, meat, eating
, and
to eat
; but it would be hard to say whether it was introduced into Melanesia by the sandalwood traders or by the Polynesian westward drift.
Walk about
is a quaint phrase. Thus, if one orders a Solomon sailor to put a tackle on a boom, he will suggest, “That fella boom he walk about too much.” And if the said sailor asks for shore liberty, he will state that it is his desire to walk about. Or if said sailor be seasick, he will explain his condition by stating, “Belly belong me walk about too much.”

Too much
, by the way, does not indicate anything excessive. It is merely the simple superlative. Thus, if a native is asked the distance to a certain village, his answer will be one of these four: “Close up”; “long way little bit”; “long way big bit”; or “long way too much.”
Long way too much
does not mean that one cannot walk to the village, it means that he will have to walk farther than if the village were a long way big bit.

Gammon
is to lie, to exaggerate, to joke.
Mary
is a woman. Any woman is a Mary. All women are Marys. Doubtlessly the first dim white adventurer whimsically called a native woman Mary, and of similar birth must have been many other words in bêche de mer. The white men were all seamen, and so
capsize
and
sing out
were introduced into the lingo. One would not tell a Melanesian cook to empty the dishwater, but he would tell him to capsize it. To
sing out
is to cry loudly, to call out, or merely to speak.
Sing-sing
is a song. The native Christian does not think of God calling for Adam in the Garden of Eden; in the native's mind, God sings out for Adam.

Savvee
or
catchee
are practically the only words which have been introduced straight from pigeon English. Of course,
pickaninny
has happened along, but some of its uses are delicious. Having bought a fowl from a native in a canoe, the native asked me if I wanted “Pickaninny stop along him fella.” It was not until he showed me a handful of hen's eggs that I understood his meaning.
My word
, as an exlamation with a thousand significances, could have arrived from nowhere else than old England. A paddle, a sweep, or an oar, is called
washee
, and
washee
is also the verb.

Here is a letter, dictated by one Peter, a native trader at Santa Anna, and addressed to his employer. Harry, the schooner captain, started to write the letter, but was stopped by Peter at the end of the second sentence. Thereafter the letter runs in Peter's own words, for Peter was afraid that Harry gammoned too much, and he wanted the straight story of his needs to go to headquarters.

 

Bullamacow
means tinned beef. This word was corrupted from the English language by the Samoans, and from them learned by the traders, who carried it along with them into Melanesia. Captain Cook and the other early navigators made a practice of introducing seeds, plants, and domestic animals amongst the natives. It was at Samoa that one such navigator landed a bull and a cow. “This is a bull and cow,” said he to the Samoans. They thought he was giving the name of the breed, and from that day to this, beef on the hoof and beef in the tin is called
bullamacow
.

A Solomon islander cannot say
fence
, so, in bêche de mer, it becomes
fennis
; store is
sittore
, and box is
bokkis
. Just now the fashion in chests, which are known as boxes, is to have a bell arrangement on the lock so that the box cannot be opened without sounding an alarm. A box so equipped is not spoken of as a mere box, but as the
bokkis belong bell
.

Fright
is the bêche de mer for fear. If a native appears timid and one asks him the cause, he is liable to hear in reply: “Me fright along you too much.” Or the native may be
fright
along storm, or wild bush, or haunted places.
Cross
covers every form of anger. A man may be cross at one when he is feeling only petulant; or he may be cross when he is seeking to chop off your head and make a stew out of you. A recruit, after having toiled three years on a plantation, was returned to his own village on Malaita. He was clad in all kinds of gay and sportive garments. On his head was a top-hat. He possessed a trade-box full of calico, beads, porpoise-teeth, and tobacco. Hardly was the anchor down, when the villagers were on board. The recruit looked anxiously for his own relatives, but none was to be seen. One of the natives took the pipe out of his mouth. Another confiscated the strings of beads from around his neck. A third relieved him of his gaudy loin-cloth, and a fourth tried on the top-hat and omitted to return it. Finally, one of them took his trade-box, which represented three years' toil, and dropped it into a canoe alongside. “That fella belong you?” the captain asked the recruit, referring to the thief. “No belong me,” was the answer. “Then why in Jericho do you let him take the box?” the captain demanded indignantly. Quoth the recruit, “Me speak along him, say bokkis he stop, that fella he cross along me”—which was the recruit's way of saying that the other man would murder him. God's wrath, when he sent the Flood, was merely a case of being cross along mankind.