We accepted the story as true, and thought no more about it, though we wondered why such useful, compact and heavy ballast should be thrown away, and when my boat returned to take us to the ship, we took the iron “pigs” with us.
Arriving at Samoa, we soon rid ourselves of our eighty-five “blackbirds,” who had all behaved very well on the voyage, and were sorry to leave the ship; and that evening I paid a visit to an old friend of mine—an American who kept a large store in Apia, the principal port and town of Samoa. I was telling him all about our cruise, when an old white man, locally known as “Bandy Tom,” came up from the yard, and sat down on the verandah steps near us. Old Tom was a character, and well known all over Polynesia as an inveterate old loafer and beachcomber. He was a deserter from the navy, and for over forty years had wandered about the South Pacific, sometimes working honestly for a living, sometimes dishonestly, but usually loafing upon some native community, until they tired of him and made him seek fresh pastures. In his old age he had come to Samoa, and my friend, taking pity on the penniless old wreck, gave him employment as night watchman, and let him hang about the premises and do odd jobs in the day-time. With all his faults he was an amusing ancient, and was known for his “tall” yarns about his experiences with cannibals in Fiji.
Bidding me “good-evening,” Bandy Tom puffed away at his pipe, and listened to what I was saying. When I had finished describing our visit to Nisân, and the finding of the ballast, he interrupted.
“I can tell you where them 'pigs' come from, and all about 'em—leastways a good deal; for I knows more about the matter than any one else.”
Parker laughed. “Bandy, you know, or pretend to know, about everything that has happened in the South Seas since the time of Captain Cook.”
“Ah, you can laugh as much as you like, boss,” said the old fellow serenely, “but I know what I'm talkin' about I ain't the old gas-bag you think I am. I lived on Nisân for a year an' ten months, nigh on thirty years ago, gettin' bêche-de-mer for Captain Bobby Towns of Sydney.” Then turning to me he added: “I ain't got too bad a memory, for all my age. I can tell you the names of all the six islands, and how they lies, an' a good deal about the people an' the queer way they has of catchin' turtle in rope nets; an' I can tell you the names of the head men that was there in my time—which was about 'fifty or 'fifty-one. Just you try me an' see.”
I did try him, and he very soon satisfied me that he had lived on the Sir Charles Hardy Islands, and knew the place well. Then he told his story, which I condense as much as possible.
FIRST PART
Bandy was landed at Nisân by Captain Robert Towns of the barque Adventurer of Sydney, to collect bêche-de-mer. He was well received by the savage inhabitants and provided with a house, and well treated generally, for Captain Towns, knowing the natives to be cannibals and treacherous, had demanded a pledge from them that Bandy should not be harmed, and threatened that if on his return in the following year he found the white man was missing, he would land his crew, and destroy them to the last man. Then the barque sailed. A day or so afterwards Bandy was visited by a native, who was very different in appearance from the Nisân people. He spoke to the white man in good English, and informed him that he was a native of the island of Rotumah, but had been living on Nisân for more than twenty years, had married, had a family, and was well thought of by the people. The two became great friends, and Taula, as the Rotumah man was named, took Bandy into his confidence, and told him of a tragedy that had occurred on Nisân about five or six years after he (Taula) had landed on the islands. He was one of the crew of a whaleship which, on a dark night, nearly ran ashore on Nisân, and in the hurry and confusion of the vessels going about he slipped over the side, swam on shore through the surf, and reached the land safely.