Richards and his fellow-cranks were the forerunners of other bands of ignorant enthusiasts who in later years endeavoured to foist themselves upon the natives of the Pacific Islands and met with similar and well-merited disaster. Like the ill-fated “La Nouvelle France” colony of the notorious Marquis de Ray, all these land-stealing ventures set about their exploits under the cloak of religion. One, under a pretended concession from the Mexican Government, founded a “Christian Redemption Colony” of scallywags, loafers and loose women at Magdalena Bay in Lower California, and succeeded in getting many thousands of pounds from foolish people. Then came a party of Mormon Evangelists who actually bought and paid for land in Samoa and conducted themselves decently and are probably living there now. After them came the wretched Percy Edward band of pilgrims to found a “happy home” in the South Seas. They called themselves the “United Brotherhood of the South Sea Islands”. In another volume, in an article describing my personal experiences of the disastrous “Nouvelle France” expedition to New Ireland,{*} I have alluded to the Percy Edward affair in these words, which I may be permitted to quote: “The Percy Edward was a wretched old tub of a brigantine (formerly a Tahiti-San Francisco mail packet). She was bought in the latter port by a number of people who intended to found a Socialistic Utopia, where they were to pluck the wild goat by the beard, pay no rent to the native owners of the soil, and, letting their hair grow down their backs, lead an idyllic life and loaf around generally. Such a mad scheme could have been conceived nowhere else but in San Francisco or Paris.... The result of the Marquis de Ray's expedition ought to have made the American enthusiasts reflect a little before they started. But having the idea that they could sail on through summer seas till they came to some land fair to look upon, and then annex it right away in the sacred name of Socialism (and thus violate one of the principles of true Socialism), they sailed—only to be quickly disillusionised. For there were no islands anywhere in the North and South Pacific to be had for the taking thereof; neither were there any tracts of land to be had from the natives, except for hard cash or its equivalent. The untutored Kanakas also, with whom they came in contact, refused to become brother Socialists and go shares with the long-haired wanderers in their land or anything else. So from island unto island the Percy Edward cruised, looking more disreputable every day, until as the months went by she began to resemble in her tattered gear and dejected appearance her fatuous passengers. At last, after being considerably chivvied about by the white and native inhabitants of the various islands touched at, the forlorn expedition reach Fiji. Here fifty of the idealists elected to remain and work for their living under a Government... But the remaining fifty-eight stuck to the Percy Edward, and her decayed salt junk and putrid water, and their beautiful ideals; till at last the ship was caught in a hurricane, badly battered about, lost her foremast, and only escaped foundering by reaching New Caledonia and settling her keel on the bottom of Nouméa harbour. Then the visionaries began to collect their senses, and denounced the Percy Edward and the principles of the 'United Brotherhood' as hollow frauds, and elected to abandon her and go on shore and get a good square meal. What became of them at Nouméa I did not hear, but do know that in their wanderings they received much charitable assistance from British shipmasters and missionaries—in some cases their passages were paid to the United States—the natural and proper country for the ignorant religious 'crank'.”
* Ridan the Devil: T. Fisher Unwin, London.
CHAPTER IX ~ “DANDY,” THE SHIP'S DINGO
We anchored under Cape Bedford (North Queensland) one day, and the skipper and I went on shore to bathe in one of the native-made rocky water-holes near the Cape. We found a native police patrol camped there, and the officer asked us if we would like to have a dingo pup for a pet. His troopers had caught two of them the previous day. We said we should like to possess a dingo.
“Bring him here, Dandy,” said the officer to one of his black troopers, and Dandy, with a grin on his sooty face, brought to us a lanky-legged pup about three months old. Its colour was a dirty yellowish red, but it gave promise of turning out a dog—of a kind. The captain put out his hand to stroke it, and as quick as lightning it closed its fang-like teeth upon his thumb. With a bull-like bellow of rage, the skipper was about to hurl the savage little beast over the cliffs into the sea, when I stayed his hand.
“He'll make a bully ship-dog,” I urged, “just the right kind of pup to chivvy the niggers over the side when we get to the Louisiades and Solomons. Please don't choke the little beggar, Ross. 'Twas only fear, not rage, that made him go for you.”
We made a temporary muzzle from a bit of fishing line; bade the officer good-bye, and went off to the ship.
We were nearly a month beating up to the Solomons, and in that time we gained some knowledge of Dandy's character. (We named him after the black trooper.) He was fawningly, sneakingly, offensively affectionate—when he was hungry, which was nearly always; as ferocious and as spiteful as a tiger cat when his stomach was full; then, with a snarling yelp, he would put his tail beneath his legs and trot for'ard, turning his head and showing his teeth. Crawling under the barrel of the windlass he would lie there and go to sleep, only opening his eyes now and then to roll them about vindictively when any one passed by. Then when he was hungry again, he would crawl out and slouch aft with a “please-do-be-kind-to-a-poor-dog” expression on his treacherous face. Twice when we were sailing close to the land he jumped overboard, and made for the shore, though he couldn't swim very well and only went round and round in circles. On each occasion a native sailor jumped over after him and brought him back, and each time he bit his rescuer.
“Never mind him, sir,” said the mate to Ross one day, when the angry skipper fired three shots at Dandy for killing the ship's cat—missed him and nearly killed the steward, who had put his head out of the galley door to see the fun—“there's money in that dog. I wouldn't mind bettin' half-a-sov that Charley Nyberg, the trader on Santa Anna, will give five pounds for him. He'll go for every nigger he's sooled on to. You mark my words.”