As White and I, after our palaver with the head men, were about to return on board, we noticed two children who were wearing a number of silver coins, strung on cinnet (coir) fibre, around their necks. We called them to us, looked at the coins and found that they were rupees and English five-shilling pieces.
I asked one of our Fijian seamen, who acted as interpreter, to ask the children from where they got the coins.
“On the reef,” they replied, “there are thousands of them cast up with the wreckage of the ship that sank a long time ago. Most of them are like these”—showing a five-shilling piece; “but there are much more smaller ones like these,”—showing a rupee.
“Are there any sama sama (yellow) ones?” I asked.
No, they said, they had not found any sama sama ones. But they could bring me basketfuls of those like which they showed me.
White's usually solemn eyes were now gleaming with excitement I drew him and the Fiji man aside, and said to the latter quietly:—
“Sam, don't let these people think that these coins are of any more value than the copper bolts. Tell them that for every one hundred pieces they bring on board—no matter what size they may be—I will give them a cupful of fine red beads—full measure. Or, if they do not care for beads, I will give two sticks of tobacco, or a six-inch butcher knife of good, hard steel.”
(The three last words made White smile—and whisper to me, “'A good, hard steal' some people would say—but not me”.)
“And Sam,” I went on, “you shall have an alofa (present) of two hundred dollars if you manage this carefully, and don't let these people think that we particularly care about these pieces of soft white metal. We came to Mayu for oil—understand?”
Sam did understand: and in a few minutes every boy and girl in Guasap were out on the reef picking up the money. That day they brought us over £200 in English and Indian silver, together with about £12 in Dutch coins. (From this latter circumstance White and I concluded that the wrecked vessel was the missing Dutch barque.)