'Yes, sir. We go to some bad places. Sometimes we have to fight, but Capt'en Casalle never want to fight. He always go ashore first when we go to some new place where the natives is wild and we want to trade. He won't let the covering boat come too close, because these wild peoples, when they see the rifle and the cutlass, they get afraid and begin to shoot poison' arrows. He just jump out of boat and walks up on th' beach, with his han's in his trousers' pocket, and smokin' his pipe; an' he says to those wild people, "What's the matter with you? I hav' come to talk an' trade, not to fight. I am not a fighting man. I wan' to buy your copra an' ivory nuts. See, I have no little gun," and then he lifts up his pyjama pocket and show them his bare skin, wis'out no revolver strapped to his waist. Oh, he is a fine man, a good man.'
Mr. Brooker came rattling down the companion way.
'Oh, here you are, Jack. Now, look here, here's the whole lot of the old Bandolier's crew wants to shake hands with you again. And so do I, Jack,' and he seized Jack's hand in his and wrung it vigorously. 'I reckon I've got some new ideas about British people since I struck Port Kooringa. I was brought up pious enough by a father and mother who believed that the only good people ever produced by Great Britain were the Mayflower folks; and then in the village school I was taught to consider the Britishers of those times as inhuman bein's, who with a mob of Hanoverian or other Dutch-bred soldiers jest delighted to kill American farmers, and their wimmen folk and children, by sticking bayonets into them as a sorter light amusement. Yes, thet is so, Jack. I come from Martha's Vineyard, and us boys were always taught to hate Britishers. We are a mighty poor lot of people down thet way, and the farming folk are the poorest of all--only get a square meal once a week. They'd look sour at a barrel of cider for working after twelve o'clock on Saturday night, and kick a cat for catching a mouse on Sunday morning. But, say, let's get on deck again; these men want to see you mighty bad before you go ashore again. They hev' got something to give you.'
Lighting a huge cheroot, he led the way.
All the crew of the Malolo were gathered together on the main deck, awaiting Jack's appearance. Every man had a present of some kind--a bundle of Solomon Island spears, bows and arrows, baskets of magnificent shells, snowy white coral, clubs, native fish hooks, made from iridescent pearl shell, a whale's tooth, necklaces of porpoise teeth, shell armlets, carved coco-nut shells, and many other curios from the savage islands of Melanesia. Placing them upon the deck at Jack's feet, they drew back, and their spokesman, a sturdy, square-built native of Rotumah Island, made a short speech--
'All these things here me and my shipmates bring you because we want to give you something. All the time we stop at Kooringa, your father and you and old man Mr. Foster very kind to us all, and woman with red hair give us plenty kai-kai.[#] That woman is good woman, and me and my shipmates very sorry we can' see her no more. So if you please, sir, good afternoon, and very much oblige'.'
[#] Food.
Simple as were the man's words, their sincerity was very pleasing to Jack, who thanked them individually, shaking hands with them all. Most of them were natives of the South Sea Islands; one came from beautiful and verdant Rotumah; another from lonely Easter Island in the far eastern Pacific; two from Nuié--the 'Savage Island' of Captain Cook; one from Yasawa in Fiji; and the remainder from various island groups in the South Pacific.
Mr. Brooker regarded them with a good-natured smile before telling them to go for'ard again; then he turned to Jack, and said quietly--
'I was taught to despise niggers of any kind or breed, but this sort of thing jest jumps up and hits me in the face. I never yet saw many white sailors show any gratitude or remembrance for a good turn. Jack Tar is generally Jack Dog, and a darned or'nary yellow dog, with nary a good point about him. Why, every one of these natives aboard is a Christian, and lives clean in mind and body. You should see 'em in the evenings sitting on the main hatch, every man with his Samoan Bible or hymn-book in his hand, and waitin' for Salu the steward to begin the service. It's jest good to hear 'em sing! Where is the crowd of white sailors who'd have the courage, even if they had the inclination, to do as these men do, night after night! And every one of 'em is a right down smart sailor man. Now come below into my cabin, and we can hev' some talk. I want to hear all about your brother Tom, and where in thunder the skipper's brother come from, and all about the folks at Port Kooringa. Come on; the second mate will look after the ship.'