The Inevitable White Man
"The black will never understand the white, nor the white the black, as longas black is black and white is white."So said Captain Woodward. We sat in the parlor of Charley Roberts' pub inApia, drinking long Abu Hameds compounded and shared with us by the aforesaidCharley Roberts, who claimed the recipe direct from Stevens, famous for havinginvented the Abu Hamed at a time when he was spurred on by Nile thirst--theStevens who was responsible for "With Kitchener to Kartoun," and who passedout at the siege of Ladysmith.Captain Woodward, short and squat, elderly, burned by forty years of tropicsun, and with the most beautiful liquid brown eyes I ever saw in a man, spokefrom a vast experience. The crisscross of scars on his bald pate bespoke atomahawk intimacy with the black, and of equal intimacy was the advertisement,front and rear, on the right side of his neck, where an arrow had at one timeentered and been pulled clean through. As he explained, he had been in a hurryon that occasion--the arrow impeded his running--and he felt that he could nottake the time to break off the head and pull out the shaft the way it had comein. At the present moment he was commander of the Savaii, the big steamer thatrecruited labor from the westward for the German plantations on Samoa."Half the trouble is the stupidity of the whites," said Roberts, pausing totake a swig from his glass and to curse the Samoan bar-boy in affectionateterms. "If the white man would lay himself out a bit to understand theworkings of the black man's mind, most of the messes would be avoided.""I've seen a few who claimed they understood niggers," Captain Woodwardretorted, "and I always took notice that they were the first to be kai-kai'd(eaten). Look at the missionaries in New Guinea and the New Hebrides--themartyr isle of Erromanga and all the rest. Look at the Austrian expeditionthat was cut to pieces in the Solomons, in the bush of Guadalcanar. And lookat the traders themselves, with a score of years' experience, making theirbrag that no nigger would ever get them, and whose heads to this day areornamenting the rafters of the canoe houses. There was old JohnnySimons--twenty-six years on the raw edges of Melanesia, swore he knew theniggers like a book and that they'd never do for him, and he passed out atMarovo Lagoon, New Georgia, had his head sawed off by a black Mary (woman) andan old nigger with only one leg, having left the other leg in the mouth of ashark while diving for dynamited fish. There was Billy Watts, horriblereputation as a nigger killer, a man to scare the devil. I remember lying atCape Little, New Ireland you know, when the niggers stole half a case oftrade-tobacco--cost him about three dollars and a half. In retaliation heturned out, shot six niggers, smashed up their war canoes and burned twovillages. And it was at Cape Little, four years afterward, that he was jumpedalong with fifty Buku boys he had with him fishing beche-de-mer. In fiveminutes they were all dead, with the exception of three boys who got away in acanoe. Don't talk to me about understanding the nigger. The white man'smission is to farm the world, and it's a big enough job cut out for him. Whattime has he got left to understand niggers anyway?""Just so," said Roberts. "And somehow it doesn't seem necessary, after all, tounderstand the niggers. In direct proportion to the white man's stupidity ishis success in farming the world--""And putting the fear of God into the nigger's heart," Captain Woodwardblurted out. "Perhaps you're right, Roberts. Perhaps it's his stupidity thatmakes him succeed, and surely one phase of his stupidity is his inability tounderstand the niggers. But there's one thing sure, the white has to run theniggers whether he understands them or not. It's inevitable. It's fate.""And of course the white man is inevitable--it's the niggers' fate," Robertsbroke in. "Tell the white man there's pearl shell in some lagoon infested byten-thousand howling cannibals, and he'll head there all by his lonely, withhalf a dozen kanaka divers and a tin alarm clock for chronometer, all packedlike sardines on a commodious, five-ton ketch. Whisper that there's a goldstrike at the North Pole, and that same inevitable white-skinned creature willset out at once, armed with pick and shovel, a side of bacon, and the latestpatent rocker--and what's more, he'll get there. Tip it off to him thatthere's diamonds on the red-hot ramparts of hell, and Mr. White Man will stormthe ramparts and set old Satan himself to pick-and-shovel work. That's whatcomes of being stupid and inevitable.""But I wonder what the black man must think of the--the inevitableness," Isaid.Captain Woodward broke into quiet laughter. His eyes had a reminiscent gleam."I'm just wondering what the niggers of Malu thought and still must bethinking of the one inevitable white man we had on board when we visited themin the Duchess," he explained.Roberts mixed three more Abu Hameds."That was twenty years ago. Saxtorph was his name. He was certainly the moststupid man I ever saw, but he was as inevitable as death. There was only onething that chap could do, and that was shoot. I remember the first time I raninto him--right here in Apia, twenty years ago. That was before your time,Roberts. I was sleeping at Dutch Henry's hotel, down where the market is now.Ever heard of him? He made a tidy stake smuggling arms in to the rebels, soldout his hotel, and was killed in Sydney just six weeks afterward in a saloonrow."But Saxtorph. One night I'd just got to sleep, when a couple of cats began tosing in the courtyard. It was out of bed and up window, water jug in hand. Butjust then I heard the window of the next room go up. Two shots were fired, andthe window was closed. I fail to impress you with the celerity of thetransaction. Ten seconds at the outside. Up went the window, bang bang wentthe revolver, and down went the window. Whoever it was, he had never stoppedto see the effect of his shots. He knew. Do you follow me?--he knew. There wasno more cat concert, and in the morning there lay the two offenders, stonedead. It was marvelous to me. It still is marvelous. First, it was starlight,and Saxtorph shot without drawing a bead; next, he shot so rapidly that thetwo reports were like a double report; and finally, he knew he had hit hismarks without looking to see."Two days afterward he came on board to see me. I was mate, then, on theDuchess, a whacking big one-hundred-and fifty-ton schooner, a blackbirder. Andlet me tell you that blackbirders were blackbirders in those days. Thereweren't any government protection for us, either. It was rough work, give andtake, if we were finished, and nothing said, and we ran niggers from everysouth sea island they didn't kick us off from. Well, Saxtorph came on board,John Saxtorph was the name he gave. He was a sandy little man, hair sandy,complexion sandy, and eyes sandy, too. Nothing striking about him. His soulwas as neutral as his color scheme. He said he was strapped and wanted to shipon board. Would go cabin boy, cook, supercargo, or common sailor. Didn't knowanything about any of the billets, but said that he was willing to learn. Ididn't want him, but his shooting had so impressed me that I took him ascommon sailor, wages three pounds per month."He was willing to learn all right, I'll say that much. But he wasconstitutionally unable to learn anything. He could no more box the compassthan I could mix drinks like Roberts here. And as for steering, he gave me myfirst gray hairs. I never dared risk him at the wheel when we were running ina big sea, while full-and-by and close-and-by were insoluble mysteries.Couldn't ever tell the difference between a sheet and a tackle, simplycouldn't. The fore-throat-jig and the jib-jig were all one to him. Tell him toslack off the mainsheet, and before you know it, he'd drop the peak. He felloverboard three times, and he couldn't swim. But he was always cheerful, neverseasick, and he was the most willing man I ever knew. He was anuncommunicative soul. Never talked about himself. His history, so far as wewere concerned, began the day he signed on the Duchess. Where he learned toshoot, the stars alone can tell. He was a Yankee--that much we knew from thetwang in his speech. And that was all we ever did know."And now we begin to get to the point. We had bad luck in the New Hebrides,only fourteen boys for five weeks, and we ran up before the southeast for theSolomons. 'malaita, then as now, was good recruiting ground, and we ran intoMalu, on the northwestern corner. There's a shore reef and an outer reef, anda mighty nervous anchorage; but we made it all right and fired off ourdynamite as a signal to the niggers to come down and be recruited. In threedays we got not a boy. The niggers came off to us in their canoes by hundreds,but they only laughed when we showed them beads and calico and hatchets andtalked of the delights of plantation work in Samoa."On the fourth day there came a change. Fifty-odd boys signed on and werebilleted in the main-hold, with the freedom of the deck, of course. And ofcourse, looking back, this wholesale signing on was suspicious, but at thetime we thought some powerful chief had removed the ban against recruiting.The morning of the fifth day our two boats went ashore as usual--one to coverthe other, you know, in case of trouble. And, as usual, the fifty niggers onboard were on deck, loafing, talking, smoking, and sleeping. Saxtorph andmyself, along with four other sailors, were all that were left on board. Thetwo boats were manned with Gilbert Islanders. In the one were the captain, thesupercargo, and the recruiter. In the other, which was the covering boat andwhich lay off shore a hundred yards, was the second mate. Both boats werewell-armed, though trouble was little expected."Four of the sailors, including Saxtorph, were scraping the poop rail. Thefifth sailor, rifle in hand, was standing guard by the water-tank just for'ardof the mainmast. I was for'ard, putting in the finishing licks on a new jawfor the fore-gaff. I was just reaching for my pipe where I had laid it down,when I heard a shot from shore. I straightened up to look. Something struck meon the back of the head, partially stunning me and knocking me to the deck.'my first thought was that something had carried away aloft; but even as Iwent down, and before I struck the deck, I heard the devil's own tattoo ofrifles from the boats, and twisting sidewise, I caught a glimpse of the sailorwho was standing guard. Two big niggers were holding his arms, and a thirdnigger from behind was braining him with a tomahawk."I can see it now, the water-tank, the mainmast, the gang hanging on to him,the hatchet descending on the back of his head, and all under the blazingsunlight. I was fascinated by that growing vision of death. The tomahawkseemed to take a horribly long time to come down. I saw it land, and the man'slegs give under him as he crumpled. The niggers held him up by sheer strengthwhile he was hacked a couple of times more. Then I got two more hacks on thehead and decided that I was dead. So did the brute that was hacking me. I wastoo helpless to move, and I lay there and watched them removing the sentry'shead. I must say they did it slick enough. They were old hands at thebusiness."The rifle firing from the boats had ceased, and I made no doubt that theywere finished off and that the end had come to everything. It was only amatter of moments when they would return for my head. They were evidentlytaking the heads from the sailors aft. Heads are valuable on Malaita,especially white heads. They have the place of honor in the canoe houses ofthe salt-water natives. What particular decorative effect the bushmen get outof them I didn't know, but they prize them just as much as the salt-watercrowd."I had a dim notion of escaping, and I crawled on hands and knees to thewinch, where I managed to drag myself to my feet. From there I could look aftand see three heads on top the cabin--the heads of three sailors I had givenorders to for months. The niggers saw me standing, and started for me. Ireached for my revolver, and found they had taken it. I can't say that I wasscared. I've been near to death several times, but it never seemed easier thanright then. I was half-stunned, and nothing seemed to matter."The leading nigger had armed himself with a cleaver from the galley, and hegrimaced like an ape as he prepared to slice me down. But the slice was nevermade. He went down on the deck all of a heap, and I saw the blood gush fromhis mouth. In a dim way I heard a rifle go off and continue to go off. Niggerafter nigger went down. 'my senses began to clear, and I noted that there wasnever a miss. Every time that the rifle went off a nigger dropped. I sat downon deck beside the winch and looked up. Perched in the crosstrees wasSaxtorph. How he had managed it I can't imagine, for he had carried up withhim two Winchesters and I don't know how many bandoliers of ammunition; and hewas now doing the one only thing in this world that he was fitted to do."I've seen shooting and slaughter, but I never saw anything like that. I satby the winch and watched the show. I was weak and faint, and it seemed to beall a dream. Bang, bang, bang, bang, went his rifle, and thud, thud, thud,thud, went the niggers to the deck. It was amazing to see them go down. Aftertheir first rush to get me, when about a dozen had dropped, they seemedparalyzed; but he never left off pumping his gun. By this time canoes and thetwo boats arrived from shore, armed with Sniders, and with Winchesters whichthey had captured in the boats. The fusillade they let loose on Saxtorph wastremendous. Luckily for him the niggers are only good at close range. They arenot used to putting the gun to their shoulders. They wait until they are righton top of a man, and then they shoot from the hip. When his rifle got too hot,Saxtorph changed off. That had been his idea when he carried two rifles upwith him."The astounding thing was the rapidity of his fire. Also, he never made amiss. If ever anything was inevitable, that man was. It was the swiftness ofit that made the slaughter so appalling. The niggers did not have time tothink. When they did manage to think, they went over the side in a rush,capsizing the canoes of course. Saxtorph never let up. The water was coveredwith them, and plump, plump, plump, he dropped his bullets into them. Not asingle miss, and I could hear distinctly the thud of every bullet as it buriedin human flesh."The niggers spread out and headed for the shore, swimming. The water wascarpeted with bobbing heads, and I stood up, as in a dream, and watched itall--the bobbing heads and the heads that ceased to bob. Some of the longshots were magnificent. Only one man reached the beach, but as he stood up towade ashore, Saxtorph got him. It was beautiful. And when a couple of niggersran down to drag him out of the water, Saxtorph got them, too."I thought everything was over then, when I heard the rifle go off again. Anigger had come out of the cabin companion on the run for the rail and gonedown in the middle of it. The cabin must have been full of them. I countedtwenty. They came up one at a time and jumped for the rail. But they never gotthere. It reminded me of trapshooting. A black body would pop out of thecompanion, bang would go Saxtorph's rifle, and down would go the black body.Of course, those below did not know what was happening on deck, so theycontinued to pop out until the last one was finished off."Saxtorph waited a while to make sure, and then came down on deck. He and Iwere all that were left of the Duchess's complement, and I was pretty well tothe bad, while he was helpless now that the shooting was over. Under mydirection he washed out my scalp wounds and sewed them up. A big drink ofwhiskey braced me to make an effort to get out. There was nothing else to do.All the rest were dead. We tried to get up sail, Saxtorph hoisting and Iholding the turn. He was once more the stupid lubber. He couldn't hoist wortha cent, and when I fell in a faint, it looked all up with us."When I came to, Saxtorph was sitting helplessly on the rail, waiting to askme what he should do. I told him to overhaul the wounded and see if there wereany able to crawl. He gathered together six. One, I remember, had a brokenleg; but Saxtorph said his arms were all right. I lay in the shade, brushingthe flies off and directing operations, while Saxtorph bossed his hospitalgang. I'll be blessed if he didn't make those poor niggers heave at every ropeon the pin-rails before he found the halyards. One of them let go the rope inthe midst of the hoisting and slipped down to the deck dead; but Saxtorphhammered the others and made them stick by the job. When the fore and mainwere up, I told him to knock the shackle out of the anchor chain and let hergo. I had had myself helped aft to the wheel, where I was going to make ashift at steering. I can't guess how he did it, but instead of knocking theshackle out, down went the second anchor, and there we were doubly moored."In the end he managed to knock both shackles out and raise the staysail andjib, and the Duchess filled away for the entrance. Our decks were aspectacle. Dead and dying niggers were everywhere. They were wedged away someof them in the most inconceivable places. The cabin was full of them wherethey had crawled off the deck and cashed in. I put Saxtorph and his graveyardgang to work heaving them overside, and over they went, the living and thedead. The sharks had fat pickings that day. Of course our four murderedsailors went the same way. Their heads, however, we put in a sack withweights, so that by no chance should they drift on the beach and fall into thehands of the niggers."Our five prisoners I decided to use as crew, but they decided otherwise. Theywatched their opportunity and went over the side. Saxtorph got two in mid-airwith his revolver, and would have shot the other three in the water if Ihadn't stopped him. I was sick of the slaughter, you see, and besides, they'dhelped work the schooner out. But it was mercy thrown away, for the sharks gotthe three of them."I had brain fever or something after we got clear of the land. Anyway, theDuchess lay hove to for three weeks, when I pulled myself together and wejogged on with her to Sydney. Anyway those niggers of Malu learned theeverlasting lesson that it is not good to monkey with a white man. In theircase, Saxtorph was certainly inevitable."Charley Roberts emitted a long whistle and said:"Well I should say so. But whatever became of Saxtorph?""He drifted into seal hunting and became a crackerjack. For six years he washigh line of both the Victoria and San Francisco fleets. The seventh year hisschooner was seized in Bering Sea by a Russian cruiser, and all hands, so thetalk went, were slammed into the Siberian salt mines. At least I've neverheard of him since.""Farming the world," Roberts muttered. "Farming the world. Well here's tothem. Somebody's got to do it--farm the world, I mean."Captain Woodward rubbed the criss-crosses on his bald head."I've done my share of it," he said. "Forty years now. This will be my lasttrip. Then I'm going home to stay.""I'll wager the wine you don't," Roberts challenged. "You'll die in theharness, not at home."Captain Woodward promptly accepted the bet, but personally I think CharleyRoberts has the best of it.
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