On Second Thought,
King Or No King, I Don't Think I'd Have The Heart To Do It.)
Recruiting plantation labourers on a small, narrow yacht, built for
harbour sailing, is not any too nice.
The decks swarm with recruits
and their families. The main cabin is packed with them. At night
they sleep there. The only entrance to our tiny cabin is through
the main cabin, and we jam our way through them or walk over them.
Nor is this nice. One and all, they are afflicted with every form
of malignant skin disease. Some have ringworm, others have bukua.
This latter is caused by a vegetable parasite that invades the skin
and eats it away. The itching is intolerable. The afflicted ones
scratch until the air is filled with fine dry flakes. Then there
are yaws and many other skin ulcerations. Men come aboard with
Solomon sores in their feet so large that they can walk only on
their toes, or with holes in their legs so terrible that a fist
could be thrust in to the bone. Blood-poisoning is very frequent,
and Captain Jansen, with sheath-knife and sail needle, operates
lavishly on one and all. No matter how desperate the situation,
after opening and cleansing, he claps on a poultice of sea-biscuit
soaked in water. Whenever we see a particularly horrible case, we
retire to a corner and deluge our own sores with corrosive
sublimate. And so we live and eat and sleep on the Minota, taking
our chance and "pretending it is good."
At Suava, another artificial island, I had a second crow over
Charmian. A big fella marster belong Suava (which means the high
chief of Suava) came on board. But first he sent an emissary to
Captain Jansen for a fathom of calico with which to cover his royal
nakedness. Meanwhile he lingered in the canoe alongside. The regal
dirt on his chest I swear was half an inch thick, while it was a
good wager that the underneath layers were anywhere from ten to
twenty years of age. He sent his emissary on board again, who
explained that the big fella marster belong Suava was
condescendingly willing enough to shake hands with Captain Jansen
and me and cadge a stick or so of trade tobacco, but that
nevertheless his high-born soul was still at so lofty an altitude
that it could not sink itself to such a depth of degradation as to
shake hands with a mere female woman. Poor Charmian! Since her
Malaita experiences she has become a changed woman. Her meekness
and humbleness are appallingly becoming, and I should not be
surprised, when we return to civilization and stroll along a
sidewalk, to see her take her station, with bowed head, a yard in
the rear.
Nothing much happened at Suava. Bichu, the native cook, deserted.
The Minota dragged anchor. It blew heavy squalls of wind and rain.
The mate, Mr. Jacobsen, and Wada were prostrated with fever.
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