The Head Man In The Canoe Was An Old
Chief, One-Eyed, Reputed To Be Friendly, And So Dirty That A Boat-
Scraper Would Have Lost Its Edge On Him.
His mission was to warn
the skipper against allowing any of his people to go ashore.
The
old fellow repeated the warning again that night.
In vain did the whale-boat ply about the shores of the bay in quest
of recruits. The bush was full of armed natives; all willing enough
to talk with the recruiter, but not one would engage to sign on for
three years' plantation labour at six pounds per year. Yet they
were anxious enough to get our people ashore. On the second day
they raised a smoke on the beach at the head of the bay. This being
the customary signal of men desiring to recruit, the boat was sent.
But nothing resulted. No one recruited, nor were any of our men
lured ashore. A little later we caught glimpses of a number of
armed natives moving about on the beach.
Outside of these rare glimpses, there was no telling how many might
be lurking in the bush. There was no penetrating that primeval
jungle with the eye. In the afternoon, Captain Jansen, Charmian,
and I went dynamiting fish. Each one of the boat's crew carried a
Lee-Enfield. "Johnny," the native recruiter, had a Winchester
beside him at the steering sweep. We rowed in close to a portion of
the shore that looked deserted.
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