ng
about.

"And all that dysentery, you know, that's all rot, just like the
accidental drownings," Bertie continued. "What does dysentery really
stand for?"

The skipper openly admired his guest's acumen, stiffened himself to make
indignant denial, then gracefully surrendered.

"You see, it's like this, Mr. Arkwright. These islands have got a bad
enough name as it is. It's getting harder every day to sign on white
men. Suppose a man is killed. The company has to pay through the nose
for another man to take the job. But if the man merely dies of sickness,
it's all right. The new chums don't mind disease. What they draw the
line at is being murdered. I thought the skipper of the Arla had died of
dysentery when I took his billet. Then it was too late. I'd signed the
contract."

"Besides," said Mr. Jacobs, "there's altogether too many accidental
drownings anyway. It don't look right. It's the fault of the government.
A white man hasn't a chance to defend himself from the niggers."

"Yes, look at the Princess and that Yankee mate," the skipper took up
the tale. "She carried five white men besides a government agent. The
captain, the agent, and the supercargo were ashore in the two boats.
They were killed to the last man. The mate and boson, with about fifteen
of the crew--Samoans and Tongans--were on board. A crowd of niggers came
off from shore. First thing the mate knew, the boson and the crew were
killed in the first rush. The mate grabbed three cartridge belts and two
Winchesters and skinned up to the cross-trees. He was the sole survivor,
and you can't blame him for being mad. He pumped one rifle till it got
so hot he couldn't hold it, then he pumped the other. The deck was black
with niggers. He cleaned them out. He dropped them as they went over the
rail, and he dropped them as fast as they picked up their paddles. Then
they jumped into the water and started to swim for it, and being mad, he
got half a dozen more. And what did he get for it?"

"Seven years in Fiji," snapped the mate.

"The government said he wasn't justified in shooting after they'd taken
to the water," the skipper explained.

"And that's why they die of dysentery nowadays," the mate added.

"Just fancy," said Bertie, as he felt a longing for the cruise to be
over.

Later on in the day he interviewed the black who had been pointed out
to him as a cannibal. This fellow's name was Sumasai. He had spent three
years on a Queensland plantation