The Memoirs of Admiral Lord Beresford
have I seen finer specimens of humanity than these men. When, after
leaping simultaneously into the air, they all came to the ground
together, the impact sounded like the report of a gun. A party of the
Chiefs came to pay a ceremonial visit to the Duke. It struck me that
they looked hungry, and I said so. They want cheering up, I said. I
went to forage for them. I took a huge silver bowl, and filled it with
chicken, whisky, lobster, beef, champagne, biscuits and everything else
I could find, and presented it to them. You never saw warriors more
delighted. They ate the whole, using their fingers, and were greatly
cheered.
It was in New Zealand that I had an interesting conversation with a
cannibal--or rather, an ex-cannibal. I asked him if he ever craved for
human flesh, and he said no, not now--unless he happened to see a plump
woman. In that case, he said he lusted for the flesh of the ball of
the thumb, which (he gave me to understand) was the prime delicacy.
Some of the half-caste women were of great beauty. Their savage blood
endowed them with something of the untamed, implacable aspect of their
ancestry. I heard of one such woman, who, outwardly attuned to every
tenet of white civilisation, and received everywhere in white society,
{81} suddenly reverted. A native rebellion breaking out, she rejoined
her tribe and slew a missionary with her _meri_--the native chief's
badge of office. She cut off the top of the missionary's skull, and
used it thereafter as a drinking-vessel. Poor lady, she was (I heard)
eventually captured and was executed.
{82}
CHAPTER VIII
THE CRUISE OF H.M.S. _GALATEA_ (_Continued_)
II. MY TWO FAITHFUL SERVANTS
They came to me first in the _Galatea_, so that their story may fitly
be related in this place. Tom Fat the China boy came to me at Kowloon.
He was brought to me by his uncle, who desired to dispose of his
nephew, for a consideration. The consideration was £5. Lest I should
be accused of Chinese slavery--and anything is possible in these
days--I should explain that the fiver was not the price of Tom Fat, but
was in the nature of a delicate compliment paid to his uncle. Tom was
a free boy; he was entered in the ship's books as my servant, at so
much wages per month. Not that he valued his wages particularly; he
had wider views. He was an invaluable servant, clever, orderly,
indefatigable and devoted. I attired him in gorgeous silks, and he
bore my crest with perfect unassuming dignity. He kept my purse, and
expended my money with prudence, even with generosity. When I wanted
money, Tom Fat had plenty of ready cash. I sometimes wondered how it
was that he always seemed to be provided with a margin, for I was not
conscious of practising economy. The fact was, I was careless in those
days, and kept no accounts. It was not until he had been in my service
for some years, that I discovered the secret of his wealth. It was
simple enough. He was in the habit of forging cheques. Altogether, he
forged cheques for nearly twelve hundred pounds. How much of that
amount he kept for himself I {83} never knew; but it is certain that a
great deal of it he spent upon me. Nor do I know why he did not ask
for a cheque instead of forging it. Apparently it was a point of
honour with Tom not to ask for money. When I asked him if he wanted a
cheque to defray expenses, he usually replied cheerfully that he had no
need of it. Certainly he acquired a reputation for economy by these
means.
His methods were subtle. He was well aware that I kept no private
account book of my own, and that my bankers did not enter the names of
payees in my pass-book, but only the numbers of the cheques cashed, and
also that the bank returned cashed cheques from time to time. On these
occasions, Tom, finding pass-book and cashed cheques among my papers,
would abstract both the counterfoils and the cheques which he had
forged, knowing that as I should not take the trouble to compare the
numbers of the cheques with the numbers in the pass-book, I should not
notice that some cheques were missing. He was always careful to
arrange that the last counterfoil filled up--at which one naturally
looks--should be that of my cheque and not that of his; and he never
drew large sums, varying his amounts between £5 and £20, except on one
occasion, when he forged a cheque for £50. The Oriental mind is
inscrutable; but whether or no Tom considered that he was robbing me;
whether, if he considered that he was robbing me, he believed he was
justified in so doing; he took the most sedulous care that no one else
should enjoy that privilege.
Tom was universally popular. I took him everywhere with me. In his
way, he was a sportsman. One day, hunting with the Duke of Beaufort's
hounds, I mounted him on a skewbald pony. We came to a nasty slippery
place, a bad take-off, a wall to jump, and the road beyond. Tom's pony
took it safely. A big, hard-riding guardsman who was coming up behind
us, not liking the look of the place, shouted to me, "Is it all right?"
"That hideous Chinaman has just done it!" I shouted back. Not to be
outdone by a Chinaman, the guardsman {84} rode at the fence, his horse
went down, and he got a dreadful toss. When he got up, he was
furiously angry with me.
When Tom had been with me for some years, he came to me and said,
"Master, you never give me leave! You give others leave but not me
leave. I want leave."
The request was reasonable enough, and I sent Tom to my house in town,
there to amuse himself for a week. At the end of the week he did not
return. He was reported missing. I advertised for him, offering a
reward. The next day he was arrested at the Criterion Restaurant,
being one of a party of thirteen (of whom twelve were ladies) to whom
Tom was about to play the host.
It turned out that during his week in town, my faithful servant had
spent £70. He had also raised money at one of my clubs.
"Lord Charles want twenty-five pounds," he said to the porter, who took
him to the cashier.
"His lordship must give me his I.O.U.," says the cashier.
"What thing that?" says Tom.
The cashier explained.
"All-light," says the man of resource, and promptly forged my I.O.U.
for thirty-five pounds.
"You said twenty-five," remarked the cashier.
"I tink Lord Charles like little more," Tom replied.
Of course, the cashier sent me the document. When I investigated Tom's
transactions, I found a few of his forged cheques in the bank, and I
could hardly tell the difference between my signature and his
forgeries. The cheque-books were compared with the pass-book, and
counterfoils were found to be missing. I took legal action against
him, and he was sentenced to five years. Shortly afterwards, when I
was in Scotland, I received a letter from the hapless Tom, saying he
was dying, and asking me to come and see him. I went at once. I found
him in the infirmary, a dying man indeed, with his face to the wall. A
Chinaman dies at will. He simply lies down and dies; but by the same
{85} token, he can continue to live. So I determined to rouse him. I
hailed him in a loud and cheerful voice.
"Tom! Cheer up, Tom! What's the matter? You're not ill. Rouse up."
"Me die, master," said Tom.
"Not you," I said. "Come! Cheer up, and I'll try to get you out of
this."
And sure enough, he turned back, became quite well, and I secured his
release after he had served a short term. I found him a place in
China, sent him East, and never saw him again. When I went to China
subsequently, I failed to find him. After his interval of Western
service, China took him and swallowed him up. And that was the end of
Tom Fat.
He was in my service when, upon the return voyage to Australia of the
_Galatea_, we touched at Mauritius. In that strange island I came
across a youthful negro savage. I learned his history from his master,
an amiable French gentleman. Punch, as I named him, had been brought
to Mauritius by a British cruiser. The warship had chased a slaver,
whose crew jettisoned the slaves. They were fettered in chains and
hove over the side. When the British seamen boarded the vessel they
found her holds empty, except for the odour. In a dark corner was
stowed a bundle of rags, into which a bluejacket thrust his cutlass.
The rags sprang to life with a yell, and there was Punch with a wound
in his thigh, of which he carried the scar to his end.
It occurred to me that Punch would serve me for a groom, and I said so
to his master.
"_Tiens!_" said that gentleman pleasantly. "You shall have him for
five shilling."
"Done!" said I, and paid him the money. He did not think I was
serious; but he made no bones about ridding himself of his garden-boy.
Punch was the most hideous savage I have ever viewed. He was black as
a boot; even his lips were black; his face was seamed with the
cicatrices which were the totem marks {86} of his tribe, whatever that
may have been; and his countenance was exactly like the countenance of
a bull-dog. The scars wrinkled his cheeks, like a bull-dog's jowl. He
was densely stupid, and wild of temper. He attacked one of the men on
board with his teeth. But he was utterly fearless, and although he
knew nothing about horses, he was never afraid of them. He was
apparently constructed of india-rubber. Nothing hurt him. When I
drove a tandem, it was his duty as tiger to spring up behind as we
started. But as my horses started at speed, Punch had not always time
to run from their heads to the back of the vehicle. I have known him
catch a spoke of the wheel and be whirled into the air, and the wheel
to pass over him, without harming him in the least.
At a race meeting in Australia, Punch begged for a mount, and I
borrowed a horse, which galloped away down the course, Punch clinging
to him with arms and legs exactly like a monkey. He took two big
fences like a bird; but at the third, the horse breasted it, fell
backwards and rolled over upon his rider. I thought he was killed, but
he wasn't. He was not even damaged.
When I went on half-pay, I placed Punch in the stables. The women
servants took a fancy to him; but Punch, whatever he may have thought
of the women, had no love for the head groom, in whose arm he made his
teeth meet. So I found him a billet in a hairdresser's shop, which
bore the legend, "Hairbrushing by machinery." Punch was the machinery.
I saw him at it, turning a wheel in the window. I never saw him again,
and know not what became of him.
{87}
CHAPTER IX
THE CRUISE OF H.M.S. _GALATEA_ (_Continued_)
III. TAHITI AND THE SANDWICH ISLANDS
We arrived at Tahiti in June, 1869. Here is the most lovely climate in
the world. The inhabitants never seemed to do any work, with the
single exception of carrying bananas. In this exercise they were
extraordinarily expert, bearing enormous weights upon the shoulders,
the skin of which becomes hard like leather. I considered myself to be
fairly strong; but when I tried to carry one of the masses of bananas
under which the natives march swiftly all day long, up hill and down, I
found that I was able to carry it only for a short distance, and with
difficulty, on level ground. The people were perfectly delightful. We
went ashore and lived among them; and it was then that I understood how
it was that the men of the _Bounty_ mutinied. The fact was that those
discontented mariners could not bear to leave islands so delectable. I
do not of course, desire to justify their very reprehensible conduct.
All I say is that I can understand the strength of its motive. It was
simply the desire to remain in an earthly paradise which inspired the
men of the _Bounty_ when they left Otaheite in April, 1789, to set