Beche-De-Mer

Strange Tale of Two Sorts of Justice

THE Papuan Coast, and, as a matter of fact, the whole of Papua from the point where the Arafura Sea laps the mangrove-belted line of the West ern division to the towering peaks of the Owen Stanley Range, and thence to the Coral Sea, have been always the home of tales of mystery and adven ture.

There appeared on this stage the fig ure of a one-legged sea captain, short tempered, domineering—a regular blus terer-living by his wits. The clash between this personality and the feel ings of a simple black race form the motive of this story.

The small lugger, under his com mand, was engaged in beche-de-mer fishing along the coast. It happened that they were having a poor time on the reefs, bringing little back for their hard work, and rations were accord ingly lessened. Next time when they returned to the vessel with a still smaller catch, another large cut was made in their rations. Instead of at least a small rice ration, the captain gave them merely offal from the beche-de-mer they had captured.

The crew that night “put their heads together” while the skipper was asleep, and decided on definite action. They knew that as soon as he got angry, he would hit at the nearest boy with one of his crutches, so the plan they formed was this: The little cook-boy next morning was to put salt in taubada’s tea instead of sugar. When the can tain struck at him with his crutch, he was to snatch it away, leaving the old man helpless. The crew would be watching, and, on seeing their onpor tunity, would pounce on him and put an end to him.

The following morning everything went as planned. The crew stripped their victim and put him over the side of the lugger to drown. When the cripple, with giant strength, persisted in holding on to the bulwarks, the na tives hammered his finger-tips with a heavy block of wood until be released his grip. Again he managed to grasp the edge of the craft in his struggle for existence, so a native jumped on his shoulders and kept him under water until he drowned.

The crew then hauled him back in to the deck, dried him with one of his

own towels, dressed him in his pyjamas,, and laid him on his bed. The nearest white man was a hundred miles away.

The boys sailed there and reported that their captain had died in his sleep. The resident did not suspect violence, and the body was duly buried.

This murder occurred some fifteen years ago, and only lately the truth has been found out. A village constable of one of the coastal villages heard a row going on over a woman. One of the natives threatened that if he did not get his way, he would “go along Guv’ment” and report how the old sea captain had died. The constable told the Divisional Resident Magistrate what he had overheard. As a result, four arrests were made. Two of the crew received life sentences, and two others ten years’ imprisonment each. —

R. S. Keesing.