Nauru In 1885

By Edwin C. Higgins, of Butaritari, Gilbert Islands.

\TAURU— phosphate: the names are synonymous, and conjure up visions of a huge industry, the employment of thousands of people and many ships, and the investment of immense capital.

How different were the conditions when I made my first voyage to the island in 1885’ The phosphate deposits had not then been discovered, the only export be ing copra. Ships were few, and long periods separated them. The arrival of a copra-collecting schooner was an event calling for celebration.

There were then nine traders on Nauru —a hard-bitten lot. Any event was suffi cient pretext for a party, which very soon became an orgy.

I was in charge of the boats, trans porting copra from the shore to ship and, was caught by the ebb tide, with my boat high and dry on the reef. The owner of a trading station invited my mate and I to his house, fed us, and invited us to join a select company of traders.

Brandy was the chosen beverage. The happenings of that evening are hazy. My head was not hard enough. One little in cident was impressed on my memory be fore darkness claimed me.

The conversation was not brilliant, but it never lagged. All these men had led adventurous lives, and their reminiscences were enthralling. Tales of daring, hard ship and adventure were recounted as the bottle passed. No sooner was one bottle finished than another took its place.

Two old native women, hearing the sounds of revelry, crawled up the stairs and begged a drink. Our host, being in high spirits, poured out two generous tots of gin. The ladies were scornful of gin and demanded “yellow drinks”, like the com pany was enjoying. Chuckling, the good host took the glasses back and disap peared into the adjoining room, to emerge a few seconds later with two decidedly yellow drinks. The crones grabbed the glasses, and tossed off the drinks at a gulp, and then clutched their throats, emitting weird, gurgling noises. Tears streamed from their eyes. Choking and coughing, screaming and cursing, they turned and fled precipitately down the stairs.

When our host recovered from his mirth, he explained that he had complied with the request for yellow drinks by add ing a spoonful of curry-powder to each glass of gin.

Shortly after, I ceased to be interested in the proceedings. Next morning, feel ing that a mule had kicked me on the head, I collected my mate and we pulled off to the schooner. Here, we were left in no doubt as the the skipper’s opinion of us, our faces and our ancestors.

The ship slowly nosed its way along the coast, to the next trading station. Here, a very heavy surf was running, and it was necessary to engage local labour to paddle the boats, as our long oars were too unwieldy. Owing to intermittent tribal warfare, it was a rule that these local boys should be left ashore after sun down, so that the last trip to the ship was made with two of our own crew in each boat. Towards 6 p.m. the Nauruans be gan to fidget, and the last two boats left the ship to land them. As soon as we touched land, the boys were off and dis appeared into the bush.

We attempted to get back to the schooner, but the surf had increased with the making tide and, with only two men in each boat, it was quite hopeless. We tried, until at last an extra big breaker picked both boats up and landed them high and dry on the beach. The damage proved to be considerable, so we called it a day and settled down, until we had enough light next morning to enable us to effect repairs.

We were doubtful of our location, as there was a strong current running which must have carried us to the south of the trading station. Pulling in our belts to counteract the pangs of hunger we lay down, wet as we were, on the wet sacks, and composed ourselves for a thoroughly uncomfortable night. Soon we were startled by the sound of shooting close by which lasted for a few minutes. Then we were disturbed by an ominous rustling in the bush. Starting up, we found our selves almost surrounded bv naked savages, all apparently armed to the teeth. We decided that this was indeed the end of everything and prepared to sell our lives as dearly as possible.

One of the natives detached himself from the group, and came running to wards us with a cry of “Teburuburu mo”, which we took to be their war cry. But,

as It turned out, it reallv meant “White men good”.

Noting our uncompromising front, how ever, he stopped, and began to jabber at us, and by signs and the use of the word “coconut”, eventually made us under stand that they w ? ere friendly and asking if we would like food. We were very de cidedly in need of both food and drink, so we produced some stick tobacco, which, although wet, was very acceptable to them. Some of the younger men disap

peared, to return with bunches of fresh young nuts, which we attacked immedi ately with our sheath knives. We made very little impression on the nuts and, laughing, the natives took them from us and husked them with their teeth.

Their weapons were a very mixed lot —some old-fashioned Sniders and Win chesters, and one very old horse-pistol, with a wide barrel. The owner used to load it with a dose of powder and a hand ful of stones.

Suddenly, our friends left us. Pouf! And they were gone, like some large-scale con juring trick. We lay down again, feeling easier in mind. Next morning, we found that we had been favoured with another unannounced visit, since we were all minus our sheath knives.

We repaired our boats and pulled off to the schooner, to receive another of the skipper’s enlightening lectures on our abilities and family tree. In a few minutes we had set sail for Jaluit.