Pittsburg dispatch. [volume] (Pittsburg [Pa.]) 1880-1923, 1891-06-07


with the Western ocean breaking at oui
feet To my delight saw at once, close o.
hand, rising from grove Of tall cocoa trees
the circular stockade that In this countrJ
always indicates the refuge of some white
man. I ran over and banged on the bamboo
door 1t opened presently and there stooi
before-me
A Strange Specimen OF Humanity.
He was q tall man, with bronzed face ani
6eep-set eyes, prominent nose badly sun
burned and the remnants of grizzly beard
He had on his head dilapidated derby hat,
which he were very much on one side, 8
flannel shirt and patched woolen trousers
His feet were bare Of covering in the hot
sand and the corners of his mouth, Noticed,
were black with something he was chewing.
"HulloP' he said.
~Hulloi" said.
And so met my outcast.
In little while had told him the story
Of my wanderings and asked and answered 3
host of questions. He was not very talka.
tive person, however, and dragged out his
inquiries and drawled out his replies quite
out of accord with my patience. He took
me into a low matched hut, in one corner OF
the stockade, and spread out a mat on the
ground for us to sit upon.
'This," he said as he squatted down with
his long legs bent under him, 'tis my living
house; those on the other side are mere
storehouses."
looked over the open door; the view was
desolate one. There was about half an
acre of sand surrounded by tall paling
against which leaned the gouty trunks of .
few palm and cocoanut trees.
Certainly Not CHEEKY Home.
These impressed me with the idea that
they would like to get out On the side op-
posite me stood two long shanties rooted
with dry leaves On the sands were sduatted
group of natives, whose black bodies and
blacker shadows were painted in vivid
patches under the remorseless sun.
A desolate and cheerless place in
the hut again and took one of the pipes my
new friend handed me. After awhile we
fell to talking again; he, half addressing
himself to me and half speaking to the air
about him, like one who communes with
himself in tongue long unused to; while I
listened eagerly to the strange story of his
exile.
"Yes," he drawled out, 'T've been In this
accursed country good many years; going
on "a this coming rainy season since
showed off from Frisco. Quite q nip, sir,
out of life of a man to look upon nothing
but niggers, to eat nothing but fish and rice;
to be dry as bone, hot, scorching hot, one
half the year, and wet as a sponge the other
half Quite time never to know what's
going on out in the world-out there-and
what's become of ones Hth and kin. Why,
sir, year after year goes jogging along here
till T have forgot to count them. I might as
well be dead-am in fact-to them that
knew young Ben Lowden in the sixties.
Bloody Story of a Voyage.
'The story is a short one-till I came
here; there it is shorter still-one day is a
good deal like another day. I was born in
Maine-in Bath-and my family was a sea-
going family, and fell into that naturally.
They were religious and temperance people,
too, and 1 was brought up SO, till was put
on one of their ships and sent to sea-to
learn the profession. was over 80 consid-
erable and had been knocking about all
parts of the world in all sorts of packets,
when in '59 turned up in Frisco first
mate of big bark and loaded with grain
for Sydney. The story of her voyage was
bloody story.
''Our skipper was a down-easter, from
Damarascotta, and brute. She was hell
ahoat 1 tell you, and found myself afore
the mast on her before we got in; for being
'parson' and preacher the skipper said.
So left her and shipped again at Melbourne
in a little brig bound to the cape in ballast
We men got there, but was blowed up the
channel in hurricane; her bones andrews
bones, except mine, are bleaching on the
beach about 30 miles north of here That
was in 81. And here I've been ever since
here, and up country among the Taualas and
such. I haven't seen newspaper in 18
years, nor white face, except twice, In 20.
One of these was Swedish missionary and
the other Portuguese trader Yes, I was
children too when I sailed away. God
knows what's become of them
How His Trading is Done.
He knocked the ashes out Of his pipe
thoughtfully and then got up, saying:
"Come, I'll show you around the place"
There wasn't much to see, any more than
have already described. We went into the
store houses, and he showed me a pile of
trading cloth-bolts of cheap cotton stuff of
English make-several native baskets of
German beads and trinkets and q couple of
casks of bad rum.
'SThese are what do my trading WITH"
he explained, with the rum principally"
We went behind the house, and he pointed
out about 20 natives seated on native mats,
lazily sorting out orchills weed spread in
little heaps before them
"You see, these fellows bring this stuff
down from the far interior. They get it in
the forests and swamps, where no white
man dare 60. They bring it, generally in
little bundles-soon as they get thirsty
enough, or want a new ragout-down here,
and I trade 'em for it Then when thew
sleep off their drunk, set 'em to sorting of
the piles till they get tired and go back for
more. When get bale or two I send it