A few years ago I was written to by an English lady, living in the Midlands, asking me if I could assist her nephew ­a young man of three and twenty years of age ­towards obtaining a berth as Government agent or as “recruiter” on a Queensland vessel employed in the Kanaka labour trade.

“I am told that it is a very gentlemanly employment, that many of those engaged in it are, or have been, naval officers and have a recognised status in society.  Also that the work is really nothing ­merely the supervision of coloured men going to the Queensland plantations.  The climate is, I am told, delightful, and would suit Walter, whose lungs, as you know, are weak.  Is the salary large?” etc.

I had to write and disillusionise the lady, and as I wrote I recalled one of my experiences in the Kanaka labour trade.

Early in the seventies, I was in Nouméa, New Caledonia, looking for a berth as recruiter in the Kanaka labour trade; but there were many older and much more experienced men than myself engaged on the same quest, and my efforts were in vain.

One morning, however, I met a Captain Poore, who was the owner and master of a small vessel, just about to leave Nouméa on a trading voyage along the east coast of New Guinea, and among the islands between Astrolabe Bay and the West Cape of New Britain.  He did not want a supercargo; but said that he would be very glad if I would join him, and if the voyage was a success he would pay me for such help as I might be able to render him.  I accepted his offer, and in a few days we left Nouméa.

Poore and I were soon on very friendly terms.  He was a man of vast experience in the South Seas, and, except that he was subject to occasional violent outbursts of temper when anything went wrong, was an easy man to get on with, and a pleasant comrade.

The mate was the only other European on board, besides the captain and myself, all the crew, including the boatswain, being either Polynesians or Melanesians.  The whole ten of them were fairly good seamen and worked well.

A few days after leaving Nouméa, Poore took me into his confidence, and told me that, although he certainly intended to make a trading and recruiting voyage, he had another object in view, and that was to satisfy himself as to the location of some immense copper deposits that had been discovered on Rook Island ­midway between New Britain and New Guinea ­by some shipwrecked seamen.

Twenty-two days out from Nouméa, the Samana, as the schooner was named, anchored in a well-sheltered and densely-wooded little bay on the east side of Rook Island.  The place was uninhabited, though, far back, from the lofty mountains of the interior, we could see several columns of smoke arising, showing the position of mountaineer villages.

It was then ten o’clock in the morning, and Poore, feeling certain that in this part of the coast there were no native villages, determined to go ashore, and do a little prospecting. (I must mention that, owing to light weather and calms, we had been obliged to anchor where we had to avoid being drifted on shore by the fierce currents, which everywhere sweep and eddy around Rook Island, and that we were quite twenty miles from the place where the copper lode had been discovered.)

Taking with us two of the native seamen, Poore and I set off on shore shortly after ten o’clock, and landed on a rough, shingly beach.  The extent of littoral on this part of the island was very small, a bold lofty chain of mountains coming down to within a mile of the sea, and running parallel with the coast as far as we could see.  The vegetation was dense, and in some places came down to the water’s edge, and although the country showed a tropical luxuriance of beauty about the seashore, the dark, gloomy, and silent mountain valleys which everywhere opened up from the coast, gave it a repellent appearance in general.

Leaving the natives (who were armed with rifles and tomahawks) in charge of the boat, and telling them to pull along the shore and stop when we stopped, Poore and I set out to walk.

My companion was armed with a Henry-Winchester carbine, and I with a sixteen-bore breech-loading shotgun and a tomahawk.  I had brought the gun instead of a rifle, feeling sure that I could get some cockatoos or pigeons on our way back, for we had heard and seen many flying about as soon as we had anchored.  At the last moment I put into my canvas game bag four round bullet cartridges, as Poore said there were many wild pigs on the island.

On rounding the eastern point of the bay we were delighted to come across a beautiful beach of hard white sand, fringed with coco-nut palms, and beyond was a considerable stretch of open park-like country.  Just as Poore and I were setting off inland to examine the base of a spur about a mile distant, one of the men said he could see the mouth of a river farther on along the beach.

This changed our plans, and sending the boat on ahead, we kept to the beach, and soon reached the river ­or rather creek.  It was narrow but deep, the boat entered it easily and went up it for a mile, we walking along the bank, which was free of undergrowth, but covered with high, coarse, reed-like grass.  Then the boat’s progress was barred by a huge fallen tree, which spanned the stream.  Here we spelled for half an hour, and had something to eat, and then again Poore and I set out, following the upward course of the creek.  Finding it was leading us away from the spur we wished to examine, we stopped to decide what to do, and then heard the sound of two gun-shots in quick succession, coming from the direction of the place in which the boat was lying.  We were at once filled with alarm, knowing that the men must be in danger of some sort, and that neither of them could have fired at a wild pig, no matter how tempting a shot it offered, for we had told them not to do so.

“Perhaps they have fallen foul of an alligator,” said Poore, “all the creeks on Rook Island are full of them.  Come along, and let us see what is wrong.”

Running through the open, timber country, and then through the long grass on the banks of the stream, we had reached about half-way to the boat when we heard a savage yell ­or rather yells ­for it seemed to come from a hundred throats, and in an instant we both felt sure that the boat had been attacked.

Madly forcing our way through the infernal reed-like grass, which every now and then caused us to trip and fall, we had just reached a bend of the creek, which gave us a clear sight of its course for about three hundred yards, when Poore tripped over a fallen tree branch; I fell on the top of him, and my face struck his upturned right foot with such violence that the blood poured from my nose in a torrent, and for half a minute I was stunned.

“Good God, look at that!” cried Poore, pointing down stream.

Crossing a shallow part of the creek were a party of sixty or seventy savages, all armed with spears and clubs.  Four of them who were leading were carrying on poles from their shoulders the naked and headless bodies of our two unfortunate sailors, and the decapitated heads were in either hand of an enormously fat man, who from his many shell armlets and other adornments was evidently the leader.  So close were they ­less than fifty yards ­that we easily recognised one of the bodies by its light yellow skin as that of Anteru (Andrew), a native of Rotumah, and one of the best men we had on the Samana.

Before I could stay his hand and point out the folly of it, Poore stood up and shot the fat savage through the stomach, and I saw the blood spurt from his side, as the heavy, flat-nosed bullet ploughed its way clean through the man, who, still clutching the two heads in his ensanguined hands, stood upright for a few seconds, and then fell with a splash into the stream.

Yells of rage and astonishment came from the savages, as Poore, now wild with fury, began to fire at them indiscriminately, until the magazine of his rifle was emptied; but he was so excited that only two or three of them were hit.  Then his senses came back to him.

“Quick, into the creek, and over to the other side, or they’ll cut us off.”

We clambered down the bank into the water, and then, by some mischance, Poore, who was a bad swimmer, dropped his rifle, and began uttering the most fearful oaths, when I told him that it was no use my trying to dive for it, unless he could hold my shot gun, which I was carrying in my left hand.  We had scarcely reached the opposite bank, when thin, slender spears began to whizz about us, and one, no thicker than a lead pencil, caught Poore in the cheek, obliquely, and its point came out quite a yard from where it had entered, and literally pinned him to the ground.

I have heard some very strong language in the South Seas, but I have never heard anything so awful as that of Poore when I drew out the spear, and we started to run for our lives down the opposite bank of the creek.

For some minutes we panted along through the long grass, hearing nothing; and then, as we came to an open spot and stopped to gain breath, we were assailed by a shower of spears from the other side of the creek, and Poore was again hit ­a spear ripping open the flesh between the forefinger and thumb of his left hand.  He seized my gun, and fired both barrels into the long grass on the other side, and wild yells showed that some of our pursuers were at least damaged by the heavy No.  I shot intended for cockatoos.

Then all became silent, and we again started, taking all available cover, and hoping we were not pursued.

We were mistaken, for presently we caught sight of a score of our enemies a hundred yards ahead, running at top speed, evidently intending to cross lower down and cut us off, or else secure the boat Poore took two quick shots at them, but they were too far off, and gave us a yell of derision.  Putting my hand into the game bag to get out two cartridges, I was horrified to find it empty, every one had fallen out; my companion used more lurid language, and we pressed on.  At last we reached the boat, and found her floating bottom up ­the natives had been too quick for us.

To have attempted to right her would have meant our being speared by the savages, who, of course, were watching our every movement.  There was nothing else to do but to keep on, cross the mouth of the creek, and make for the ship.

Scarcely had we run fifty yards when we saw the grass on the other side move ­the natives were keeping up the chase.  Another ten minutes brought us to the mouth of the stream, and then to our great joy we saw that the tide had ebbed, and that right before us was a stretch of bare sand, extending out half a mile.  As we emerged into the open we saw our pursuers standing on the opposite bank.  Poore pointed his empty gun at them, and they at once vanished.

We stopped five minutes to gain breath, and then kept straight on across the sand, till we sighted the schooner.  We were seen almost at once, and a boat was quickly manned and sent to us, and in a quarter of an hour we were on board again.

That was one of the joys of the “gentlemanly” employment of “recruiting” in the South Seas.