A thousand deaths by Jack London

a mighty nervous anchorage; but we made it all right and fired off our

dynamite as a signal to the niggers to come down and be recruited. In three

days we got not a boy. The niggers came off to us in their canoes by hundreds,

but they only laughed when we showed them beads and calico and hatchets and

talked of the delights of plantation work in Samoa.

“On the fourth day there came a change. Fifty-odd boys signed on and were

billeted in the main-hold, with the freedom of the deck, of course. And of

course, looking back, this wholesale signing on was suspicious, but at the

time we thought some powerful chief had removed the ban against recruiting.

The morning of the fifth day our two boats went ashore as usual–one to cover

the other, you know, in case of trouble. And, as usual, the fifty niggers on

board were on deck, loafing, talking, smoking, and sleeping. Saxtorph and

myself, along with four other sailors, were all that were left on board. The

two boats were manned with Gilbert Islanders. In the one were the captain, the

supercargo, and the recruiter. In the other, which was the covering boat and

which lay off shore a hundred yards, was the second mate. Both boats were

well-armed, though trouble was little expected.

“Four of the sailors, including Saxtorph, were scraping the poop rail. The

fifth sailor, rifle in hand, was standing guard by the water-tank just for’ard

of the mainmast. I was for’ard, putting in the finishing licks on a new jaw

for the fore-gaff. I was just reaching for my pipe where I had laid it down,

when I heard a shot from shore. I straightened up to look. Something struck me

on the back of the head, partially stunning me and knocking me to the deck.

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‘my first thought was that something had carried away aloft; but even as I

went down, and before I struck the deck, I heard the devil’s own tattoo of

rifles from the boats, and twisting sidewise, I caught a glimpse of the sailor

who was standing guard. Two big niggers were holding his arms, and a third

nigger from behind was braining him with a tomahawk.

“I can see it now, the water-tank, the mainmast, the gang hanging on to him,

the hatchet descending on the back of his head, and all under the blazing

sunlight. I was fascinated by that growing vision of death. The tomahawk

seemed to take a horribly long time to come down. I saw it land, and the man’s

legs give under him as he crumpled. The niggers held him up by sheer strength

while he was hacked a couple of times more. Then I got two more hacks on the

head and decided that I was dead. So did the brute that was hacking me. I was

too helpless to move, and I lay there and watched them removing the sentry’s

head. I must say they did it slick enough. They were old hands at the

business.

“The rifle firing from the boats had ceased, and I made no doubt that they

were finished off and that the end had come to everything. It was only a

matter of moments when they would return for my head. They were evidently

taking the heads from the sailors aft. Heads are valuable on Malaita,

especially white heads. They have the place of honor in the canoe houses of

the salt-water natives. What particular decorative effect the bushmen get out

of them I didn’t know, but they prize them just as much as the salt-water

crowd.

“I had a dim notion of escaping, and I crawled on hands and knees to the

winch, where I managed to drag myself to my feet. From there I could look aft

and see three heads on top the cabin–the heads of three sailors I had given

orders to for months. The niggers saw me standing, and started for me. I

reached for my revolver, and found they had taken it. I can’t say that I was

scared. I’ve been near to death several times, but it never seemed easier than

right then. I was half-stunned, and nothing seemed to matter.

“The leading nigger had armed himself with a cleaver from the galley, and he

grimaced like an ape as he prepared to slice me down. But the slice was never

made. He went down on the deck all of a heap, and I saw the blood gush from

his mouth. In a dim way I heard a rifle go off and continue to go off. Nigger

after nigger went down. ‘my senses began to clear, and I noted that there was

never a miss. Every time that the rifle went off a nigger dropped. I sat down

on deck beside the winch and looked up. Perched in the crosstrees was

Saxtorph. How he had managed it I can’t imagine, for he had carried up with

him two Winchesters and I don’t know how many bandoliers of ammunition; and he

was now doing the one only thing in this world that he was fitted to do.

“I’ve seen shooting and slaughter, but I never saw anything like that. I sat

by the winch and watched the show. I was weak and faint, and it seemed to be

all a dream. Bang, bang, bang, bang, went his rifle, and thud, thud, thud,

thud, went the niggers to the deck. It was amazing to see them go down. After

their first rush to get me, when about a dozen had dropped, they seemed

paralyzed; but he never left off pumping his gun. By this time canoes and the

two boats arrived from shore, armed with Sniders, and with Winchesters which

they had captured in the boats. The fusillade they let loose on Saxtorph was

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175

tremendous. Luckily for him the niggers are only good at close range. They are

not used to putting the gun to their shoulders. They wait until they are right

on top of a man, and then they shoot from the hip. When his rifle got too hot,

Saxtorph changed off. That had been his idea when he carried two rifles up

with him.

“The astounding thing was the rapidity of his fire. Also, he never made a

miss. If ever anything was inevitable, that man was. It was the swiftness of

it that made the slaughter so appalling. The niggers did not have time to

think. When they did manage to think, they went over the side in a rush,

capsizing the canoes of course. Saxtorph never let up. The water was covered

with them, and plump, plump, plump, he dropped his bullets into them. Not a

single miss, and I could hear distinctly the thud of every bullet as it buried

in human flesh.

“The niggers spread out and headed for the shore, swimming. The water was

carpeted with bobbing heads, and I stood up, as in a dream, and watched it

all–the bobbing heads and the heads that ceased to bob. Some of the long

shots were magnificent. Only one man reached the beach, but as he stood up to

wade ashore, Saxtorph got him. It was beautiful. And when a couple of niggers

ran down to drag him out of the water, Saxtorph got them, too.

“I thought everything was over then, when I heard the rifle go off again. A

nigger had come out of the cabin companion on the run for the rail and gone

down in the middle of it. The cabin must have been full of them. I counted

twenty. They came up one at a time and jumped for the rail. But they never got

there. It reminded me of trapshooting. A black body would pop out of the

companion, bang would go Saxtorph’s rifle, and down would go the black body.

Of course, those below did not know what was happening on deck, so they

continued to pop out until the last one was finished off.

“Saxtorph waited a while to make sure, and then came down on deck. He and I

were all that were left of the DUCHESS’S complement, and I was pretty well to

the bad, while he was helpless now that the shooting was over. Under my

direction he washed out my scalp wounds and sewed them up. A big drink of

whiskey braced me to make an effort to get out. There was nothing else to do.

All the rest were dead. We tried to get up sail, Saxtorph hoisting and I

holding the turn. He was once more the stupid lubber. He couldn’t hoist worth

a cent, and when I fell in a faint, it looked all up with us.

“When I came to, Saxtorph was sitting helplessly on the rail, waiting to ask

me what he should do. I told him to overhaul the wounded and see if there were