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with his first tot punctually at six in the morning； and thereafter repeating
it at regular intervals throughout the day till bedtime； which was usually
midnight。 He slept but five hours out of the twenty…four； and for the
remaining nineteen hours he was quietly and decently drunk。 During the eight
weeks I spent with him on Oolong Atoll； I never saw him draw a sober breath。
In fact； his sleep was so short that he never had time to sober up。 It was the
most beautiful and orderly perennial drunk I have ever observed。
McAllister was his name。 He was an old man； and very shaky on his pins。 His
hand trembled as with a palsy； especially noticeable when he poured his
whiskey； though I never knew him to spill a drop。 He had been twenty…eight
years in Melanesia； ranging from German New Guinea to the German Solomons； and
so thoroughly had he become identified with that portion of the world； that he
habitually spoke in that bastard lingo called 〃bech…de…mer。〃 Thus； in
conversation with me； SUN HE COME UP meant sunrise； KAI…KAI HE STOP meant that
dinner was served； and BELLY BELONG ME WALK ABOUT meant that he was sick at
his stomach。 He was a small man； and a withered one； burned inside and outside
by ardent spirits and ardent sun。 He was a cinder； a bit of a clinker of a
man； a little animated clinker； not yet quite cold； that moved stiffly and by
starts and jerks like an automaton。 A gust of wind would have blown him away。
He weighed ninety pounds。
But the immense thing about him was the power with which he ruled。 Oolong
Atoll was one hundred and forty miles in circumference。 One steered by compass
course in its lagoon。 It was populated by five thousand Polynesians； all
strapping men and women； many of them standing six feet in height and weighing
a couple of hundred pounds。 Oolong was two hundred and fifty miles from the
nearest land。 Twice a year a little schooner called to collect copra。 The one
white man on Oolong was McAllister； petty trader and unintermittent guzzler；
and he ruled Oolong and its six thousand savages with an iron hand。 He said
come； and they came； go； and they went。 They never questioned his will nor
judgment。 He was cantankerous as only an aged Scotchman can be； and interfered
continually in their personal affairs。 When Nugu； the king's daughter； wanted
to marry Haunau from the other end of the atoll； her father said yes； but
McAllister said no； and the marriage never came off。 When the king wanted to
buy a certain islet in the lagoon from the chief priest； McAllister said no。
The king was in debt to the Company to the tune of 180；000 cocoanuts； and
until that was paid he was not to spend a single cocoanut on anything else。
And yet the king and his people did not love McAllister。 In truth； they hated
him horribly； and； to my knowledge； the whole population； with the priests at
the head； tried vainly for three months to pray him to death。 The devil…devils
they sent after him were awe…inspiring； but since McAllister did not believe
in devil…devils； they were without power over him。 With drunken Scotchmen all
signs fail。 They gathered up scraps of food which had touched his lips； an
empty whiskey bottle； a cocoanut from which he had drunk； and even his
spittle； and performed all kinds of deviltries over them。 But McAllister lived
on。 His health was superb。 He never caught fever； nor coughs nor colds；
dysentery passed him by； and the malignant ulcers and vile skin diseases that
attack blacks and whites alike in that climate never fastened upon him。 He
must have been so saturated with alcohol as to defy the lodgment of germs。 I
used to imagine them falling to the ground in showers of microscopic cinders
as fast as they entered his whiskey…sodden aura。 No one loved him； not even
germs； while he loved only whiskey； and still he lived。
I was puzzled。 I could not understand six thousand natives putting up with
that withered shrimp of a tyrant。 It was a miracle that he had not died
suddenly long since。 Unlike the cowardly Melanesians； the people were
high…stomached and warlike。 In the big graveyard； at head and feet of the
graves； were relics of past sanguinary historyblubber…spades； rusty old
bayonets and cutlasses； copper bolts； rudder…irons； harpoons； bomb guns；
bricks that could have come from nowhere but a whaler's trying…out furnace；
and old brass pieces of the sixteenth century that verified the traditions of
the early Spanish navigators。 Ship after ship had come to grief on Oolong。 Not
thirty years before； the whaler BLENNERDALE； running into the lagoon for
repair； had been cut off with all hands。 In similar fashion had the crew of
the GASKET； a sandalwood trader； perished。 There was a big French bark； the
TOULON； becalmed off the atoll； which the islanders boarded after a sharp
tussle and wrecked in the Lipau Passage； the captain and a handful of sailors
escaping in the longboat。 Then there were the Spanish pieces； which told of
the loss of one of the early explorers。 All this； of the vessels named； is a
matter of history； and is to be found in the SOUTH PACIFIC SAILING DIRECTORY。
But that there was other history； unwritten； I was yet to learn。 In the
meantime I puzzled why six thousand primitive savages let one degenerate
Scotch despot live。
One hot afternoon McAllister and I sat on the veranda looking out over the
lagoon； with all its wonder of jeweled colors。 At our backs； across the
hundred yards of palm…studded sand； the outer surf roared on the reef。 It was
dreadfully warm。 We were in four degree south latitude and the sun was
directly overhead； having crossed the Line a few days before on its journey
south。 There was no windnot even a catspaw。 The season of the southeast
trade was drawing to an early close； and the northwest monsoon had not yet
begun to blow。
〃They can't dance worth a damn；〃 said McAllister。
I had happened to mention that the Polynesian dances were superior to the
Papuan； and this McAllister had denied； for no other reason than his
cantankerousness。 But it was too not to argue； and I said nothing。 Besides； I
had never seen the Oolong people dance。
〃I'll prove it to you；〃 he announced； beckoning to the black New Hanover boy；
a labor recruit； who served as cook and general house servant。 〃Hey； you； boy；
you tell 'm one fella king come along me。〃
The boy departed； and back came the prime minister； perturbed； ill at ease；
and garrulous with apologetic explanation。 In short； the king slept； and was
not to be disturbed。
〃King he plenty strong fella sleep；〃 was his final sentence。
McAllister was in such a rage that the prime minister incontinently fled； to
return with the king himself。 They were a magnificent pair； the king
especially； who must have been all of six feet three inches in height。 His
features had the eagle…like quality that is so frequently found in those of
the North American Indian。 He had been molded and born to rule。 His eyes
flashed as he listened； but right meekly he obeyed McAllister's command to
fetch a couple of hundred of the best dancers； male and female； in the
village。 And dance they did； for two mortal hours； under that broiling sun。
They did not love him for it； and little he cared； in the end dismissing them
with abuse and sneers。
The abject servility of those magnificent savages was terrifying。 How could it
be？ What was the secret of his rule？ More and more I puzzled as the days went
by； and though I observed perpetual examples of his undisputed sovereignty；
never a clew was there as to how it was。
One day I happened to speak of my disappointment in failing to trade for a
beautiful pair of orange cowries。 The pair was worth five pounds in Sydney if
it was worth a cent。 I had offered two hundred sticks of tobacco to the owner；
who had held out for three hundred。 When I casually mentioned the situation；
McAllister immediately sent for the man； took the shells from him； and turned
them over to me。