"The black will never understand the white， nor the white the black， as long as black is black and white is white."So said Captain Woodward.We sat in the parlor of Charley Roberts' pub in Apia， drinking long Abu Hameds compounded and shared with us by the aforesaid Charley Roberts， who claimed the recipe direct from Stevens， famous for having invented the Abu Hamed at a time when he was spurred on by Nile thirst--the Stevens who was responsible for "With Kitchener to Kartoun，" and who passed out at the siege of Ladysmith.
Captain Woodward， short and squat， elderly， burned by forty years of tropic sun， and with the most beautiful liquid brown eyes I ever saw in a man， spoke from a vast experience.The crisscross of scars on his bald pate bespoke a tomahawk intimacy with the black， and of equal intimacy was the advertisement， front and rear， on the right side of his neck， where an arrow had at one time entered and been pulled clean through.As he explained， he had been in a hurry on that occasion--the arrow impeded his running--and he felt that he could not take the time to break off the head and pull out the shaft the way it had come in.At the present moment he was commander of the SAVAII， the big steamer that recruited labor from the westward for the German plantations on Samoa.
"Half the trouble is the stupidity of the whites，" said Roberts， pausing to take a swig from his glass and to curse the Samoan bar-boy in affectionate terms."If the white man would lay himself out a bit to understand the workings of the black man's mind， most of the messes would be avoided.""I've seen a few who claimed they understood niggers，" Captain Woodward retorted， "and I always took notice that they were the first to be kai-kai'd (eaten).Look at the missionaries in New Guinea and the New Hebrides--the martyr isle of Erromanga and all the rest.Look at the Austrian expedition that was cut to pieces in the Solomons， in the bush of Guadalcanar.And look at the traders themselves， with a score of years' experience， making their brag that no nigger would ever get them， and whose heads to this day are ornamenting the rafters of the canoe houses.
There was old Johnny Simons--twenty-six years on the raw edges of Melanesia， swore he knew the niggers like a book and that they'd never do for him， and he passed out at Marovo Lagoon， New Georgia， had his head sawed off by a black Mary (woman) and an old nigger with only one leg， having left the other leg in the mouth of a shark while diving for dynamited fish.There was Billy Watts， horrible reputation as a nigger killer， a man to scare the devil.I remember lying at Cape Little， New Ireland you know， when the niggers stole half a case of trade-tobacco--cost him about three dollars and a half.In retaliation he turned out， shot six niggers， smashed up their war canoes and burned two villages.And it was at Cape Little， four years afterward， that he was jumped along with fiftyBuku boys he had with him fishing b 坈 he-de-mer.In five minutes theywere all dead， with the exception of three boys who got away in a canoe.Don't talk to me about understanding the nigger.The white man's mission is to farm the world， and it's a big enough job cut out for him.What time has he got left to understand niggers anyway？""Just so，" said Roberts."And somehow it doesn't seem necessary， after all， to understand the niggers.In direct proportion to the white man's stupidity is his success in farming the world--""And putting the fear of God into the nigger's heart，" Captain Woodward blurted out."Perhaps you're right， Roberts.Perhaps it's his stupidity that makes him succeed， and surely one phase of his stupidity is his inability to understand the niggers.But there's one thing sure， the white has to run the niggers whether he understands them or not.It's inevitable.It's fate.""And of course the white man is inevitable--it's the niggers' fate，" Roberts broke in."Tell the white man there's pearl shell in some lagoon infested by ten-thousand howling cannibals， and he'll head there all by his lonely， with half a dozen kanaka divers and a tin alarm clock for chronometer， all packed like sardines on a commodious， five-ton ketch.Whisper that there's a gold strike at the North Pole， and that same inevitable white-skinned creature will set out at once， armed with pick and shovel， a side of bacon， and the latest patent rocker--and what's more， he'll get there.Tip it off to him that there's diamonds on the red-hot ramparts ofhell， and Mr.White Man will storm the ramparts and set old Satan himself to pick-and-shovel work.That's what comes of being stupid and inevitable.""But I wonder what the black man must think of the--the inevitableness，" I said.
Captain Woodward broke into quiet laughter.His eyes had a reminiscent gleam.
"I'm just wondering what the niggers of Malu thought and still must be thinking of the one inevitable white man we had on board when we visited them in the DUCHESS，" he explained.
Roberts mixed three more Abu Hameds.
"That was twenty years ago.Saxtorph was his name.He was certainly the most stupid man I ever saw， but he was as inevitable as death.There was only one thing that chap could do， and that was shoot.I remember the first time I ran into him--right here in Apia， twenty years ago.That was before your time， Roberts.I was sleeping at Dutch Henry's hotel， down where the market is now.Ever heard of him？ He made a tidy stake smuggling arms in to the rebels， sold out his hotel， and was killed in Sydney just six weeks afterward in a saloon row.
