“THE BROKEN MEN.”

New Zealand Times, Volume XXXII, Issue 7318, 23 December 1910, Page 9 (Supplement)

“THE BROKEN MEN.”

(By Duncan Bauchop.)

In liis “Child's Garden of ersos, Stevenson says :—' "Tho world is ro full of a number of tilings. I’m suro wo should all he as happy a, kings.'’ That was for children—it may bo questioned if this multiplicity of things has the de.-ired effort on older children- But if it docs not make lhem —men and women—happy, it certainly should give them wider outlook and larger knowledge of life, and one ot Ihe groan t uictors in this result is the study of type, inink of it —the difference between man and man, no two exactly alike, yet nearly enough alike in the main issues to he bracketed into different groups- to might .some collector of books group ins ti'casure--—by tho same author, in the same style of binding, on the same subject yet each with -dents or chips taken out of algo or bac-k that make the books as dissimilar as possible and—by association— dearer to the heart of their owner. In no place is this diversity of typo more apparent than in the seaport; where tlxe variety runs from tho old man—past all work, who has lived as one oi the Maoris and rcmemheis the French occupation of Akarou —to tho Cockney fireman, small and weedy-, and talking a language so unlike Engish as to be quite unintelligible often to tho unai-sed car. Each has his story, and if one can only get it, it is as interesting as a page from tile "Odyssey.” These men will never be reproduced, for their class is dying out and their children—they usually haven’t any—will usually grow up modern and colonial, with ’sporty instincts and vests, using tho unmentionable adjective freely. These men of tho waterfront don’t live in the cities of New, Zealand—they are too big for them; but go to the ports—one in particular—and you have matriai that Gilbert Parker would revel in. We know his Jo Portugais, his Pretty Pierre —do we know French Louis, wiio is blood-brother to them? Louis, the hardbitten old fisherman who has wandered all over tho earth, and done ail that may become a man if not more ? I asked Louis once if lie were a British subject—ho had been tralficing mold to a warship—and ho looked scornful. “Naoo,” he said, "not fur me. I am American — coetizon of zat great republique”—and no more information could I got. 1 didn’t believe him, though he assured mo ho had been in the navy of “L’Amerique” and had deserted; but in his cups lie was more entertaining. Ho would never toll Ills surname—to me ho was as if ho had been christened "French Louis”—but one night when X met’ him wandering devious towards his hut on the beach, and a friendly shoulder had been accepted, ho waxed garrulous. He looked at mo solemnly. “You do not blow who I am—no one here know. Aahh 1 No good. , But when I die—blow-out you call it—you find his papiers, and you all be-surprised to find out who is ole French Louis. Aahh 1 Then you write to—l am drunk, I know not what I say." Ho sniffed the night air. “Has’ wind 1 igo catch tho moki toraorra., ■ I know lill' place round de Cape—jus’ full of moki —I go there tomorra."

Ho did—it was in the days before the introduction of the petrol motor —and at night there arose the usual ary that Louis was lost; for a howling sDu’-v.'estcr smoked up from the Polo, and when all the boats had run for home and shelter. Louis was not there. This had. happened before, but this time everyone was satisfied that ho was goneno man could, singlehanded, ride out that blow. The third day the weather broke, and as the boats worked out to tho grounds again (for the fish-market was empty by reason of the bad weather) they met Louis coming in under tho Heads .light, full of fish and smiles, but void ,of.information. The fish spelled “money” aiid that night Louis was very drunk. As he rolled down towards tho “Pirate”—his harbour boat was the “Smuggler”— “Aahli! do damfools!” he chortled, “doy tink I drown, and I work dat coast dis las’ ’fteen, twenty year. 'No! I lie under de Cape light, nice an’ snug, and eat fis’, no trouble —; and de light-keeper he know mo and say nuthin’. When I see blue sky in de Souk I put out de moki met an, I get six, aight, twclf dozain jmoki. So I sell ’em—l not work now for ia week.” Neither he did—but it exist him five 'shillings to get clear of the Court on the usual “drunk and disorderly” charge. When the petrol fishing boat arrived, it Imado serious inroads in Louis’ income, ifor it had a radius or work much greater Ithpu his oars aud sail could give him, land practically confined him to harbour 'work. Longtime he fought tho invader, !until-finally ho was beaten, but only temporarily—for why shouldn’t ho be a motor 'fisherman too? So he was, and the ■“Pirate”, was “converted” by reason of ■the engine inside and the’ little - bronze propeller outside; brit the conversion had ,an unforeseen result. She was always, a fast little boat, and Louis had an engine put; in which was really too powerful for her size, so that now he found himself lin tho proud position of having tho jfastest ■ boat in. tho harbour. On .the ■strength of this ho became vainglorious, ((and took on anything that floated. It was pleasant while it lasted, but the lusual consequence of pride was not far |°ff. . . A colony of Italians had lately arrived ito swell the ranks of the deep-sea fishermen, and Louis being in drink had taken on the fastest of their launches owned by one Chrxsbofalo Jacano. Louis won easily, but when ho made for his moorings ho found that ho was not able to stop his [engine. Ho escaped collision with the wharf by a miracle, and all the waterside population howled with mirth to see Louis (tearing up and down./and round and pound his own little bay, bawling for help 'which no one could take him. The fun lasted for half an hour, till at last sense came to his hazy mind, and he headed 1;F Boat for a sand-bank and ran, her ashore, to be taken home igaominibusly jlator in the evening by a brother more ex. .perionced iu the crait. But he had had enough, and the engine disappeared, leaving Louis to revert to his old, singlehanded, happy fishing on a' small scale, with correspondingly small anxieties. A year 1 or two hack, after some years’ absence, I saw Louis again, and asked him, as he sat in the stern of the “Smuggler,” how times were with him.- I gota Gallic shrug in reply, "Las’ week 1 make fif-teen pence 1” He swore luridly and overhauled the buoy-line, of a net 'with a look of intense disgust. The net was ripped badly, and I asked enlightenment. “Dis country no good," said .Louis, "I tiidc X dare out. Las’ week Igo roun’ to de Cap© with two nets, look Tor mold —leaf other not at homo. All right—hien! Then I set my,nets and go offshore to catch bait-fish for crawfish pots. Blow! It came on to blow like ten devil, and I cannot run in to lit’’ my nets—hat” to run for home, get near drown myself—. close ting. When win’ blow over an’ 1 go hack no net—both lost. So I say ‘Louis, you got the bad luck—only one net now —set him in harbour for awhile,’ So I set him close to breakwater, an’ porjioise tear him —pouf!—like piece of paper.” Ho spat fiercely to show the depth of his disgust. I'No matter—l bin hard-up before. 1. s’pose I got tali go an’ borrow somo twine from ole Jacano to men’ my net wif! Goo’-byo." It was part of the day’s work, and ho paddled off, a picturesque figure in torn and .faded dungarees and old jieakod cap, .humming to himself — “Allons, enfants do la patrie.

Le jour do la gorio est arrive.” Perhaps it had—tho average man would not have said so—but he was of those whose bigness of heart makes them rise -superior to misfortune —a Ulysses of comliuon life.