Complete Story. “Post Office," Mauritius.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XXXI, Issue I, 4 July 1903, Page 10

Complete Story. “Post Office," Mauritius.

A STAMP STORY, by

B, HERVEY.

Some years ago I was an ardent stamp collector; and though out in India, where members of the philatelic persuasion were fewer and farther between than they are now, I managed to maintain a pretty lively exchange business with local as well as foreign enthusiasts. My collection numbered some four thousand —bona fide varieties; elean of all those abominations such as reprints, facsimiles, fakes, and forgeries which have so increased during the last quarter of a century; and I did not go in either for those minuter distinctions of watermark, perforation and shade, which tire all the vogue nowadays. I was stationed in the interior, and. having been granted a short leave of absence, I decided on spending it at Madras, a city 1 had hitherto never visited. Arrived there, I took up my abode in the detached bachelor wing of the Imperial Hotel; and in the process of making myself comfortable I set out my stamp books, etc., on a side table in my sitting-room; for, mid the dolee far niente of other attractions, I meait to keep my eye on my pet hobby. This sitting-room had a large barred window looking on to the front verandah, common to the entire row of apartments, which stood distinct from the main building, where families were located and meals served. Returning from town after a day’s shopping, I left the hack conveyance at the hotel porch, and, io save time, walked across to my diggings. On stepping np into the verandah I was surprised to see a knowing-looking, middle-aged white man planted at my window and intently 7 regarding the interior; while, jealously eyeing him, my servant kept sentry over the door. “Halloa, sir! What interests you in my room?” was my natural query. He turned to me and smiled. “Stamps?” he said, interrogatively, nodding at the same time in the direction of that side table. “Yes; but what on earth do you ” “Shake!” he shouted, interrupting me, and extended his “paw,” while the smile expanded into a grin of delight. We shook. “I’m a stamp crank too!” he continue! eagerly. “I’m from Philadelphia, I am; my name is Theodore S. Bratt, and I’m just prospecting creation — to see the world, but mainly- to hunt up stamps. I’ve got the dollars, strangqj, and am oi my own keel. I landed from the French boat this morning, and, ’cording to the Guide Book. I drove slick here. While mooching about the location, I chanced to squint through your window, and by the fixings on your table I guessed that a pretty considerable stamp man owned that lot. I've been squinting in of! and on the whole day. Don’t know your temperature on the subject of philately, mister, but if it can be gauged by mine I calculate you’re just as glad to drop across me as I am to run up against you.” He spoke genially; hut the use of Americanisms and a certain roughness oi tone and manner did not suggest refinement. However, I cared little for this; he was a brother stamp collector. I unbent at once; told him all about myself. and, for the rest, the philatelic bon.l of union speedily made us as thick as thieves.

At my invitation he brought his books into my room, and we forthwith set to examining each other's collections. My brain whirled during the process; but we said nothing, beyond giving vent to an occasional excla ination as he or I came upon some gem or curiosity. Our albums done with, we proceeded to trade. But whereas my single duplicate book contained about two thousand, this fellow had half a dozen closely crammed volumes! As for his collection proper, it far outnumbered mine, and must have quadrupled it in value. True, I beat him in Asiatics; but when I say that he had complete Spains from 1850 to 1855; ■everal U.S. Postmasters; every specimen of the subsequent general issues to

date; all the Thurn and Taxis used; many of the coveted old Australasians, British Guiana, and others—you will understand my feelings as I looked through Theodore 8. Bratt’s albums. Then his duplicate books! I held my breath as I turned the pages — thick with rarities; on almost every sheet appeared stamps I had dreamt of, and hitherto endeavoured in vain to acquire. Aly mouth simply watered! We agreed to exchange stamp for stamp; mine being the smaller assortment, he had first innings, and took 120 from my duplicates. Needless to mention that I found no difficulty in paying myself from his. “Shake!” he ejaculated at the close of the transaction. We shook.

“ ’Tain’t much of a swop after all,” he remarked. “But I see, Mr Walker, you’re in the same box as myself as regards those ‘Post-Office’ Mauritiuses.” “In the same box not only with you, but every collector under the sun, barring perhaps half a dozen or so. I’ve been trying to get them for the last twenty years.” “And so have I—for thirty years; bother the things! Now, as we’re brethren in misfortune, I’ll let you down on to something which I’ve a mind we can work between us. Will you stick?” “Like wax!” I replied, reckless of what he might want me to stick to. “First, are you your own boss?” “Yes, for the next four days.”

Producing and spreading out a folding map of India, he consulted a note-book; then, after searching the chart for a little, “There!” he exclaimed, “that’s the nearest depot, Pendarum; and the clearing is about twenty-five miles to th< north.”

“What clearing?” I asked, gaping at him.

“The clearing where I’ve a notion we can sail in on some ‘Post-Office’ Alauritiuses. Listen, Mr Walker, and I’ll tell you. Aly boat stopped three days at Galle, during which guess I passed the time ashore hunting round for stamps. While so, I knocked against an old coloured Dutch mister at the hotel. We foregathered; and after we had become friendly 7 like, I told him who I was and what after. He said he was sorry he could not help me in my line nohow; but after a heap of palavering, and more explaining on my side, he calculated he could give me a tip which might be useful. He said as fee had been for a grist of years emigration agent, or factor, or something under the Madras Government at a sea-coast town, by name Adeenarainvasel; he had recently come from there on the close of the concern. He fingered it out on the hotel map—also the railway depot, Pendarum, and I chalked down the name slick. This Adeenarainvasel, he said, used to be a head-centre of emigration to Afauritius, and some other locations; but Mauritius was quite enough for me. He also said the niggers’d remain there from two to ten years, making their pile and sending money and notions of sorts to their families and friends at home; and that, as the natives of those parts are known to preserve every 7 scrap of mail matter, he calculated that I could make a fairish haul of Alauritiuses at the place—if so be I sloped over there some fine day. What do you say, Air Walker?” I trembled with suppressed excitement as I listened; it was all news to me. The bare idea of unearthing “Post Offices,” perhaps by the dozen, set my fibres tingling; for even in those days the stamps commanded fabulous prices.

“You didn’t let out to the Dutch mister on the intrinsic value of old Mauritius, did you?” Bratt winked candidly. “No, siree! This child ain’t no pickaninny just yet. Old Dutchy knows nothing about the stamp craze; you bet I did not enlighten him, and he couldn’t fix it up nobow why I should be round for little bits of useless smudged paper—as he called them. He said he was sure that ne'er a white

man had ever poked his nose into Adeenarainvasel—for stamps, that is.” “Well, what do you propose doing?” “What’s the lingo down there?”

“Tamil.” “As good as Choctaw to me. Can you lay tongue to it?” “Yes; fluently.”

“Good. Well, it strikes me more nor ever then that you and I have to take the cars there. The idea entered my head directly I sighted your stamp fixings, and it has just dug claws into my brain since we’ve palavered. I’d be helpless—without you to do the jawing and conducting. What d’you say?” “By all means'! Let’s go.” “Shake!” We shook.

“You run the show straight away. I’ll find the dollars for everything, and we can square afterwards. See?” “Yes.”

“And we’ll divide the booty. Shake!” We shook once more.

Accompanied by my two servants, we reached Pendarum after a comfortable night’s run by train; thence in creeping, jolting bullock-carts to Alulluckunbady, nineteen miles, where we dined and slept; then, having made a good early breakfast, we started again, reaching Adeenarainvasel, the Mecca of our hopes, early in the forenoon. The place boasted not of a Travellers’ Bungalow or single white resident; so, making a virtue of necessity, we unlimbered beneath some trees on the outskirts of the town. Here crowds of natives watched our movements from a respectful distance, wondering, evidently, what had brought us to that out-of-the-way spot; for by our slender retinue and humble means of conveyance they had already concluded that we were no Government officials on tour. I did all the talking—in Tamil; as not a man-jack of them spoke any English. “Your slave, my lords,” said an individual, presently pushing his way to the front and bowing low. “I am the village headman. What supplies do your honours require?” “We don’t want any supplies, headman,” I said. “We have come provided with all necessaries.” “Your honours wish to shoot?” “No; we are not shooting; we are searching for old used postage stamps.” “Old postage stamps!” he echoed in mystified tones, while several men who had followed him exchanged glances of perplexity. “Yes; old stamps off letters that have come through the post.” They stared harder than ever, and then the headman pertinently remarked, “Why do the lords seek for worthless things, and which you could procure elsewhere? Why have your honours come to our humble village for the purpose ?” I could not help feeling amused at the awe depicted on the faces of all as the headman spoke. The natives of India are, I should say, the most childishly suspicious of the whole human race; and in this instance it was evident that they feared lest some ulterior motive lurked behind the avowed object of our visit. The sooner I allayed the growing alarm the better for us.

“Look here,” I said, opening and displaying a pocket exchange-book that I happened to have about me. “We require them merely to stick in a book — like this.”

They scrutinised the page all ways, muttering to each other that the stamps were more or less obliterated, thus confirming our demand for used ones. They were partially reassured. “Your honour,” whined the headman, “we are your slaves, and do not wish to infringe the laws that you, our masters, have imposed. Do you require the old stamps to clean and use again? Only last year a Brahmin of Pendarum was convicted of such a practice and sent to prison for five years.” “Have no fear,” he replied, soothingly; “I am an officer of Government, and I repeat, we want only used stamps—to stick into books.”

Still they were not wholly convinced; nevertheless, at the headman’s bidding, several went off to their huts and presently returned with bundles of letters; but the stamps were mostly common current Indians. I had not sufficiently explained myself. “These are not exactly what we require, headman,” I observed, after looking through the packets. “What we wank are Mauritius stamps—the older the better.”

“Oh, ho!” he exclaimed, in a tone as if of relief. “Mauritius stamps, even if cleaned, would be if no use here; excuss our suspicions, my lords. If you will come to the Alaurice Paliem (the quarter inhabited by returned emigrants) no doubt we can find the stamps for you.” Quite agreeable to the move, we hastily swallowed a few mouthfuls of breakfast, and, buoyed with hope, proceeded to the region indicated, a sort of suburb of the town itself. News of our mission and its object had proceeded us to the Alaurice Paliem, for barely had we entered its precincts when an aged native approached, and with a deep salaam (obeisance) tendered a piece of brown paper bearing a strip of six fourpcnce surcharged on green Britannias of 18541 “If they are of any use, take them,” said the anciqpt. Any use! Neither Bratt nor I posses, sed a specimen; these were in capital order, and we simply “grabbed” at them. “Looks like as if we’ve struck rich!” chuckled my companion in a low undertone, and voicing my own thoughts. “Better give the old ehap something for that lot; ’twill encourage the crowd to tote along some more.” Veiling my exultation—for an overshow of galumphing would have set their suspicions going—l gave the old fellow a quarter-rupee (sixpence). “There!” I said, “that’s for your stamps.” A silence of stupefaction; blank astonishment on the faces of all. “Why, sir,” at length gasped the recipient, turning the coin in his palm and regarding me as if I had been some gnome or lunatic, ‘this is good money! What is it for?” “Your reward for the stamps, I repeat.” “But they are used stamps!” they shouted, in an ecstasy of perplexity. “Even if cleaned they would be of no value here! How is it your honours pay for what is worthless?” To explain the principles of philately to these simple Asiatics would have been obviously impossible. I merely smiled, flourished my open exchangebook in their faces, and told them that we were prepared to pay even more for older stamps. Enough! W’e had touched their weakest point, cupidity; their hesitation melted away —money, silver money for nothing! Had ever such miracle happened on this earth ? As if by magic they awoke into activity; all those who possessed Alauritius correspondence hied off to ferret about and bring their quotas along; I and Bratt examined batch after batch, handful after handful. Oh, the rapture of that time! Truly had we alighted on a veritable philatelic El Dorado! Without counting the shoals of more ordinary varieties, we succeeded by midday in netting three Id. Post Paid of 1848; four red Britannias of 1854; five 2d. blue—■ Queen’s head —of 1859; eleven 6d. slate, and four 1/ green of 1862! Verily, a glorious bag, all used and lightly marked, but, alas! no “Post-Ofliees.”

As we made each selection we paid prompt cash; and the natives, their greed now thoroughly aroused, frantically turned their belongings inside out in the search for stamps — the whole place became a pandemonium. Carried away by the fascination of so easily ccining money, old men and women pressed on us with faded letters and papers in their hands, imploring us to buy them—to manifest the bitterest disappointment if we pronounced their offerings unacceptable, for we had no in-

tention of loading ourselves with the commoner kinds.

Hitherto, the highest price we had paid was one rupee for a single stamp. I wondered whether a heavier bribe would still further stimulate them; perchance the gems we sought lurked in some forgotten corner, and it would be a pity indeed did we quit without our mission fully accomplished. The afternoon was drawing to a close, we had a long way before us to Pendarum; I could not spare another day, while Bratt vowed he’d not remain without me. Clearly, then, something must be done.

“Listen!” I shouted. “We must leave shortly, so there is no time to lose. We have bought all the stamps that we require, but you have not yet pr-duced the kind that we particularly want. What do you say if we promise to pay you five rupees for each specimen you bring us?” They stared at us in silence; they were already persuaded in their minds that we were lunatics, but they now suspected that we were “pulling their legs.”

“You are making fun of us, sir!” at length exclaimed one man. “I take my pramanum (oath) that I am in earnest,” I replied.

This convinced them that there was “no humbug” about it; they respected my pramanum. “What are the stamps?” they wailed. “We have shown you all we have!” “Stand out the oldest man who either went himself or had relatives who went to Mauritius!” I bawled. After a little consultation, a whitemoustached patriarch hobbled forward. “I, my lords,” he mumbled. “You have already purchased several stamps from me.” In the speaker I recognised him who had produced the “Post Paid” of 1848. “Well we want the stamps that yet older men or their relatives must have used; bring them to us, and earn five rupees for each.” Another burst of despair; and the ancient said, “I am the oldest surviving “No! ’ interrupted another man. “What about Aggallappen the recluse; he who lives near the temple of Mooniappaswamy by the sea? Surely he is an older man than you, 0 Moothooeurrppen! His sons emigrated; I have often heard him say so. Let us go to him.” More uproar; all spoke at once, and the din was deafening. At length the headman, after partially quietening the noise, begged us to accompany him to Aggallappen’s house, as the old devotee was top feeble to leave it. Accordingly, off we tramped, carrying the mob with us, and in due course reached the seashore temple, under the lee of which huddled a miserable shanty, the abode of the reeluse.

The headman and others entered, and after a long palaver they carried out the inmate on a charpoy or native bed, and set him in our midst. Now the saau ground had to be retraversed. Aggallappen, suspicious as the rest, swore by every god in the heathen pantheon that he had not such a thing as an old letter in his possession; and it was not until those of his fellow-villagers—who had made their money out of us —showed the old dotard their respective gains; not until Bratt and I chinked a handful of rupees in his ears, that his scruples

were dispelled. “Bring me my box,” he whispered to the folks about him. “By chance I may have preserved some of my son’s letters.”

The box produced, the owner unlocked it, and proceeded to empty out the contents; old clothes, then a layer of inscribed papyrus-leaves, followed by more clothes, and lastly, at the bottom, several bundles of letters! We pounced on them, and eagerly scanned the stamps. “Post Paid,” “Post Paid,” one after another; one penny —twopence; twopence—■ penny; vermilion —blue; blue—vermilion in endless succession, till we bated the very sight of these exquisite stamps! We were fast becoming disgusted; we tumbled the letters carelessly about, we were on the point of giving the search up as a bad job, when, chancing on a faded piece of brown paper, I mechanically opened it—and imagine the state of mind that Bratt and I were thrown in when we gazed on a strip of “Post Offices,” two Id vermilion, two 2d blue! We could not have spoken to save our lives; we dumped down the twenty rupees, cleared out, went back to our earts as if in a dream, inspanned, and set out on our way back to Pendarum. It was not until we had left the village far behind, and the last of the crowd had dropped off, that we overcame the mental paralysis in which our amazing good luck had steeped us. “Shake!” suddenly ejaculated Bratt, in a foggy voice.

We shook. But we conversed no more. We travelled all night, reaching Pendarum early in the morning. The single train for Madras left at 10 a.m., consequently we had leisure to overhaul our treasures. We first floated them in a basin of water, freed them of paper, and then dried them. I took charge of the lot, all barring the “Post Offices,” whieh Bratt proposed placing in his watch back, for greater security—a measure to whieh I agreed. We reached Madras that evening, and arrived at our hotel in time for a late dinner. We were fairly fagged out, both in mind and body; so, when the meal was over, and we had once more gloated over those four “Post Offices,” we bada each other good-night and turned in, resolved to divide our spoil on the morrow.

At dawn I was startled from sleep by hearing some very unparliamentary language in Bratt’s voice. Hurrying out, I found him in the verandah, yelling away in choice Yankee, while several hotel servants stood cowering before him. “What on earth’s the row, Mr. Bratt?” I asked, rubbing my eyes. “Row enough, I calculate, mister!” foamed he. “Guess some stinker has laid claws on my watch and vamosed! Don’t care so much for the ticker, although it cost me 200 dollars last fall; but the Mauritiuses have gone with it!”

Within the hour we were both at the chief police office, where we gave information of the robbery, Bratt offering a reward of 200 rupees for the recovery of his watch. The police did not allow the grass to grow-; for later that very day, while we were seated at luncheon, an inspector, whom we had seen at the office, drove up to our quarters, with a couple of constables guarding an East Indian youth, whom we immediately recognised as one of the hotel clerks.

“Your property, sir?” said the inspector interrogatively, handing Bratt the watch.

“I calculate that is so, mister, considering there’s my monogram on it,” answered the recipient, unable to conceal his satisfaction, in which, needless to say, I thoroughly participated. “We’ve had an eye on this chap for some time, sir,” continued the inspector, pointing at the wretched clerk; “and, suspecting him directly you reported the theft, we looked him up, and caught him in the act of selling the watch to a native.”

“I’m main glad to get it back again; and shall be a heap more so if I find that the cuss has not been gallivanting with the works,” proceeding as he spoke to open the back. “Snakes and scissors!” yelled Bratt, as he found the receptacle void. “What’ve you done with what was inside of here, eh? Speak! or I’ll twist your gullet!” he vociferated, striding up to the prisoner and regarding him furiously.

“I only finding some dirty paper, sir,” gurgled the culprit. “Where’s that dirty paper, then? What’ve you done with it, I say?” “I done burn it, sir ” faltered the youth. “This morning when I finding paper inside watch, I thinking sometime meaning clue, therefore I throwing into fire, sir.”

I had never set eyes on a genuine “Post Office” Mauritius before I owned a pair of those philatelic treasures for a few hours as above described; and I have never set eyes on unquestionable specimens since. I intend, however, to pay Adeenarainvasel another visit as soon as I can manage it, for I know that the place itself and the neighbouring villages are covers that have not yet been found and beaten by the stamp-hunter; and that they may remain so till I have had a second prowl round is my earnest hope. Bratt I have no fear of. Some months after our adventure he wrote from the States saying 'he had married and

“chucked” stamp-collecting. Moreover, before we parted we exchanged a promise never to divulge the locality; therefore, the names figuring in this little narrative are, I need hardly say, fictitious; for, otherwise, I should be giving myself away, and the place would be overrun with stamp people before I could manage to get down there!