The Cruise of the Kawa: Wanderings in the South Seas Part 3

This striking likeness of Dr. Traprock, the author of the present volume, admirably expresses the intensity, alertness and intrepidity which have carried this remarkable personage through so many harrowing experiences. A certain bold defiance, which is one of Dr. Traprock's characteristics, has here been caught to the life. With just this matchless courage we know that he must have faced death a thousand times even though, as now, he had not a cartridge in his belt. That Dr. Traprock knows no fear is evidenced by the fact that he has not only explored every quarter of the globe, but that he has also written a number of books of travel, plays, musical comedies and one cook-book.

The background of this picture shows the densely matted bush of the Filbert Islands in their interior portion, a jungle growth which might well baffle any but the most skillful threader of the trackless wilds.

The gun carried by Dr. Traprock is a museum-piece, having been presented to the author's great-grandfather by Israel Putnam immediately after the Battle of Fort Ticonderoga. Thanks to constant upkeep it is in as good condition as ever. This is also true of Dr. Traprock.]

On the edge of the clearing I heard the tinkling of a brook. Walking to its edge, I knelt and dipped my hot wrists in the cold stream, wetting my hands, face and matted locks, while the natives eyed me solemnly but with, I thought, looks of anxiety. And then a strange thing happened. As I took off my duck's-back fis.h.i.+ng hat, filled it to the brim and raised it to my lips, a cry of horror burst from the throats of those swarthy giants. The chief strode forward and dashed the cap from my hand, at the same time thundering the word "Bapoo!"

In an instant it flashed upon me that this was Filbertese for _tapu_ or _taboo_, that strange, sacred kibosh which is laid on certain acts, objects or localities throughout these far-flung islands. Water it appeared was for drinking purposes--_bapoo_. I then did what I think was exactly the right thing under the circ.u.mstances, namely, to wring out the offending head-covering and throw it as far from me as possible, an act which was greeted with a hearty burst of applause.

It was not necessary for me to indicate further that I was thirsty.

Two henchmen almost immediately appeared with a large nut-sh.e.l.l of unfamiliar appearance,--it was about the size of a half watermelon and bright red on the outside,--full of a pale pink liquid. The chief, one or two of the leading men, and the rest of my party were similarly equipped. Raising his sh.e.l.l the chief and n.o.bles said simultaneously "Wha-e-a" and we drank.

Two minutes afterward I had a faint sensation of being borne away by the trade wind. Sw.a.n.k was beside me and I heard him murmur, "I'm glad I don't have to sleep with Triplett."

The rest was silence, and the silence was rest....

We awoke many hours later. It was moonlight and we were lying in a complicated knot in the exact center of our domicile. Unraveling ourselves we tested our heads with gentle oscillations.

Suddenly, in the distance, we heard a sound which sent a chill thrill running up and down our spines, the sound of singing, a faint far-off chorus of the loveliest voices that ever fell on mortal ears. The tone had that marvelous silver clang of the woodland thrush with yet a deeper, human poignancy, a note of pa.s.sionate longing and endearment, shy but a.s.sertive, wild, but oh! so alluring. We chinned ourselves expectantly on the edge of our floor and waited, panting.

"A serenade," whispered Sw.a.n.k, and Whinney shush-ed him savagely.

Through the forest glades we could see the choir approaching, the dusky flash of brown bodies swaying, palpitating to the intoxicating rhythm of the song. Slowly and with great dignity they entered the clearing and stood, a score of slender creatures, in the full blaze of the moon, their lithe-limbed bodies clad only in delicate mother-of-pearl _rigolos_.

Thus standing, they again burst into the melody of their national love-song. I transcribe the original words which for simple, primitive beauty are without rival.

A-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a E-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e

I-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i O-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o U-u-u-u-u-u-u-u-u

and sometimes

W-w-w-w-w-w-w-w-w

And

Y-y-y-y-y-y-y-y-y

The music is indescribable, I can only say that it is as beautiful as the words.[Footnote: "The peculiarly liquid quality of Polynesian phonetics is impossible for foreigners to acquire. Europeans who attempt a mastery of these sounds invariably suffer from what etymologists call metabelia, or vowel complaint."--_Prof. C.H. Towne, Nyack University_.]

On the third encore they turned and slowly but surely filed out of the clearing into the forest. Long after they had disappeared our eyes still hung over the edge of our apartment and we could hear in our memories the sweet refrain--

W-w-w-w-w-w-w-w-w Y-y-y-y-y-y-y-y-y

As we lay there like men in a trance I saw a dull red glow on the horizon and then, far off a rocket split the velvet night, burst into stars and disappeared.

It was William Henry Thomas, aboard the Kawa--a signal of distress! Poor goof! We had completely forgotten him.

I had a vague sense, shared, I think, by the others, that I ought to worry a bit about him. But it was no use. One by one we lowered ourselves into the pit of our arboreal home and drifted into delicious languorous reveries, not of William Henry Thomas. We had other things to think about.

CHAPTER IV

A few of our native companions. Filbertine diet. Physiological observations. We make a tour of the island. A call on the ladies.

Baahaabaa gives a feast. The embarra.s.sments of hospitality. An alcoholic escape.

"We really must do something about William Henry Thomas," I said on the day following our serenade.

My companions agreed, and we really meant it. But alas, how easy it is to put things off. Day after day slipped by and we thought less and less of our boat-tending sailorman and more and more of what a magnificent time we were having.

The chief's name was Baahaabaa, meaning in Filbertese "Durable Drinker."

Among his companions were several who soon became our intimates--Hitoia-Upa (Cocoanut That Never Falls) and Abluluti (Big Wind Constantly Blowing).

In every case reference in names was to simple, natural beauties. How much more interesting than our own meaningless nomenclature.

We soon found that these simple folk had evolved an admirable standard day in which there was no labor whatever, no cooking, even. Imagine a civilization, and I use the word advisedly, in which the question of having or not having a cook is eliminated. We were two weeks on the island before any one of us realized that we had seen no fire. The matches which we used to light our pipes were thought to be marvelous flowers that blossomed and immediately disappeared.

Nature, all bountiful, supplied a menu of amazing variety. Fruits, vegetables, combinations of the two, edible flowers and, above all, the thousand and one kinds of nuts from which the islands receive their name, were at hand for the plucking. Our breakfast grew on the ceiling of our bedroom and dropped beside us with charming punctuality at the first s.h.i.+ver of the rising trade.

It must not be supposed that we were strict vegetarians. Many varieties of fish and crustacea, as well as certain insects and some of the smaller birds were eaten raw. European and American civilizations alike are hopelessly backward in this regard. True, we eat with avidity oysters and clams (except in the Bapoo-period), knowing that they are not only raw but also alive. In the Filberts it was but a slight step forward to pop into one's mouth a wriggling _limpataa_ (a kind of marine lizard), whose antics after he is swallowed are both pleasant and novel.

The hors d'oeuvre course of a Filbert Island banquet is one roar of laughter caused by the interior tickling of the agile food. This of course promotes good feeling and leads to many lasting friends.h.i.+ps.

With one's meals thus always ready-to-serve, with no cook glowering at the clock, no cheese souffle ready to collapse, no dishes to wash or frying-pans to scour, life is one long gastronomic song.

In physical stature and beauty the Filbertines are far above the average. The men are six feet in height and upwards, and proportionately wide. By a combination of equable climatic and economic conditions this alt.i.tude has become standardized and there is little variation from it. A sort of rough control is exercised in this regard. When a young male Filbertine has got his growth he is measured with a bamboo yardstick to see if he comes up to requirements.

If not, he simply disappears. Little is said about it, but the fact is that the physical failures are moored at low tide to a lump of coral on one of the outer reefs. Sharks, octopi and the man-eating _Wak-waks_ do the rest. This, as I say, is a rough sort of control but effective.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Gathering Dew-Fish on the Outer Reef]

[Ill.u.s.tration Note: GATHERING DEW-FISH ON THE OUTER REEF

There is no pleasanter sight in the world than that of the stalwart young Filbertine youths gathering dew-fish in the early dawn of a perfect tropical day. It is only at this time that these edible little creatures can be caught. Just as the sun's rays flash across the horizon they rise to the surface of the water in vast numbers, turning the entire ocean to a pulsating mirror of silver. For five minutes they lie thus, then suddenly sink simultaneously. Their work for the day, so far as we know it, is done. The natives fill their cheeks--which are very elastic--with hundreds of these tiny fish which they afterwards eject on the sh.o.r.e. Here we see Hitoia-Upa and Ablutiluti gathering dew-fish for the great feast given in honor of Dr. Traprock and his companions.]

In facial character the tribe is regular and well proportioned, presenting no traces of negroid antecedents. Noses are slender and slightly retroussed, lips clean-cut, chins modestly a.s.sertive with lower jaws superbly adapted to cracking cocoanuts and oysters, foreheads low with sufficient projection at the eye-line for shade purposes. All in all, they are ent.i.tled to an A-plus in beauty and reminded me less of Polynesians than of a hand-picked selection of Caucasians who had been coated with a flat-bronze radiator paint.

Beards, moustaches, imperials, goatees, side-whiskers and Galways are unknown, a fact which was to me strange considering the luxuriance of other vegetation until I learned that, from infancy, it is the custom of the Filbertine mother to scour her offspring's face with powdered coral which discourages the facial follicles. These eventually give up and, turning inward and upward, result in a veritable crown of glory on the top of the head, the place, after all, where the hair ought to grow. Their teeth, as with most gramnivora, are sound, regular, brilliantly white and exceptionally large, the average size being that of the double-blank domino.

So much for the men, and far too much, if you ask me, when you think that we still have the adorable women to speak of.

Ever since our first nocturnal glimpse of the charming creatures you can imagine that my companions and I were most eager to see more of them. During the entire next day not one of "les belles sauvages" was visible. It was next to impossible to make inquiries, but Sw.a.n.k, the irrepressible, resolved to try and plied Baahaabaa with questions in French, English, German and beche-de-mer, which only resulted in loud laughter on the part of our host. Sw.a.n.k next tried pantomime, using the French gesture for beauty, a circular motion of the hands about his face accompanied by sickening smiles. Baahaabaa watched him intently, slapped his hip sharply, uttering a melodious command and shortly afterward Hitoia-Upa presented Sw.a.n.k with a beautifully made wreath of elecampane blossoms (_inula helenion_) exactly matching his beard. This was all very well but got us nowhere.

On the day following, however, our difficulties were unexpectedly solved. Abluluti and a companion of his, Moolitonu (Bull-lost-in-a-Thunder-Storm), indicated by certain large gestures that if we liked they would be glad to make a tour of the island, a proposition we gladly accepted. Moolitonu was our official map. On his broad back in the most exquisite azure tattooing was a diagram of the island showing all main-routes, good and bad trails and points of interest. Moolitonu was, in fact, a human Blue-book.

Equipped with individual _taa-taas_ and quart cocoanut sh.e.l.ls of _hoopa_, a delicious twenty-seven per cent. milk, we set out along a well-traveled trail, stopping ever and anon to enjoy the tranquil beauty of the outer sea or the more spectacular glimpses of the inner lagoon dominated by the mountain. We had made the circuit of approximately three-fourths of the island, when suddenly, without a word of warning, we stumbled into the _Hativa-faui_, or ladies'

dressing-room. Instantly we were surrounded by a bevy of captivating beauties. Our guides had evidently counted on our surprise for they laughed uproariously, their mirth being joyously echoed by the graceful women who crowded about us, patting, petting and bidding us unmistakable welcome to their compound. I have never seen a more charming sylvan retreat.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Herman Sw.a.n.k]