Our handsome hosts. En route to the interior. Native flora and fauna. We arrive at the capitol. A lecture on Filbertine architecture. A strange taboo. The serenade.
With the first burst of laughter it seemed that all embarrassment on the part of the natives had been dissipated. Those nearest us insisted on patting our stomachs gently, at the same time uttering a soft, crooning "soo-soo," [Footnote: This same sound is used by the natives of Sugar Hill, New Hampshire, when calming their horses.] which it was obviously the proper thing to return, which we did to the delight of the bronze warriors about us.
After a few moments of this friendly massage, the most ornamental of the savages, whom I judged to be the chief, uttered dissyllabic command of "Oo-a," and slapped his right thigh smartly with his left hand, a feat more easily described than accomplished. Coincident with this signal came a cheerful riffling sound as the Filbertines broke out their large umbrellas of panjandrus leaves which we had first mistaken for weapons. This implement, (known technically as anaa-naaortaa-taa, depending on whether it was open or closed), was in reality notonly a useful and necessary protection against the continuous nut-showers but also a weapon of both of- and de-fensive warfare. [Footnote: This primitive people we soon found to be profoundly pacifistic, a natural condition in a race who, since the dawn of time, had known no influence other than that of the Pacific Ocean. Warfare with its cruel attributes had never penetrated their isolation. With nations as with people, it takes two to make a quarrel. Here was but one.]
We stood thus, in open formation, among the luxurious haro until in response to another signal from the chief, a resounding slap on the left shank, they escorted us ceremoniously along a winding path which led toward the interior of the island. It was for all the world as if we were being taken out to dinner, a thought which suggested for an instant the reflection that we might turn out to be notguestsbutcoursesat the banquet, in which case I promised myself I should be apiece-de-resistanceof the most violent character.
But these solemn thoughts were not proof against the gaiety of our surroundings, the soft patter of the constantly dropping nuts bounding from the protectivetaa-taas, and the squawks and screeches of countless cuttywinks andfatu-livabirds, those queens of the tropics whose gorgeous plumage swept across our path.
For Whinney and Swank as well as myself the promenade was a memorable one, the former feasting his cool eyes on the hundreds of new scientific items which he was later to classify, the bulbousoo-pa, a sort of vegetable cream-puff, the succulenttuki-taki, pale-green with red dots, a natural cross between the banana and the cocoanut, having the taste of neither, and the numerous crawling things, the whistling-ants and shy, lamp-eyed lily-bugs (anchoridae flamens) who flashed their signals as we passed.
Swank revelled in the rainbow colors about us, the flaming nabiscus blossoms and the unearthly saffron of thealovablooms, one inhale of which, we were to learn, contained the kick of three old-fashioned mint-juleps. Only Triplett's hard-boiled countenance reflected no interest whatever in his surroundings.
It was doubtless this unintelligent dignity on our Captain's part, coupled with what was left of his brass buttons and visor cap on which the legend "Kawa" still glimmered faintly, which prompted the aborigines to select him as our chief, an error which I at first thought of correcting by some sort of dramatic tableau such as having Triplett lie down and letting me place my foot on his Adam's apple, of which he had a splendid specimen. On second thought, however, I decided that it would be more modest to allow him any honors he might receive together with the responsibilities attendant upon his position. It is the invariable habit of South Sea Islanders, in the event of trouble, to capture and hold as hostages the chief men of a tribe. Their heads, with or without the original bodies, seem to have a peculiar value.
0062
In this picture the joyous island queen Babai-Alova-Babai is seen carrying her taa-taa, the curious implement which serves so many purposes in the Filbert Group. It is in turn a protection against the sun, the rain and the constant showers of falling nuts, and also, when occasion demands, a most effective weapon of defensive warfare. The taa-taa is made of closely laced panjandrus leaves on a frame of the tough eva-eva. When closed, which is seldom, it is known as a naa-naa. In addition to its other uses it is most evidently a charming background for a splendid example of Filbertine youth and beauty.]
Soon the trail widened, and we were called upon to hurdle several low barriers ofpapoo-reeds, designed to confine the activities of the countless Alice-blue wart-hogs which whined plaintively about our feet. At a majestic gesture from the chief thetaa-taaswere furled (becomingnaa-naas), and we halted in a bright clearing about sixty feet in diameter, plainly the public square, or, to be exact, circle.
My first impression was that of complete isolation in an unbroken forest. Peer as I would, I could discern no sign of human habitation. We had arrived, but where? My question was soon answered. By most gracious gestures, soft sounds and a series of fluttering finger exercises on the abdominal walls we were led to one side of the circle where, as our guides pointed upward, white eyes for the first time in history rested on a Filbertine dwelling!
The houses were in the trees!
Architecture is said to express deeply the inner characteristics of a people, a statement I am glad to corroborate. But never had it struck me so forcibly as now. Gazing up at a dim picture of informal construction, interlaced and blended with the trunks, boughs and foliage of the overarching palms I saw at a glance the key-note of the life of this simple people—absence of labor.
The houses,—nests, were the better word—were formed by a most naive adaptation of natural surroundings to natural needs. The curving fronds of the towering coco-palms and panjandrus had been interlaced; and nature did the rest, the gigantic leaves interweaving, blending, over-lapping, meeting in a passionate and successful desire to form a roof, proof alike against sun and rain. Some ten feet below this and an equal distance from the ground the tendrils of theeva-evavine had been led from tree to tree, the subordinate fibres and palpitating feelers quickly knitting themselves into a floor with all the hygienic properties and tensile strength of linen-mesh.
Access to these apartments was something of a puzzle until, to instruct us, a tall Filbert, who was evidently to be our neighbor, approached a nearby dwelling and, seizing a pendent halyard ofeva-eva, gently but firmly pulled down the floor to a convenient level, vaulted into the hammock-like depression and was immediately snapped into privacy. From below we could see the imprint of his form rolling toward the center of his living-room and then the depressions of his feet as he proceeded to lurch about his dwelling.
It was now mid-afternoon; we were hot, tired, and, though we did not know it, mildly intoxicated by the inhalations of alova which we had absorbed during our journey. I looked forward eagerly to getting up-stairs, so to speak, and taking a sound nap. One thing only deterred me; I was thirsty.
0068
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 fishing 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 fortapuortaboo, 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 circumstances, 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-shell 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 shell the chief and nobles said simultaneously "Wha-e-a" and we drank.
Two minutes afterward I had a faint sensation of being borne away by the trade wind. Swank 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 passionate longing and endearment, shy but assertive, wild, but oh! so alluring. We chinned ourselves expectantly on the edge of our floor and waited, panting.
"A serenade," whispered Swank, 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-pearlrigolos.
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-aE-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-eI-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-iO-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-oU-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-wY-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.
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 embarrassments 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 shiver 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 wrigglinglimpataa(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 friendships.
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 altitude 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-eatingWak-waksdo the rest. This, as I say, is a rough sort of control but effective.
0080
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 shore. 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 assertive 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 entitled 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 Swank, 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. Swank 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 Swank 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 individualtaa-taasand quart cocoanut shells ofhoopa, 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 theHativa-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.
0086
Since the exhibition of Herman Swank's South Sea Studies in the Graham Galleries, New York City, it is hardly necessary to introduce by name the illustrious artist who has justly earned the title of "Premier Painter of Polynesia." A whole school of painters have attempted to reproduce the exotic color and charm of these entrancing isles. It remained for Herman Swank, by his now famous method of diagrammatic symbolism, to bring the truth fully home. This he accomplished by living, to the limit, the native life of the Filbertese. Clad only in the light lamitu, or afternoon wrap of the islands, it was the artist's custom to spend entire days inhaling the perfume of the fragment alova flower, a practice which undoubtedly accounts for the far-away, dreamy expression so evident in the photograph. He is also wearing the paloota, or wedding crown, the gift of his lovely island bride.]
Let me briefly outline the Filbertine domestic arrangements as they were gradually unfolded to us. To begin with, make no mistake, marriage in the Filbert Islands is a distinct success. This is accomplished by the almost complete separation of the husband from his wives. During the day these joyous maids and matrons lead their own lives in their own community, rehearsing their songs, weaving chaplets of flowers, stringing pearls for their simple costumes, playing games and exchanging the badinage and gossip which are the life-breath of womanhood the world over. They are inordinately proud of their hair, as well they may be, and spend hours at a time dressing and undressing it.
The men, on their side, are equally free. The result is that a meeting with their wives is an event. Happiness, love and the elation of celebration are the harmonious notes of this beautiful domestic diapason.
Feast-days, banquets, picnics, swimming parties—the Filbertines adore salt water, which is not potable but thirst-producing—these are the occasions of a frank and joyous mingling of the sexes.
Before we left the clearing we were treated to a most graceful spectacle, a performance of theAtaboi, a dance descriptive of the growth and blossoming of thealovaflower. This was performed by seven beautiful girls to an accompaniment of song and clapping. The plaintive love-motif was unmistakably introduced by a deep-chested dame who played on thebazoola, a primitive instrument fashioned from the stalk of the figwort (Scrophulariaceae). It may interest music lovers to know that the Filbertines employ the diatetic scale exclusively, four notes in the ascent and five on the recoil.
At the close of the performance we were shown the nursery compound, an enclosure teeming with beautiful children, screened by hedges where the little ones could be heard but not seen.
Two days subsequent to our amble we were invited to a grand banquet which led to disturbing problems and momentous decision on our part. This feast was our formal welcome; the keys of the islands, so to speak, were presented to us. There were ladies present—and everything.
It was served in a special clearing lighted by the moon and countlessanchoridaetied by their legs in festoons, a procedure which causes them to open and shut their lambent eyes very rapidly, and gave a quaint cinema effect to the scene. After counting the courses up to twenty-seven I lost as each was accompanied by a new brand of island potion. Fortunately we were seated on the ground.
Triplett was in his glory. If I have failed to mention recently our hard-bitten old navigator it is only because we had seen comparatively little of him. Resting on his titular dignity as chief he seldom appeared in public, spending most of his time up his tree snoozing or reading an old copy of the New Bedford "Argus," which he was never without. Tonight, however, he blazed forth in full regalia, wearing his best blue marble, his visor-cap wreathed with nabiscus blossoms, his case-hardened countenance lighted with conviviality. Following an interminable period of eating and drinking came a long speech by Baahaabaa which, like most after-dinner speeches, meant nothing to me. Captain Triplett replied. The gist of Triplett's remarks, memorized from the "Argus," were taken from the 1916 report of the New Bedford Board of Trade. When he proclaimed that "besides cotton goods, 100,000 pianos were turned out yearly and 8,500 derby hats every day," his audience, set off by Whinney, burst into uproarious applause. The climax was reached when he lowered his voice dramatically and said, "And keep always in mind, O Baahaabaa and friends, that the New England Fur Company uses daily 35,000 rabbit pelts! Gentlemen, I thank you."
Pandemonium broke loose. Triplett was showered with congratulations. Music and dancing followed, among others an amazing performance by a sturdy youth, Zambao-Zambino (Young-Man-Proud-of-His-Waist-Line) who rendered a solo by striking his distended anatomy with his clenched fist, varying the tone by relaxing or tightening the abdominal muscles. Whinney sang a very dreary arrangement of "Mandalay"—his one parlor trick; Swank did an imitation of Elsie Janis's imitation of Ethel Barrymore and I sang "The Wreck of the Julie Plante," an amusing ballad describing the loss by drowning of an entire ship's company.
But the climax was yet to come.
There was a vague sort of commotion among the banqueters and Baahaabaa rose with amazing steadiness and made another speech, short this time, but aimed point-blank at us, after which, through the center of a sort of kick-off formation I saw approaching four of the most exquisite women in the world. When ten feet away they fell on all fours and, using the Australian crawl-stroke, crept slowly toward us, exhaling sounds of passionate endearment mingled with the heart-stopping fragrance ofalova. Beyond the glimmering lights, an unseen choir burst into the "a-a-a" of the national love-song.
It was a critical not to say embarrassing moment. These lovely ladies were very evidently presents, banquet-favors so to speak, which we were expected to take home with us. To refuse them meant certain offense, perhaps death. Triplett was plainly non-plussed. Swank and Whinney were too far gone to be of any assistance. Summoning all my reserve strength I rose and faced the whirling assembly.
"Gentlemen," I said solemnly, "one final toast, to the President of the United States,"—at the same time draining a huge shell ofhoopa. My companions followed suit and we fell simultaneously.
For the next twenty-four hours we were safe. After that, who knew?
A frank statement. We vote on the question of matrimony. A triple wedding. An epithalmic verse. We remember the "Kawa." An interview with William Henry Thomas. Triplett's strategy. Safe within the atoll.
In most volumes on the South Seas the chapter which I am about to write would be omitted. I mean to say that we have reached a point in my narrative in which the status of our relations with the Filbertine women, as such, must either be discussed frankly and openly, or treated in the usual tongue-in-cheek fashion which seems to be the proper thing with English and American writers.
I have looked them all over carefully (the writers, I mean), and find them divided into two categories, those who take their wives along as a guarantee of virtue, or those who are by nature Galahads, Parsifals and St. Anthonys. This latter group is to me particularly trying. They revel in descriptions of desirous damsels with burning eyes who crave companionship, but when an artfully devised encounter throws one of these passionate persons across the path of the man behind the pen, does he falter or swerve or make a misstep? Never. Right there is where the blood of the Galahads tells. Supremely he rises above temptation! Gracefully he sidesteps! Innocently he falls asleep!
I don't believe a word of it. I think it's just a case of literary men sticking together.
Two days after the Grand Banquet described in the last chapter, Whinney, Swank and I awoke with a sigh of simultaneous satisfaction, completely rested and restored. Ten minutes later we were engaged in a brisk debate in which the question before the house was, stated boldly, Should we or should we not "go native?" In other words, should we hold ourselves aloof, live contrary to the customs of the country and mortally offend our hosts,—to say nothing of our hostesses,—or should we fulfil our destinies, take unto ourselves island brides and eat our equatorial fruit, core and all?
For the purpose of discussion Whinney was designated to uphold the negative, and for an hour we argued the matter pro and con. Whinney advanced a number of arguments, the difference in our nationalities, our standing in our home communities (which I thought an especially weak point), our lack of a common language, and several other trivial objections, all of which Swank and I demolished until Whinney got peevish and insisted that he and I change sides.
I spoke very seriously of the lack of precedent for the step which we were considering and of what my people in Derby, Conn., would say when they learned that a Traprock had married a Filbert. Swank replied with some heat that he didn't believe that anything could be said in Derby that hadn't been said already and Whinney was much more eloquent on the affirmative than he had been on the negative. Finally when I thought we had talked enough I said—
"Well, gentlemen, are you ready for a ballot?"
"We are," said Swank and Whinney.
"Remember," I warned, "The green nuts are for the affirmative,—the black ones for the negative. Secret ballots, of course."
Wrapping our votes inmetanileaves we dropped them in the ballot shell. Whinney was teller. It was an anxious moment until he looked up and said with a hysterical quiver in his voice:
"Unanimously green."
"Let's go!" shouted Swank, but I stopped him.
"Hold on," I said. "Triplett is in on this. We agreed that it must be unanimous."
My companions' faces lengthened like barrel-staves.
"Damn," muttered Whinney. "I hadn't thought of him."
You can imagine our disgust when we interviewed the Captain.
"Not on your life!" he said decidedly. "Why, boys, I got two a 'em a-ready, one in Noo Bedford—she's my lawful,—and one—a sort of 'erdeependence, in Sausalito. But boys, I don't go for to commit trigonometry, no sir!"
Thunder rested on our brows but the Captain continued,—
"But you—you boys, you ain't married, leastways if you are I don't know about it, and if you ain't"—he looked at us severely,—"if you ain't, it's high time you was. And what's more, if you want to be, I kin do it for you." "What do you mean?" we gasped.
"Justice of the peace," he said proudly, "dooly signed and registered in Dartmouth County, Mass."
We were overwhelmed. This was more than we dared hope for,—more than we had even dreamed of!
"Now, boys," said the Captain in a fatherly tone, "lemme tell you something. While I've been a-roostin' up here in my perch, I've been a-watchin' you boys; a-watchin' an' a-worryin'. What have you been a-doin'? You've been a-raisin' hell, you have. Son, you ain't a rote a word, have yer? An' you, Whinney—boy, you ain't ketched a bug nor a beetle, have yer? And you, ole Swanko-panko, you ain't drawed a line, have yer?"
We hung our heads like schoolboys before the master. Of course if Triplett put it that way, on moral grounds, so to speak, there was no more to be said.
"Well, what's the answer?" he continued. "It's time you got married an' settled down, ain't it? When is it to be?"
* * *
It was a triple wedding, the first and probably the last in the Filbert Islands, and one of the most charming affairs I have ever seen. We left the selection of our brides to Baahaabaa and, believe me, he showed himself a master-picker. The ceremony took place on the beach at high midnight, the fashionable island hour.
How happy we all were! Triplett's qualifications had completely cleared the atmosphere of any moral misgivings which might have clouded the beauty of the gorgeous tropical night. The Captain read a service of his own composition full of legal whereases and aforesaids and containing one reference to the laws of the Commonwealth of the State of Massachusetts which struck me as rather far-fetched but which under the circumstances I decided to let pass.
Mrs. Traprock, of whom I can even now write only with deep emotion, was an exquisite creature, constructed in accordance with the best South Sea specifications in every particular. Swank and Whinney were equally fortunate. We would not have traded wives for ten tons of copra though Moolitonu, who was my best man, explained that this was perfectly possible in case we were not satisfied.
The gayest of wedding breakfasts followed at which all the ushers behaved in the orthodox manner after which we were conducted to our individual trees with appropriate processional and epithalamic chorals. The ladies' singing society had composed for the occasion a special ode which ran as follows:
Hooio-hoaio uku kai unio,Kipiputuonaa aaa titi huti,O tefi tapu, O eio hokiHoio-hooio ona haasi tui.
This was set to a slow five-eighths rhythm. A crude translation of the words, lacking entirely the onomatopoetic quality of the original goes something like this:
Stay, O stay, Moon in your ascending!Daughter of Pearl and Coral to the Moon up-goes,Stay, O stay, Moon with light unending,Coral, Pearl and Moonlight, guard them from falling cocoanuts.
I should stand convicted of ingratitude if I did not here and now pay tribute to the sound common-sense of Captain Triplett at whose instigation we had embarked upon this our great adventure. As Triplett had predicted, ere a few days had passed we found awakening within us the fires of ambition which had sunk lower and lower in our breasts during our two weeks of carousing. We were now responsible married men. We wanted to do something to take our places in the community.
I began to scribble furtively on the back of an old manuscript—the book of an operetta I had once written, a musical version ofLes Miserablescalled "Jumping Jean," in reference to which one of the New York producers, Dillingham, I think, wrote me: "You have out-Hugo-ed Hugo; this is more miserable thanLes Miserablesitself!" I noticed also that Swank began to use his atelier jargon of "tonal values" and "integrity of line," while Whinney showed up one morning in the village circle with a splendid blossom of the bladder-campion (Silene latifolia) pinned to the center of his helmet.
It was doubtless this renaissance of mental activity that reminded us of the Kawa and of William Henry Thomas. Great heavens, what would he think of us? Here nearly a month had elapsed, we were mostly married and had never given him a thought. We were filled with compunction. On top of this Triplett came to us with the announcement that Baahaabaa had informed him that we might expect a big wind about this time. Remembering what we had been through the Captain was worried about our tight little craft.
"He allows," said Triplett, jerking his thumb at the chief, "that we orter git the Tree-with-Wings in out'er the wet. The question is, where be she?"
I explained our anxieties to Ablutiluti who, after a glance at Moolitonu's diagrammatic shoulder blades, immediately set out along a winding path to the shore. I was surprised at the shortness of the distance. A half-hour's walk brought us to the beach and there lay the Kawa as handy as you please. She had been considerably tidied up since our departure. Our blanket-sail had been stowed and between the dingey-oars, which were rigged fore-and-aft, stretched a rope ofeva-evafrom which, to our surprise, hung an undershirt and a dainty femininerigolo. But no sign of William Henry Thomas. In vain we shouted, "Kawa ahoy!" and hurled lumps of coral. All was mysteriously quiet.
Triplett finally pulled out his Colt and, being a dead shot, drilled the undershirt through the second button. This had the desired effect. Our crew almost immediately appeared on deck and shouted peevishly, "Hey there, quit it."
I will not repeat what we said in reply as this is a book for the home, but it had a surprising result.
"Isthatso?" yelled William Henry Thomas and proceeded to step jauntily over the rail andwalkin our direction. I knew he couldn't swim a stroke and yet here he was, performing an apparent miracle right in our faces. Then it suddenly dawned on me—he was walking on the coral branches!
It was not a particularly pleasant interview.
0106
Readers of the text may have noticed that animal life plays a very unimportant part in the life of the Filbertines. Exception must be made in the case of a magnificent ooka-snake, the only one on the islands, which was the proudest possession of lovely Lupoba, who later became the wife of Herman Swank. The ooka-snake lives entirely upon cocoanut milk which gives him a gentle disposition admirably adapted for petting. Mr. Swank has confessed that his wife's fondness for the creature stirred in him a very real jealousy which, in view of the charming testimony of her portrait, we can well understand. A painting of Mrs. Swank by her husband has recently been purchased by the Corcoran Art Gallery of Washington, D.C.]
After apologizing for our absence, which we attributed to illness, we broke the news as gently as possible that we were married.
"Well," said William Henry Thomas, "so be I ... the lady's on board."
"You old land-crab!" blazed Whinney. "Who married you?"
"She did," he replied.
"But who performed the ceremony?" asked Swank.
"Me," answered William Henry.
In vain we tried to explain the necessity of proper rites. His only rejoinder was, "You're too late."
But what made our sailor-man maddest was the information that the yawl had to be moved.
"Here I be as snug as a bug in a rug," he stormed, "an' you go gallivantin' round marrying an' what all, an' now you show up an boost me out. Its e-viction, that's what it is, e-viction."
This was a long speech for William Henry Thomas; fortunately it was his last. While he was delivering it I heard a slight splash and turned just in time to see a seal-like form slip over the Kawa's counter and disappear. I watched in vain for her reappearance. Doubtless like all Filbertines she could stay under water for hours at a time. After that Thomas sullenly did Triplett's bidding and half-heartedly assisted in the work of getting the Kawa into the atoll.
It was an arduous task. For four days we labored, working our vessel close in shore opposite a clearing in the forest, where the outer island was not more than quarter of a mile wide and free from trees. Instructed by Triplett, we paved the highway to the lagoon with cocoanuts. Our wives and friends thinking it was a game, assisted us. If they had known it was work they would, of course, have knocked off immediately. And then the promised storm broke and I saw Triplett's plan.
It was such a storm as this, undoubtedly, that had struck us on July 4th. This time, crouched in the shelter of the near-by trees, clinging to the mattedharo, we were free to watch a stupendous spectacle. Triplett alone went aboard and lashed himself to the improvised steering post. Our sail had been stretched and rigged with hundreds of yards ofeva-eva, in addition to which four largetaa-taaswere lashed along the scuppers.
In less time than it takes to tell, the wind had risen to super-hurricane force. Suddenly Baa-haabaa let out a yell of warning and pointed seaward. Rushing toward us at lightning speed was a wall of white water, sixty feet high! In a trice we were all in the treetops, my wife hauling me after her with praiseworthy devotion. All, did I say? All but Triplett. He was sublime. Then for the first time I knew that he was, in truth, our chief. Waving his free arm at the advancing maelstrom, he yelled defiance. Then this towering seawall hit him square in the stern.
I caught one fleeting glimpse of the Kawa gallantly riding the foam. An instant later she was flung with a tremendous crash far down the leafy lane. Fully half the distance she must have gone in that first onslaught. The last eighth-of-a-mile she ground her way through a torrent of sea and cocoanuts. The forest rang with the bellowing wind, the snapping coral branches and the screams of the whistling-trout fighting vainly against the current. What a plan was Triplett's! The cocoanuts, being movable, rolled with the flood and actually acted as ball bearings. Without them our craft must certainly have burst asunder.
The storm passed as quickly as it had come and by the time we had clambered to the ground and rushed across the atoll there lay our tight little darling, peacefully at anchor in the still waters of the lagoon, with Triplett on her quarter-deck immersed in the New Bedford "Argus."