Marital memories. A pillow-fight on the beach. A deep-sea devil. The opening in the atoll. Swank paints a portrait. The fatu-liva bird and its curious gift. My adventure with the wak-wak. Saved!
I shall never forget a day when my bride and I sat on the edge of the lagoon after our matinal dip in its pellucid waters. It was a perfect September morn. So was she.
"My dear," I said suddenly, "Hatiaa Kappa eppe taue."
It sounds like a college fraternity but really means, "My woodlark, what is your name?"
I had been married over a week and I did not know my wife's name.
"Kippiputuonaa," she murmured musically.
"Taro ititi aa moieha ephaa lihaha?" I questioned, which, freely translated, is "What?"
"Kippiputuonaa."
Then, throwing back her head with its superb aureole of hair she softly crooned the words and music of the choral which the community chorus had sung on our wedding night.
Hooio-hooio uku hai unioKippiputunonaa aaa titi hutiO tefi tapu, O eio hokiHooio-hooio, one naani-tui
How it all came back to me! Leaning towards her, I gently pressed the lobe of her ear with my chin, the native method of expressing deep affection. Her dusky cheeks flushed and with infinite shyness she lifted her left foot and placed it on my knee. Tattooed the length of the roseleaf sole in the graceful ideographic lettering of the islands I read—
"Kippiputuonaa," (Daughter of Pearl and Coral).
"What an exquisite name!" I murmured, "and so unusual!"
I was awed. I felt as if this superb creature, my mate, had revealed to me the last, the most hidden of her secrets. I had heard of Mother of Pearl,—but of the Daughter—never...and I was married to her!
"And you," she whispered, "are Naani-Tui, Face-of-the-Moon!"
I liked that. Frankly I was a bit set up about it. It sounded so much better than Moon-face. I thrust out my left foot, bare of any inscription, and she tickled it playfully with a blade ofharo. Radiant Kippiputuonaa—whom I soon called "Kippy" for short—your name shall ever remain a blessed memory, the deepest and dearest wound in my heart.
Kippy proposed that I should be marked for identification in the usual manner, but I shuddered at the thought. I was far too ticklish; I should have died under the needle!
What days of joyous romping we had! One morning a little crowd of us, just the Swanks, Whinneys and ourselves, met on the beach for a pillow-fight. It was a rare sport, and, as the pillows were eighteen-inch logs ofrapiti-wood, not without its element of danger. A half-hour of this and we lay bruised and panting on the beach listening to the hoarse bellowing of thewak-waks.
Thewak-wakis without exception the most outrageous creature that ploughs the deep in fishy guise. For man-eating qualities he had the shark skinned a nautical mile.
Whinney made a true remark to me one night,—one of the few he ever made. The ocean was particularly audible that evening.
0118
There was something about the unfamiliar appearance of Dr. Traprock's yawl, the Kawa, which filled the beautiful native women with a wonder not unmixed with apprehension. This was particularly true of the lovely creatures who married the three intrepid explorers. The strange object which had brought to the islands these wonderful white men might some day carry them away again! In view of the tragic subsequent events there is something infinitely pathetic in this charming beach-study where Kippiputuonaa is seen anxiously watching "the tree-with-wings" (as she naively called the yawl), where her husband, Dr. Traprock, is at work rigging a new yard-arm. The Kawa, unfortunately, is just out of the picture.]
"Listen to that surf," I remarked. "I never heard it grumble like that before."
"You'd grumble, if you were full ofwak-waks," he said.
Thewak-wakhas a mouth like a subway entrance and I was told that so great was his appetite for human flesh that when, as occasionally happened, some unfortunate swimmer had been eaten by a shark, awak-wakwas sure to come rushing up and bolt shark, man and all. Consequently I did most of my swimming in the lagoon.
Speaking of the lagoon reminds me of an absurd bit of information I picked up from Kippy that made me feel as flat as a pressed fern. We were wandering along the shore one morning and she suddenly pointed to the Kawa and said laughingly.
"Why Tippi-litti (Triplett) bring Tree-with-Wings overHoopoi(cocoanuts)?"
"Why not swim?" she asked. "Look see. Big hole."
I looked and saw. A whole section of the atoll near where we were standing was movable! Kippy jumped up and down on it and it rocked like a raft. At the edges I saw that it was lashed to the near-by trees with vines! Cheap? You could have bought me for a bad clam. As I thought of the days we had sweated over those damned cocoanuts, of Triplett's peril, of the danger to the yawl, while our very families looked on and laughed, thinking it was a game, and we might have slipped out the movable lock-gate and simply eased through—well, for the first time in my married life I was mad. Kippy was all tenderness in an instant.
"Face-of-Moon, no rain," she begged, "Daughter of Pearl and Coral eat clouds."
She chinned my ear passionately, and I was disarmed in an instant.
I hated to tell Triplett—it seemed to dim his glory, but I needn't have worried.
"Good business," he exclaimed. "We can get her out inter the open an' have some sailin' parties. I'd like to catch one of themwak-waks."
That was the sort Triplett was. He'd done his trick and there was an end of it. The next day he had William Henry Thomas busy re-rigging the Kawa. William Henry Thomas, by the way, insisted on living on board in happy but unholy wedlock, and Whinney, Swank and I felt that it was better so. Somehow we considered him the village scandal.
During these peaceful days I wrote a great deal, posting up my diary as far as we had gone and jotting down a lot of valuable material. Swank had got his impediments off the boat and began daubing furiously, landscapes, seascapes, monotypes, ideographs, everything. Most of them were hideously funny, but he did one thing,—inspired by love, I suppose—a portrait of his wife that was a hummer. She was a lovely little thing with a lovely name, Lupoba-Tilaana, "Mist-on-the-Mountain."
"Swank," I said, "that's a ten-strike. The mountain is a little out of focus but the mist is immense!"
He squirted me with yellow ochre.
Whinney was in his element. Ornithology, botany, ethulology, he took them all on single-handed.
"Listen to that," he said to me one night as we were strolling back from a friendly game ofKahootiwith Baahaabaa and some of our friends.
I listened. It was the most unearthly and at the same time the most beautiful bird-song I have ever heard.
"What is it?" I asked, as the cry resounded again, a piercing screech of pain ending in a long yowl of joy.
"It is the motherhood cry of thefatu-liva," he said. "She has just laid an egg."
"But why the note of suffering?" I queried.
"The eggs of thefatu-livaare square," said Whinney, and I was silenced.
Motherhood is indeed the great mystery. Little did I realize that night how much I was to owe to thefatu-livaand her strange maternal gift which saved my life in one of the weirdest adventures that has ever befallen mortal man.
It was a placid day on the sea and Kippy and I were returning from a ten-mile swim to a neighboring island whither I had been taken to be shown off to some relatives.
"Wak-wak," I had said when she first proposed the expedition, but she had laughed gaily and nodded her head to indicate that there was not the slightest danger, and, shamed into it, we had set forth and made an excellent crossing.
On the return trip, midway between the two islands, I was floating lazily, supported by a girdle of inflated dew-fish bladders and towed by Kippy. She had propped over my head her verdanttaa-taawithout which the natives never swim for fear of the tropical sun, and I think I must have dozed off for I was suddenly roused by a hoarse Klaxon-bellow "Kaaraschaa-gha!" which told me all too plainly that I was in the most hideous peril.
"Wak-wak!"I barked, and all my past life began to unfold before me.
It was a horrid sight—thewak-wak,I mean. He was swimming on the surface, and at ten feet I saw his great jaws open, lined with row upon row of teeth that stretched back into his interior as far as the eye could reach and farther. Mixed up with this dreadful reality were visions of my past. I seemed to be peering into one of those vast, empty auditoriums that had greeted my opera, "Jumping Jean," when it was finally produced, privately.
"Help! Help!" I screamed, reverting to English.
Suddenly Kippy seized thetaa-taafrom my nerveless grasp. Half closing it, she swam directly toward the monster into whose widening throat she thrust the sharp-pointed instrument, in, in, until I thought she herself would follow it. And then, as she had intended, the point pierced thewak-wak'stonsil.
With a shriek of pain his jaws began to close and, on the instant, Kippy yanked the handle with all her might, opening thetaa-taato its full extent in the beast's very narrows.
Choked though he was, unable for the moment to bite or expel the outer air and submerge, the brute was still dangerous. Kippy was towing me shoreward at a speed which caused the sea to foam about my bladders but thewak-wakstill pursued us. A second time my dauntless mate rose to the occasion.
With amazing buoyancy she lifted herself to a half-seated position on the surface of the water and poured forth the most astounding imitation of the motherhood cry of thefatu-liva.
"Biloo-ow-ow-ow-ow-zing-aaa!"
Again, and yet again, it rang across the waters, and in the distance, flying at incredible speed, I saw the rainbow host offatu-livascoming towards us!
Gallant fowl! Shall I ever forget how they circled about us. One of their clan, as they supposed, was in dire danger and they functioned as only afatu-livacan. Flying at an immense height, in battle formation, they began laying eggs with marvelous precision. The first two struck thewak-waksquare on the nose and he screamed with pain. The third, landing corner-wise, put out his right eye and he began to thrash in helpless circles. The fourth was a direct hit on my left temple. "Face-of-the-Moon" passed over the horizon into oblivion whence he emerged to find himself in a tree, his brow eased with analova-leafpoultice, his heart comforted by Daughter of Pearl and Coral.
Excursions beyond the outer reef. Our aquatic wives. Premonitions. A picnic on the mountain. Hearts and flowers. Whinney delivers a geological dissertation. Babai finds a fatu-liva nest. The strange flower in my wife's hair.
As I look back on the months which followed I can truthfully say that they were the happiest of my existence. The semi-detachment of our island domesticity was a charm against tedium; our family reunions were joys.
Often we organized picnics to distant points. With hold-alls ofpanjandrusleaves packed with a supply of breadfruit sandwiches, sun-baked cuttywink eggs and a gallon or two ofhoopa,we would go to one of the lovely retreats with which our wives were familiar.
Occasionally we sailed in the Kawa, at which times the intrepid Triplett accompanied us. Remembering those happy times I now realize that his presence cast the only shadow across the bright sunlight of our days. Why this was I could not have said,—indeed I should have probably denied that it was so, yet the fact remains that on some of our excursions to neighboring islands, when, having pulled back the terrestrial cork of the atoll, we had eased our tight little craft into the outer waters, I experienced a distinct dorsal chill.
Both Kippiputuonaa and Lupoba-Tilaana felt this to a marked degree, but most of all was it apparent in its affect on Mrs. Whinney whose maiden name, Babai-Alova-babai (Triple extract of Alova), only faintly describes the intoxicating fragrance of her beauty.
"Tiplette, naue aata b'nau boti!" she used to cry. "Do not let Triplett go in the boat."
The old man was insistent. He had worked William Henry Thomas to exhaustion rerigging the craft and then thrust him out, bag and baggage. But I must admit that between them they had done a good job. William Henry and his bride took up lodgings in a tall tree near the lagoon whence they used mournfully to regard the floating home in which they had spent their unhallowed honeymoon. When we actually began to sail her the William Henry Thomases disappeared from view as if the sight were too much for them, and we seldom saw them thereafter.
Triplett's ingenuity was responsible for the bamboo mast, wovenpaa-paasail and the new yard-arm, which, in the absence of a universal joint was cleverly fashioned of braidedeva-eva.
On our cruises our wives spent a large part of their time overboard, sporting about the ship like porpoises, ever and anon diving deep under our counter only to appear on the other side decked with polyp buds as if crowned by Neptune himself. At this game Babai-Alova-Babai excelled. Never shall I forget the day she suddenly popped up close alongside and playfully tossed a magnificent pearl into Triplett's lap.
But, as I say, I did not feel at ease. Perhaps it was my experience with thewak-waks,—perhaps,—however, I anticipate.
Our merriest jaunts were nearer home. Most memorable of all was our first trip to the mountain, that gorgeous pile on the center of the lagoon.
It was early morning when we set out, disdaining our trim "Tree-with-Wings" from the deck of which Triplett watched our short three-mile swim across the still water. At every stroke flocks of iridescent dew-fish rose about us uttering their brittle note, "Klicketty-inkle! Klicketty-inkle!" [Footnote: One of the pleasantest sights imaginable is that of the natives gathering these little creatures as they rise to the surface at dawn. The dew-fish orkali-loaare similar to our white-bait, but much whiter. W.E.T.]
0134
This was the sort of thing that greeted the intrepid explorers of the Kawa when they made their first tour of the island and were entertained by the entrancing inhabitants of the women's compound. The two performers are respectively Lupoba-Tilaana and Baibai-Alova-Baibai. It was only after much persuasion that they agreed to be photographed but, when finally posed to Mr. Whinney's satisfaction, they entered into the spirit of the occasion by bursting into the national anthem of Love, which is described in Chapter II. The instruments are the bombi, a hollow section of rapiti-wood covered with fish membrane, and the lonkila, a stringed instrument of most plaintive and persuasive tone. These two instruments, with the addition of the bazoota, a wood-wind affair made from papoo reeds, make up the simple orchestral equipment of the Filberts.]
We were all wearing the native costume and Swank, I remember, caught hisrigoloon a coral branch and delayed us five minutes. But we were soon on the inner beach laughing over the incident while Babai made repairs.
The path up the mountain led through a paradise of tropical wonders. On this trip Whinney was easily the star, his scientific knowledge enabling him to point out countless marvels which we might not otherwise have seen. As he talked I made rapid notes.
"Look," he said, holding up an exquisite rose-colored reptile. "Thetritulus annularisor pink garter snake! Almost unheard of in the tropics."
Kippy insisted on tying it around her shapely limb. Then, of course, Babai must have one, too, and great were our exertions before we bagged an additional pair for our loved ones.
Thus sporting on our way, crowned withalovaand girdled withtontoni(a gorgeous type of flannel-mouthed snapdragon which kept all manner of insects at bay), we wound toward the summit, stopping ever and anon to admire the cliffs of mother-of-pearl, sheer pages of colorful history thrown up long ago by some primeval illness of mother earth.
Swank was so intoxicated by it all that I made almost the only break of our island experience.
"You've been drinking," I accused.
"You lie," he answered hotly, "it's these colors! Wow-wow! Osky-wow-wow! Skinny wow-wow Illinois!"
"Oh, shut up!" I remonstrated, when I saw Tilaana advancing toward me, fluttering hertaa-taain the same menacing way in which Kippy had attacked thewak-wak.
"I beg your pardon," I said. "I was wrong. I apologize."
We stood in a circle and chinned each other until peace was restored.
The view from the summit was, as authors say, indescribable. Nevertheless I shall describe it, or rather I shall quote Whinney who at this moment reached his highest point. We were then about three thousand feet above sea-level.
I wish I could give his address as it was delivered, in Filbertese, but I fear that my readers would skip, a form of literary exercise which I detest.
Try for a moment to hold the picture; our little group standing on the very crest of the mountain as if about to sing the final chorus of the Creation to an audience of islands. Far-flung they stretched, these jeweled confections, while below, almost at our very feet, we could see the Kawa and Triplett, a tiny speck, frantically waving his yard-arm! Even at three thousand feet he gave me a chill.... But let Whinney speak.
"It is plain," he said, "that the basalt monadnock on which we stand is a carboniferous upthrust of metamorphosed schists, shales and conglomerate, probably Mesozoic or at least early Silurian."
At this point our wives burst into laughter. In fact, their attitude throughout was trying but Whinney bravely proceeded.
"You doubtless noticed on the shore that the deep-lying metamorphic crystals have been exposed by erosion, leaving on the upper levels faulted strata of tilted lava-sheets interstratified with pudding-stone."
"We have!" shouted Swank.
"Evidently then," continued the professor, "the atoll is simply an annular terminal moraine of detritus shed alluvially into the sea, thus leaving a geosyncline of volcanic ash embedded with an occasional trilobite and the fragments of scoria, upon which we now stand."
0140
Of all the members of the now famous cruise of the Kawa into hitherto uncharted waters it is doubtful if any one entered so fully into the spirit of adventure as the silent fore-mast hand whose portrait faces this text. It was he who first adopted native costume. The day after landing in the Filberts he was photographed as we see him wearing a native wreath of nabiscus blooms and having discarded shoes. Every day he discarded some article of raiment. It was he who first took unto himself an island mate. It was he who ultimately abandoned all hope of ever seeing his home and country again, electing rather to remain among his new-found people with his new-found love and his new-found name, Fatakahala (Flower of Darkness). Truly, strange flowers of fancy blossom in the depths of the New England character. It is reported that he has lately been elected King of the Filberts.]
We gave Whinney a long cheer with nine Yales at the close to cover the laughter of the women, for the discourse was really superb. In English its melodic charm is lost, but you must admit that for an indescribable thing it is a very fine description.
After several days of idyllic life in our mountain paradise we felt the returning urge of our various ambitions.
"Kippy, my dear," I said, "I think we ought to be going."
Sweet soul that she was! that they all were, these beautiful women of ours! Anything we proposed was agreeable to them. As we trooped down the mountain singing, our merry chorus shook the forest glades and literally brought down the cocoanuts.
Whinney was not alone in his scientific discoveries for on the return trip Babai suddenly gave a cry of delight and the next instant had climbed with amazing agility to the top of a towering palm whence she returned bearing a semi-spheric bowl of closely woven grass in which lay four snow-white, polka-dotted cubes, the marvelous square eggs of thefatu-liva!
"Kopaa kopitaa aue!" she cried. "Hide them. Quickly, away!"
I knew the danger, of which my temple still bore the scar. Concealing our find under ourtaa-taawe scraped and slid over the faulted and tilted strata to which Whinney had referred until we reached the beach. High above us I could hear the anguished cry of the motherfatu-livavainly seeking her ravished home and potential family.
The marking of the eggs is most curious and Whinney took a photograph of them when we reached the yawl. It is an excellent picture though Whinney, with the raptiousness of the scientist, claims that one of the eggs moved.
Just before we left the mountain beach my own radiant Daughter of Pearl and Coral made a discovery which in the light of after events was destined to play an important part in our adventures. Kippiputuona, my own true mate, there is something ironically tragic in the thought that the simple blue flower which you plucked so carelessly from the cliff edge and thrust into your hair would some day—but again, I anticipate.
We had reached the yawl, which we made a sort of half-way house and were chatting with Captain Triplett. Whinney was repeating parts of his talk and I noticed that Triplett's attention was wandering. His eye was firmly fixed on the flower in Kippy's hair. That called my attention to it and I saw that whenever my wife turned her head the blossom of the flower slowly turned in the opposite direction.
Suddenly Triplett interrupted Whinney to say in a rather shaky voice, "Mrs. Traprock, if you please, would you mind facin' a-stern."
I motioned to Kippy to obey, which she would have done anyway.
"An' now," said the Captain, "kindly face forrard."
Same business.
The flower slowly turned on Kippy's head!
Stretching forth a trembling hand, Triplett plucked the blossom from Kippy's hair!
You can only imagine the commotion which ensued when I tell you that, in the Filberts, for a man to pluck a flower from a woman's hair means only one thing. Poor Kippy was torn between love of me and what she thought was duty to my chief. I had a most difficult time explaining to her that Triplett meant absolutely nothing by his action, a statement which he corroborated by all sorts of absurd "I don't care," gestures—but he clung to the flower.
An hour later when we had escorted the ladies safely to their compound, I paddled back to the yawl. Peering through the port-hole I could see Triplett by the light of a phosphorous dip working on a rude diagram; at his elbow was the blue flower in aputa-shellof water.
"Triplett," I asked sternly, as I stood beside him an instant later, "what is that flower?"
"That," said Triplett, "is a compass-plant."
"And what is a compass-plant?"
"A compass-plant," said Triplett, "is—-," but for the third and last time, I anticipate.
Imustget over that habit.
Swank's popularity on the island. Whinney's jealousy. An artistic duel. Whinney's deplorable condition. An assembly of the Archipelago. Water-sports on the reef. The Judgment.
Whinney and I were surprised to find that the islanders took Swank more seriously than they did either of us. Of course, since the Kawa's forcible entry into the atoll premier honors were Triplett's, but Swank was easily second.
The curious reason was that his pictures appealed. I think I have indicated that Swank was ultramodern in his tendencies. "Artless art," was his formula, often expressed by his slogan—"A bas l'objectif! Vive le subjonctif."Whatever that means, he scored with the Filbertines who would gather in immense numbers wherever he set up his easel.
This was due in part to his habit of standing with his back to the scene which he proposed to paint and, bending over until his head almost touched the ground, peering at the landscape between his outspread legs.
"It intensifies the color," he explained. "Try it."
Baahaabaa bestowed a title on our artist—"Maimaue Ahiiahi"—"Tattooer of Rainbows"—by which he was loudly acclaimed. Whinney and I used to sing, "He's always tattooing rainbows!" but artistic vanity was proof against suchbourgeoisie.
Baahaabaa was tireless in suggesting new subjects for him to paint. One day it would be a performance of theAtaboi, the languorously sensuous dance which we had first seen in the women's compound; again he would stage a scene of feasting, at which the men passed foaming shells ofhoopafrom hand to hand. A difficulty was that of preventing the artist from quitting work and joining his models which Swank always justified by saying that the greatest art resulted from submerging oneself with one's subject.
"Look at Gaugin!" he used to say.
"But I don't like to look at Gaugin," I remonstrated.
Whinney foolishly tried to compete with Swank by means of his camera—foolishly, I say, though the result was one of the finest spectacles I have ever witnessed.
For days Whinney had been stalking Swank, photographing everything he painted. In a darkroom of closely wovenpanjandrusleaves the films were developed and a proof rushed off to Baahaabaa long before the artist had finished his picture.
This naturally irritated Swank and he finally challenged the scientist to mortal combat, an artistic duel, camera against brush, lens against eye.
When the details were explained to Baahaabaa, he was in a frenzy of excitement. As judge, his decision was to be final, which should have warned Whinney, who, as the challenged party, had the right to select the subject. His choice was distinctly artful.
"I think I've got him!" he confided. "We're to do the 'lagoon at dawn.' You know what that means? Everything's gray and I can beat him a mile on gray; secondly, there won't be a gang of people around, and, thirdly, Swank simply loathes getting up early. They're all alike, these artists; any effort before noon is torture!"
"All right," said Swank, when I explained the conditions, "I won't go to bed at all."
0152
What the camera can do in interpreting the subtle values of a delicate color scheme is here shown in the prize photograph submitted by Reginald Whinney in the great competition presided over by Chief Baahaabaa. It is rare indeed to find a beach in the Filbert Islands so deserted. An hour after this photograph was taken more than three thousand natives were assembled to witness the judging of the exhibits. In the small hours of night, the entire strand is covered with pita-oolas, or giant land-crabs, about the size of manhole covers, who crawl inland to cut down the palm trees with which they build their nests. An examination of the picture with a powerful microscope will reveal the presence on the surface of the water of millions of dew-fish enjoying their brief interval of day and dew.]
When the rivals showed up on the beach at the appointed time I regret to say that Swank was not himself. He had spent the night with Baahaabaa and Hitoia-Upa, who supported him on either side, and balanced him precariously on his sketching-stool where he promptly fell asleep. In the meantime Whinney was dodging about with his camera, squinting in the finder, without finding anything—one never does—peering at the brightening sky, holding his thumb at arm's length, [Footnote: In Southern Peru the same gesture used to signify contempt and derision.] in a word going through all the artistic motions which should have been Swank's. The latter finally aroused himself and laboriously got onto all fours, looking like a dromedary about to lie down, from which position he contemplated the sunrise for several minutes and then began to fumble in his painting box.
"Ver' funny—ver' funny," he crooned, "forgot my brushes."
"Let me get them for you," I suggested.
He waived me aside. "Gimme air."
Whinney's shutter was now clicking industriously. He had decided to use an entire film, and submit the picture which came out best. Swank was gradually covering his canvas by squeezing the paint directly from the tubes, a method which has since been copied by many others—the "Tubistes" so called. Every few moments he would lurch forward and press his nose against the canvas, once falling flat on his masterpiece, most of which was transferred to his chest. But he persevered.
Whinney by this time had retired to his darkroom; Baahaabaa and Hitoia-Upa snored; Swank worked and I, from a near-by knoll, watched the miracle of a tropical dawn.
It was a scene of infinite calm, low in color-key, peaceful in composition, the curve of purple and lavender beach unbroken, the crest of dark palms unmoved, "like a Turk verse along a scimitar." The waters of the lagoon, a mirror of molten amber, reflected the soft hues of the sky from which the trailing garments of night were gradually withdrawn before his majesty, the Day.
Swank only allowed himself the use of the three primary colors—consequently his rendering of the opalescent beauty of this particular dawn was somewhat beyond me.
Where I saw the glowing promise of color rather than color itself, Swank saw red. Where I felt the hushed presence of dawn "like a pilgrim clad," Swank vibrated to the harmonies of pure pigment, the full brass of a tonal orchestra.
Of a sudden his color hypnotism transported him.
"Eee—yow!" he howled, brandishing a handful of Naples yellow mixed with coral which he hurled at the canvas. "Zow! Bam! Ooh, la la!" His shrieks roused his escorts and brought a rapidly swelling crowd to the dune, where, to the sound of his own ravings and the plaudits of the spectators, he finished his masterpiece.
Late afternoon of the same day was the hour agreed upon for the Judgment. Baahaabaa had sent invitations by express swimmers to all the near-by islands. He invited the entire archipelago.
The picture of their approach was interesting. Kippy haled me to the top of a tall tree whence we watched the convergent argosies, hundreds of tiny specks each bearing an outspreadtaa-taaof gleaming leaves. It was as if Birnam Wood had gone yachting.
"Tapa nui ekilana lohoo-a" chanted my mate.
Following her outstretched hand I discerned a group oftaa-taas,arranged in wedge formation, the enclosing sides being formed by swimmers carrying a web of wovenharo, in the center of which reposed a visiting chief with three or four of his wives.
0158
An interesting example of the way in which the mind of a painter works will be found in this reproduction of the masterpiece created by Herman Swank in competition with the photograph of the same title. Both camera and painter were to reproduce the same subject, yet how differently they reacted to it. In the beauty of nature about him it is evident that the great artist felt only the dominant feature of island life, the glorious, untrammeled womanhood of the South Seas. The wild abandon, the primitive gesture of modesty, the eyes of adoration—symbolically expressed as detached entities floating about the loved one—all are present in this remarkable picture. Thus expressed, too, we may find the ever-present ocean, the waving palms and, if we seek carefully, the Kawa herself, scudding before the trade wind. Truly may this be called, as the artist prefers, the Venus of Polynesia.]
By four o'clock the beach was thronged with thousands of gleaming bodies. Festivity and rejoicing were in every eye. Shouts of welcome, bursts of laughter, and the resounding slap of friendly hand on visiting hip or shoulder, the dignified welcome of the chiefs, cries of children, dances and games, myriad details of social amity—all presented a picture of unspoiled Polynesia such as is found in the Filberts alone. When I forget it, may I be forgot.
Of course Swank, Whinney and I were objects of much curiosity—and admiration. Hundreds of times my radiant Daughter of Pearl and Coral repeated:
"Ahoa tarumea—Kapatooi Naani-Tui"—"I should like to make you acquainted with my husband, Face-of-the-Moon."
Hundreds of times did I press my chin against soft ears and submit to the same gentle greeting. Hundreds of times did I raise the welcoming hoopa-shell with the usual salutation—"Lomi-lomi,"—"May you live for a thousand years and grow to enormous size."
In a rest period Kippy and I swam to the reef where the younger set were sporting among the coral, diving for pearls which rolled on the purple floor. As I think now of the value of those milky globes, the size of gooseberries, I marvel that not a thought of covetousness crossed my mind. What were pearls to us?
"Catch!" cried Kippy, and threw a fish-skin beauty in my direction. I admired its lustre for an instant and its perfect roundness acquiredfrom the incessant rolling of the tides—then carelessly tossed it back. It slipped between Kippy's fingers.
"I'll get it," I cried, making ready to dive, but she shouted a warning.
"Arani electi. Oki Kutiaa!"-"Look out! The snapping oysters!"
Gazing down through the crystal depths into which our bauble had fallen I saw a great gapingkutiaa, the fiercest of crustacea, its shelly mouth slightly ajar, waiting for the careless hand or foot that might come within its grasp. We let the pearl go and amused ourselves by sucking the eggs of theliho, a bland-faced bird which makes its nest in the surface coral branches. [Footnote: Thelihois in many respects the most remarkable fowl in existence. It is of thegallinarisor hen-family crossed with the male shad which causes the bird to produce eggs in unheard of quantity.] Here, too, we laughed over the ridiculousratatia, that grotesque amphibian who is built like a ferry-boat, with a head at either end and swivel fins so that however he may move he is always going forward.
From these diversions the sound of singing summoned us. The Judgment was about to take place. At top speed we swam ashore and joined the crowd. For once I was glad that literature had no place in the competition, so that Kippy and I were free to watch the proceedings.
Years ago I saw the ceremonial by which the British Government conferred on the Bahia of Persia the title of "The Bab of Babs," but it was nothing compared to what I now gazed upon.
As far as the eye could reach stretched the crowd. Under a gorgeous dais ofpanjandrusleaves respondent withalovablossoms sat Baahaabaa, on his right Captain Triplett, on his left Hanuhonu, the ranking visitor, and all about retinues of nobles, with their superb families, groups of dancers, slim and straight as golden birches, singers, orators and athletes. It was grand opera on a titanic scale, with the added distinction of really meaning something.
Baahaabaa spoke first—in fact I think I may say that he spoke first, last and all the time. I can conscientiously claim that he is the champion long-distance orator of the world. Ever and anon he gave way to a guest but only for a moment.
"We are met," he said—I translate freely—"we are met to witness the emulation of friends." Could anything be more delicate?
"We have with us tonight, in this corner, Wanooa-Potonopoa (Whinney), the Man with his Eye in a Box" (this was plainly a reference to Whinney's camera)—"while in this corner, we have Mainaue Ahiiahi, Tattooer-of-Rainbows. Both boys are members of this island."
The applause was enormous but Swank had the grace to rise and kiss his finger-tips toward the audience which immediately put him on a friendly footing.
After a few more speeches by Baahaabaa the exhibits were unveiled. Of course, the result was foregone. I must admit that Whinney's was not hung to advantage. The two pictures were placed against tufts ofharoat forty yards distance where, naturally, the detail of the photograph lost something of its effectiveness. Swank's picture on the contrary blazed like a pin-wheel. The further you got from it the better it looked.
A characteristic point in the competition was that Swank had introduced figures into his composition where no figures had existed. "What do I care?" he said to my objection. "I was there, wasn't I? And you were there? There may have been others."
A mighty roar followed the unveiling, a shout of such force that tons of breadfruit and thousands of cocoanuts fell from the adjacent trees. But it was plain to see whom the shouting was for. Then Baahaabaa made the awards and—the prizes were identical—two royalrigolosof mother-of-pearl, elaborately trimmed with corals and pendants of limpid aquamarine. What tact, what grace and charm in these identical rewards!
I am fortunate in being able to reproduce both masterpieces, so that my readers may form their own decision. Personally, Whinney's photograph seems to me to reproduce more completely my memories of "The Lagoon at Dawn." But I may be wrong. Modern artists will probably back up the popular judgment and on that memorable day in the Filberts I would certainly have been in the minority.