On the evening of the second day we were laid-to under a rag of foresail, riding the seas obliquely9, a few points off the wind. The schooner took them like an eider duck; it was so thick in the cabin that I slid back the hatch and squeezed through into the clean turmoil10 above. The mood of the Pacific was too impressive for pleasure, but I was glad at least of the fresh air and able to derive11 a species of awed12 enjoyment13 208 from what went on about me. It may have been fatigue14, or carelessness, or inexperience—at any rate, the man at the wheel suddenly allowed the schooner to bear off; she was climbing the slope of a sea at the time—the crest15 of it caught her weather side with a crash and next instant a rush of solid water swept the decks. Thin and faint as the voices of sea birds above the roaring of the wind, the cries of native passengers drifted back, "Aue! Aue!"; the hatch slid back abruptly16; the skipper burst on deck—bristling, gesticulating, clad in a waistcloth—to deliver an address in passionate17 Mangaian, insulting and only partially18 audible.
Under the swinging lamp in the cabin I found Tari—our singular and philosophic19 supercargo, whose calm no ordinary gale could disturb—bending over his books, a bottle and a glass in racks at his elbow. A mat was spread on the floor and on it—huddled under a quilt of bright patchwork—lay Apakura, his young native wife. Her feet were bound in a pareu and the quilt pulled over her head, for the cockroaches22 were everywhere. I entered my stateroom to lie down. A large cockroach21, insolent23 and richly perfumed, trotted24 along the springs of the upper berth25 and halted just above my face. Waves of the hand had no effect on him—I had reasons for not wishing to crush him in his tracks. One of his comrades began a tentative nibbling26 at my hair—something tickled27 my foot—I started convulsively. The sudden rolls of the schooner flung me against her side; it was useless to try to sleep. As I sat down beside him, Tari closed his books and motioned me to fill a glass.
A faint noise of shouting came from on deck; the 209 engine-room bell sounded a sudden and peremptory28 signal. The hatch opened with a gust of spray—the head of the skipper appeared dimly in the swaying light. "Atitu," he shouted; "I'm going to run into the lee and stand off and on till this blows over." The engine started and Tari and I went on deck for a glimpse of the land, looming29 close and vague in the starlight. Presently, as we took our seats in the cabin, the schooner ceased her violent pitching and began to ride a long, easy swell30. Tari rose, stepped to where his wife lay sleeping, picked up the slender bundle in the quilt, and disappeared into his stateroom; next moment he was beside me again, uncorking a fresh bottle of rum.
"She's had a bad time of it," he said, "with a berth on the weather side; she was spilled on the floor half a dozen times before she gave up and came out here. I shouldn't have let her come along—I had my doubts of the weather, but it was a chance to see the relatives she's got scattered31 through the group. They're constantly visiting one another; blood means a lot down here where they recognize degrees of consanguinity32 absurdly farfetched to our minds. First cousins are like brothers, second and third cousins considered members of one's immediate33 family, and so on through the descendants of remote ancestors. When you stop to think of it, this respect for ties of blood—in the isolated34 communities of Polynesia—rests on a solid base."
I asked him a question concerning the end of these island people—whether they will fade away and disappear, like our own Narragansett and Seminole, without leaving their mark on the supplanting35 race or 210 whether they will be absorbed gradually, developing in the process of absorption a new type. Tari set down his glass.
"One thing is certain," he replied—"if left to themselves they would soon be extinct. Wherever you go among the islands you will find couple after couple of full-blooded natives—young, strong, wholesome36, and childless. No doubt the white man is partially to blame, but, for myself, I believe the race is worn out with isolation37 and old age. They are justified38 in their dread39 of being childless, but an infusion40 of European blood—however small—works a miracle; you must have noticed this, to me a most striking and significant fact. It is the cross of white and brown that is repopulating the islands to-day; one can venture a glimpse into the future and see the process of absorption complete—the Polynesian is not fated to disappear without leaving a trace behind ... and perhaps it will be more than a trace, for half-caste children cling strongly to the distaff side.
"The question of half-castes is an interesting one, particularly to men like me—but it is a waste of time to struggle against nature; in the end the solution is nearly always the same. Varana's children furnish the best example I have run across—you've never been to Rimarutu, I fancy; it is not often visited nowadays; probably you've never heard of Varana. And yet he was an extraordinary man, his life an almost unique study in extremes. Like everything real, the story has no beginning, unless one were able to trace back the strain that gifted the man with his exceptional temperament41; as for an end, that is still working itself out on Rimarutu. It is, in fact, no story at all, but a bit of 211 life itself—unmarked by any dominating situation, haphazard42, inconclusive, grimly logical. No one can know the whole of it—the play of motives43, the decisions, the pure chance—but I worked with Varana for years and have patched his story together after a fashion. Now and then, when the mood struck him, he used to speak of himself; sometimes at night when we were working his schooner from island to island; sometimes by day, as we lay smoking under the palms of a remote atoll, while the canoes of the divers44 dotted the lagoon45. On those occasions I had glimpses of a man not to be judged by the standards of everyday life—a man actuated by motives as simple as they were incomprehensible to those about him. His death, if he is dead—But I will speak of that in its place.
"His real name was Warner—a big, blue-eyed man, slow-spoken and a little dreamy in manner, with an immense blond mustache and a serenity47 nothing could disturb. I never knew him to hesitate in making a decision or to speak unless he had something to say. All decent men liked him, and the natives, who were better able than a white man to fathom48 his simplicity49, took to him from the first. He had been miserably50 out of place in England—squeezed through Cambridge, which he detested51, unhappily married, done out of a fortune by the defaulting brother-in-law whose last debt he paid, and divorced just before he came out here.
"It is often observed that when an Englishman's feelings are hurt he travels, and in this respect Varana was not exceptional. One day, a little more than a generation ago, he stepped off the mail boat at Papeete—a rather typical English tourist, I fancy—dressed in 212 tropical costumes from Bond Street and accompanied by an extraordinary quantity of luggage. At the club he ran across Jackson of the Atoll Trading Company—the old man liked him from the first and they used to spend the evenings together, lingering over their glasses, talking a little in low tones. A fortnight later Varana left as quietly as he had come—outbound in one of Jackson's schooners52 for a cruise through the Paumotus.
"It was the year of the hurricane at Motutangi. Varana's boat, commanded by a native skipper, had drifted through the group in a desultory53 way, touching54 at an island here and there to pick up a few tons of copra or a bit of shell. One can imagine the effect on a newcomer of those early days among the atolls—long sunlit days when gentle breezes filled the sails of the vessel55 skirting the shores of the lagoons—waters of unearthly peace and loveliness, bordered by leagues of green. And the nights ashore56, when the moon rose at the end of a path of rippling57 silver, and the people gathered before their thatched houses to sing.... It was not long before Varana realized that he had found his anodyne58.
"At home he had been a yachtsman of sorts; by the time they reached Motutangi the brown skipper was leaving a good part of the working of the schooner to his guest. They were diving in the lagoon that year at the end of a long rahui on the shell—a sort of closed season, scrupulously59 respected by the natives; half a dozen schooners were anchored off the village, where every house overflowed60 with people from the surrounding islands, and by day their canoes blackened the water above the patches of shell.
"The hurricane gave ample warning of its approach—Varana 213 told me as much as that. He had spent the night ashore with a trader, whose old glass rose and fell spasmodically, sinking always a little lower, until it stood at a figure which sent the trader off, white and cursing, to break open a fresh case of gin. None of the divers went out at daybreak; with the other people, they stood in little frightened groups before the houses. The older men were already beginning to hack61 off the tops of the stout62 palms in which they planned to roost. By the time Varana came off in a canoe the schooners were double anchored, the wind was shifting uneasily in sharp gusts63, and a tremendous surf was thundering on the outer beach. The native skipper, like the people ashore, knew perfectly64 well what was coming and, like most of his kind, his spirit broke in the face of a large emergency—before the feeling that the forces of nature were about to overwhelm him. Well, I've been through one hurricane—I can't say that I blame him much! Varana found him not exactly in a funk, but in a state of passive resignation, hoping vaguely65 that his two anchors would let him ride it out inside. The crew was clustered on the after deck, exchanging scared whispers. Varana, who had the instinct of a deep-water sailor, took in the situation at a glance, and next moment he had taken command of the schooner.
"Without a word of protest the men reefed, got sail on her, heaved up one anchor, and cut the other cable. Varana had very little to say about the rest—how he edged out through the pass and managed to claw off just as the cyclone66 struck Motutangi—but afterward67 the story went the rounds of every group. All the other schooners in the lagoon, as well as most of the 214 people ashore, were lost. How Varana weathered it, without piling up his vessel on any one of half a dozen atolls, is a sort of miracle.
"A week later, when he had sailed his battered68 schooner—the only survivor69 of the disaster at Motutangi—into Papeete harbor, he found himself famous by nightfall, for the native captain gave him entire credit for the achievement. Old Jackson's imagination was touched, or perhaps it was the destruction of so many rival schooners in the shell and copra trade—at any rate, he acted on impulse for once in his life, sent for Varana, and offered him a remarkably70 good berth with a fat screw attached. But the wanderer only smiled and shook his head—he had had a taste of the outer islands. It shakes one's faith in Providence71 to realize that most men die without finding the place in life for which they were designed.
"It was old Jackson who told him of Rimarutu—probably during one of their almost silent evenings at the club. It was a mistake—Jackson thought—to believe that a man could shut himself off from the world; the mood would pass in time, but if Varana wished seriously to try it, he would find no better place than Rimarutu. There was some copra to be had and a little shell in the lagoon; the people numbered about two hundred, a quiet, pleasant lot, not given to wandering from their island. Varana had salvaged72 a few thousand pounds from the wreck73 of his affairs at home; Jackson helped him pick up a schooner at a bargain and load her with what was needed; there was some difficulty about a crew, but his uncanny gift with the natives got him three men content to follow his fortunes. On the morning when he shook hands with 215 the old man, stepped aboard his boat, and sailed out of the harbor, Varana severed74 the last tie with the world he had known.
"I could tell you a good deal about his life on the island—I worked with him for nearly ten years. He began by renting a bit of land—for his store and copra shed—from the chief and setting himself to learn the language. The Polynesian is a shrewd judge of character; they saw that this man was just, kindly75, fearless, and to be trusted. Those who had traveled a little declared Varana a phenomenon—a white trader who respected women and never lay on his veranda76 in a stupor77, surrounded by empty bottles. He seemed to know instinctively78 the best way to take these people, with whom, from the very first, he found himself on terms of a mutual79 understanding. They regarded him with a mixture of liking81 and respect, not accorded us, perhaps, as often as we are apt to think; he worked with them, he played with them, and finally took a daughter of the island as his wife—yet it was characteristic that he never permitted himself to run barefoot and that even after twenty years of friendship the native entering Varana's house took off his hat. I remember Tupuna as a woman of thirty—tall, robust82, and grave, with delicate hands and masses of bright, rippling hair; the years were kind to her—even in middle life she did not lose a certain quiet charm. Make no mistake—they were happily mated, this man, turned out by what Englishmen believe the highest civilization in the world, and the daughter of an island chief whose father had been a savage83 and an eater of men. She was not spoiled like so many traders' wives; when they had been on the reef she walked home 216 behind, carrying the torches and the fish—but he felt for her an affection deep as it was undemonstrative, a strong attachment84, proven at the end in his own extreme and romantic way.
"During the early years of his life on Rimarutu, Varana had enough to do with his store, his occasional trips for supplies, and his work for the betterment of the island people. He found them living on fish and coconuts85, depending for all their luxuries on a dwindling86 production of copra. He showed them how to thin their palms, how to select nuts for new plantings, how to dry their copra with a minimum of effort. The shell in the lagoon was nearly exhausted87; he persuaded the chiefs of the two villages to forbid diving for a term of years. After experiments conducted with Tupuna's aid he set the men to catching88 flying fish, which swarmed89 in the waters about the island, and taught the women to split them, rub in salt, and dry them on lines in the sun. Rimarutu is high, as atolls go—five or six yards above the sea in spots; he laid out beds of puraka taro90, and had pits dug on the high portions of the island, lined the bottoms with rock to keep the taproots from salt water, filled them with humus and topsoil—scraped up in handfuls—and planted breadfruit, mango, and lime, brought from the high islands to the north. At long intervals92, when in need of something that only civilization could supply—paint, rigging, or a new set of sails—he went north with a cargo20 of copra and dried fish and took on a brief charter with Jackson. On these trips he visited scores of islands, and came to know the people of a thousand miles of ocean.
"It was not until his son was born that Varana 217 began to think seriously of money. His daughters had given him no concern; he explained to me once his peculiar93 philosophy as to their future. Perhaps he was right. With their happiness in mind, he preferred to bring them up as island girls—without education or knowledge of the outside world and no greater prospects94 than those of their full-blooded playmates—rather than give them the chances of the usual half-caste: half-educated and partially Europeanized, whose most brilliant hope is marriage with a white man of the inferior sort. But the birth of Terii set the father to thinking.
"The child was about ten when I saw him first, a fine strong boy, very fair for a half-caste, with his father's eyes, a high carriage of the head, and skin touched with a faint bloom of the sun. Tupuna was immensely proud of him. I was a youngster then and new to the islands, but I had heard of Varana before Jackson introduced me to him. It was at Jackson's place, on the upper veranda, that he told me how he had leased Fatuhina; some one had spoken of my work. I had operated diving machines? He needed a man familiar with them, for he had leased an atoll with some big shell patches in the lagoon, and machines would be necessary to work the deeper portions. I was doing nothing at the time. I liked what I had heard of Varana, and I liked the man better still. In an hour we had come to an understanding. I worked with him, off and on, from that time until the beginning of the war.
"Without caring in the least for wealth, Varana had set out to make himself rich. Long before I knew him he had decided95 the question of his son: Terii was to 218 have the same chances that his father had had before him—was to see both sides and choose for himself.
"Even Varana's friends spoke46 of his luck; to my mind his success was inevitable96. Regarded with an almost superstitious97 affection by the people of widely scattered groups, he possessed98 channels of information closed forever to the ordinary man. It was in this way that he learned of the shell in Fatuhina lagoon; perhaps he did not know that the native who approached him, one evening on a distant atoll, to speak casually99 of the matter and stroll away, had paddled across twelve miles of sea with no other object than to bring the news to Varana. When the Gaviota was beached he was the first to learn of it—that affair alone brought him a neat fortune; and when men had fine pearls to sell they saw him before they went to the Jews. By the time his son was twelve Varana was a rich man.
"I was on Rimarutu when he left to take the boy to England. Tupuna shed a few tears, but there was no scene—she knew he would return. 'I go to take our son to my own land,' he told her; 'there will be six moons before I come.' Five months later I was waiting with the schooner when he stepped off the mail boat. That night, as he lay on a mat on the afterdeck, dressed in a pareu and a pair of slippers100, he spoke of England briefly101 in the midst of our talk on island matters. 'Damned senseless treadmill,' he remarked; 'I can't think how I stood it so many years.' The ordinary man, who had left home under a cloud of misfortune to return twenty years later, after wanderings in distant lands, with a fortune and a beautiful child, would have lingered not without a certain relish102. But Varana was different; he grudged103 every 219 moment spent in civilization and lived only for the day when he would again take the wheel of his schooner and watch the ridges of Tahiti sink beneath the horizon.
"The years passed rapidly and tranquilly104 on Rimarutu. The days of Varana's activity were over; he was no longer young, though he kept his store and took the schooner out at long intervals for supplies. Then came the outbreak of the war.
"I was in Gallipoli when the letter reached me, written in the native language by Varana's old mate. It told a story fantastically unreal—incredible from the viewpoint of everyday life—and yet to me who knew him, as to the people of his island, the end of Varana seemed a natural thing, in keeping with what had gone before. Tupuna had fallen ill (the old man wrote) and had died suddenly and peacefully, as natives do. Varana stood beside her grave with no great display of grief, returned to his house and spent three days putting his affairs in order. On the fourth day he gave the mate a thick envelope of documents, called together the people of the island and bade each one of them farewell. When he turned to leave they did not disperse105; the women had begun to sob—they felt already the desolation of a final parting. It was the hour of sunset, when the trade wind dies away and the lagoon lies like a mirror under an opalescent106 sky.... I can see in imagination those simple and friendly islanders, standing80 in little groups before the settlement—raising no voice in protest, moving no hand in restraint—while the man they loved walked to the ocean beach, launched a tiny canoe in the surf, and paddled out to the west. The nearest land in that 220 direction is distant six hundred miles. When he had passed the breakers—they say—Varana did not once turn his head; the watchers stood motionless while the sky faded, their eyes fixed108 on the dot that was his canoe—a dwindling dot, swallowed up at last in the night."
Tari ceased to speak. He was sitting propped109 on the lounge, arms folded, legs stretched out, eyes staring at the table. Without seeming aware of what he did, he filled his glass, raised it to his lips, and drank. Presently he emerged from his revery to light a pipe.
"In due time," he went on, "I had word from the lawyers, inclosing a copy of the will and informing me that I had been named executor with old Jackson, who seemed to have discovered the secret of eternal life. There was also a letter from Varana, written after Tupuna's death—a friendly and casual note, with a mere111 line at the end, asking me to do what I could for his boy. The land Tupuna had brought him was to be divided equally among his daughters; all the rest was for Terii, saving his parting gift to me. Only one condition was attached—Terii must visit Rimarutu before inheriting the property of his father; once he had set foot on the island, he would be his own master, free to choose his path in life.
"The boy was nineteen when the war broke out; he joined up at once as a cadet in the Flying Corps112. During the second year I began to hear of Lieutenant113 Warner—he had shot down a German plane near Zeebrugge; he had been wounded; he had received the Military cross. Once I saw his picture in the Sphere—a handsome lad, very smart in the old uniform 221 of the R. F. C., with a jaunty114 cap over one eye and ribbons on his breast. This was the little savage whose shrill115 cries I used to hear at dawn, when he raced with his half-naked companions on the beach! At the end of the war he was Captain Terry Warner, a celebrity116 in a small way.... I felt a certain pride in him, of course. We had done our best to meet, but something always happened to prevent my getting a glimpse of him.
"I ran across him as I was homeward bound, leaving San Francisco for the islands. I had already gone aboard and was standing by the rail, watching the last of the luggage swing over the side in nets, when a motor drove up to discharge a party of men and women—fashionables of the city, from their looks. One of them, a lean, tanned boy, with the overcoat of a British officer over his civilian117 clothes, was saying good-by to the others, shaking hands and smiling very attractively. A little later, when the lines were being cast off, I saw him close beside me at the rail. A girl in blue was standing on the dock, waving up at him. 'Good-by, Terry!' she called. I looked closely; there could be no doubt—it was the son of Varana.
"We had long talks on the voyage south; the lad had not forgotten me. The memory of the old life—of the island, of his mother, of his father—would always be fresh in his mind, but he regarded those days as a distant and beautiful episode, now forever closed. He was going to visit Rimarutu for the last time—to bid farewell to those who remembered him. He had not forgotten the friends of his boyhood; there were many little presents in his boxes, and he told me that the schooner—reported sound as on the day of her launching—would 222 be his gift to Varana's old mate. Afterward he would return to San Francisco, where opportunities had been offered him; he had brought letters to America and had been well received.
"The schooner was in port when we arrived. Varana's mate met us on the dock; there were tears in the old man's eyes as he took the boy's hands in his own and murmured in a trembling voice, 'O Terii iti e.' The tourists descending118 the gangplank looked with interest at the spectacle of Captain Warner, almost embracing an old barefoot kanaka, dressed in dungarees and a faded shirt, wrinkled brown face working with emotion. As Terii shook hands with the crew—some of them boys with whom he had played in childhood—I noticed that a phrase or two of the native came to his lips—twelve years had not been sufficient to blot119 out all memory of his mother's tongue.
"We had a long passage south, beating against the trade; Varana had installed an engine in the schooner, but time is cheaper than petrol in this part of the world. Terii delighted in handling the boat; there was salt water in his blood; and his father had seen to his training in navigation and the ways of the sea. With each new day I perceived symptoms of a change in the boy. White suits and canvas slippers gave way to pajamas120 and bare feet; finally the pajamas were replaced by a pareu, taken from the trade-room stock. The summers at home had not been wasted; I used to watch him at the wheel, working the schooner to windward, an eye on the canvas aloft, steering121 with the easy certain movements of a seaman122 born. He was in love with the schooner before we had been out a week, and he had reason—Frisco-built for the last 223 of the pelagic sealing, Varana's boat was the fastest thing of her tonnage in the South Seas. More than once in our talks Terii seemed to forget the plans he had confided123 to me.... She needed a new foresail; the set of this one did not please him; he was going to have her copper124 renewed in places; she was getting dingy125 below; the cabin needed a touch of paint. At times, speaking of these things, he stopped short in the midst of a sentence and changed the talk to other subjects. The language came back to him surprisingly; he was able to understand and make himself understood before we raised the palms of Rimarutu.
"The mate took her in through the pass. It was late afternoon, cool and cloudless, with a gentle sea nuzzling at the reef. The island was like the memory of a dream—fresh green palms, snowy beaches, cat's-paws ruffling126 the lagoon in long, blue streaks—so beautiful that the sight of it made one's heart ache and the breath catch in one's throat. A dozen canoes put out to meet us from the first settlement; there were greetings from friends and relatives—embraces and tears. Terii lay silent, propped on his elbows and staring ahead, as we slipped across the lagoon; the island people spoke in tones so low that I could hear the crisp sound of the schooner's bows parting the landlocked water. The other village lay beyond the beach ahead of us, Varana's village, where Terii had been born—a place of dreams in the mystery of the evening light. It was not difficult to guess at the boy's thoughts—the moment was one of those which make up the memories of a lifetime. Every man has known them—rapture, pain, the enjoyment of supreme127 beauty, the flavor of exotic and unrepeatable experience; but not 224 every man is permitted to taste such contrasts as this boy had known in twenty-four years of life.... I was a little envious128, I think, of the rarity of that poignant129 home-coming.
"On the first evening, when we had greeted the people of the village, Terii was led away by his old aunt, Tupuna's sister. Just before bedtime I saw them at his mother's grave—a lonely shrine130, roofed over in island fashion, where the light of a lamp shone on stunted131 bushes of frangipani. My eccentricities132 were not forgotten; they had spread my mat under the palms before Varana's house, and toward midnight Terii came quietly and lay down close by. I was wakeful in a revery, living over the old days with my friend, wondering, with the usual idle and somber133 doubt, if we were destined134 to meet again. Low over the palm tops a planet glimmered135 like a shaded lamp; the Milky136 Way arched overhead through a sky powdered with fixed stars—remote suns, about which revolve137 myriads138 of worlds like ours.... I rebelled at the thought that the strong soul of Varana should be snuffed out. Terii said nothing for a long time; I thought he had dropped off to sleep, but suddenly I heard his voice: 'I have the strangest feeling to-night,' he said, thoughtfully; 'if my father were here I could believe that I had never been away, that everything since I left—England, school, my friends, the war—was no more than a dream. I can't explain to you, but somehow this island seems the most real thing in the world. I've been talking with my aunt—I'd almost forgotten her name, you know—and I managed to understand a good bit of what she had to say.... There is no doubt she believes it herself. My father 225 comes to her every now and then, she says, for a talk on family matters; last night he told her we would come to-day, and that I would stop here to take his old place among the people. It seems they are good enough to want me to stay—I almost wish I could.'...
"The drums were going at daybreak—the feast in Terii's honor was the greatest the island had known since heathen days. The entire population was on hand; the beach black with canoes; dozens of good-humored babies on mats under the trees, with small brothers and sisters stationed to fan the flies away. The people sat in long rows in the shade, strings139 of shell about their necks, their heads wreathed in hibiscus and sweet fern. Terii was placed between the chief of the other village and Tehina, the chief's daughter, a full-blooded Rimarutu girl of sixteen, barefoot, dressed in a white frock, with gold pendants in her ears and a thick, shining braid of hair. There is an uncommon140 charm about the women of that island—a stamp of refinement141, a delicacy142 of frame and feature, remarked as long ago as the days of Spanish voyaging in the Pacific. Blood counts for something in Polynesia, and one needed only a glance at Tehina to know that the best blood of the island flowed in her veins143; her ancestor—if tradition may be credited—was in the long canoe with Penipeni when the god pulled Rimarutu up from the bottom of the sea. I like those people, and in spite of the night's depression I managed to enjoy the fun—I even danced a bit! Finally I saw that the dancers were taking their seats; voices were lowered, heads were turned.
"Tehina was dancing alone to the rhythm of a 226 hundred clapping hands. In twenty years of the islands I have never seen a girl step more daintily. Little by little she moved toward Terii until she stood directly before him, inviting144 him to dance, hands fluttering, swaying with an unconscious grace, smiling into his eyes. Every head turned; there were smiles, good-humored chuckles145, nudges; they were proud of this girl and anxious that the son of Varana should dance with her. They had not long to wait. Next moment Terii had leaped to his feet and was dancing, with more enthusiasm than skill, to a long burst of cheers and clapping.
"When the canoes put off at nightfall I noticed that Tehina did not leave; she had stopped to visit her uncle, the parson of the village church. I saw Terii with her often during the days that followed—fishing on the lagoon, swimming in the cove110, lying on mats in the moonlight where groups of young people were telling their interminable stories of the past. He seemed a little shy of me, and no longer exchanged confidences in the hour which precedes sleep. One evening, smoking and strolling alone after dinner, I passed the parson's house and became aware of the vague figure of Terii, walking to and fro impatiently beside the veranda. He stopped—I heard the rattle146 of a coral pebble147 on the roof. A moment later Tehina glided148 like a phantom149 around the corner of the house, and they went off arm in arm along the path to the sea. I thought to myself that the lad was not doing badly after his twelve years away from the island, but the blood was in him, of course—there was instinct in his manner of tossing the pebble and in the unhesitating way he had led the girl toward the outer 227 beach: the haunt of dreadful presences, a place no ordinary islander would visit after dark. I fancied him sitting there—the rumble150 of the surf in his ears, watching the lines of breakers rear up under the moon—with Tehina beside him, admiring and afraid. When his eye was not on her she would glance right and left along the beach and back toward the bush, half expecting to see some monstrous151 thing, crouched152 and watching with fiery153 eyes. As for the boy, one could only guess at the troubled flow of his thoughts, stirred by cross-currents of ancestry154 and experience. In her own environment Tehina was a girl to make any man look twice; for him, with his mother's blood and the memories of his childhood, she must have possessed a powerful appeal—the touch of her hand; her voice, soft and low-pitched, murmuring the words of a half-forgotten tongue; her dark eyes shining in the moonlight; the scent107 of the strange blossoms in her hair. It was the test, the final conflict Varana had foreseen. I had my own opinion of the result, and yet the other life pulled hard.
"The days passed in pleasant island fashion; the loading of the schooner went on; there was no mention of a change in plans. The chief came to take his daughter home, and when she had gone Terii spoke to me, not too convincingly, of his return to civilization. My trip to Rimarutu was a matter of pleasure alone; I was already planning to take this berth, and was not sorry when Terii announced one morning that we would sail north that afternoon. One seems perpetually saying good-by down here—these islands are havens155 of a brief call, of sad farewells, of lingering and regretful memory. Our parting from the people of 228 Rimarutu was more than usually painful; they had hoped to the last that Terii would leave some word, some promise; but he remained silent, though I could see that the leave-taking was not without effect.
"Finally the last canoe put off for shore; the anchor came up, the motor started, and Terii steered156 across the lagoon for the pass. The sails were still furled, for there was a light head wind. I watched his face as he stood in silence at the wheel; there was a look in his eyes which made me sorry for the boy. We crossed the lagoon, glided past green islets, and drew abreast157 of the other village. The people lined the shore, fluttering handkerchiefs, shouting good wishes and farewells.
"Beyond the settlement the pass led out, blue and deep, between sunken piers158 of coral, where the surf thundered in patches of white. All at once the old mate sang out and pointed—a dot was on the water ahead of us, a swimmer moving out from land to cut us off. The son of Varana turned the wheel; the schooner swung inshore; I heard a quick command and felt the speed of the engine slacken.
"Terii was staring ahead with a strange intensity—instinct or premonition was at work. I looked again as we drew near; a cloud of dark hair floated behind the swimmer's head; it was a woman—Tehina! Terii sprang to the rail. A moment later she had been lifted over the side and was standing beside him in the cockpit, dripping, trembling a little with cold and fear, doing her best to smile. The mate was pulling at Terii's arm and pointing back toward the village. A whaleboat had put out from shore and was heading for us at the top speed of the rowers; it was the chief 229 himself, I believe, who stood in the stern and whose shouts were beginning to reach our ears.
"At that moment Terii proved that he was his father's son. He glanced back once, and then, without the smallest interval91 of hesitation159, his arm went about the wet shoulder of Tehina.
"'Full speed ahead,' he ordered in a cool voice."
Tari poured rum into my glass, and tilted160 the last of the bottle into his own. The schooner was taking it easily with her engine at half speed, riding a gentle swell. The ship's bell rang twice, paused, and rang again—a sharp and mellow161 sound. It was long past midnight.
"If you ever get down to Rimarutu," said Tari, as he rose to go on deck, "you will find Terii there—he bids fair to leave the island even less than Varana did."
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1
gale
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| n.大风，强风，一阵闹声（尤指笑声等） | |
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schooner
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| n.纵帆船 | |
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3
lull
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| v.使安静，使入睡，缓和，哄骗；n.暂停，间歇 | |
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gust
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| n.阵风，突然一阵（雨、烟等），（感情的）迸发 | |
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5
foam
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| v./n.泡沫，起泡沫 | |
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6
ridges
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| n.脊( ridge的名词复数 )；山脊；脊状突起；大气层的)高压脊 | |
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7
wan
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| (wide area network)广域网 | |
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8
friendliness
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| n.友谊，亲切，亲密 | |
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9
obliquely
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| adv.斜； 倾斜； 间接； 不光明正大 | |
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10
turmoil
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| n.骚乱，混乱，动乱 | |
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11
derive
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| v.取得；导出；引申；来自；源自；出自 | |
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12
awed
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| adj.充满敬畏的，表示敬畏的v.使敬畏，使惊惧( awe的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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13
enjoyment
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| n.乐趣；享有；享用 | |
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14
fatigue
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| n.疲劳，劳累 | |
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15
crest
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| n.顶点；饰章；羽冠；vt.达到顶点；vi.形成浪尖 | |
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16
abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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17
passionate
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，激昂的，易动情的，易怒的，性情暴躁的 | |
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18
partially
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| adv.部分地，从某些方面讲 | |
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19
philosophic
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| adj.哲学的，贤明的 | |
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20
cargo
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| n.(一只船或一架飞机运载的)货物 | |
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21
cockroach
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| n.蟑螂 | |
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22
cockroaches
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| n.蟑螂( cockroach的名词复数 ) | |
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23
insolent
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| adj.傲慢的，无理的 | |
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24
trotted
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| 小跑，急走( trot的过去分词 )； 匆匆忙忙地走 | |
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25
berth
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| n.卧铺，停泊地，锚位；v.使停泊 | |
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26
nibbling
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| v.啃，一点一点地咬（吃）( nibble的现在分词 )；啃出（洞），一点一点咬出（洞）；慢慢减少；小口咬 | |
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27
tickled
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| （使）发痒( tickle的过去式和过去分词 )； （使）愉快，逗乐 | |
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28
peremptory
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| adj.紧急的，专横的，断然的 | |
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29
looming
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| n.上现蜃景（光通过低层大气发生异常折射形成的一种海市蜃楼）v.隐约出现，阴森地逼近( loom的现在分词 )；隐约出现，阴森地逼近 | |
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30
swell
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| vi.膨胀，肿胀；增长，增强 | |
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31
scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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32
consanguinity
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| n.血缘；亲族 | |
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33
immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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34
isolated
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| adj.与世隔绝的 | |
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35
supplanting
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| 把…排挤掉，取代( supplant的现在分词 ) | |
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36
wholesome
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| adj.适合；卫生的；有益健康的；显示身心健康的 | |
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37
isolation
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| n.隔离，孤立，分解，分离 | |
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38
justified
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| a.正当的，有理的 | |
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39
dread
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| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
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40
infusion
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| n.灌输 | |
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41
temperament
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| n.气质，性格，性情 | |
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42
haphazard
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| adj.无计划的，随意的，杂乱无章的 | |
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43
motives
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| n.动机，目的( motive的名词复数 ) | |
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44
divers
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| adj.不同的；种种的 | |
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45
lagoon
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| n.泻湖，咸水湖 | |
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46
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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47
serenity
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| n.宁静，沉着，晴朗 | |
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48
fathom
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| v.领悟，彻底了解 | |
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49
simplicity
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| n.简单，简易；朴素；直率，单纯 | |
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50
miserably
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| adv.痛苦地；悲惨地；糟糕地；极度地 | |
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51
detested
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| v.憎恶，嫌恶，痛恨( detest的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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52
schooners
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| n.（有两个以上桅杆的）纵帆船( schooner的名词复数 ) | |
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53
desultory
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| adj.散漫的，无方法的 | |
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54
touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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55
vessel
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| n.船舶；容器，器皿；管，导管，血管 | |
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56
ashore
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| adv.在(向)岸上，上岸 | |
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57
rippling
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| 起涟漪的，潺潺流水般声音的 | |
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58
anodyne
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| n.解除痛苦的东西，止痛剂 | |
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59
scrupulously
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| adv.一丝不苟地；小心翼翼地，多顾虑地 | |
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60
overflowed
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| 溢出的 | |
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61
hack
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| n.劈，砍，出租马车；v.劈，砍，干咳 | |
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63
gusts
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| 一阵强风( gust的名词复数 )； （怒、笑等的）爆发； （感情的）迸发； 发作 | |
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64
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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65
vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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66
cyclone
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| n.旋风，龙卷风 | |
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67
afterward
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| adv.后来；以后 | |
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68
battered
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| adj.磨损的；v.连续猛击；磨损 | |
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69
survivor
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| n.生存者，残存者，幸存者 | |
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70
remarkably
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| ad.不同寻常地，相当地 | |
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71
providence
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| n.深谋远虑，天道，天意；远见；节约；上帝 | |
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72
salvaged
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| （从火灾、海难等中）抢救（某物）( salvage的过去式和过去分词 )； 回收利用（某物） | |
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73
wreck
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| n.失事，遇难；沉船；vt.(船等)失事，遇难 | |
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74
severed
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| v.切断，断绝( sever的过去式和过去分词 )；断，裂 | |
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75
kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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76
veranda
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| n.走廊；阳台 | |
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77
stupor
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| v.昏迷；不省人事 | |
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78
instinctively
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| adv.本能地 | |
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79
mutual
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| adj.相互的，彼此的；共同的，共有的 | |
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80
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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81
liking
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| n.爱好；嗜好；喜欢 | |
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82
robust
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| adj.强壮的，强健的，粗野的，需要体力的，浓的 | |
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83
savage
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| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
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84
attachment
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| n.附属物，附件；依恋；依附 | |
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85
coconuts
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| n.椰子( coconut的名词复数 )；椰肉，椰果 | |
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86
dwindling
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| adj.逐渐减少的v.逐渐变少或变小( dwindle的现在分词 ) | |
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87
exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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88
catching
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| adj.易传染的，有魅力的，迷人的，接住 | |
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89
swarmed
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| 密集( swarm的过去式和过去分词 )； 云集； 成群地移动； 蜜蜂或其他飞行昆虫成群地飞来飞去 | |
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90
taro
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| n.芋，芋头 | |
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91
interval
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| n.间隔，间距；幕间休息，中场休息 | |
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92
intervals
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| n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 )；间隔时间；[数学]区间；（戏剧、电影或音乐会的）幕间休息 | |
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93
peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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94
prospects
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| n.希望，前途(恒为复数) | |
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95
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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96
inevitable
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| adj.不可避免的，必然发生的 | |
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97
superstitious
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| adj.迷信的 | |
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98
possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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99
casually
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| adv.漠不关心地，无动于衷地，不负责任地 | |
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100
slippers
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| n. 拖鞋 | |
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101
briefly
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| adv.简单地，简短地 | |
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102
relish
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| n.滋味，享受，爱好，调味品；vt.加调味料，享受，品味；vi.有滋味 | |
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103
grudged
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| 怀恨（grudge的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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104
tranquilly
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| adv. 宁静地 | |
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105
disperse
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| vi.使分散；使消失；vt.分散；驱散 | |
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106
opalescent
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| adj.乳色的，乳白的 | |
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107
scent
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| n.气味，香味，香水，线索，嗅觉；v.嗅，发觉 | |
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108
fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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109
propped
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| 支撑，支持，维持( prop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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110
cove
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| n.小海湾，小峡谷 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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corps
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| n.(通信等兵种的)部队；(同类作的)一组 | |
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113
lieutenant
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| n.陆军中尉，海军上尉；代理官员，副职官员 | |
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jaunty
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| adj．愉快的，满足的；adv.心满意足地，洋洋得意地；n.心满意足；洋洋得意 | |
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shrill
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| adj.尖声的；刺耳的；v尖叫 | |
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celebrity
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| n.名人，名流；著名，名声，名望 | |
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civilian
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| adj.平民的，民用的，民众的 | |
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118
descending
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| n. 下行 adj. 下降的 | |
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blot
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| vt.弄脏（用吸墨纸）吸干；n.污点，污渍 | |
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pajamas
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| n.睡衣裤 | |
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121
steering
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| n.操舵装置 | |
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122
seaman
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| n.海员，水手，水兵 | |
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confided
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| v.吐露（秘密，心事等）( confide的过去式和过去分词 )；（向某人）吐露（隐私、秘密等） | |
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copper
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| n.铜；铜币；铜器；adj.铜(制)的；(紫)铜色的 | |
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dingy
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| adj.昏暗的，肮脏的 | |
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ruffling
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| 弄皱( ruffle的现在分词 )； 弄乱； 激怒； 扰乱 | |
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supreme
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| adj.极度的，最重要的；至高的，最高的 | |
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envious
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| adj.嫉妒的，羡慕的 | |
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poignant
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| adj.令人痛苦的，辛酸的，惨痛的 | |
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shrine
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| n.圣地，神龛，庙；v.将...置于神龛内，把...奉为神圣 | |
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stunted
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| adj.矮小的；发育迟缓的 | |
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eccentricities
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| n.古怪行为( eccentricity的名词复数 )；反常；怪癖 | |
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somber
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| adj.昏暗的，阴天的，阴森的，忧郁的 | |
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destined
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| adj.命中注定的；(for)以…为目的地的 | |
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glimmered
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| v.发闪光，发微光( glimmer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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milky
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| adj.牛奶的，多奶的；乳白色的 | |
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revolve
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| vi.(使)旋转；循环出现 | |
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myriads
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| n.无数，极大数量( myriad的名词复数 ) | |
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strings
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| n.弦 | |
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140
uncommon
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| adj.罕见的，非凡的，不平常的 | |
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141
refinement
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| n.文雅；高尚；精美；精制；精炼 | |
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delicacy
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| n.精致，细微，微妙，精良；美味，佳肴 | |
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veins
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| n.纹理；矿脉( vein的名词复数 )；静脉；叶脉；纹理 | |
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inviting
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| adj.诱人的，引人注目的 | |
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chuckles
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| 轻声地笑( chuckle的名词复数 ) | |
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rattle
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| v.飞奔，碰响；激怒；n.碰撞声；拨浪鼓 | |
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pebble
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| n.卵石，小圆石 | |
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148
glided
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| v.滑动( glide的过去式和过去分词 )；掠过；（鸟或飞机 ） 滑翔 | |
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phantom
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| n.幻影，虚位，幽灵；adj.错觉的，幻影的，幽灵的 | |
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rumble
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| n.隆隆声；吵嚷；v.隆隆响；低沉地说 | |
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monstrous
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| adj.巨大的；恐怖的；可耻的，丢脸的 | |
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crouched
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| v.屈膝，蹲伏( crouch的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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fiery
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| adj.燃烧着的，火红的；暴躁的；激烈的 | |
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ancestry
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| n.祖先，家世 | |
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havens
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| n.港口，安全地方( haven的名词复数 )v.港口，安全地方( haven的第三人称单数 ) | |
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156
steered
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| v.驾驶( steer的过去式和过去分词 )；操纵；控制；引导 | |
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157
abreast
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| adv.并排地；跟上(时代)的步伐，与…并进地 | |
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158
piers
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| n.水上平台( pier的名词复数 )；（常设有娱乐场所的）突堤；柱子；墙墩 | |
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159
hesitation
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| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
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160
tilted
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| v. 倾斜的 | |
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161
mellow
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| adj.柔和的；熟透的；v.变柔和；(使)成熟 | |
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