Then I would have told how a message from the visitor was announced—for the strange white man vouched3 for by the mother of Apakura. "I see an island," the ghostly voice might have gone on—"a little land surrounding a great lagoon4. It is Nukuhina, in the far-off Sea of Atolls. A schooner5 lies at anchor in the calm water off the settlement; she does not move, for the lagoon is very still. A boat is putting off for shore, and in the stern sits a dear friend of the white man—a slender man, who gazes eagerly toward the shore with dark eyes like the eyes of our people. A crowd is gathered on the beach; the girls carry gifts 231 of necklaces and wreaths; and in the village the old women are preparing a feast. The man in the boat believes that this welcome is for the captain of the schooner, not knowing that this people was once a race of warriors6, and that they are gathered to give him welcome—the first soldier from the army of France to visit their island since the war. The keel of the boat grates on the sand; a score of men seize her to pull her up; the women crowd about the stranger (Aué! They are good to look upon these girls of Nukuhina!), to throw their necklaces over his head and crown him with wreaths of flowers and shell. His face grows red; the old men smile; the girls laugh aloud. One, bolder than the rest, runs at him suddenly, puts her arms about him, and kisses him after the fashion of the white man. His face grows redder still; at that, the old men, too, laugh aloud. One after another, pushing and pulling to be first, the girls scramble7 to kiss him; he is overwhelmed, suffocated8, and now his face is like fire, but he is not angry, for he smiles."
Well, what do you think of Ahu Ahu magic? I really ought to refrain from telling you the truth, which—like the stuff of most spirit messages—is simple, unexpected, and disillusioning9. When we got to Avarua I found S— there, over from Tahiti to buy cattle; before his departure the Alouette had turned up from the Paumotus, bringing word of your reception on Nukuhina.
I fancy you haven't had much time, in your progress through the Low Archipelago, for the pursuits of a landsman, so I'll give you an idea of how I've frittered away the days on Rarotonga.
232
Soon after our arrival there was a great stir over the coming of a shipload of parliamentary visitors from New Zealand, making a tour of the Cook Islands; a feast of welcome was to be given in Avarua, scores of pigs and hundreds of chickens were set aside for fattening10, and the dancers of each village were to be seen rehearsing in the evenings. We drove to Avarua on the appointed day and found the government boat already anchored in the roadstead off the town—an anchorage dreaded11 by skippers, for unless the anchor strikes exactly on the summit of a sharp submerged peak, it will slide clean off soundings. Long before we reached the settlement the air had been vibrant12 with the sound of drums, the visitors were coming ashore13, the dancing was in full swing.
The performance, of course, was a perfectly14 sophisticated one—like Papeete, Avarua is a small ocean metropolis15, the capital of a group—but it interested me to see that the people, in spite of the efforts of the missionaries16 to make them ashamed of everything pertaining17 to heathen days, were not entirely18 without pride in the past. Each village was represented by a corps19 of dancers, men and women equally divided, and had its own drums and drummers, who furnished the sole music of the dance. The drums are of three varieties. The smallest are merely hollow sticks—six inches in diameter and a yard long—open on one side, and producing a loud, resonant20 click when struck with a bit of wood. There are others of medium size, standing21 on short legs and beaten with the hand, but the huge oldtime drums, suspended from the limbs of trees, interested me most of all. Imagine a five-foot section of the trunk of a big Barringtonia, carefully 233 hollowed out and smoothed, with the skins of wild goats stretched over the ends, and sides decorated with outlandish painting.
The big drums are struck with the heel of the hand—with such furious energy that the drummer streams perspiration23 and is soon exhausted24. The deep pulsing sound of them carries for miles in still air; sometimes at night, when there was dancing in the villages, I have heard it far and near, rising, falling, throbbing25, from Arorangi, from Titikaveka, and from Ngatangiia, whence the ancients set out on their thousand-league voyages to the south.
I wish I could make you feel, as I have felt, the quality of this savage26 drumming. Monotonous27 and rhythmic28 sound, reduced almost to its simplest form, it is the ancestor of all music, toward which, perhaps, our modern dance music is a reversion. There is syncopation in it when the big drum halts at irregular intervals29, and the time is carried by the clicking of hollow wood; but it is solemn and ominous—anything but the meretricious30 syncopation of ragtime31. One feels in it an appeal to the primitive33 emotions, at once vague and charged with meaning; fear and madness are there, with cruelty, lust34, triumph, and a savage melancholy35.
Except in the case of the contingent36 from Manihiki—an atoll far off to the north—there was little variation in the dances, for which one can only say that they showed evidence of careful drilling. The women performed a variety of the dance common to all branches of their race—basically the same whether called hula, hura, or ura—but their motions were awkward and stiff, without the abandon and graceful37 movements of the arms to be seen in Hawaii or the Society Islands. 234 The men, who carried long staves like spears, were freer in their motions, leaping, thrusting out their arms, and clattering38 their sticks in unison39.
The costumes—unfortunately for the eye of a sensitive spectator—were slipped on over the wearer's best European clothes; a concession40 to the missionary41 point of view; but the beauty of some of the kilts, tunics42 and headdresses, and the trouble evidently taken in braiding them, showed that the Rarotongans have not wholly forgotten the past.
The dance was followed by speeches, and the speeches by a feast—all very conventional and uninteresting. I wonder if you are heartily43 fed up on baked pig. One needs a dash of Island blood to appreciate it after the twentieth time! Any other sort of meat would be welcome here where bully44 beef and pork are the staples45. The need of a change of diet drives one to the lagoon; fishing becomes a practical as well as a sporting proposition.
During the proper phases of the moon we lead a most irregular life, for the hours from 3 to 5 a.m. are often the ones most profitable to spend on the reef, and the evenings are occupied with a search for hermit46 crabs47. You have probably made the acquaintance of the hermit crab48, but in case you have been too busy to give him the notice he deserves, I'll venture to dwell for a bit on his eccentricities50. It was not a pure love of natural history that turned my attention to him; I have been obliged to study him—at least superficially—by the fact that he is the dainty preferred by all the fish of this lagoon, and his capture, therefore, an indispensable preliminary to every fishing expedition.
There must be several varieties of hermit crab—I 235 have counted three already: the ordinary small brown one called kakara, the huge red one found in deep water, and the black, hairy kind, whose pounded-up body is mixed with grated coconut51 to extract the oil. This latter is called unga; in the old days the lowest class of Rarotonga society was known by the same name—meaning, I suppose, that all of their property could be carried on their backs. The common variety is a good deal like the robber crab in habits; the natives go so far as to say that it is the same creature, in different stages of its existence. I doubt this theory, for while there are plenty of the little kakara on the volcanic52 islands, the robber crab is very rare; he lives on the atolls, and to my mind it is incredible that he should journey from island to island, through leagues of deep sea. Like his formidable relative, the kakara spends most of his time ashore, frequenting the bush along the water's edge, where he lies hidden throughout the day in a hole or under a pile of leaves. His first duty of the evening is a trip to salt water, for he seems to need a thorough wetting once in each twenty-four hours. After his bath he heads back for the bush to begin his nightly search for food—nearly any kind of edible53 refuse—a dead fish on the beach, the fallen fruit of a pandanus, a coconut, opened by rat or flying fox, and containing a few shreds54 of meat.
The size of the kakara can be judged from his shell, which may be as small as a thimble or as large as an orange. The creature inside is marvelously adapted to the life he leads. His soft and muscular body curls into the spiral of the shell and is securely anchored by a twist of the tail. The fore-end of the crab, which protrudes56 from the shell when he is in motion, reminds 236 one of a tiny lobster57; the same stalk eyes, the same legs, the same strong claws. When alarmed he snaps back into his mobile fortress58, and you perceive that legs and claws fold into a flat armored barrier, sealing up perfectly the entrance of the shell. Sit still and watch him; presently the claws unfold cautiously and he emerges little by little, feelers waving and eyes peering about in a ludicrously apprehensive59 manner. Finally he gathers courage and starts off for the bush at his curious rolling gait.
One might suppose the hermit crab the least social of living things, but in reality he is gregarious61 and seems to enjoy the company of his friends. They wander in little bands; very often one finds two or three small ones perched on the back of a larger comrade and enjoying an effortless trip across the beach to the lagoon. One afternoon I came upon three of them traveling in single file; the last member of the party—a frail62 little chap—crunched under the heel of my boot before I saw him. I stopped a moment in regret and saw that the two other crabs were also stopping—warned, by I know not what obscure sense, that all was not well with their friend. They drew together as they halted, and went through a hasty and obviously anxious exchange of ideas—face to face, with feelers waving nervously63. One was reminded irresistibly64 of a pair of fussy65 little old gentlemen, halted in the street to decide which should do an unpleasant errand. At length one of the two settled himself to wait, while the other faced about and shambled off briskly to the rear. A few seconds brought him to what was left of his unfortunate comrade; his eyes seemed to start from his head as he felt over the crushed wreck66. A moment 237 later he turned and hastened back even faster than he had come. His arrival had an air of palpitating excitement; I fancied I felt transmitted to me a tiny thrill of horror at the news about to be communicated. This time the four antenn? fairly vibrated—I imagined the conversation going on an inch above the ground.
"My God!" announced the bearer of ill tidings, breathlessly. "Poor Bill is dead!"
"Bill dead!" exclaimed the other, shocked in spite of his incredulity; "but no, you must be wrong—what could have killed him?"
"I don't know; he's dead all the same—crushed and mangled—it upset me fearfully."
"Come, come—you've been seeing things; he must have taken a short cut to the beach."
"I tell you he's dead; come and have a look if you don't believe me." So off they went together for a look at the corpse67, and I left them to mourn their friend—perhaps to eat him.
If you want to see a curious sight get a hermit crab some day and pick up half a dozen empty shells of the size to fit him. Lay the shells on the sand in a circle a few inches across, extract the crab without hurting him from his house, and set him down naked among the empty shells. To get him out, by the way, is not so easy as it sounds, but you can do it by taking hold of his claws and maintaining a steady, gentle pull; in time the muscles of his tail will tire and his grip relax. You will be amused when you see his first attempts to walk without his shell, which weighs three or four times as much as the tenant68; it is precisely69 as a man might act, set down on some planet where gravity is weaker than on our earth. Naked, helpless, and worried—très, 238 très inquiet—the crab makes a dash for one of the shells, gives it a hasty inspection70 with his feelers, finds something not quite right, and hobbles off to the next one. Perhaps this suits him. He faces about, in goes his tail to take a grip on the whorls, he snaps in and out a few times as if trying the strategic possibilities of the new quarters, and next moment you will see him ambling71 off blissfully toward the bush.
The chase of the hermit crab is tame sport, no doubt, but not entirely without interest. One evening we set out just after dark, bucket and torch in hand—not the old South Sea torch of coconut leaf, but the modern tube of galvanized iron, filled with kerosene72 and plugged with burlap, which acts as a wick. The high beach is best at this hour, for one's quarry73 is beginning to emerge from the bush for the evening dip, and those that have passed will leave spoor in the soft coral sand. Here is the track of a small one, winding74 toward the water in eccentric curves and zigzags75; follow it and you find him, motionless in the torchlight, hoping to escape notice. He goes into the pail with a clang—you can hear his feet scratching vainly at the smooth sides. There were not many about on this stretch of beach; they are uncertain in their habits and seem to be great wanderers. Here is the track of a monster, broad and corrugated76 like the trail of a miniature Whippet Tank; the spoor leads to the lagoon—no signs of him at the water's edge—he has doubled back. Lift up that rotten coconut frond77 ... an unga, black, hairy, armed with a vicious pair of claws; you can hear him raging in the pail, a noise halfway78 between a whine79 and a growl—a crab with a voice!
239 A stroll of an hour or two along the beach usually procures80 enough bait for a day's fishing, and one turns inland to follow the road home. Sometimes, when the new moon has set behind the Avarua peaks and thick darkness settles over the bush—when the surf murmurs81 almost inaudibly in a stillness broken by the plunge82 of a fish in the lagoon, or the grating screech83 of a flying-fox, quarreling with his mates in the palm tops—one is not sorry when the lights of the plantation84 begin to glimmer through the trees.
We went to bed early that evening, for we had to be up long before daylight to catch the first of the flood tide, but these island nights are not meant for sleep—I was soon up again, to spend a couple of hours alone on the veranda85. The feel of the air was like a caress86; neither hot nor cold, and perfumed with the scents88 of strange flowers—waxen Tiaré Tahiti, sweet and heady frangipani, languorous89 Queen of the Night. In the mango tree behind the house a mynah twittered—a drowsy90 overture91 to one of their abrupt92 nocturnal choruses. They are quaint49 birds, the mynahs; introduced to the Islands many years ago, they have increased amazingly in this friendly environment, where they live in a state of half-domesticated familiarity with mankind. One sees them everywhere, hopping93 fearlessly about the streets of villages, fluttering to the table to finish the bread crumbs94 left after a meal, perched on the backs of cattle in the coconut groves95. They are intensely gregarious, gathering96 in large flocks at sunset to roost in some thick-foliaged tree—orange, mango, or alligator97 pear. From time to time during the night, with an abruptness98 and perfect unison that make one suspect the presence of a feathered 240 leader of the orchestra, the two or three hundred members of the colony burst into deafening100 song—a chorus which lasts perhaps twenty seconds, and stops as suddenly as it began.
At last I knocked the ashes out of my pipe and turned in; at intervals, before sleep came, I heard the far-off thud of a ripe coconut, or the faint slither and crash of an old frond, falling from a palm. We were awakened101 at three o'clock by the cook's announcement that coffee was ready; it is a pleasure to live where dressing102 is only a matter of slipping on a fresh singlet and hitching104 the pareu tight about one's waist. Each man carried a pair of old shoes, for even the leathery feet of a native must be protected before he ventures on the live coral. Half a dozen plantation boys followed us to the beach, along a path leading down an avenue of coconuts105, the slender boles illuminated106 by the glare of torchlight. In five minutes we were under the dark ironwoods at the water's edge, where the canoes are hauled up; without waiting for us, the boys plunged107 into the lagoon—half swimming, half wading108 toward the reef—torches held aloft in their left hands.
The tide was very low; we had only a short paddle to the shallow water on the inner side of the barrier. It was dead calm—ideal weather for the spear—but there had been a storm somewhere to the south; lines of tall glassy combers, faintly visible in the starlight, were curling with the splitting reports of field artillery—crashing down on the reef until the coral beneath us seemed to tremble at each shock. The eastern sky had not yet begun to pale—the constellations109 glimmered110 with the soft glow of the tropics: the Southern Cross, Orion, and the Pleiades.
241
When the water was only knee-deep we moored111 the canoe to a coral mushroom and went overboard in bare legs and tucked-up pareus. Wading slowly, about twenty feet apart—the lagoon so still and clear that it was not easy to tell where air ended and water began—nothing moving in the circle of torchlight could escape notice. It was necessary to watch the bottom and walk warily112; the reef is a honeycomb of holes and passages through which the sea boils in at certain tides. Many of these holes, only a few feet in diameter at the surface, lead deep down and out into the caverns113 lining114 the edges of the pass—the haunts of octopus115 and the man-eating rock-cod called tonu. A faint ripple116 revealed a big blue parrot fish skulking117 in the shadow of a bowlder; one of the native boys slipped his spear close before he thrust with a skill that needs years to acquire. He killed the fish with a stab just where the head joins the body, and strung it on the strip of hibiscus bark at his waist.
These lagoons118 swarm119 with strange forms of life unknown in northern waters; until one learns one's way about there is a certain amount of danger in wading through the shallows along the reef. A sea scorpion120 passed close by us—a wicked-looking thing, all feelers and enormous fins121; a touch of those spines122 would give you a nasty leg. An even more poisonous fish is found here—though fortunately not often: the noo, which lies buried in patches of coral sand. I have never seen one, and do not know its name in English, but the spines of its dorsal123 fin60 are said to be hollow like the fangs124 of a rattlesnake, and to inject a poison—when stepped on—that is apt to kill or cripple for life. The totara, or sea porcupine125, is another odd 242 creature, but not at all to be feared; at the approach of danger he blows himself up like a football, and once inflated126, is proof against almost anything—I've seen a man hurl127 a heavy stone on one a dozen times without being able to burst him open. In a different way, the conger eels32 are nearly as hard to kill, particularly the big ones, which are no joke to handle when one is wading barelegged. One must be on the alert every moment—torch blazing, spear poised128. One moment you jump on a mushroom of coral to avoid a pair of sea snakes, long, slender and spotted129—active, fearless creatures whose bite is said to be a serious matter; a moment later you are slipping and scrambling130 at top speed to cut off some large fish, working his way through the shallows. One of the boys bagged a patuki—a young tonu; I was glad to have a look at the ugly little brute131. He was only a foot long—a marvel55 of protective coloring, irregularly spotted and blotched so as to be nearly invisible against a background of coral. The size of the mouth, the power of the jaws132, and the rows of cruel little teeth, convinced me that the full-grown fish must deserve the bad name given him by the pearl divers133.
The light was gray and the cloud banks along the eastern horizon flushing pale rose when the boys extinguished their torches and set out across the lagoon, each one trailing a heavy string of fish. My host had had enough sport for once, but I love to be on the water at dawn, so when I had landed him I paddled out to the pass to fish for titiara. The current was slack and not a breath of wind stirred the lagoon. The light grew stronger; the contours of the island developed in sharp serrations against the sky; presently the sun rose.
243 I anchored the canoe in a fathom134 of water at the edge of the pass, allowing her to swing out over the depths. Through my water-glass I could examine the precipitous walls of the channel—fifty feet high, overhanging in places, seamed, pitted, broken by the dark mouths of caverns. Shoals of fish moved leisurely135 along the face of the coral—appearing and disappearing like nesting swallows, seen from a cliff-top: swinish parrot fish, bright blue and long as a man's arm; taputapu, spangled orange and black—stopping to nibble136 at the coral; slender pipefish; swift nanue; fish of extraordinary form and coloring—indescribable, perhaps undescribed. At last I saw what I was after—a school of titiara, working in from the sea.
I wonder if you know this fish; it is new to me, though I have been told that it exists in the northern Pacific. It is of the true game type—swift and rapacious—with the conformation of a mackerel, and related, I should say, to the pompano of American waters. The young ones, eight to ten inches long, and appearing at certain times of year, in great schools, are called aturi. When medium-sized—running from two pounds up to twelve—it is known as titiara in the Cook Islands; paihere in Tahiti and to the east. The fully22 grown fish, which attains137 a weight of a hundred pounds or more, is called urua. These different names for stages in the life of the same fish are interesting to me, for they illustrate138 the richness, in certain directions, of a language so poor in others. We have such terms in English, but they are rapidly becoming obsolete139; I doubt, for example, if the average man at home knows that a young salmon140 is called a grilse, and a still younger one, a parr.
244 One's outfit141 for this kind of fishing consists of a pail of hermit crabs, a couple of stones for crushing them, a hundred feet of stout142 cotton line, a single hook on a length of piano wire, and several dozen pebbles144, to be used as sinkers. First of all you smash the shells of a few crabs, tear off the soft bodies for bait, and crush the claws and legs to a paste. This chum is thrown overboard little by little to attract the fish and keep them about the canoe. When a glance through the water-glass shows that the fish you want are gathered beneath you, a pebble143 is attached to the line by means of a special hitch103, which can be undone145 by a jerk. Now you lower the line over the side until the bait is in the required position; a sharp pull frees the sinker, and you are ready for the first client. The theory of the detachable sinker is that it enables one to fish at a distance from the boat without having the hook rest on the bottom, where it is apt to foul146 in the coral.
On this occasion my sport was ruined by one of those tantalizing147 incidents which lend charm to every variety of angling. I had caught two fish and was lowering my line to try for a third, when the small fry gobbling my chum suddenly scattered148 and disappeared. Next moment a monstrous149 titiara—almost in the urua class—loomed up from the depths, seized my bait, and made off so fast that the line fairly scorched150 my fingers. My tackle was not designed for such game as this—there was nothing to do but try to play him; but when only a yard of line remained in my hands I was forced to check the rush. A powerful wrench151, the line slackened dead, he was off, the light hook had snapped at the bend—and I had no other! The old, old story—it is never the fingerlings that get away.
245 Cut into filets and soaked for six hours in lime juice, my two fish made a raw hors-d'?uvre of the most delicate kind. I took a plate of it to the house of a neighbor who had asked me to dinner, and this old-timer in the South Seas pronounced it of the very first order. You would enjoy knowing him: he has been in this part of the world since the 'seventies—supercargo, skipper, trader on islands seldom visited even to-day. Now he is retired152 and lives on a small plantation which represents the savings153 of a lifetime. After dinner, as we sat on his wide veranda with pipes going and glasses on the table between us, he told me a tale so curious that I cannot resist repeating it to you—the story of an island far away to the north and west—an island I shall call Ariri.
Atolls are by nature lonely places, but of all atolls in the Pacific, Ariri is perhaps the loneliest—never visited, far off from any group, out of the paths of navigation. Not very many years ago Ariri was a bit of no man's land; though marked on the chart, its existence was ignored by the Powers—it had never been inhabited, no flag had ever been raised above its beaches of dazzling coral sand. At that time, as for centuries before, the sea birds nested undisturbed on the islets within the reef, where all day long the water flashed blue in the sunlight and the trade wind hummed a song of loneliness among the palm tops.
Then a day came when two Frenchmen—shrewd traders and planters of coconuts in the Tuamotu—spoke of Ariri. Here was an island capable of an annual hundred tons of copra, and claimed by no man; they would plant it and reap the rewards of enterprise. The chief difficulty was to find a superintendent155 to 246 take charge of the project; it needed a white man, but white men willing to undertake a task of such poignant156 loneliness were not to be found every day in Papeete. As it chanced, their man was at hand.
The natives called him Tino—perhaps his name had once been King. Years among the islands had obliterated157 whatever stamp of nationality he might have possessed158; it was rumored159 that he was English by birth, and also that he had held a commission in the Confederate navy. Tall, strong, and of fine presence, with a full blond beard and eyes of reckless blue, a great singer and dancer—always the merriest at a feast and the idol160 of the women, a remarkable161 linguist162 and story-teller, drunken, brave, witty163, and unprincipled—Tino was of a type which thrives in Polynesia.
When they offered him the position of superintendent at Ariri the two Frenchmen were not without misgivings164. He was on the beach at the time, though the only sign of that condition was an unusual laxity in returning the favor when a friend invited him to drink. Tino had no money, but that was his sole limitation; each of a dozen native families vied for the honor of transferring his mat and camphorwood box to their house; when evening came he had his choice of a dozen invitations to dine, and a dozen girls competed for the joy of doing his laundry and making hats for him. But this easy-going philosophy and lack of worry over a situation scarcely respectable in the eyes of Papeete's business men were calculated to sow distrust. In the case of Ariri, however, it was difficult to see how he could go astray; there would be no liquor—they would see to that—and with no visitors and no means of 247 leaving the island there seemed little chance of trouble, Tino was a famous handler of native labor165.
The agreement was made and in due time a schooner sailed into the Ariri lagoon to land Tino and a score of Raiatea boys with their wives. The Frenchmen took care to leave no boat capable of putting out to sea, but as there were houses and sheds to build they left a considerable variety of tools and gear, in addition to a year's supply of medicine, food, and clothing. A day or two later the schooner sailed away.
The superintendent called his men together and appointed a foreman. The main island was to be cleared, rows staked out, and the nuts brought for seed to be planted in such a manner. Before this work began, a house was to be built for each family. That was all, except that Tino needed five men at once for special work of his own—let them be those most skilled in woodworking. With that he seems to have dismissed the business of planting coconuts from his mind.
There was a certain amount of hibiscus on the island, as well as the trees called tou and puka. In seven months' time, with the help of his men, Tino cut down trees, sawed out timbers and planking, and built a forty-foot cutter—sturdy, fast, and seaworthy. Her mast was the smoothed-down trunk of an old coconut palm; her sails a patchwork166 of varied167 fabrics168; her cordage of cinnet, twisted and braided coconut fiber—the work of women, incredibly skillful and patient. For anchor, she carried a grooved169 coral bowlder, and her water tanks were five-gallon kerosene tins. At the end of the seventh month this improbable vessel170 was launched, rigged, and provisioned. Tino bade his men 248 farewell and set sail—promising to return—to the westward171, fearless and alone. His only instrument was a compass, and yet he made the passage to Fiji—twelve hundred miles—in fifteen days.
I forgot to say that before his departure he had ordered the top of a tall palm chopped off, and on this stout flagpole had hoisted172 a homemade edition of the union Jack173. In Fiji he wasted no time. At the office of the High Commissioner174 of the Pacific he announced that he had taken possession of Ariri in the name of the British Empire, and petitioned that a fifty years' lease of the island—at nominal175 rate—be given him. The request was granted; a few days later Tino was again at sea, still alone, and headed for his little kingdom.
The story is that he bought a sextant in Fiji, but at any rate, something went wrong and he was fifty days without a landfall. Think of this extraordinary man, drifting about alone in his absurd boat—careless, self-confident, and unworried! Even Captain Slocum, said to have navigated176 thousands of miles of ocean with no other chronometer177 than a Connecticut alarm clock, performed no madder feat99. Tino fetched up at a big lagoon island, six or seven hundred miles out of his course. It is enough to say of his stop there that he spent a week and left, loaded down with provisions and drinking nuts, and accompanied by five of the younger and prettier girls of the village.
This time all went smoothly178; the plural179 honeymoon180 party enjoyed a merry voyage to Ariri, where Tino established his large and amicable181 family, and proceeded to the less diverting business of planting coconuts. A year passed; a day came when the schooner from Tahiti rounded to in the lagoon and sent a boat 249 ashore. Accompanied by his twenty men, Tino met the supercargo on the beach. Copra from the old trees? There was not much, but what there was belonged to him. This was a British island, and he was the lessee182; here were the papers to prove it. He regretted that as the proprietor183 he could not allow strangers ashore—demoralize the labor, you know. The Frenchmen fumed87, but they were too shrewd not to recognize defeat.
The years passed in peaceful and idyllic184 fashion; a score of Tino's half-savage offspring fished and swam and raced along the beach. Then one day Tino fell ill.
While he lay in bed, despondent185, and brooding over the unfamiliar186 experience, a schooner entered the lagoon and dropped anchor opposite the settlement. Her boat—trim and smartly manned as a yacht's gig—brought ashore the first missionary to set foot on Ariri. Tino was difficult in the beginning, but the moment was perhaps the weakest of his life; when the missionary left he had married the sick man to Manini—his favorite wife—and received permission to install a native teacher for the children of the island.
It amuses me to think of Tino's recovery and probable regret over his weakness—the thing is so natural, so human; bodily illness and spiritual reform have always gone hand in hand. But his word had been given in good faith; he finished the church and school-house he had promised, and in due time installed the teacher among his flock. The supreme187 irony188 of the affair comes at this point, for the native teacher, on the lookout189 for a flirtation190, was indiscreet enough to select Manini as the object of his attentions, and ended by being caught with her under circumstances of the most 250 delicate and compromising nature. As Tino said afterward191:
"He had a score of women to choose from, beside four of mine who wouldn't have mattered—and then he picked on Manini! Why, damn it all! man, I was a bit fond of the old girl!"
The teacher paid dearly for his indiscretion. Tino lashed154 him to a post in the sun, where he would probably have died if the missionary schooner had not appeared just at that time. Cowed and whimpering, the culprit was thrown into a canoe by the indignant husband, who pushed off and paddled angrily alongside the schooner.
"Here's your bleeding missionary!" he roared out, as he hurled192 the struggling native into the lagoon. "I'm through with him—from now on this island will have to get along with me for teacher and missionary and king!"
That is all of the story, except that Tino died not long ago—happy, rich enough, and surrounded by a numerous tribe of grandchildren.
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glimmer
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| v.发出闪烁的微光；n.微光，微弱的闪光 | |
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unnatural
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| adj.不自然的；反常的 | |
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vouched
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| v.保证( vouch的过去式和过去分词 )；担保；确定；确定地说 | |
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lagoon
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| n.泻湖，咸水湖 | |
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schooner
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| n.纵帆船 | |
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warriors
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| 武士，勇士，战士( warrior的名词复数 ) | |
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scramble
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| v.爬行，攀爬，杂乱蔓延，碎片，片段，废料 | |
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suffocated
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| （使某人）窒息而死( suffocate的过去式和过去分词 )； （将某人）闷死； 让人感觉闷热； 憋气 | |
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disillusioning
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| 使不再抱幻想，使理想破灭( disillusion的现在分词 ) | |
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10
fattening
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| adj.（食物）要使人发胖的v.喂肥( fatten的现在分词 )；养肥（牲畜）；使（钱）增多；使（公司）升值 | |
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dreaded
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| adj.令人畏惧的；害怕的v.害怕，恐惧，担心( dread的过去式和过去分词) | |
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12
vibrant
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| adj.震颤的，响亮的，充满活力的，精力充沛的，(色彩)鲜明的 | |
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ashore
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| adv.在(向)岸上，上岸 | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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metropolis
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| n.首府；大城市 | |
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missionaries
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| n.传教士( missionary的名词复数 ) | |
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pertaining
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| 与…有关系的，附属…的，为…固有的(to) | |
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entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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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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resonant
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| adj.(声音)洪亮的，共鸣的 | |
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21
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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22
fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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perspiration
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| n.汗水；出汗 | |
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exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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throbbing
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| a. 跳动的,悸动的 | |
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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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monotonous
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| adj.单调的，一成不变的，使人厌倦的 | |
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rhythmic
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| adj.有节奏的，有韵律的 | |
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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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30
meretricious
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| adj.华而不实的，俗艳的 | |
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31
ragtime
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| n.拉格泰姆音乐 | |
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32
eels
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| abbr. 电子发射器定位系统（=electronic emitter location system） | |
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33
primitive
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| adj.原始的；简单的；n.原(始)人，原始事物 | |
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34
lust
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| n.性(淫)欲；渴(欲)望；vi.对…有强烈的欲望 | |
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35
melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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36
contingent
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| adj.视条件而定的；n.一组，代表团，分遣队 | |
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graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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38
clattering
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| 发出咔哒声（clatter的现在分词形式） | |
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unison
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| n.步调一致，行动一致 | |
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concession
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| n.让步，妥协；特许(权) | |
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missionary
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| adj.教会的，传教(士)的；n.传教士 | |
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42
tunics
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| n.（动植物的）膜皮( tunic的名词复数 )；束腰宽松外衣；一套制服的短上衣；（天主教主教等穿的）短祭袍 | |
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43
heartily
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| adv.衷心地，诚恳地，十分，很 | |
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44
bully
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| n.恃强欺弱者，小流氓；vt.威胁，欺侮 | |
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45
staples
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| n.（某国的）主要产品( staple的名词复数 )；钉书钉；U 形钉；主要部份v.用钉书钉钉住( staple的第三人称单数 ) | |
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46
hermit
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| n.隐士，修道者；隐居 | |
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47
crabs
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| n.蟹( crab的名词复数 )；阴虱寄生病；蟹肉v.捕蟹( crab的第三人称单数 ) | |
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48
crab
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| n.螃蟹，偏航，脾气乖戾的人，酸苹果；vi.捕蟹，偏航，发牢骚；vt.使偏航，发脾气 | |
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49
quaint
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| adj.古雅的，离奇有趣的，奇怪的 | |
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50
eccentricities
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| n.古怪行为( eccentricity的名词复数 )；反常；怪癖 | |
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51
coconut
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| n.椰子 | |
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52
volcanic
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| adj.火山的；象火山的；由火山引起的 | |
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53
edible
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| n.食品，食物；adj.可食用的 | |
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54
shreds
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| v.撕碎，切碎( shred的第三人称单数 )；用撕毁机撕毁（文件） | |
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55
marvel
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| vi.(at)惊叹vt.感到惊异；n.令人惊异的事 | |
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56
protrudes
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| v.（使某物）伸出，（使某物）突出( protrude的第三人称单数 ) | |
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57
lobster
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| n.龙虾，龙虾肉 | |
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fortress
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| n.堡垒，防御工事 | |
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apprehensive
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| adj.担心的，恐惧的，善于领会的 | |
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fin
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| n.鳍；(飞机的)安定翼 | |
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gregarious
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| adj.群居的，喜好群居的 | |
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frail
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| adj.身体虚弱的；易损坏的 | |
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nervously
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| adv.神情激动地，不安地 | |
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irresistibly
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| adv.无法抵抗地，不能自持地；极为诱惑人地 | |
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fussy
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| adj.为琐事担忧的，过分装饰的，爱挑剔的 | |
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wreck
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| n.失事，遇难；沉船；vt.(船等)失事，遇难 | |
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corpse
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| n.尸体，死尸 | |
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tenant
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| n.承租人；房客；佃户；v.租借，租用 | |
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precisely
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| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
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inspection
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| n.检查，审查，检阅 | |
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71
ambling
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| v.（马）缓行( amble的现在分词 )；从容地走，漫步 | |
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72
kerosene
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| n.(kerosine)煤油，火油 | |
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quarry
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| n.采石场；v.采石；费力地找 | |
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74
winding
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| n.绕，缠，绕组，线圈 | |
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zigzags
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| n.锯齿形的线条、小径等( zigzag的名词复数 )v.弯弯曲曲地走路，曲折地前进( zigzag的第三人称单数 ) | |
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76
corrugated
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| adj.波纹的；缩成皱纹的；波纹面的；波纹状的v.（使某物）起皱褶(corrugate的过去式和过去分词) | |
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77
frond
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| n.棕榈类植物的叶子 | |
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78
halfway
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| adj.中途的，不彻底的，部分的；adv.半路地，在中途，在半途 | |
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79
whine
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| v.哀号，号哭；n.哀鸣 | |
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80
procures
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| v.（努力）取得， （设法）获得( procure的第三人称单数 )；拉皮条 | |
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murmurs
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| n.低沉、连续而不清的声音( murmur的名词复数 )；低语声；怨言；嘀咕 | |
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82
plunge
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| v.跳入，(使)投入，(使)陷入；猛冲 | |
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screech
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| n./v.尖叫；(发出)刺耳的声音 | |
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84
plantation
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| n.种植园，大农场 | |
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85
veranda
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| n.走廊；阳台 | |
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86
caress
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| vt./n.爱抚，抚摸 | |
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fumed
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| 愤怒( fume的过去式和过去分词 )； 大怒； 发怒； 冒烟 | |
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88
scents
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| n.香水( scent的名词复数 )；气味；（动物的）臭迹；（尤指狗的）嗅觉 | |
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languorous
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| adj.怠惰的，没精打采的 | |
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drowsy
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| adj.昏昏欲睡的，令人发困的 | |
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overture
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| n.前奏曲、序曲，提议，提案，初步交涉 | |
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abrupt
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| adj.突然的，意外的；唐突的，鲁莽的 | |
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hopping
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| n. 跳跃 动词hop的现在分词形式 | |
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crumbs
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| int. (表示惊讶)哎呀 n. 碎屑 名词crumb的复数形式 | |
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groves
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| 树丛，小树林( grove的名词复数 ) | |
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gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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alligator
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| n.短吻鳄(一种鳄鱼) | |
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abruptness
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| n. 突然，唐突 | |
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feat
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| n.功绩；武艺，技艺；adj.灵巧的，漂亮的，合适的 | |
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100
deafening
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| adj. 振耳欲聋的, 极喧闹的 动词deafen的现在分词形式 | |
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101
awakened
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| v.（使）醒( awaken的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）觉醒；弄醒；（使）意识到 | |
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102
dressing
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| n.(食物)调料；包扎伤口的用品，敷料 | |
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103
hitch
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| v.免费搭(车旅行)；系住；急提；n.故障；急拉 | |
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104
hitching
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| 搭乘； （免费）搭乘他人之车( hitch的现在分词 )； 搭便车； 攀上； 跃上 | |
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105
coconuts
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| n.椰子( coconut的名词复数 )；椰肉，椰果 | |
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illuminated
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| adj.被照明的；受启迪的 | |
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107
plunged
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| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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108
wading
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| （从水、泥等）蹚，走过，跋( wade的现在分词 ) | |
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109
constellations
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| n.星座( constellation的名词复数 )；一群杰出人物；一系列（相关的想法、事物）；一群（相关的人） | |
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110
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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111
moored
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| adj. 系泊的 动词moor的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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112
warily
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| adv.留心地 | |
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113
caverns
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| 大山洞，大洞穴( cavern的名词复数 ) | |
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114
lining
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| n.衬里，衬料 | |
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115
octopus
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| n.章鱼 | |
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116
ripple
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| n.涟波，涟漪，波纹，粗钢梳；vt.使...起涟漪，使起波纹； vi.呈波浪状，起伏前进 | |
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117
skulking
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| v.潜伏，偷偷摸摸地走动，鬼鬼祟祟地活动( skulk的现在分词 ) | |
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118
lagoons
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| n.污水池( lagoon的名词复数 )；潟湖；（大湖或江河附近的）小而浅的淡水湖；温泉形成的池塘 | |
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119
swarm
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| n.(昆虫)等一大群；vi.成群飞舞；蜂拥而入 | |
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120
scorpion
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| n.蝎子，心黑的人，蝎子鞭 | |
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121
fins
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| [医]散热片；鱼鳍；飞边；鸭掌 | |
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122
spines
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| n.脊柱( spine的名词复数 )；脊椎；（动植物的）刺；书脊 | |
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123
dorsal
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| adj.背部的，背脊的 | |
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124
fangs
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| n.（尤指狗和狼的）长而尖的牙( fang的名词复数 )；（蛇的）毒牙；罐座 | |
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125
porcupine
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| n.豪猪， 箭猪 | |
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126
inflated
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| adj.（价格）飞涨的；（通货）膨胀的；言过其实的；充了气的v.使充气（于轮胎、气球等）( inflate的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）膨胀；（使）通货膨胀；物价上涨 | |
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127
hurl
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| vt.猛投，力掷，声叫骂 | |
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128
poised
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| a.摆好姿势不动的 | |
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129
spotted
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| adj.有斑点的，斑纹的，弄污了的 | |
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scrambling
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| v.快速爬行( scramble的现在分词 )；攀登；争夺；（军事飞机）紧急起飞 | |
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131
brute
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| n.野兽，兽性 | |
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132
jaws
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| n.口部；嘴 | |
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133
divers
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| adj.不同的；种种的 | |
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134
fathom
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| v.领悟，彻底了解 | |
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135
leisurely
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| adj.悠闲的；从容的，慢慢的 | |
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136
nibble
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| n.轻咬，啃；v.一点点地咬，慢慢啃，吹毛求疵 | |
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137
attains
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| （通常经过努力）实现( attain的第三人称单数 )； 达到； 获得； 达到（某年龄、水平、状况） | |
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138
illustrate
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| v.举例说明，阐明；图解，加插图 | |
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139
obsolete
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| adj.已废弃的，过时的 | |
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140
salmon
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| n.鲑，大马哈鱼，橙红色的 | |
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141
outfit
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| n.（为特殊用途的）全套装备，全套服装 | |
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pebble
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| n.卵石，小圆石 | |
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144
pebbles
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| [复数]鹅卵石； 沙砾； 卵石，小圆石( pebble的名词复数 ) | |
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145
undone
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| a.未做完的，未完成的 | |
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foul
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| adj.污秽的；邪恶的；v.弄脏；妨害；犯规；n.犯规 | |
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tantalizing
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| adj.逗人的；惹弄人的；撩人的；煽情的v.逗弄，引诱，折磨( tantalize的现在分词 ) | |
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148
scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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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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scorched
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| 烧焦，烤焦( scorch的过去式和过去分词 )； 使（植物）枯萎，把…晒枯； 高速行驶； 枯焦 | |
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151
wrench
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| v.猛拧；挣脱；使扭伤；n.扳手；痛苦，难受 | |
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retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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savings
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| n.存款，储蓄 | |
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lashed
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| adj.具睫毛的v.鞭打( lash的过去式和过去分词 )；煽动；紧系；怒斥 | |
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155
superintendent
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| n.监督人，主管，总监；(英国)警务长 | |
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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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obliterated
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| v.除去( obliterate的过去式和过去分词 )；涂去；擦掉；彻底破坏或毁灭 | |
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possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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rumored
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| adj.传说的，谣传的v.传闻( rumor的过去式和过去分词 )；[古]名誉；咕哝；[古]喧嚷 | |
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idol
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| n.偶像，红人，宠儿 | |
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remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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linguist
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| n.语言学家；精通数种外国语言者 | |
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witty
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| adj.机智的，风趣的 | |
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164
misgivings
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| n.疑虑，担忧，害怕；疑虑，担心，恐惧( misgiving的名词复数 )；疑惧 | |
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labor
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| n.劳动，努力，工作，劳工；分娩；vi.劳动，努力，苦干；vt.详细分析；麻烦 | |
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166
patchwork
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| n.混杂物；拼缝物 | |
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varied
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| adj.多样的，多变化的 | |
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168
fabrics
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| 织物( fabric的名词复数 )； 布； 构造； （建筑物的）结构（如墙、地面、屋顶）：质地 | |
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169
grooved
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| v.沟( groove的过去式和过去分词 )；槽；老一套；（某种）音乐节奏 | |
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170
vessel
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| n.船舶；容器，器皿；管，导管，血管 | |
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171
westward
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| n.西方，西部；adj.西方的，向西的；adv.向西 | |
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172
hoisted
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| 把…吊起，升起( hoist的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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173
jack
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| n.插座，千斤顶，男人；v.抬起，提醒，扛举；n.（Jake）杰克 | |
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174
commissioner
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| n.（政府厅、局、处等部门）专员，长官，委员 | |
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175
nominal
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| adj.名义上的；(金额、租金)微不足道的 | |
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176
navigated
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| v.给（船舶、飞机等）引航，导航( navigate的过去式和过去分词 )；（从海上、空中等）横越；横渡；飞跃 | |
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177
chronometer
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| n.精密的计时器 | |
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178
smoothly
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| adv.平滑地，顺利地，流利地，流畅地 | |
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179
plural
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| n.复数；复数形式；adj.复数的 | |
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180
honeymoon
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| n.蜜月（假期）；vi.度蜜月 | |
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181
amicable
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| adj.和平的，友好的；友善的 | |
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182
lessee
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| n.（房地产的）租户 | |
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183
proprietor
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| n.所有人；业主；经营者 | |
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184
idyllic
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| adj.质朴宜人的，田园风光的 | |
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185
despondent
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| adj.失望的，沮丧的，泄气的 | |
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186
unfamiliar
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| adj.陌生的，不熟悉的 | |
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187
supreme
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| adj.极度的，最重要的；至高的，最高的 | |
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188
irony
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| n.反语，冷嘲；具有讽刺意味的事，嘲弄 | |
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189
lookout
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| n.注意，前途，瞭望台 | |
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190
flirtation
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| n.调情，调戏，挑逗 | |
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191
afterward
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| adv.后来；以后 | |
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192
hurled
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| v.猛投，用力掷( hurl的过去式和过去分词 )；大声叫骂 | |
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