There was an old Marquesan Queen who lived near Samoa. Years ago in the zenith of her beauty and fame she sang and danced at the cannibalistic feasts, was the belle3 of the Isles5 and a kind of Helen of Troy of the South Seas. She was taken prisoner by various tribes, bought by the big tattooed6 chiefs and, when they sickened of her, sold again and again until at last she emerged from the door of a South Sea Divorce Court, and fell into the arms of one of the Island Kings and, becoming a Queen, became virtuous7, in so far as she possibly could be after being reformed to the Christian8 religion. Hornecastle called at her lonely Isle4 once, while we were cruising around in a sloop9. He, of course, knew her well, and after introducing me to her as his son, I brought the fiddle10 out at “Castle’s” request, and played to her, as she sat old and wrinkled by her hut door. She was a most extraordinary-looking old woman; when she smiled her face puckered11 up into a map of wrinkles and her small shrunken black eyes twinkled as though through the dark came back old memories of those lusty stalwart chiefs of long ago. Then she readjusted her pince-nez and I saw 73the tears in her eyes as her black fingers nervously13 turned over leaf after leaf of the big English Bible which she had on her bony knees. She had grown very pious14 and sedate15 and no one on earth would have guessed her past history as she sat there, with nothing on except an old bustle16 skirt, which only reached to her knees, and stuck on her head a large Parisian hat of the fashion about the time of the French Revolution.
I suppose she’s dead now and gone to the land of her fathers. I often think of her and the way she gazed at my white face as I dropped on one knee, with all the respect due to a Queen, and kissed that shrivelled hand. I can still see the faint, majestic17 smile flickering18 on those aged19 lips that had received in the bloom of maidenhood20 how many kisses on their soft amorous21 curves—and the lithe22 brown body’s outline of breathing beauty, how often had it been folded in the arms of brief paradise? There she sat, a wrinkled-up bit of humanity, jealous and fretful of those who had not seen their day, for all the world like some old ladies of my own country, as she surveyed with approval, the decorum of the future race romping23 about her, tumbling head over heels on the plantation24 slopes, partially25 clothed in palm-leaf hats, and lava-lava, extending from the waist to the knees.
Hornecastle could speak the “Island lingo” like a native and many were the modest blushes she gave as the old chap went over reminiscences of the glorious past, telling her of her past beauty and 74swearing that she had but slightly changed, and that for the better, giving me a vigorous side wink12 as he told that thundering lie with its inner meaning. Poor old Castle, he may be still alive. I never met a more knowing and yet sentimental26 old shell-back and he grafted27 into my mind more than any other man the knowledge of South Sea Island life and the inefficacy of white men of religious aspirations28. I would not even be surprised to hear that he was now pious and sobered down. I never met a man like Castle for strength. I’ve seen him pick up a tree trunk that weighed three hundredweight and handle it as though it were a one-seater canoe. He once told me that he had only had two illnesses in his life and they, he said, were “Bronshitus and Pew-Monja.” He was born in the early days of old England when they did not teach the boys and girls Latin, French, German and Euclid, long before children looked upon their parents as fools, and held the candle while their old mother fetched up a ton of coal.
There was one other eccentric old man whom I have forgotten to mention; his name was Bodey, he’d travelled the world over and had spent ten years of peace and rest in Darlinghurst Gaol29, Sydney. I never saw him sober, so that I cannot tell you anything of his real character, excepting that he was extremely devoted30 to his Samoan wife, who likewise struck me as very fond of him. She was a tall, fine-looking woman of about forty years 75of age. Her original beauty had long since departed; her front teeth also had gone; her plump, full lips were much shrunken, but her eyes still remained cheerful-looking and moved quickly and intelligently as she spoke31. Bodey gave her a terrible shock once. He broke his ankle and, being utterly32 helpless, could not get down to the beach drinking shanty33, and so got quite sober. For two days running, his manner was so different that his wife gazed upon him as a stranger, and he too gazed upon her, as she nursed him and bathed his foot, with suspicion, quizzing her with astonishment34, but I took mercy on him, went and got a bottle of Samoan whisky and the couple in half-an-hour were once more united and happy. Three weeks after that he died of shock.
Hornecastle and I went to his grave, to place a large cross on it, which we had made ourselves. When we got there Hornecastle cried like a child, and I gave a Samoan who was lying asleep near by a large silk handkerchief and one “mark” to dig a hole after we had gone, and place that cross over our dead friend. I remember well how Hornecastle in his drunken grief stuck the cross in and kept poking35 down and down, as though he was searching for his old comrade, and when I pulled him away he staggered back, fell on his knees and kissed the earth with his lips, crying out, “Bodey, old mate, can yer hear me?”
It upset me terribly at the time; I did not know Castle had such deep feeling in his nature. I pulled 76him off and told the Samoan to make the grave neat and he bowed his brown face fourteen times reverently36 to show me that he understood my wishes. As soon as we had gone he bolted off with the tombstone; what he wanted it for only heaven knows.
It was about that time that the Islanders had some great festive37 ball and I and Hornecastle went inland and had a fine spree. Hornecastle got fearfully drunk, and I played the violin as the Samoan men, boys and girls, dressed up in a very picturesque38 way, flowers in their hair, and grasses and leaves clinging to their brown bodies, went through their ancient dances, in the shade of the banyans and mangroves. It was a great meeting; the old fighting chiefs were all there, dethroned kings and discarded queens, claimants to fallen dynasties of the Islands around. Robert Louis Stevenson was there. Hornecastle smacked39 him on the back to let me see that he was in with the best society. Stevenson took it all in good part and laughed heartily40 as the half-naked Island women danced and whirled around and threw up their legs while Hornecastle kept shouting “Hen-core! Hen-core!” He was a low old scoundrel, but I couldn’t help liking41 him; he was most sincere in all his likes and dislikes and never put on any side. Stevenson liked him too, for while he was gazing interestedly on the weird42 moonlit forest scene of that primeval ballroom43 I noticed he often gazed sideways with intense amusement at Hornecastle, who kept getting enthusiastic about the various nude44 figures of the 77Samoan women, and made critical remarks about their limbs and beauty, slapping me on the shoulder every now and again, and poking me in the ribs45 as he noticed some especial point about them that interested him. The presence of Robert Louis Stevenson standing46 close by made me feel a bit uncomfortable in my association with Hornecastle, especially as the old reprobate47 would appeal to me at every incident, as though he thought I was as bad as himself. It was almost dawn before the Tribes finished their grand war dances. All the little children, tired out, lay huddled48 in groups under the scattered49 palms and coco-nut trees fast asleep, their tiny dark faces revealed by the moonbeams which crept over their pretty eyelids50 and tiny parted sleeping lips, as the night wind blew aside the long-fingered palm-leaves just above them.
The few whites, Robert Louis Stevenson and his friends, went off home some time before the grand finale, which consisted of the banging of drums and the kicking of legs and movement of bodies in a manner something resembling the modern “cakewalk,” except that it was a deal more rhythmical51 and fascinating to gaze upon. Hornecastle fell madly in love with a fat old dark woman of about sixty years of age; round and round the two of them went together, and the old chap, I’ll swear, cocked his legs quite as high as the South Sea maid of sixty summers. In the morning he looked pretty bad and kept sticking his head in a tub of cold seawater to keep it cool, and till he got a few more 78drinks down him he looked a bit ashamed of himself, and well he ought to, considering I have only told you half the truth with regard to his behaviour.
Planting Coco-nuts
I must tell you, before I go on, about the German missionary “Von Sour-Craut.” One night he was caught out with one of the high caste chieftain’s daughters; what he had been really doing I don’t know, but there was a terrible rumpus. One of the old Inland tribes who were staying on for some feast at Satufa and were on the warpath (for at that time there was always some trouble about over-chief jealousy) got hold of him and took him off into the forest. The whites, English and American missionaries52, got wind of his predicament and off we all went and succeeded in finding him trussed up like a fowl53. Hornecastle swore that they were an emigrant54 tribe of Solomon Islanders and that their intention was to roast him on a cannibalistic spit; he even told me afterwards that he saw the oil basting55 pot; anyway, true or not true, we all had a terrible fighting scramble56 to rescue Sour-Craut. Hornecastle knocked six of them over with a log. I got in a blow on one of them and had my knuckle57 dislocated as I put my hand up to protect my head as a warrior58 lifted his club and brought it down with a crash! We won the day though and released the trussed-up victim, and the whole tribe of outraged59 mothers and fathers, who had attempted to get their own back, scampered60 off into the moonlit forest like a pack of mammoth61 rats. We tried to get the truth out of Sour-Craut the missionary as to what he had done 81to cause such wrath62 among the natives, but he insisted that divine prayer was his only object in seeking out the dusky maid, but we all had our suspicions and Sour-Craut got the sack by the authorities and left those parts. Hornecastle had a nasty wound in the back and one of his ears was partly chewed off. He had good blood though and it soon healed. The way he swore over that wound was something terrible, in fact I really think he used worse language than he did when we went to Nuka-Hiva and slept side by side in a hut that had previously63 been inhabited by a half-caste Chinaman. We were just going off to sleep when out they came from their hungry vigil and running in all directions started to taste the two of us—for they were bugs64 as big as hornets! We did smash them up too, and I’ll swear that they were more tenacious65 in their death struggles than the New York species that came down the walls in vast regiments66 and nearly ate my eyelids away, but I will tell you of all that terrible time later on.
One night soon after the first-mentioned event, a German sailor gave me a copy of A. Lindsay Gordon’s poems. I read the “Sick Stockrider” and felt like leaving the Islands for a pilgrimage to the author’s grave. I at once came under the influence of the unfortunate Omar Khayyam of the Australian Bush and wrote off yards of quatrains. I think if they had been published they would have made me famous as the author of the world’s worst poems; anyway I liked them, and when I read them 82to Hornecastle and he smacked me on the back and said I was a genius I almost put them in an envelope to send to the Poet Laureate of England. I dedicated67 the poems to Hornecastle, and that’s the only part of it that I wish to remember.
Mr Castle introduced me to a real poet; he wore long shaggy hair, unfortunately he was a Dane and wrote in his own language, but I knew that he was a real poet by the way he gazed at the pretty brown Samoan girls as they passed by us on the beach, their arms round each other’s naked shoulders, crimson68 flowers in their rough hair, and their ridis adorned69 with leaves and blossoms that dangled70 to their bare knees. The poet came under the influence of Castle’s loose ways and one night while half intoxicated71 fell on his knees and attempted to embrace a beautiful Samoan wife of about twenty-five years of age. I knew the husband intimately and quickly explained matters to him, told him that he was only a poet, otherwise there would, I am sure, have been another rumpus. The Dane and I became very friendly after that episode and, to my delight, I found that he could play the violin, and had a lot of fine duets for two fiddles72. We went to the native hut villages and borrowed a disused hut, and sat there together playing for all we were worth. The native children, men and women stood by their small doors and huddled round us delighted and astonished as we scraped away in the twilight73 by the border of the forest. Old Hornecastle got quite jealous of my friendship with that Danish poet, but 83I soon stroked him down the right way, and took him down to a grog shanty and gave him several “splashes.” A touring party came across the Bay one day, four of them altogether; they were English and had come across from New South Wales. One of them was a retired74 judge; he had a head without much front to it, and the back stuck up like a large walnut75 with a few hairs gummed on it. His son spent the whole day in taking photos; he took snap-shots of everything for miles, also of Hornecastle in all positions, and the old chap was delighted.
“Castle” and I persuaded that judge’s son to sail across to the Isle where that old Marquesan Queen lived with the sole purpose of taking her photo. I was an innocent party to the whole business, but they took several hundreds of photographs of Castle’s friends, etc., and the old judge discovered them among his son’s belongings76 and there was a row! I never saw such wrath, such virtuous indignation as that man was capable of. I don’t know what became of the son, but I have a suspicion that he is on the Bench in England to-day, a good and prosperous man, and if he ever reads these memoirs77 of mine he need not be frightened as I have not the slightest intention of giving him away over that photo business. How sad is life when you think of things, but the best thing to do is not to think too much. I have seen men become prematurely78 old through worrying over the inevitable79 things of civilised life. Why try and improve things or make them worse? “Socialism,” “Trade unionism” 84and all the other thousand “isms” if they are for the betterment of the race will come, or, if not, fall away. Universal approval will guide the laws of mankind as well as the laws of nature, and so things fall into their places or fall from their assumed places as sure as the stars of heaven roll and fall to the universal laws of gravitation. And so I jog along doing my best for my immediate80 circle and do not get excited over the awful event that will never happen.
I must tell you of a gentleman I met one night who came across the Pacific from the Island of Pitcairn where the mutinous81 crew of the Bounty82 landed years ago. They are all dead now, but their children are still living there; in fact, the whole race are now partly descendants of the sailors of that long-ago ship. I have met in my later musical rambles83 many of the blue-blooded folk of different lands and I think if God makes Peers and Knights84 of dead men in heaven, very few of them will be able to go on with their title, but if that son of the old mutineer of the Bounty does not get a title when he’s dead it will be a shame. He was a splendid fellow, brave, sincere in his conversation. He tolerated Hornecastle’s numerous repetitions of past loyal deeds, etc., like a hero, and gave me my first lesson in astronomy. With a quick soulful ear he heard the note of pathos85 as I played some old folk songs to him; he gave me a long and wonderful account of the beauty of life and the sadness of death, and when he told me who he was I could have fallen over with 85astonishment. I had thought he was at least the head of some English University on tour. I was of course young then, and the astonishment would be, now I am more in with the world, more on the side of finding a University man who had some really original information to impart. Some men think too much learning kills originality86 and makes men become automatic penny-in-the-slot machines. Ask the question of them and their memory reverts87 back to the fourteenth chapter of the Odyssey88 or Plato’s Ethics89 to seek for the reply and so their faculties90 through long disuse slowly fade away and they die from the head downwards91. I don’t know if it’s true or not, but I have heard that some great theoretical men always when just dead cool off at the head first, their feet being warm long after stiffness has set in, but this is a gloomy topic and quite out of my province, so I will ask my reader’s forgiveness and change the subject at once.
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1
missionary
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| adj.教会的，传教(士)的；n.传教士 | |
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medley
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| n.混合 | |
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belle
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| n.靓女 | |
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isle
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| n.小岛，岛 | |
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isles
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| 岛( isle的名词复数 ) | |
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tattooed
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| v.刺青，文身( tattoo的过去式和过去分词 )；连续有节奏地敲击；作连续有节奏的敲击 | |
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virtuous
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| adj.有品德的，善良的，贞洁的，有效力的 | |
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Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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sloop
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| n.单桅帆船 | |
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fiddle
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| n.小提琴；vi.拉提琴；不停拨弄，乱动 | |
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puckered
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| v.（使某物）起褶子或皱纹( pucker的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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wink
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| n.眨眼，使眼色，瞬间；v.眨眼，使眼色，闪烁 | |
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nervously
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| adv.神情激动地，不安地 | |
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pious
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| adj.虔诚的；道貌岸然的 | |
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sedate
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| adj.沉着的，镇静的，安静的 | |
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bustle
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| v.喧扰地忙乱，匆忙，奔忙；n.忙碌；喧闹 | |
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majestic
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| adj.雄伟的，壮丽的，庄严的，威严的，崇高的 | |
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flickering
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| adj.闪烁的，摇曳的，一闪一闪的 | |
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aged
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| adj.年老的，陈年的 | |
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maidenhood
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| n. 处女性, 处女时代 | |
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amorous
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| adj.多情的；有关爱情的 | |
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lithe
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| adj.(指人、身体)柔软的，易弯的 | |
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romping
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| adj.嬉戏喧闹的，乱蹦乱闹的v.嬉笑玩闹( romp的现在分词 )；（尤指在赛跑或竞选等中）轻易获胜 | |
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plantation
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| n.种植园，大农场 | |
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partially
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| adv.部分地，从某些方面讲 | |
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sentimental
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| adj.多愁善感的，感伤的 | |
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grafted
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| 移植( graft的过去式和过去分词 )； 嫁接； 使（思想、制度等）成为（…的一部份）； 植根 | |
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aspirations
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| 强烈的愿望( aspiration的名词复数 )； 志向； 发送气音； 发 h 音 | |
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gaol
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| n.(jail)监狱；(不加冠词)监禁；vt.使…坐牢 | |
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devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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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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utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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shanty
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| n.小屋，棚屋；船工号子 | |
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astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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poking
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| n. 刺，戳，袋 vt. 拨开，刺，戳 vi. 戳，刺，捅，搜索，伸出，行动散慢 | |
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reverently
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| adv.虔诚地 | |
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festive
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| adj.欢宴的，节日的 | |
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picturesque
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| adj.美丽如画的，（语言）生动的，绘声绘色的 | |
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smacked
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| 拍，打，掴( smack的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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heartily
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| adv.衷心地，诚恳地，十分，很 | |
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liking
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| n.爱好；嗜好；喜欢 | |
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weird
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| adj.古怪的，离奇的；怪诞的，神秘而可怕的 | |
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ballroom
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| n.舞厅 | |
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nude
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| adj.裸体的；n.裸体者，裸体艺术品 | |
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ribs
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| n.肋骨( rib的名词复数 )；（船或屋顶等的）肋拱；肋骨状的东西；（织物的）凸条花纹 | |
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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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reprobate
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| n.无赖汉；堕落的人 | |
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huddled
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| 挤在一起（huddle的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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eyelids
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| n.眼睑( eyelid的名词复数 )；眼睛也不眨一下；不露声色；面不改色 | |
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rhythmical
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| adj.有节奏的，有韵律的 | |
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missionaries
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| n.传教士( missionary的名词复数 ) | |
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fowl
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| n.家禽，鸡，禽肉 | |
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emigrant
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| adj.移居的，移民的；n.移居外国的人，移民 | |
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basting
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| n.疏缝；疏缝的针脚；疏缝用线；涂油v.打( baste的现在分词 )；粗缝；痛斥；（烤肉等时）往上抹[浇]油 | |
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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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knuckle
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| n.指节；vi.开始努力工作；屈服，认输 | |
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warrior
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| n.勇士，武士，斗士 | |
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outraged
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| a.震惊的，义愤填膺的 | |
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scampered
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| v.蹦蹦跳跳地跑，惊惶奔跑( scamper的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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mammoth
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| n.长毛象；adj.长毛象似的，巨大的 | |
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wrath
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| n.愤怒，愤慨，暴怒 | |
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previously
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| adv.以前，先前（地） | |
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bugs
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| adj.疯狂的，发疯的n.窃听器( bug的名词复数 )；病菌；虫子；[计算机]（制作软件程序所产生的意料不到的）错误 | |
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tenacious
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| adj.顽强的，固执的，记忆力强的，粘的 | |
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regiments
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| （军队的）团( regiment的名词复数 )； 大量的人或物 | |
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dedicated
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| adj.一心一意的；献身的；热诚的 | |
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68
crimson
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| n./adj.深(绯)红色(的)；vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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adorned
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| [计]被修饰的 | |
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dangled
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| 悬吊着( dangle的过去式和过去分词 )； 摆动不定； 用某事物诱惑…； 吊胃口 | |
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intoxicated
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| 喝醉的，极其兴奋的 | |
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72
fiddles
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| n.小提琴( fiddle的名词复数 )；欺诈；（需要运用手指功夫的）细巧活动；当第二把手v.伪造( fiddle的第三人称单数 )；篡改；骗取；修理或稍作改动 | |
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73
twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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75
walnut
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| n.胡桃，胡桃木，胡桃色，茶色 | |
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belongings
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| n.私人物品，私人财物 | |
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77
memoirs
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| n.回忆录；回忆录传( mem,自oir的名词复数) | |
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prematurely
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| adv.过早地，贸然地 | |
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inevitable
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| adj.不可避免的，必然发生的 | |
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immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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81
mutinous
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| adj.叛变的，反抗的；adv.反抗地，叛变地；n.反抗，叛变 | |
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82
bounty
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| n.慷慨的赠予物，奖金；慷慨，大方；施与 | |
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83
rambles
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| （无目的地）漫游( ramble的第三人称单数 )； （喻）漫谈； 扯淡； 长篇大论 | |
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84
knights
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| 骑士； （中古时代的）武士( knight的名词复数 )； 骑士； 爵士； （国际象棋中）马 | |
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85
pathos
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| n.哀婉，悲怆 | |
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86
originality
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| n.创造力，独创性；新颖 | |
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87
reverts
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| 恢复( revert的第三人称单数 )； 重提； 回到…上； 归还 | |
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88
odyssey
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| n.长途冒险旅行；一连串的冒险 | |
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89
ethics
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| n.伦理学；伦理观，道德标准 | |
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faculties
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| n.能力( faculty的名词复数 )；全体教职员；技巧；院 | |
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downwards
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| adj./adv.向下的（地），下行的（地） | |
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