ALTHOUGH I certainly did not use the few days of my stay in Tahiti to the best advantage—although I saw none of the public buildings of Pape?te, never set eyes on any of the officials of the place, and did not collect any statistics worth mentioning, I gathered a few crude facts of a useful kind, which are herewith offered as a sop3 to the reader, who must be informed and improved, or know the reason why. (If he would only go to Tahiti, that dear reader, whom, all travellers know so well and fear so much! if he would just spend a week lying on the coral beach, and strolling in the moonlight, and listening to native songs, and feeding fat on native dainties—he would never want to be informed of anything any more, and as to being improved... O Tahiti, loveliest and least conventional of the siren countries of the dear South Seas, can you lay your hand on your heart, and honestly declare you are improving?)
Tahiti was discovered, not by Captain Cook, as is rather commonly supposed, but by Captain Wallis of H.M.S. Dolphin, in 1767. Captain Wallis formally took possession of the group in the name of His Majesty4 King George III., and Captain Cook, in the course of his different visits to the islands, laid the foundations of all the civilisation5 they afterwards acquired. Nevertheless, the islands are French property to-day. There is nothing in the Pacific better worth owning than the Society group, more fertile, more beautiful, more healthy, richer in valuable tropical products—and the construction of the Panama Canal, an event which has been foreseen for several generations, will obviously add much to the importance of the islands. Because of these, and other excellent reasons, Great Britain, acting6 on the principles by which her colonial policy is commonly guided, allowed the Society Islands to slip gradually into the hands of a power better able than herself to appreciate their value, and the group, after thirty-seven years of “protection,” was finally taken possession of by France, in the year 1880. The native Queen, P?mare7 IV. (Pomare being a dynastic name like C?sar, but, unlike the latter, applied8 to both sexes), was allowed to retain her state and possessions under the French protectorate. Her successor, King Pomare V., who succeeded in 1877 and died in 1891, only reigned9 for three years. After the formal annexation10 he retained his title of king, and much of his state, but the power was entirely11 in French hands. Prince Hinoe, his heir, who would in the ordinary course have occupied the throne, lives in a handsome European-built house near Papeete, and enjoys a good pension, but is otherwise not distinguished12 in any way from the ordinary Tahitian.
Under French rule, the islands have done fairly well. There were at first many regrettable disputes and troubles between opposing camps of missionaries13, but these have long since been made up. Commerce is in rather a languishing14 state. The group exports copra, vanilla15, pearl-shell, and fruit, but the trade with America was so much on the down-grade during the time of my visit, that steamers were leaving the port with empty holds. The natives are well treated under the present system; the liquor laws, however, are defective16, and no Tahitian, apparently17, has any difficulty in obtaining as much strong spirits as he wants and can pay for. The disastrous18 effects of such carelessness as this need no mention to the reader who knows anything of darkskinned races. For the benefit of the reader who does not, however, it may be remarked that all colonial administrators19 agree concerning the bad effects of intoxicants on coloured races of every kind. It matters not at what end or part of the scale of colour the man may be—whether he is a woolly-haired, baboon-jawed nigger from Central Africa, a grave, intelligent, educated Maori of New Zealand, or a gentle child-like native of Tahiti, barely café-au-lait as to colour—all the same, and all the time, spirits are sure to convert him, temporarily, into a raging beast, and, in the long run, to wipe out him and his kind altogether. It is not a question of temperance principles or the reverse, but merely a matter of common-sense policy, in dealing20 with races which have shown themselves unable to withstand the effects of the liquors that our hardier21 northern nations can use with comparative safety. One may lay it down as a general principle that nothing with a coloured skin on it can take, intoxicants in moderation—it is not at all, or all in all, with the “native” when it comes to strong drinks. Scientific folk would probably set down the comparative immunity22 of the white races to the protection that lies behind them in the shape of centuries of drinking ancestors. The coffee-coloured islander’s great-grandparents did not know whisky, just as they never experienced measles23 and other diseases, that do not usually kill the white, but almost always put an end to the “man and brother.” Therefore, the islander’s body has not, by inheritance, acquired those points of constitution which enable the white to resist whisky and measles, and other dangerous things; and when they touch him, he goes down at once. A parallel may be found in the case of opium24, which the white man, broadly speaking, cannot take in moderation, although most of the yellow races can. Europeans who once acquire a liking25 for the effects of opium will generally die as miserable26 wrecks27, in the course of a very few years. A Chinaman, under similar circumstances, may, and often does, live to a good old age, without taking any harm at all from his constant doses. His ancestors have been opium takers, the Englishman’s have not. It is the case of the islander and the spirits over again.
After which digression, one has some way to come back to the fact that the French Government does not prevent the Tahitian from drinking gin nearly so effectively as it should, and that, in consequence, the diminution28 of the native population receives a downward push that it does not in the least require. In the Fijis, British rule keeps spirits strictly29 away from all the natives, with the exception of the chiefs, and something, at least, is thereby30 done to slacken the decline that afflicts31 the people of almost every island in the Pacific. The Fijian chiefs, as a rule, drink heavily, and do not commonly live long, thus providing another argument in favour of restriction32.
The population of Tahiti is indeed much less than it should be. Captain Cook’s estimates of native populations are now understood to have been mistaken in many cases, owing to the fact that he calculated the entire numbers from the density33 of occupation round the shores. As most Pacific islands are inhabited about the coasts alone, the interior being often unsuitable for cultivation34, and too far removed from the fishing-grounds to suit an indolent race, it can easily be understood that serious errors would arise from such a method of estimate. The diminution, therefore, since ancient times, is not quite so alarming as the first writers on the Pacific—and, indeed, many who followed them—supposed it to be. If the sums worked out by the travellers who visited Honolulu in the sixties, or Tahiti a little later, had been correct, both of these important groups would long since have been empty of all native population. But the Hawaiian group has still a very fair number of darkskinned people, while Tahiti, including all its islands, had a population, according to the census35 of 1902, of over thirteen thousand, one-eighth of whom are said to be French, and a smaller number Chinese and other foreigners.
Still, it cannot be said that this is a large, or even a fair population for a group of islands covering 580 square miles, nor can it be denied that the numbers of the Tahitians are steadily36 on the decrease. The exact causes of the decline are disputed, as indeed they are in connection with every other coloured race in the Pacific. European diseases of a serious kind are extremely common in the group, and consumption also is frequent. These are two obvious causes. Less easily reckoned are the unnamed tendencies towards extinction37 that follow the track of the white man through the lands of primitive38 peoples, all over the world. There can be no doubt that the old life of the Pacific—feasting, fighting, making love, and making murder: dressing39 in a bunch of leaves, and living almost as completely without thought for the morrow as the twittering parrakeets in the mango trees—suited the constitution of the islander better than the life of to-day.
It may have been bad for his spiritual development, and it certainly was bad for any wandering white men who came, by necessity or choice, to visit his far-away fastnesses. But he lived and flourished in those bad days, whereas now he quietly and unostentatiously, and quite without any rancour or regret, dies.
Why? Old island residents will tell you that, even if every disease brought by the white man were rooted out to-morrow, the native would still diminish in numbers. He has done so in islands where the effects of European diseases were comparatively slight. He does so in New Zealand, where the Maori (the supposed ancestor of most of the island peoples) is petted, cherished, and doctored to an amazing extent by the ruling race, and yet persists in dying out, although he is not affected40 by consumption or other evils to any serious extent. There are undoubtedly41 other causes, and perhaps among them not the least is the fact that, for most Pacific races, life, with the coming of civilisation, has greatly lost its savour.
It used to be amazingly lively in Tahiti, in the wild old days. Then, the Tahitian did not know of white men’s luxuries—of tea and sugar and tinned stuffs, lamps and kerosene42, hideous43 calico shirts and gaudy44 ties, muslin gowns and frilled petticoats for the women, “bits” to make patchwork45 quilts with, and beds to put the quilts on, and matchwood bungalows47 to put the beds in, and quart bottles of fiery48 gin to drink, and coloured silk handkerchiefs to put away on a shelf, and creaking shoes to lame49 oneself with on Sundays. Then, he did not let or sell his land to some one in order to get cash to buy these desirable things; nor did his womankind, for the same reason, adopt, almost as a national profession, a mode of life to which the conventionalities forbid me to give a name. Nor did the distractions50 of unlimited51 church-going turn away his mind from the main business of life, which was undoubtedly that of enjoyment52. He had no money, and no goods, and did not want either. He had no religion (to speak of) and desired that still less. All he had to do was to secure a good time, and get up a fight now and then when things in general began to turn slow.
It must be said that the existence of the “Areoi,” a certain secret society of old Tahiti, went far to minimise the risk of dullness. The members formed a species of heathen “Hell-Fire Club,” and they cultivated every crime known to civilisation, and a few which civilisation has happily forgotten. Murder, theft, human sacrifices, cannibalism53, were among their usual practices, and the domestic relationships of the Society (which was large and influential54, and included both sexes) are said to have been open to some criticism. They were popular, however, for they studied music and the dance as fine arts, and gave free entertainments to every one who cared to come. They travelled from village to village, island to island, giving “shows” wherever they went, and winning welcome and favour everywhere by the brilliance55 and originality56 of their improprieties. They were as wicked as they knew how, and as amusing, and as devilish, and as dazzling.... How the young Tahitian lad, not yet tattooed57, and considered of no importance, must have reverenced58 and envied them! how he must have imitated their pranks59 in the seclusion60 of the cocoanut groves61, and hummed over their songs, and longed for the time when he himself should be big enough to run away from home, and go off with the delightful62, demoniacal, fascinating Areois!
Then there was always a native king in Tahiti in those days, and a number of big native chiefs, each one of whom had his own little court, with all the exciting surroundings of a court which are never missing in any part of the world, from Saxe-Niemandhausen to Patagonia. And there were tribal64 fights from time to time, when property changed hands, and war-spears were reddened, and a man might hunt his enemy in the dusk, stealthy, soft-footed, with heart jumping in his breast, along the shadowy borders of the lagoon65.... Murder and mischief66 and fighting and greed, pomp of savage67 courts and stir of savage ambitions, and the other world that nobody knew or cared about, shut off by a barrier of seas unexplored.... It was a life in which a man undoubtedly did live, a life that kept him quick until he was dead. Does the decline of Pacific races look less unaccountable now?
In these days, the Tahitian is undoubtedly improved. He never was a very “bad lot” all round, in spite of the Areois; but Civilisation, of course, had to take him in hand once it was known he was there, for Civilisation will not have loose ends or undusted corners in her house, if she can help it. So the people of Tahiti were discovered, and converted, and clothed, and taught, and they gave up being Areois, and worshipping heathen gods, and going about without shirts and skirts, and they went frequently to church, and supported their white pastors68 generously, and began to trade with the Europeans, so that the latter made much money.
They are quite happy and uncomplaining, and manage to have a reasonably good time in a quiet way, but they will die out, and nobody can prevent them. You see, they are rather bored, and when you are bored, the answer to the question, “Is life worth living?” is, at the least, debatable—to a Pacific Islander.
I have written of this at some length, because, mutatis mutandis, it applies to nearly all the island races.
It is not only the Tahitian who looks back with wistful eyes to the faded sunset of the bad old times, with all their savage gaudiness69 of scarlet70 blood and golden licence, and languishes71 in the chill pale dawn of the white man’s civilisation. It is the whole Pacific world, more or less. The Simple Life in the raw original is not, by many a long league, as simple and innocent as it is supposed to be, by those new and noisy apostles of a return to Nature, who have never got nearer to the things of the beginning than a week-end up the Thames—but, unsimple and uninnocent as it is, it suits the coloured man better than anything else. Would one, therefore, wish to put back the clock of time, re-establish heathenism and cannibalism over all the Pacific, and see Honolulu, Fiji, Samoa, with their towns and Government Houses, and shops and roads and plantations72, leap back to the condition of the still uncivilised western islands, where no man’s life is safe, and the law of might is the only law that is known? Hardly. There is no answer to the problem, and no moral to be drawn73 from it either. But then, you do not draw morals in the South Seas—they are not plentiful74 enough.
The Society Islands—which were so named in compliment to the Royal Society—lie between 16° and 18° south latitude75, and 148° and 158° west longitude76. Tahiti itself is much the largest, the driveway round this island being about ninety miles long. Huaheine, Raiatea, Murea, Bora-Bora, and the small islands Taha’a and Maitea, are much less important. The only town of the group is Pape?te.
So much, for the serious-minded reader, already mentioned, who knows most things beforehand, and likes his information cut-and-dried. The commoner and more ignorant reader, I will assume, knows no more about Tahiti than I did before I went, and therefore will be glad of amplification77.
Sixteen degrees only from the equator is hot—very hot at times—and does not allow of a really cool season, though the months between April and October are slightly less warm than the others, and at night one may sometimes need a blanket. Everything near the equator is a long way from England, and everything on the south side of the line is a very long way, and anything in the Pacific is so far off that it might almost as well be in another star. Tahiti, therefore, is quite, as the Irish say, “at the back of God-speed.”
Perhaps that is where much of its charm lies. There is a fascination78 in remoteness, hard to define, but not on that account less powerful. “So far away!” is a word-spell that has charmed many a sail across the seas, from the days of the seekers after the Golden Fleece till now.
Pape?te was the first of the island towns that I saw, and it is so typical an example of all, that one description may serve for many.
Imagine, then, a long, one-sided street, always known in every group as “the beach.” The reason is apparent—it really is a beach with houses attached, rather than a street with a shore close at hand. The stores—roomy, low, wood-built houses, largely composed of verandah—are strung loosely down the length of the street. Flamboyant79 trees, as large as English beeches80, roof in the greater part of the long roadway with a cool canopy81 of green, spangled by bunches of magnificent scarlet flowers. Almost every house stands in a tangle82 of brilliant tropical foliage83, and the side streets that run off landwards here and there, are more like Botanic Gardens with a few ornamental84 cottages let loose among them, than prosaic85 pieces of a town—so richly does the flood of riotous86 greenery foam87 up over low fence tops, and brim into unguarded drains and hollows, so gorgeously do the red and white and golden flowers wreathe tall verandah posts, and carpet ugly tin roofs with a kindly88 tapestry89 of leaf, and bloom. Foot to foot and hand to hand with Nature stands man, in these islands, let him but relax for a moment, and—there!—she has him over the line!... Leave Pape?te alone for a couple of years, and you would need an axe63 to find it, when you came back.
There are a number of hotels in Pape?te—mostly of an indifferent sort, and none too cheap—and there are several large cafés and restaurants, run on lines entirely Parisian, and a crowd of smaller ones, many owned, by Chinese, where the hard-up white may feed at a very small cost, pleasantly enough, if he does not ask too many questions about the origin and preparation of his food. There are three local newspapers, and a military band plays in the afternoons, and there are clubs of all kinds’ and not a little society, which—being society—is in its essence bound to be uninteresting and flat, even here in the many-coloured South Seas. But under all this, the native life flows on in its own way, and the Tahitian takes his pleasure after his immemorial fashion, as quietly and as lazily as he is allowed. I have spoken hitherto of only one side of the main street. The other, which gives directly on the sea, belongs to the Tahitian life of Tahiti. Here, a green slope of soft grass stretches down to the greener waters of the sparkling lagoon: delicate palms lean over the still sea-mirror, like beauties smiling into a glass; flamboyant and frangipani trees drop crimson90 and creamy blooms upon the grass; and, among the flowers, facing the sea and the ships and the dreamy green lagoon, lie the natives, old and young. They wear the lightest of cotton clothing, scarlet and rose and butter-cup yellow, and white scented91 flowers are twisted in their hair. Fruits of many colours, and roots and fish, lie beside them. They eat a good part of the day, and their dogs, sleeping blissfully in the shade at their feet, wake up and eat with them now and then. There is plenty for both—no one ever goes short of food in Tahiti, where the pinch of cold and hunger, and the burden of hard, unremitting, unholidayed work are alike unknown. Sometimes the natives wander away to the river that flows through the town, and take a bath in its cool waters; returning later to lounge, and laze, and suck fruit, and dream, on the shores of the lagoon again. The sound of the surf, droning all day long on the coral reef that bars the inner lake of unruffled green from the outer ocean of windy blue, seems to charm them into a soft half-sleep, through which, with open but unseeing eyes, they watch the far-off creaming of the breakers in the sun, and the flutter of huge velvet93 butterflies among the flowers, and the brown canoes gliding94 like water-beetles about the tall-masted schooners in the harbour. With sunset comes a cooling of the heated air, and glowworm lights begin to twinkle through the translucent95 red walls of the little native houses scattered96 here and there. It will soon be dark now: after dark, there will be dancing and singing in the house; later, the sleeping mats will be laid out, and with the moon and the stars glimmering97 in through the walls upon their still brown faces, the Tahitians will sleep.... So, in the sunset, with
Dark faces, pale against the rosy98 flame,
The mild-eyed melancholy99 lotus-eaters
wander home.
Only a flash in the long cinematograph of the wonderful track that circles the globe, is Tahiti. I cannot tell of Murea, the marvellous island that lies opposite Papeete, seven and a half miles away, because, during the few days I spent in Tahiti, no boat was going there, and none could be induced to go. So I had to look at Murea’s splintered towers and spiring100 pinnacles101, and wonderful purple goblin palaces, floating high among the clouds, from the tantalising distance of Pape?te harbour. Nor could I join some steamer friends in driving round the ninety-mile roadway, as we had intended—stopping in native towns, and seeing something of the inner life of the island—because no one in the capital had any teams for hire just then, and nobody knew when there would be any. Some of us went up the river to see Pierre Loti’s bathing pool, and came back rather disappointed, and others drove out to the tomb of P?mare V., three miles from the town. It was a pile of concrete and stone, modelled after European fashions, and not especially interesting.
One of the ladies of the party wandered off with me down the beach, neither of us being interested in the resting-place of the defunct103 Pomare—and here we found plenty of food for mind and body both. For was not this a pandanus, or screw-pine, which we had read about, overhanging the lagoon, with the quaintest104 mops of palmy foliage, set on long broom-handles of boughs105, and great fruits like pineapples hanging among the leaves, and yellow and scarlet kernels106 lying thick on the sand below—the tree itself perched up on tall bare wooden stilts107 formed by the roots, and looking more like something from a comic scene in a pantomime, than a real live piece of vegetation growing on an actual shore? And were not these cocoanuts that lay all about the beach under the leaning palms—nuts such as we had never seen before, big as a horse’s head, and smooth green as to outside, but nuts all the same?
A native slipped silently from among the thick trees beside us—a bronze-skinned youth of eighteen or nineteen, dressed only in a light pareo or kilt of blue and white cotton. He stood with hands lightly crossed on his breast, looking at us with the expression of infinite kindliness108 and good-nature that is so characteristic of the Tahitian race. We signed to him that we wanted to drink, and he smiled comprehendingly, shook his head at the nuts on the ground, and lightly sprang on to the bole of the palm beside us, which slanted109 a little towards the sea. Up the trunk of that tree, which inclined so slightly that one would not have thought a squirrel could have kept its footing there, walked our native friend, holding on with his feet and hands, and going as easily as a sailor on a Jacob’s ladder. Arrived in the crown some seventy feet above, he threw down two or three nuts, and then descended110 and husked them for us.
Husking a cocoanut is one of the simplest-looking operations in the world, but I have not yet seen the white man who could do it effectively, though every native is apparently born with the trick. A stick is sharply pointed102 at both ends, and one end is firmly set in the ground. The nut is now taken in the hands, and struck with a hitting and tearing movement combined, on the point of the stick, so as to split the thick, intensely tough covering of dense111 coir fibre that protects the nut, and rip the latter out. It comes forth112 white as ivory, about the same shape and size as the brown old nuts that come by ship to England, but much younger and more brittle113, for only the smallest of the old nuts, which are not wanted in the islands for copra-making, are generally exported. A large knife is used to crack the top of the nut all round, like an egg-shell, and the drink is ready, a draught114 of pure water, slightly sweet and just a little aerated115, if the nut has been plucked at the right stage. There is no pleasanter or more refreshing116 draught in the world, and it has not the least likeness117 to the “milk” contained in the cocoanuts of commerce. No native would drink old nuts such as the latter, for fear of illness, as they are considered both unpleasant and unwholesome. Only half-grown nuts are used for drinking, and even these will sometimes hold a couple of pints118 of liquid. The water of the young cocoanut is food and drink in one, having much nourishing matter held in solution. On many a long day of hot and weary travel, during the years that followed, I had cause to bless the refreshing and restoring powers of heaven’s best gift to man in the tropics, the never-failing cocoanut.
I will not insult the reader by telling him all the uses to which the tree and its various products are put, because those are among the things we have all learned at our first preparatory school; how the natives in the cocoanut countries make hats and mats and houses, and silver fish-servers and brocaded dressing-gowns, and glacé kid boots with fourteen buttons (I think the list used to run somewhat after that fashion—it is the spirit if not the letter)—all out of the simple cocoanut tree; a piece of knowledge which, somehow or other, used to make us feel vaguely119 virtuous120 and deserving, as if we had done it all ourselves....
But all this time the youth is standing121 like a smiling bronze statue, holding the great ivory cup in his hands, and waiting for us to drink. We do so in turn, Ganymede carefully supporting the cup in his upcurved hands, and tilting122 it with a fine regard for our needs, as the water drops down in the nut like the tide on a sandy shore when the moon calls back the sea.
Then we take out purses, and want to pay Ganymede; but he will not be paid, until it becomes plain to him that the greatest politeness lies in yielding. He takes our franc, and disappears among the trees, to return no more. But in a minute, out from the bush comes running the oddest little figure, a very old, grey-bearded man, very gaily123 dressed in a green shirt and a lilac pareo, and laden124 very heavily with ripe pineapples. We guess him to be Ganymede’s father, and see that our guess was right, when he drops the whole heap of fruit upon the ground at our feet, smiling and bowing and murmuring incomprehensively over it, and then begins to vanish like his son.
“Here—stop!” calls my companion. “We don’t want to take your fruit without buying it. Come back, please, come back!”
The little old-gentleman trots125 back on his thin bare legs, recalled more by the tone than the words, which he obviously does not understand, and takes a hand of each of us in his own brown fingers. He shakes hands with us gently and firmly, shaking his head negatively at the same time, and then, like the romantic youths of Early Victorian novels, “turns, and is immediately lost to view in the surrounding forest,” carrying the honours of war, indubitably, with himself.
“Well, they are real generous!” declares my American companion, as we go back to the tomb. “By the way, Miss G————, I guess you’d better not sit down on that grass to wait for the rest. I wouldn’t, if I was you.”
“Why not? it’s as dry as dust.”
“Because the natives say it’s somehow or other—they didn’t, explain how—infected with leprosy, and I guess they ought to know; there’s plenty of it all over the Pacific—— I rather thought that would hit you where you lived.”
It did. I got up as quickly as a grasshopper126 in a hurry. Afterwards, on a leper island thousands of miles away from Tahiti—— But that belongs to another place.
L————, the ever-amiable, our half-caste landlady127 at the little bungalow46 hotel, all overgrown with bougainvillea and stephanotis, was grieved because we had seen nothing in the way of “sights,” and declared her intention of giving a native dinner for us.
It was not very native, but it was very amusing. It took place in the verandah of the hotel, under a galaxy128 of Chinese lanterns, with an admiring audience of natives crowding the whole roadway outside, and climbing up the trees to look at us. This was principally because the word had gone forth in Pape?te (which owns the finest gossip-market in the South Seas) that the English and American visitors were going to appear in native dress, and nobody knew quite how far they meant to go—there being two or three sorts of costume which pass under that classification.
The variety which we selected, however, was not very sensational129. The ladies borrowed from L————‘s inexhaustible store, draped themselves in one or other of her flowing nightdress robes, let loose their hair, and crowned themselves with twisted Tahitian corqnets of gardenia130 and tuberose. A scarlet flower behind each ear completed the dress, and drew forth delighted squeaks131 from the handmaidens of the hotel, and digs in the ribs132 from L————, who was nearly out of her mind with excitement and enjoyment. Shoes were retained, contrary to L————‘s entreaties133, but corsets she would not permit, nor would she allow a hairpin134 or hair-ribbon among the party. The men guests wore white drill suits with a native pareo, scarlet or yellow, tied round the waist. It was a gay-looking party, on the whole, and the populace of Tahiti seemed to enjoy the sight.
The dinner was served at a table, but most of the dishes were on green leaves instead of plates, and L———— begged us, almost with tears in her eyes, to eat the native dainties with our fingers, as they tasted better that way. Little gold-fish, baked and served with cocoanut sauce, were among the items on the menu: sucking-pig, cooked in a hole in the ground, fat little river crayfish, breadfruit baked and served hot, with (I regret to say) European butter, native puddings made of banana and breadfruit, and the famous raw fish. Some of the guests would not touch the latter, but the rest of us thought it no worse than raw oysters135, and sampled it, with much enjoyment. I give the receipt, for the benefit of any one who may care to try it. Take any good white fish, cut it up into pieces about two inches long, and place the latter, raw, in lime-juice squeezed from fresh limes, or lemon-juice, if limes are not to be had. Let the fish steep for half a day, and serve it cold, with cocoanut sauce, the receipt for which is as follows:—Grate down the meat of a large cocoanut, and pour a small cup of sea-water over it. Leave it for three or four hours, and then strain several times through muslin (the fine brown fibre off young cocoanut shoots is a correct material, but the reader may not have a cocoanut in his back garden). The water should at last come out as thick and opaque136 as cream.
This is the true “milk of the cocoanut” about which one so often hears. It is of immemorial antiquity137 in the South Seas.
Captain Cook mentions it in his Voyages, and describes the cocoanut shells full of it, that were given to every man at a feast, in which to dip his food. When used as a sauce for meat or fish, one or two fresh red peppers from the nearest pepper bush are cut up and put in. Chili138 pepper, judiciously139 used, is a fair substitute for the latter. The sauce is also used for many native puddings and sweet dishes, in which case it is made with fresh water and the pepper is left out. As a fish sauce it is unsurpassed, and may be recommended to gourmands140 as a new sensation. It should be served in bowls of brown cocoanut shell.
Breadfruit some of us tasted for the first time at this dinner. It was universally liked, though a few maintained that it resembled potato more than bread. I found it very like the latter, with a suggestion of floury cracknel biscuit. It is most satisfying and nourishing. One never, in island travels, feels the want of fresh bread when breadfruit is available. L———— had cooked it native fashion, peeled and baked on hot stones in a pit in the ground. It is a good-sized fruit in its natural state, about as large as a medium hothouse melon, and bright green in colour. The skin is divided into lizard-like lozenges, and the surface is very rough. Whether it is indigenous141 to the islands or not, I cannot say, but it was there when Cook came, and it grows wild very freely, providing an immense store of natural food.
Taro142 we also had, baked native style. It is a plant in use over almost all the Pacific, very easily cultivated and rapidly producing immense bluish-coloured roots, which look like mottled soap when cooked and served. It is extremely dense and heavy, but pleasant to most tastes. The white taro is a less common kind, somewhat lighter143.
The mangoes that were served with the meal (among many other fruits) were of a variety that is generally supposed to be the finest in the world. No mango is so large, so sweet, or so fine in grain, as the mango of Tahiti, and none has less of the turpentine flavour that is so much disliked by newcomers to tropical countries. It is a commonplace of the islands that a mango can only be eaten with comfort in a bath, and many of the guests that evening would not have been sorry for a chance to put the precept144 into practice, after struggling with one or two mangoes, which were, of course, too solid to be sucked, and much too juicy and sticky not to smear145 the hands and the face of the consumers disastrously146.
L———— gave us many French dishes with our native dinner, to suit all tastes, and gratify her own love of fine cookery, but these would be of little interest to recount. I cannot forget, however, how this true artiste of the kitchen described the menu she had planned, on the morning of the entertainment. She sat down beside me on a sofa to tell the wondrous147 tale, and, as she recited dish after dish, her voice rose higher and higher, and her great black eyes burned, and she seized me by the arm and almost hugged me in her excitement. When she came to the savouries, tears of genuine emotion rose in her eyes, and at the end of the whole long list, her feelings overcame her like a flood, and, gasping148 out—“Beignets d’ananas à la Papeete; glaces. Vénus, en Cythère; fromage——” she cast herself bodily into my arms and sobbed149 with delight. She was fully92 fifteen stone, and the weather was exceedingly warm, but I admired her artistic150 fervour too much to tell her to sit up, and stop crying over my clean muslin (as I should have liked to do), because it seemed to me that L———— was really a true artiste in her own way, and almost worthy151 to rank, in the history of the kitchen, with Vatel the immortal152, who fell upon his sword and died, because the fish was late for the royal dinner.
Of the other evening, when half a dozen guests of mixed nationalities began, through a temptation of the devil, to talk politics at ten o’clock on the verandah—of the fur that, metaphorically153 speaking, commenced to fly when the American cast the Irish question into the fray154, and the Englishman vilified155 Erin, and the Irishwoman, following the historical precedent156, called the Frenchwoman to her aid, and the latter in the prettiest manner in the world, got up and closed her two small hands round the throat of John Bull, and choked him into silence—it would not be necessary to tell, had not the sequel been disastrous to the fair name of our steamship157 party in Papeete. For a big banana spider, as big in the body as half a crown, and nearly as hard, came suddenly out from the stephanotis boughs, and, like a famous ancestor, “sat down beside” a lady of the party. This caused the politicians to rush to the aid of the lady, who had of course mounted a chair and begun to scream. The spider proved extremely difficult to kill, and had to be battered158 with the legs of chairs for some time before he yielded up the ghost—one guest, who found an empty whisky bottle, and flattened159 the creature out with it, carrying off the honours of the fray. After which excitement, we all felt ready for bed, and went.
“And in the morning, behold” the kindly L———— smiling upon her guests, and remarking: “Dat was a real big drunk you all having on the veràndah, after I gone to bed!”
“Good heavens, L————!” exclaims Mrs. New England, pale with horror, “what do you mean?”
“Surely, Mrs. L————, you do not suppose for an instant any of our party were—I can hardly say it!” expostulates a delicate-looking minister from the Southern States, here for his lungs, who was very prominent last night in arguing Ireland’s right to “secede” if she liked.
“That’s a good one, I must say,” remarks John Bull, rather indignantly.
But L———— only smiles on. She is always smiling.
“Dat don’t go, Mr. —————” she says pleasantly. “I couldn’t sleep last night, for the way you all kicking up, and the girl, she say you fighting. Madame ————— she trying to kill Mr. Bull, all the gentlemen smashing the leg of the chairs, the lady scream—and dis mornin’, I findin’ a large whisky bottle, all drunk up.”
I am privately160 choking with laughter in a corner, but I cannot help feeling sorry for Mrs. New England, who really looks as if about to faint.
“I don’ mind!” declares L———— delightedly. “Why, I been thinking all dis time you haven’t been enjoyin’ yourself at all. I like every one here they having a real good time. Every one,” she smiles—and melts away into the soft gloom of the drawing-room, where she sits down, and begins to play softly thrumming, strangely intoxicating161 Tahitian dance music on the piano.
“Elle est impayable!” says the Frenchwoman, shrugging her shoulders. “From all I hear of Tahiti, my dear friends, I think you shall find yourselves without a chiffon of character to-morrow.... But courage! it is a thing here the most superfluous162.”
Madame was a true prophet, I have reason to know; for many months after, the story of the orgy, held on L————‘s verandah by the English and French and American ladies and gentlemen, reached me in a remote corner of the Pacific, as “the latest from Papeete.” What I wanted to know, and what I never shall know, for my boat came in next day, and took me away to Raratonga—was whether the minister from the South eventually died of the shock or not. I do not want to know about the lady from New England, because I am quite certain she did—as certain as I am that I should have, myself, and did not.
Of the prospects163 in Tahiti for settlers I cannot say much. It was said, while I was in Papeete, that there was practically no money in the place, and the traders, like the Scilly Island washerfolk of well-known fame, merely existed by trading with each other. This may have been an exaggeration, or a temporary state of depression. The vanilla trade, owing to a newly invented chemical substitute, was not doing well, but judging by what I saw next year in Fiji, the market must have recovered. The climate of Tahiti is matchless for vanilla growing, and land is not very difficult to get.
Quite a number of small schooners seemed to be engaged in the pearling trade with the Paumotus—a group of islands covering over a thousand miles of sea, and including some of the richest pearl beds in the world—(French property). I never coveted164 anything more than I coveted those dainty little vessels166. Built in San Francisco, where people know how to build schooners, they were finished like yachts, and their snowy spread of cotton-cloth canvas, when they put out to sea, and their graceful167 bird-like lines, would have delighted the soul of Clarke Russell. One, a thirty-ton vessel165, with the neatest little saloon in the world, fitted with shelves for trading; and a captain’s cabin like a miniature finer stateroom, and a toy-like galley168 forward, with a battery of shining saucepans, and a spotless stove—snowy paint on hull169 and deckhouses, lightened with fines of turquoise170 blue—splendid spiring masts, varnished171 till they shone—cool white awning172 over the poop, and sparkling brasses173 about the compass and the wheel, was so completely a craft after my own heart that I longed to run away with her, or take her off in my trunk to play with—she seemed quite small enough, though her “beat” covered many thousand miles of sea. Poor little Maid of the Islands! Her bones are bleaching174 on a coral reef among the perilous175 pearl atolls, this two years past, and her captain—the cheerful, trim, goodnatured X————, who could squeeze more knots an hour out of his little craft than any other master in the port save one, and could tell more lies about the Pacific in half an hour, than any one from Chili to New Guinea—of his bones are coral made, down where the giant clam176 swings his cruel valves together on wandering fish or streaming weed, or limb of luckless diver, and where the dark tentacles177 of the great Polynesian devil-fish
Winnow178 with giant arms the slumbering179 green.
The pitcher180 that goes to the well, and the schooner2 that goes to the pearl islands, are apt to meet with the same fate, in time. Nevertheless, tales about the Paumotus are many, and interesting enough to attract adventurers from far, if they were known. How the rumour181 of a big pearl gets out; how a schooner sets forth to run down the game, pursues it through shifting report after report, from native exaggeration to native denial, perhaps for months; how it is found at last, and triumphantly182 secured for a price not a tenth its worth; how one shipload of shell, bought on speculation183, will have a fortune in the first handful, and the next will yield no more than the value of the shell itself—this, and much else, make good hearing.
“Look at that pearl,” said a schooner captain to me one day, showing me a little globe of light the size of a pea, and as round as a marble. “I hunted that for a year, off and on. The native that had it lived way off from anywhere, but he knew a thing or two, and he wouldn’t part. I offered him goods, I offered him gin, I offered him twenty pounds cash, but it was all no go. How d’you think I got it at last? Well, I’ll tell you. I went up to his island with the twenty pounds in a sack, all in small silver, and when I came into his house, I poured it all out in a heap on the mats. ‘Ai, ai, ai!’ he says, and drops down on his knees in front of it—it looked like a fortune to him. ‘Will you sell now?’ says I, and by Jove, he did, and I carried it off with me. Worth? Can’t say yet, but it’ll run well into three figures.”
The pearling in the French islands is strictly preserved, and the terms on which it is obtainable are not known to me. Poaching is a crime not by any means unheard of.
A glance at the map, and the extent of the Paumotu group, will explain better than words why the policing of the pearl bed must necessarily be incomplete.
The steamer came in in due course, and carried me away to the Cook Islands. Huaheine and Raiatea, in the Society group, were called at on the way, but Bora-Bora was left out, as it is not a regular port of call. I am glad I did not land on Bora-Bora, and I never shall, if I can help it. No place in the world could be so like a fairy dream as Bora-Bora looked in the distance. It was literally184 a castle in the air; battlements and turrets185, built of vaporous blue clouds, springing steep and impregnable from the diamond-dusted sea to the violet vault186 of heaven. Fairy princesses lived there, one could not but know; dragons lurked187 in the dark caves low down on the shore, and “magic casements188, opening on the foam of perilous seas,” looked down from those far blue pinnacles.
Perhaps there is a village on Bora-Bora, with a dozen traders, and an ugly concrete house or two, tin-roofed, defacing the beauty of the palm-woven native homes, and a whitewashed189 church with European windows, and a school where the pretty native girls are taught to plait back their flowing hair, and lay aside their scented wreaths of jessamine and orange-blossom.
But if all these things are there, at least I do not know it, and Bora-Bora can still remain to me my island of Tir-na’n-Oge—the fabled190 country which the mariners191 of ancient Ireland sought through long ages of wandering, and only saw upon the far horizon, never, through all the years, setting foot upon the strand192 that they knew to be the fairest in the world. If they had ever indeed landed there.... But it is best for all of us to see our Tir-na’n-Oge only in the far away.
Le seul rêve, intéresse.
Vivre sans rêve, qu’est-ce?
Moi, j’aime la Princesse
Lointaine.
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1
schooners
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| n.（有两个以上桅杆的）纵帆船( schooner的名词复数 ) | |
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schooner
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| n.纵帆船 | |
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sop
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| n.湿透的东西，懦夫；v.浸，泡，浸湿 | |
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majesty
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| n.雄伟，壮丽，庄严，威严；最高权威，王权 | |
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civilisation
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| n.文明，文化，开化，教化 | |
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acting
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| n.演戏，行为，假装；adj.代理的，临时的，演出用的 | |
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mare
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| n.母马，母驴 | |
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applied
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| adj.应用的；v.应用，适用 | |
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reigned
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| vi.当政，统治（reign的过去式形式） | |
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annexation
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| n.吞并，合并 | |
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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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12
distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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13
missionaries
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| n.传教士( missionary的名词复数 ) | |
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14
languishing
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| a. 衰弱下去的 | |
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vanilla
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| n.香子兰，香草 | |
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defective
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| adj.有毛病的，有问题的，有瑕疵的 | |
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17
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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disastrous
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| adj.灾难性的，造成灾害的；极坏的，很糟的 | |
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administrators
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| n.管理者( administrator的名词复数 )；有管理（或行政）才能的人；（由遗嘱检验法庭指定的）遗产管理人；奉派暂管主教教区的牧师 | |
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dealing
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| n.经商方法，待人态度 | |
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hardier
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| 能吃苦耐劳的，坚强的( hardy的比较级 )； （植物等）耐寒的 | |
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immunity
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| n.优惠；免除；豁免，豁免权 | |
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measles
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| n.麻疹，风疹，包虫病，痧子 | |
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opium
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| n.鸦片；adj.鸦片的 | |
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liking
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| n.爱好；嗜好；喜欢 | |
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miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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wrecks
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| n.沉船( wreck的名词复数 )；（事故中）遭严重毁坏的汽车（或飞机等）；（身体或精神上）受到严重损伤的人；状况非常糟糕的车辆（或建筑物等）v.毁坏[毁灭]某物( wreck的第三人称单数 )；使（船舶）失事，使遇难，使下沉 | |
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diminution
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| n.减少；变小 | |
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strictly
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| adv.严厉地，严格地；严密地 | |
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thereby
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| adv.因此，从而 | |
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afflicts
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| 使受痛苦，折磨( afflict的名词复数 ) | |
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restriction
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| n.限制，约束 | |
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density
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| n.密集，密度，浓度 | |
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cultivation
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| n.耕作，培养，栽培（法），养成 | |
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census
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| n.(官方的)人口调查，人口普查 | |
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steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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extinction
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| n.熄灭，消亡，消灭，灭绝，绝种 | |
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primitive
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| adj.原始的；简单的；n.原(始)人，原始事物 | |
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dressing
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| n.(食物)调料；包扎伤口的用品，敷料 | |
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affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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undoubtedly
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| adv.确实地，无疑地 | |
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42
kerosene
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| n.(kerosine)煤油，火油 | |
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43
hideous
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| adj.丑陋的，可憎的，可怕的，恐怖的 | |
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gaudy
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| adj.华而不实的；俗丽的 | |
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45
patchwork
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| n.混杂物；拼缝物 | |
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46
bungalow
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| n.平房，周围有阳台的木造小平房 | |
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bungalows
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| n.平房( bungalow的名词复数 )；单层小屋，多于一层的小屋 | |
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fiery
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| adj.燃烧着的，火红的；暴躁的；激烈的 | |
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49
lame
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| adj.跛的，(辩解、论据等)无说服力的 | |
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50
distractions
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| n.使人分心的事[人]( distraction的名词复数 )；娱乐，消遣；心烦意乱；精神错乱 | |
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51
unlimited
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| adj.无限的，不受控制的，无条件的 | |
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52
enjoyment
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| n.乐趣；享有；享用 | |
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cannibalism
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| n.同类相食；吃人肉 | |
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54
influential
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| adj.有影响的，有权势的 | |
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55
brilliance
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| n.光辉，辉煌，壮丽，（卓越的）才华，才智 | |
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originality
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| n.创造力，独创性；新颖 | |
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57
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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reverenced
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| v.尊敬，崇敬( reverence的过去式和过去分词 )；敬礼 | |
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59
pranks
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| n.玩笑，恶作剧( prank的名词复数 ) | |
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seclusion
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| n.隐遁，隔离 | |
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groves
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| 树丛，小树林( grove的名词复数 ) | |
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delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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axe
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| n.斧子；v.用斧头砍，削减 | |
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tribal
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| adj.部族的，种族的 | |
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lagoon
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| n.泻湖，咸水湖 | |
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mischief
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| n.损害，伤害，危害；恶作剧，捣蛋，胡闹 | |
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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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pastors
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| n.（基督教的）牧师( pastor的名词复数 ) | |
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gaudiness
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| n.华美，俗丽的美 | |
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scarlet
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| n.深红色，绯红色，红衣；adj.绯红色的 | |
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languishes
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| 长期受苦( languish的第三人称单数 )； 受折磨； 变得（越来越）衰弱； 因渴望而变得憔悴或闷闷不乐 | |
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plantations
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| n.种植园，大农场( plantation的名词复数 ) | |
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drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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plentiful
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| adj.富裕的，丰富的 | |
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latitude
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| n.纬度，行动或言论的自由(范围)，(pl.)地区 | |
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longitude
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| n.经线，经度 | |
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amplification
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| n.扩大，发挥 | |
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fascination
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| n.令人着迷的事物，魅力，迷恋 | |
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flamboyant
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| adj.火焰般的，华丽的，炫耀的 | |
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beeches
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| n.山毛榉( beech的名词复数 )；山毛榉木材 | |
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canopy
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| n.天篷，遮篷 | |
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82
tangle
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| n.纠缠；缠结；混乱；v.(使)缠绕；变乱 | |
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83
foliage
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| n.叶子，树叶，簇叶 | |
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84
ornamental
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| adj.装饰的；作装饰用的；n.装饰品；观赏植物 | |
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85
prosaic
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| adj.单调的，无趣的 | |
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86
riotous
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| adj.骚乱的；狂欢的 | |
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87
foam
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| v./n.泡沫，起泡沫 | |
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88
kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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89
tapestry
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| n.挂毯，丰富多采的画面 | |
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90
crimson
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| n./adj.深(绯)红色(的)；vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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91
scented
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| adj.有香味的；洒香水的；有气味的v.嗅到(scent的过去分词) | |
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92
fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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93
velvet
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| n.丝绒，天鹅绒；adj.丝绒制的，柔软的 | |
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94
gliding
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| v. 滑翔 adj. 滑动的 | |
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95
translucent
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| adj.半透明的；透明的 | |
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96
scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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97
glimmering
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| n.微光，隐约的一瞥adj.薄弱地发光的v.发闪光，发微光( glimmer的现在分词 ) | |
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98
rosy
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| adj.美好的，乐观的，玫瑰色的 | |
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99
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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100
spiring
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| v.（教堂的） 塔尖，尖顶( spire的现在分词 ) | |
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101
pinnacles
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| 顶峰( pinnacle的名词复数 )； 顶点； 尖顶； 小尖塔 | |
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102
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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103
defunct
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| adj.死亡的；已倒闭的 | |
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104
quaintest
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| adj.古色古香的( quaint的最高级 )；少见的，古怪的 | |
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105
boughs
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| 大树枝( bough的名词复数 ) | |
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106
kernels
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| 谷粒( kernel的名词复数 )； 仁； 核； 要点 | |
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107
stilts
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| n.（支撑建筑物高出地面或水面的）桩子，支柱( stilt的名词复数 )；高跷 | |
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108
kindliness
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| n.厚道，亲切，友好的行为 | |
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109
slanted
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| 有偏见的； 倾斜的 | |
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110
descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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111
dense
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| a.密集的，稠密的，浓密的；密度大的 | |
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112
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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113
brittle
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| adj.易碎的；脆弱的；冷淡的；(声音)尖利的 | |
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114
draught
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| n.拉，牵引，拖；一网（饮，吸，阵)；顿服药量，通风；v.起草，设计 | |
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115
aerated
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| v.使暴露于空气中，使充满气体( aerate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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116
refreshing
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| adj.使精神振作的，使人清爽的，使人喜欢的 | |
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117
likeness
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| n.相像，相似（之处） | |
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118
pints
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| n.品脱( pint的名词复数 )；一品脱啤酒 | |
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119
vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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120
virtuous
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| adj.有品德的，善良的，贞洁的，有效力的 | |
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121
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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122
tilting
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| 倾斜，倾卸 | |
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123
gaily
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| adv.欢乐地，高兴地 | |
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124
laden
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| adj.装满了的；充满了的；负了重担的；苦恼的 | |
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125
trots
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| 小跑，急走( trot的名词复数 )； 匆匆忙忙地走 | |
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126
grasshopper
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| n.蚱蜢，蝗虫，蚂蚱 | |
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127
landlady
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| n.女房东，女地主 | |
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128
galaxy
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| n.星系；银河系；一群(杰出或著名的人物) | |
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129
sensational
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| adj.使人感动的，非常好的，轰动的，耸人听闻的 | |
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130
gardenia
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| n.栀子花 | |
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131
squeaks
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| n.短促的尖叫声，吱吱声( squeak的名词复数 )v.短促地尖叫( squeak的第三人称单数 )；吱吱叫；告密；充当告密者 | |
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132
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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133
entreaties
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| n.恳求，乞求( entreaty的名词复数 ) | |
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134
hairpin
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| n.簪,束发夹，夹发针 | |
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135
oysters
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| 牡蛎( oyster的名词复数 ) | |
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136
opaque
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| adj.不透光的；不反光的，不传导的；晦涩的 | |
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137
antiquity
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| n.古老；高龄；古物，古迹 | |
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138
chili
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| n.辣椒 | |
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139
judiciously
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| adv.明断地，明智而审慎地 | |
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140
gourmands
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| n.喜欢吃喝的人，贪吃的人( gourmand的名词复数 )；美食主义 | |
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141
indigenous
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| adj.土产的，土生土长的，本地的 | |
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142
taro
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| n.芋，芋头 | |
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143
lighter
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| n.打火机，点火器；驳船；v.用驳船运送；light的比较级 | |
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144
precept
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| n.戒律；格言 | |
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145
smear
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| v.涂抹；诽谤，玷污；n.污点；诽谤，污蔑 | |
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146
disastrously
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| ad.灾难性地 | |
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147
wondrous
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| adj.令人惊奇的，奇妙的；adv.惊人地；异乎寻常地；令人惊叹地 | |
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148
gasping
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| adj. 气喘的, 痉挛的 动词gasp的现在分词 | |
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149
sobbed
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| 哭泣，啜泣( sob的过去式和过去分词 )； 哭诉，呜咽地说 | |
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150
artistic
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| adj.艺术(家)的，美术(家)的；善于艺术创作的 | |
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151
worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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152
immortal
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| adj.不朽的；永生的，不死的；神的 | |
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153
metaphorically
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| adv. 用比喻地 | |
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154
fray
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| v.争吵；打斗；磨损，磨破；n.吵架；打斗 | |
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155
vilified
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| v.中伤，诽谤( vilify的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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156
precedent
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| n.先例，前例；惯例；adj.在前的，在先的 | |
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157
steamship
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| n.汽船，轮船 | |
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158
battered
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| adj.磨损的；v.连续猛击；磨损 | |
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159
flattened
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| [医]（水）平扁的，弄平的 | |
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160
privately
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| adv.以私人的身份，悄悄地，私下地 | |
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161
intoxicating
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| a. 醉人的,使人兴奋的 | |
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162
superfluous
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| adj.过多的，过剩的，多余的 | |
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163
prospects
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| n.希望，前途(恒为复数) | |
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164
coveted
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| adj.令人垂涎的；垂涎的，梦寐以求的v.贪求，觊觎(covet的过去分词)；垂涎；贪图 | |
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165
vessel
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| n.船舶；容器，器皿；管，导管，血管 | |
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166
vessels
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| n.血管( vessel的名词复数 )；船；容器；（具有特殊品质或接受特殊品质的）人 | |
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167
graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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168
galley
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| n.（飞机或船上的）厨房单层甲板大帆船；军舰舰长用的大划艇； | |
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169
hull
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| n.船身；(果、实等的)外壳；vt.去(谷物等)壳 | |
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170
turquoise
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| n.绿宝石；adj.蓝绿色的 | |
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171
varnished
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| 浸渍过的，涂漆的 | |
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172
awning
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| n.遮阳篷；雨篷 | |
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173
brasses
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| n.黄铜( brass的名词复数 )；铜管乐器；钱；黄铜饰品（尤指马挽具上的黄铜圆片） | |
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174
bleaching
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| 漂白法，漂白 | |
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175
perilous
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| adj.危险的，冒险的 | |
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176
clam
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| n.蛤，蛤肉 | |
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177
tentacles
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| n.触手( tentacle的名词复数 )；触角；触须；触毛 | |
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178
winnow
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| v．把（谷物）的杂质吹掉，扬去 | |
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179
slumbering
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| 微睡，睡眠（slumber的现在分词形式） | |
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180
pitcher
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| n.(有嘴和柄的)大水罐；(棒球)投手 | |
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181
rumour
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| n.谣言，谣传，传闻 | |
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182
triumphantly
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| ad.得意洋洋地；得胜地；成功地 | |
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183
speculation
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| n.思索，沉思；猜测；投机 | |
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184
literally
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| adv.照字面意义，逐字地；确实 | |
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185
turrets
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| （六角）转台( turret的名词复数 )； （战舰和坦克等上的）转动炮塔； （摄影机等上的）镜头转台； （旧时攻城用的）塔车 | |
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186
vault
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| n.拱形圆顶，地窖，地下室 | |
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187
lurked
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| vi.潜伏，埋伏（lurk的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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188
casements
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| n.窗扉( casement的名词复数 ) | |
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189
whitewashed
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| 粉饰，美化，掩饰( whitewash的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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190
fabled
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| adj.寓言中的，虚构的 | |
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191
mariners
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| 海员，水手（mariner的复数形式） | |
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192
strand
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| vt.使（船）搁浅，使（某人）困于（某地） | |
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