Excursions beyond the outer reef. Our aquatic wives. Premonitions. A picnic on the mountain. Hearts and flowers. Whinney delivers a geological dissertation. Babai finds a fatu-liva nest. The strange flower in my wife's hair.
As I look back on the months which followed I can truthfully say that they were the happiest of my existence. The semi-detachment of our island domesticity was a charm against tedium; our family reunions were joys.
Often we organized picnics to distant points. With hold-alls of panjandrus leaves packed with a supply of breadfruit sandwiches, sun-baked cuttywink eggs and a gallon or two of hoopa, we would go to one of the lovely retreats with which our wives were familiar.
Occasionally we sailed in the Kawa, at which times the intrepid Triplett accompanied us. Remembering those happy times I now realize that his presence cast the only shadow across the bright sunlight of our days. Why this was I could not have said,—indeed I should have probably denied that it was so, yet the fact remains that on some of our excursions to neighboring islands, when, having pulled back the terrestrial cork of the atoll, we had eased our tight little craft into the outer waters, I experienced a distinct dorsal chill.
Both Kippiputuonaa and Lupoba-Tilaana felt this to a marked degree, but most of all was it apparent in its affect on Mrs. Whinney whose maiden name, Babai-Alova-babai (Triple extract of Alova), only faintly describes the intoxicating fragrance of her beauty.
"Tiplette, naue aata b'nau boti!" she used to cry. "Do not let Triplett go in the boat."
The old man was insistent. He had worked William Henry Thomas to exhaustion rerigging the craft and then thrust him out, bag and baggage. But I must admit that between them they had done a good job. William Henry and his bride took up lodgings in a tall tree near the lagoon whence they used mournfully to regard the floating home in which they had spent their unhallowed honeymoon. When we actually began to sail her the William Henry Thomases disappeared from view as if the sight were too much for them, and we seldom saw them thereafter.
Triplett's ingenuity was responsible for the bamboo mast, woven paa-paa sail and the new yard-arm, which, in the absence of a universal joint was cleverly fashioned of braided eva-eva.
On our cruises our wives spent a large part of their time overboard, sporting about the ship like porpoises, ever and anon diving deep under our counter only to appear on the other side decked with polyp buds as if crowned by Neptune himself. At this game Babai-Alova-Babai excelled. Never shall I forget the day she suddenly popped up close alongside and playfully tossed a magnificent pearl into Triplett's lap.
But, as I say, I did not feel at ease. Perhaps it was my experience with the wak-waks,—perhaps,—however, I anticipate.
Our merriest jaunts were nearer home. Most memorable of all was our first trip to the mountain, that gorgeous pile on the center of the lagoon.
It was early morning when we set out, disdaining our trim "Tree-with-Wings" from the deck of which Triplett watched our short three-mile swim across the still water. At every stroke flocks of iridescent dew-fish rose about us uttering their brittle note, "Klicketty-inkle! Klicketty-inkle!" [Footnote: One of the pleasantest sights imaginable is that of the natives gathering these little creatures as they rise to the surface at dawn. The dew-fish or kali-loa are similar to our white-bait, but much whiter. W.E.T.]
This was the sort of thing that greeted the intrepid explorers of the Kawa when they made their first tour of the island and were entertained by the entrancing inhabitants of the women's compound. The two performers are respectively Lupoba-Tilaana and Baibai-Alova-Baibai. It was only after much persuasion that they agreed to be photographed but, when finally posed to Mr. Whinney's satisfaction, they entered into the spirit of the occasion by bursting into the national anthem of Love, which is described in Chapter II. The instruments are the bombi, a hollow section of rapiti-wood covered with fish membrane, and the lonkila, a stringed instrument of most plaintive and persuasive tone. These two instruments, with the addition of the bazoota, a wood-wind affair made from papoo reeds, make up the simple orchestral equipment of the Filberts.]
We were all wearing the native costume and Swank, I remember, caught his rigolo on a coral branch and delayed us five minutes. But we were soon on the inner beach laughing over the incident while Babai made repairs.
The path up the mountain led through a paradise of tropical wonders. On this trip Whinney was easily the star, his scientific knowledge enabling him to point out countless marvels which we might not otherwise have seen. As he talked I made rapid notes.
"Look," he said, holding up an exquisite rose-colored reptile. "The tritulus annularis or pink garter snake! Almost unheard of in the tropics."
Kippy insisted on tying it around her shapely limb. Then, of course, Babai must have one, too, and great were our exertions before we bagged an additional pair for our loved ones.
Thus sporting on our way, crowned with alova and girdled with tontoni (a gorgeous type of flannel-mouthed snapdragon which kept all manner of insects at bay), we wound toward the summit, stopping ever and anon to admire the cliffs of mother-of-pearl, sheer pages of colorful history thrown up long ago by some primeval illness of mother earth.
Swank was so intoxicated by it all that I made almost the only break of our island experience.
"You've been drinking," I accused.
"You lie," he answered hotly, "it's these colors! Wow-wow! Osky-wow-wow! Skinny wow-wow Illinois!"
"Oh, shut up!" I remonstrated, when I saw Tilaana advancing toward me, fluttering her taa-taa in the same menacing way in which Kippy had attacked the wak-wak.
"I beg your pardon," I said. "I was wrong. I apologize."
We stood in a circle and chinned each other until peace was restored.
The view from the summit was, as authors say, indescribable. Nevertheless I shall describe it, or rather I shall quote Whinney who at this moment reached his highest point. We were then about three thousand feet above sea-level.
I wish I could give his address as it was delivered, in Filbertese, but I fear that my readers would skip, a form of literary exercise which I detest.
Try for a moment to hold the picture; our little group standing on the very crest of the mountain as if about to sing the final chorus of the Creation to an audience of islands. Far-flung they stretched, these jeweled confections, while below, almost at our very feet, we could see the Kawa and Triplett, a tiny speck, frantically waving his yard-arm! Even at three thousand feet he gave me a chill.... But let Whinney speak.
"It is plain," he said, "that the basalt monadnock on which we stand is a carboniferous upthrust of metamorphosed schists, shales and conglomerate, probably Mesozoic or at least early Silurian."
At this point our wives burst into laughter. In fact, their attitude throughout was trying but Whinney bravely proceeded.
"You doubtless noticed on the shore that the deep-lying metamorphic crystals have been exposed by erosion, leaving on the upper levels faulted strata of tilted lava-sheets interstratified with pudding-stone."
"We have!" shouted Swank.
"Evidently then," continued the professor, "the atoll is simply an annular terminal moraine of detritus shed alluvially into the sea, thus leaving a geosyncline of volcanic ash embedded with an occasional trilobite and the fragments of scoria, upon which we now stand."
Of all the members of the now famous cruise of the Kawa into hitherto uncharted waters it is doubtful if any one entered so fully into the spirit of adventure as the silent fore-mast hand whose portrait faces this text. It was he who first adopted native costume. The day after landing in the Filberts he was photographed as we see him wearing a native wreath of nabiscus blooms and having discarded shoes. Every day he discarded some article of raiment. It was he who first took unto himself an island mate. It was he who ultimately abandoned all hope of ever seeing his home and country again, electing rather to remain among his new-found people with his new-found love and his new-found name, Fatakahala (Flower of Darkness). Truly, strange flowers of fancy blossom in the depths of the New England character. It is reported that he has lately been elected King of the Filberts.]
We gave Whinney a long cheer with nine Yales at the close to cover the laughter of the women, for the discourse was really superb. In English its melodic charm is lost, but you must admit that for an indescribable thing it is a very fine description.
After several days of idyllic life in our mountain paradise we felt the returning urge of our various ambitions.
"Kippy, my dear," I said, "I think we ought to be going."
Sweet soul that she was! that they all were, these beautiful women of ours! Anything we proposed was agreeable to them. As we trooped down the mountain singing, our merry chorus shook the forest glades and literally brought down the cocoanuts.
Whinney was not alone in his scientific discoveries for on the return trip Babai suddenly gave a cry of delight and the next instant had climbed with amazing agility to the top of a towering palm whence she returned bearing a semi-spheric bowl of closely woven grass in which lay four snow-white, polka-dotted cubes, the marvelous square eggs of the fatu-liva!
"Kopaa kopitaa aue!" she cried. "Hide them. Quickly, away!"
I knew the danger, of which my temple still bore the scar. Concealing our find under our taa-taa we scraped and slid over the faulted and tilted strata to which Whinney had referred until we reached the beach. High above us I could hear the anguished cry of the mother fatu-liva vainly seeking her ravished home and potential family.
The marking of the eggs is most curious and Whinney took a photograph of them when we reached the yawl. It is an excellent picture though Whinney, with the raptiousness of the scientist, claims that one of the eggs moved.
Just before we left the mountain beach my own radiant Daughter of Pearl and Coral made a discovery which in the light of after events was destined to play an important part in our adventures. Kippiputuona, my own true mate, there is something ironically tragic in the thought that the simple blue flower which you plucked so carelessly from the cliff edge and thrust into your hair would some day—but again, I anticipate.
We had reached the yawl, which we made a sort of half-way house and were chatting with Captain Triplett. Whinney was repeating parts of his talk and I noticed that Triplett's attention was wandering. His eye was firmly fixed on the flower in Kippy's hair. That called my attention to it and I saw that whenever my wife turned her head the blossom of the flower slowly turned in the opposite direction.
Suddenly Triplett interrupted Whinney to say in a rather shaky voice, "Mrs. Traprock, if you please, would you mind facin' a-stern."
I motioned to Kippy to obey, which she would have done anyway.
"An' now," said the Captain, "kindly face forrard."
Same business.
The flower slowly turned on Kippy's head!
Stretching forth a trembling hand, Triplett plucked the blossom from Kippy's hair!
You can only imagine the commotion which ensued when I tell you that, in the Filberts, for a man to pluck a flower from a woman's hair means only one thing. Poor Kippy was torn between love of me and what she thought was duty to my chief. I had a most difficult time explaining to her that Triplett meant absolutely nothing by his action, a statement which he corroborated by all sorts of absurd "I don't care," gestures—but he clung to the flower.
An hour later when we had escorted the ladies safely to their compound, I paddled back to the yawl. Peering through the port-hole I could see Triplett by the light of a phosphorous dip working on a rude diagram; at his elbow was the blue flower in a puta-shell of water.
"Triplett," I asked sternly, as I stood beside him an instant later, "what is that flower?"
"That," said Triplett, "is a compass-plant."
"And what is a compass-plant?"
"A compass-plant," said Triplett, "is—-," but for the third and last time, I anticipate.
I must get over that habit.
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