Our handsome hosts. En route to the interior. Native flora and fauna. We arrive at the capitol. A lecture on Filbertine architecture. A strange taboo. The serenade.
With the first burst of laughter it seemed that all embarrassment on the part of the natives had been dissipated. Those nearest us insisted on patting our stomachs gently, at the same time uttering a soft, crooning "soo-soo," [Footnote: This same sound is used by the natives of Sugar Hill, New Hampshire, when calming their horses.] which it was obviously the proper thing to return, which we did to the delight of the bronze warriors about us.
After a few moments of this friendly massage, the most ornamental of the savages, whom I judged to be the chief, uttered dissyllabic command of "Oo-a," and slapped his right thigh smartly with his left hand, a feat more easily described than accomplished. Coincident with this signal came a cheerful riffling sound as the Filbertines broke out their large umbrellas of panjandrus leaves which we had first mistaken for weapons. This implement, (known technically as a naa-naa or taa-taa, depending on whether it was open or closed), was in reality notonly a useful and necessary protection against the continuous nut-showers but also a weapon of both of- and de-fensive warfare. [Footnote: This primitive people we soon found to be profoundly pacifistic, a natural condition in a race who, since the dawn of time, had known no influence other than that of the Pacific Ocean. Warfare with its cruel attributes had never penetrated their isolation. With nations as with people, it takes two to make a quarrel. Here was but one.]
We stood thus, in open formation, among the luxurious haro until in response to another signal from the chief, a resounding slap on the left shank, they escorted us ceremoniously along a winding path which led toward the interior of the island. It was for all the world as if we were being taken out to dinner, a thought which suggested for an instant the reflection that we might turn out to be not guests but courses at the banquet, in which case I promised myself I should be a piece-de-resistance of the most violent character.
But these solemn thoughts were not proof against the gaiety of our surroundings, the soft patter of the constantly dropping nuts bounding from the protective taa-taas, and the squawks and screeches of countless cuttywinks and fatu-liva birds, those queens of the tropics whose gorgeous plumage swept across our path.
For Whinney and Swank as well as myself the promenade was a memorable one, the former feasting his cool eyes on the hundreds of new scientific items which he was later to classify, the bulbous oo-pa, a sort of vegetable cream-puff, the succulent tuki-taki, pale-green with red dots, a natural cross between the banana and the cocoanut, having the taste of neither, and the numerous crawling things, the whistling-ants and shy, lamp-eyed lily-bugs (anchoridae flamens) who flashed their signals as we passed.
Swank revelled in the rainbow colors about us, the flaming nabiscus blossoms and the unearthly saffron of the alova blooms, one inhale of which, we were to learn, contained the kick of three old-fashioned mint-juleps. Only Triplett's hard-boiled countenance reflected no interest whatever in his surroundings.
It was doubtless this unintelligent dignity on our Captain's part, coupled with what was left of his brass buttons and visor cap on which the legend "Kawa" still glimmered faintly, which prompted the aborigines to select him as our chief, an error which I at first thought of correcting by some sort of dramatic tableau such as having Triplett lie down and letting me place my foot on his Adam's apple, of which he had a splendid specimen. On second thought, however, I decided that it would be more modest to allow him any honors he might receive together with the responsibilities attendant upon his position. It is the invariable habit of South Sea Islanders, in the event of trouble, to capture and hold as hostages the chief men of a tribe. Their heads, with or without the original bodies, seem to have a peculiar value.
In this picture the joyous island queen Babai-Alova-Babai is seen carrying her taa-taa, the curious implement which serves so many purposes in the Filbert Group. It is in turn a protection against the sun, the rain and the constant showers of falling nuts, and also, when occasion demands, a most effective weapon of defensive warfare. The taa-taa is made of closely laced panjandrus leaves on a frame of the tough eva-eva. When closed, which is seldom, it is known as a naa-naa. In addition to its other uses it is most evidently a charming background for a splendid example of Filbertine youth and beauty.]
Soon the trail widened, and we were called upon to hurdle several low barriers of papoo-reeds, designed to confine the activities of the countless Alice-blue wart-hogs which whined plaintively about our feet. At a majestic gesture from the chief the taa-taas were furled (becoming naa-naas), and we halted in a bright clearing about sixty feet in diameter, plainly the public square, or, to be exact, circle.
My first impression was that of complete isolation in an unbroken forest. Peer as I would, I could discern no sign of human habitation. We had arrived, but where? My question was soon answered. By most gracious gestures, soft sounds and a series of fluttering finger exercises on the abdominal walls we were led to one side of the circle where, as our guides pointed upward, white eyes for the first time in history rested on a Filbertine dwelling!
The houses were in the trees!
Architecture is said to express deeply the inner characteristics of a people, a statement I am glad to corroborate. But never had it struck me so forcibly as now. Gazing up at a dim picture of informal construction, interlaced and blended with the trunks, boughs and foliage of the overarching palms I saw at a glance the key-note of the life of this simple people—absence of labor.
The houses,—nests, were the better word—were formed by a most naive adaptation of natural surroundings to natural needs. The curving fronds of the towering coco-palms and panjandrus had been interlaced; and nature did the rest, the gigantic leaves interweaving, blending, over-lapping, meeting in a passionate and successful desire to form a roof, proof alike against sun and rain. Some ten feet below this and an equal distance from the ground the tendrils of the eva-eva vine had been led from tree to tree, the subordinate fibres and palpitating feelers quickly knitting themselves into a floor with all the hygienic properties and tensile strength of linen-mesh.
Access to these apartments was something of a puzzle until, to instruct us, a tall Filbert, who was evidently to be our neighbor, approached a nearby dwelling and, seizing a pendent halyard of eva-eva, gently but firmly pulled down the floor to a convenient level, vaulted into the hammock-like depression and was immediately snapped into privacy. From below we could see the imprint of his form rolling toward the center of his living-room and then the depressions of his feet as he proceeded to lurch about his dwelling.
It was now mid-afternoon; we were hot, tired, and, though we did not know it, mildly intoxicated by the inhalations of alova which we had absorbed during our journey. I looked forward eagerly to getting up-stairs, so to speak, and taking a sound nap. One thing only deterred me; I was thirsty.
This striking likeness of Dr. Traprock, the author of the present volume, admirably expresses the intensity, alertness and intrepidity which have carried this remarkable personage through so many harrowing experiences. A certain bold defiance, which is one of Dr. Traprock's characteristics, has here been caught to the life. With just this matchless courage we know that he must have faced death a thousand times even though, as now, he had not a cartridge in his belt. That Dr. Traprock knows no fear is evidenced by the fact that he has not only explored every quarter of the globe, but that he has also written a number of books of travel, plays, musical comedies and one cook-book. The background of this picture shows the densely matted bush of the Filbert Islands in their interior portion, a jungle growth which might well baffle any but the most skillful threader of the trackless wilds. The gun carried by Dr. Traprock is a museum-piece, having been presented to the author's great-grandfather by Israel Putnam immediately after the Battle of Fort Ticonderoga. Thanks to constant upkeep it is in as good condition as ever. This is also true of Dr. Traprock.]
On the edge of the clearing I heard the tinkling of a brook. Walking to its edge, I knelt and dipped my hot wrists in the cold stream, wetting my hands, face and matted locks, while the natives eyed me solemnly but with, I thought, looks of anxiety. And then a strange thing happened. As I took off my duck's-back fishing hat, filled it to the brim and raised it to my lips, a cry of horror burst from the throats of those swarthy giants. The chief strode forward and dashed the cap from my hand, at the same time thundering the word "Bapoo!"
In an instant it flashed upon me that this was Filbertese for tapu or taboo, that strange, sacred kibosh which is laid on certain acts, objects or localities throughout these far-flung islands. Water it appeared was for drinking purposes—bapoo. I then did what I think was exactly the right thing under the circumstances, namely, to wring out the offending head-covering and throw it as far from me as possible, an act which was greeted with a hearty burst of applause.
It was not necessary for me to indicate further that I was thirsty. Two henchmen almost immediately appeared with a large nut-shell of unfamiliar appearance,—it was about the size of a half watermelon and bright red on the outside,—full of a pale pink liquid. The chief, one or two of the leading men, and the rest of my party were similarly equipped. Raising his shell the chief and nobles said simultaneously "Wha-e-a" and we drank.
Two minutes afterward I had a faint sensation of being borne away by the trade wind. Swank was beside me and I heard him murmur, "I'm glad I don't have to sleep with Triplett."
The rest was silence, and the silence was rest....
We awoke many hours later. It was moonlight and we were lying in a complicated knot in the exact center of our domicile. Unraveling ourselves we tested our heads with gentle oscillations.
Suddenly, in the distance, we heard a sound which sent a chill thrill running up and down our spines, the sound of singing, a faint far-off chorus of the loveliest voices that ever fell on mortal ears. The tone had that marvelous silver clang of the woodland thrush with yet a deeper, human poignancy, a note of passionate longing and endearment, shy but assertive, wild, but oh! so alluring. We chinned ourselves expectantly on the edge of our floor and waited, panting.
"A serenade," whispered Swank, and Whinney shush-ed him savagely.
Through the forest glades we could see the choir approaching, the dusky flash of brown bodies swaying, palpitating to the intoxicating rhythm of the song. Slowly and with great dignity they entered the clearing and stood, a score of slender creatures, in the full blaze of the moon, their lithe-limbed bodies clad only in delicate mother-of-pearl rigolos.
Thus standing, they again burst into the melody of their national love-song. I transcribe the original words which for simple, primitive beauty are without rival.
A-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a
E-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e
I-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i
O-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o
U-u-u-u-u-u-u-u-u
and sometimes
W-w-w-w-w-w-w-w-w
And
Y-y-y-y-y-y-y-y-y
The music is indescribable, I can only say that it is as beautiful as the words.[Footnote: "The peculiarly liquid quality of Polynesian phonetics is impossible for foreigners to acquire. Europeans who attempt a mastery of these sounds invariably suffer from what etymologists call metabelia, or vowel complaint."—Prof. C.H. Towne, Nyack University.]
On the third encore they turned and slowly but surely filed out of the clearing into the forest. Long after they had disappeared our eyes still hung over the edge of our apartment and we could hear in our memories the sweet refrain—
W-w-w-w-w-w-w-w-w
Y-y-y-y-y-y-y-y-y
As we lay there like men in a trance I saw a dull red glow on the horizon and then, far off a rocket split the velvet night, burst into stars and disappeared.
It was William Henry Thomas, aboard the Kawa—a signal of distress! Poor goof! We had completely forgotten him.
I had a vague sense, shared, I think, by the others, that I ought to worry a bit about him. But it was no use. One by one we lowered ourselves into reveries, not of William Henry Thomas. We had other things to think about.
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