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diff --git a/2512-h/2512-h.htm b/2512-h/2512-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..c609e0c --- /dev/null +++ b/2512-h/2512-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,9463 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" +"http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=utf-8" /> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> +<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Cruise of the Snark, by Jack London</title> + +<style type="text/css"> + +body { margin-left: 20%; + margin-right: 20%; + text-align: justify; } + + .GutSmall { font-size: 0.7em; } + +h1, h2, h3, h4, h5 {text-align: center; font-style: normal; font-weight: +normal; line-height: 1.5; margin-top: .5em; margin-bottom: .5em;} + +h1 {font-size: 300%; + margin-top: 0.6em; + margin-bottom: 0.6em; + letter-spacing: 0.12em; + word-spacing: 0.2em; + text-indent: 0em;} +h2 {font-size: 150%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 1em;} +h3 {font-size: 130%; margin-top: 1em;} +h4 {font-size: 120%;} +h5 {font-size: 110%;} + +div.chapter {page-break-before: always; margin-top: 4em;} + +p {text-indent: 1em; + margin-top: 0.25em; + margin-bottom: 0.25em; } + +p.footnote {font-size: 90%; + text-indent: 0%; + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; } + + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + + img { border: none; } + div.gapspace { height: 0.8em; } + .citation {vertical-align: super; + font-size: .8em; + text-decoration: none;} + +a:link {color:blue; text-decoration:none} +a:visited {color:blue; text-decoration:none} +a:hover {color:red} + + </style> +</head> +<body> + +<div style='text-align:center; font-size:1.2em; font-weight:bold'>The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Cruise of the Snark, by Jack London</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and +most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions +whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms +of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online +at <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you +are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the +country where you are located before using this eBook. +</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: The Cruise of the Snark</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Jack London</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: March 26, 2000 [eBook #2512]<br /> +[Most recently updated: August 1, 2021]</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Character set encoding: UTF-8</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Produced by: David Price</div> +<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CRUISE OF THE SNARK ***</div> + +<h1>THE CRUISE OF THE<br /> +SNARK</h1> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="GutSmall">BY</span><br +/> +JACK LONDON</p> +<p style="text-align: center">AUTHOR OF “VALLEY OF THE +MOON,” “JOHN BARLEYCORN”<br /> +“MUTINY OF THE ELSINORE,” ETC.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<blockquote><p>“Yes have heard the beat of the offshore +wind,<br /> +And the thresh of the deep-sea rain;<br /> +You have heard the song—how long! how long!<br /> +Pull out on the trail again!”</p> +</blockquote> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center">MILLS & BOON, LIMITED<br /> +49 RUPERT STREET<br /> +LONDON, W.1</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>Copyright in the United States +of America</i> by <span class="smcap">The Macmillan +Company</span></p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center">To<br /> +CHARMIAN<br /> +<span class="GutSmall">THE MATE OF THE +“SNARK”</span></p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="GutSmall">WHO TOOK THE +WHEEL, NIGHT OR DAY,</span><br /> +<span class="GutSmall">WHEN ENTERING</span><br /> +<span class="GutSmall">OR LEAVING PORT OR RUNNING A +PASSAGE,</span><br /> +<span class="GutSmall">WHO TOOK THE WHEEL IN EVERY EMERGENCY, +AND</span><br /> +<span class="GutSmall">WHO WEPT</span><br /> +<span class="GutSmall">AFTER TWO YEARS OF SAILING, WHEN +THE</span><br /> +<span class="GutSmall">VOYAGE WAS DISCONTINUED</span></p> + +<h2>Contents</h2> + +<table summary="" style=""> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap01">CHAPTER I FOREWORD</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap02">CHAPTER II THE INCONCEIVABLE AND MONSTROUS</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap03">CHAPTER III ADVENTURE</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap04">CHAPTER IV FINDING ONE’S WAY ABOUT</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap05">CHAPTER V THE FIRST LANDFALL</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap06">CHAPTER VI A ROYAL SPORT</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap07">CHAPTER VII THE LEPERS OF MOLOKAI</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap08">CHAPTER VIII THE HOUSE OF THE SUN</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap09">CHAPTER IX A PACIFIC TRAVERSE</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap10">CHAPTER X TYPEE</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap11">CHAPTER XI THE NATURE MAN</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap12">CHAPTER XII THE HIGH SEAT OF ABUNDANCE</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap13">CHAPTER XIII THE STONE-FISHING OF BORA BORA</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap14">CHAPTER XIV THE AMATEUR NAVIGATOR</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap15">CHAPTER XV CRUISING IN THE SOLOMONS</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap16">CHAPTER XVI BÊCHE DE MER ENGLISH</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap17">CHAPTER XVII THE AMATEUR M.D.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap18">BACKWORD</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap19">FOOTNOTES</a></td> +</tr> + +</table> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap01"></a>CHAPTER I<br /> +<span class="GutSmall">FOREWORD</span></h2> + +<p><span class="smcap">It</span> began in the swimming pool at +Glen Ellen. Between swims it was our wont to come out and +lie in the sand and let our skins breathe the warm air and soak +in the sunshine. Roscoe was a yachtsman. I had +followed the sea a bit. It was inevitable that we should +talk about boats. We talked about small boats, and the +seaworthiness of small boats. We instanced Captain Slocum +and his three years’ voyage around the world in the +<i>Spray</i>.</p> + +<p>We asserted that we were not afraid to go around the world in +a small boat, say forty feet long. We asserted furthermore +that we would like to do it. We asserted finally that there +was nothing in this world we’d like better than a chance to +do it.</p> + +<p>“Let us do it,” we said . . . in fun.</p> + +<p>Then I asked Charmian privily if she’d really care to do +it, and she said that it was too good to be true.</p> + +<p>The next time we breathed our skins in the sand by the +swimming pool I said to Roscoe, “Let us do it.”</p> + +<p>I was in earnest, and so was he, for he said:</p> + +<p>“When shall we start?”</p> + +<p>I had a house to build on the ranch, also an orchard, a +vineyard, and several hedges to plant, and a number of other +things to do. We thought we would start in four or five +years. Then the lure of the adventure began to grip +us. Why not start at once? We’d never be +younger, any of us. Let the orchard, vineyard, and hedges +be growing up while we were away. When we came back, they +would be ready for us, and we could live in the barn while we +built the house.</p> + +<p>So the trip was decided upon, and the building of the +<i>Snark</i> began. We named her the <i>Snark</i> because +we could not think of any other name—this information is +given for the benefit of those who otherwise might think there is +something occult in the name.</p> + +<p>Our friends cannot understand why we make this voyage. +They shudder, and moan, and raise their hands. No amount of +explanation can make them comprehend that we are moving along the +line of least resistance; that it is easier for us to go down to +the sea in a small ship than to remain on dry land, just as it is +easier for them to remain on dry land than to go down to the sea +in the small ship. This state of mind comes of an undue +prominence of the ego. They cannot get away from +themselves. They cannot come out of themselves long enough +to see that their line of least resistance is not necessarily +everybody else’s line of least resistance. They make +of their own bundle of desires, likes, and dislikes a yardstick +wherewith to measure the desires, likes, and dislikes of all +creatures. This is unfair. I tell them so. But +they cannot get away from their own miserable egos long enough to +hear me. They think I am crazy. In return, I am +sympathetic. It is a state of mind familiar to me. We +are all prone to think there is something wrong with the mental +processes of the man who disagrees with us.</p> + +<p>The ultimate word is I <span +class="GutSmall">LIKE</span>. It lies beneath philosophy, +and is twined about the heart of life. When philosophy has +maundered ponderously for a month, telling the individual what he +must do, the individual says, in an instant, “I <span +class="GutSmall">LIKE</span>,” and does something else, and +philosophy goes glimmering. It is I <span +class="GutSmall">LIKE</span> that makes the drunkard drink and +the martyr wear a hair shirt; that makes one man a reveller and +another man an anchorite; that makes one man pursue fame, another +gold, another love, and another God. Philosophy is very +often a man’s way of explaining his own I <span +class="GutSmall">LIKE</span>.</p> + +<p>But to return to the <i>Snark</i>, and why I, for one, want to +journey in her around the world. The things I like +constitute my set of values. The thing I like most of all +is personal achievement—not achievement for the +world’s applause, but achievement for my own delight. +It is the old “I did it! I did it! With my own +hands I did it!” But personal achievement, with me, +must be concrete. I’d rather win a water-fight in the +swimming pool, or remain astride a horse that is trying to get +out from under me, than write the great American novel. +Each man to his liking. Some other fellow would prefer +writing the great American novel to winning the water-fight or +mastering the horse.</p> + +<p>Possibly the proudest achievement of my life, my moment of +highest living, occurred when I was seventeen. I was in a +three-masted schooner off the coast of Japan. We were in a +typhoon. All hands had been on deck most of the +night. I was called from my bunk at seven in the morning to +take the wheel. Not a stitch of canvas was set. We +were running before it under bare poles, yet the schooner fairly +tore along. The seas were all of an eighth of a mile apart, +and the wind snatched the whitecaps from their summits, +filling. The air so thick with driving spray that it was +impossible to see more than two waves at a time. The +schooner was almost unmanageable, rolling her rail under to +starboard and to port, veering and yawing anywhere between +south-east and south-west, and threatening, when the huge seas +lifted under her quarter, to broach to. Had she broached +to, she would ultimately have been reported lost with all hands +and no tidings.</p> + +<p>I took the wheel. The sailing-master watched me for a +space. He was afraid of my youth, feared that I lacked the +strength and the nerve. But when he saw me successfully +wrestle the schooner through several bouts, he went below to +breakfast. Fore and aft, all hands were below at +breakfast. Had she broached to, not one of them would ever +have reached the deck. For forty minutes I stood there +alone at the wheel, in my grasp the wildly careering schooner and +the lives of twenty-two men. Once we were pooped. I +saw it coming, and, half-drowned, with tons of water crushing me, +I checked the schooner’s rush to broach to. At the +end of the hour, sweating and played out, I was relieved. +But I had done it! With my own hands I had done my trick at +the wheel and guided a hundred tons of wood and iron through a +few million tons of wind and waves.</p> + +<p>My delight was in that I had done it—not in the fact +that twenty-two men knew I had done it. Within the year +over half of them were dead and gone, yet my pride in the thing +performed was not diminished by half. I am willing to +confess, however, that I do like a small audience. But it +must be a very small audience, composed of those who love me and +whom I love. When I then accomplish personal achievement, I +have a feeling that I am justifying their love for me. But +this is quite apart from the delight of the achievement +itself. This delight is peculiarly my own and does not +depend upon witnesses. When I have done some such thing, I +am exalted. I glow all over. I am aware of a pride in +myself that is mine, and mine alone. It is organic. +Every fibre of me is thrilling with it. It is very +natural. It is a mere matter of satisfaction at adjustment +to environment. It is success.</p> + +<p>Life that lives is life successful, and success is the breath +of its nostrils. The achievement of a difficult feat is +successful adjustment to a sternly exacting environment. +The more difficult the feat, the greater the satisfaction at its +accomplishment. Thus it is with the man who leaps forward +from the springboard, out over the swimming pool, and with a +backward half-revolution of the body, enters the water head +first. Once he leaves the springboard his environment +becomes immediately savage, and savage the penalty it will exact +should he fail and strike the water flat. Of course, the +man does not have to run the risk of the penalty. He could +remain on the bank in a sweet and placid environment of summer +air, sunshine, and stability. Only he is not made that +way. In that swift mid-air moment he lives as he could +never live on the bank.</p> + +<p>As for myself, I’d rather be that man than the fellows +who sit on the bank and watch him. That is why I am +building the <i>Snark</i>. I am so made. I like, that +is all. The trip around the world means big moments of +living. Bear with me a moment and look at it. Here am +I, a little animal called a man—a bit of vitalized matter, +one hundred and sixty-five pounds of meat and blood, nerve, +sinew, bones, and brain,—all of it soft and tender, +susceptible to hurt, fallible, and frail. I strike a light +back-handed blow on the nose of an obstreperous horse, and a bone +in my hand is broken. I put my head under the water for +five minutes, and I am drowned. I fall twenty feet through +the air, and I am smashed. I am a creature of +temperature. A few degrees one way, and my fingers and ears +and toes blacken and drop off. A few degrees the other way, +and my skin blisters and shrivels away from the raw, quivering +flesh. A few additional degrees either way, and the life +and the light in me go out. A drop of poison injected into +my body from a snake, and I cease to move—for ever I cease +to move. A splinter of lead from a rifle enters my head, +and I am wrapped around in the eternal blackness.</p> + +<p>Fallible and frail, a bit of pulsating, jelly-like +life—it is all I am. About me are the great natural +forces—colossal menaces, Titans of destruction, +unsentimental monsters that have less concern for me than I have +for the grain of sand I crush under my foot. They have no +concern at all for me. They do not know me. They are +unconscious, unmerciful, and unmoral. They are the cyclones +and tornadoes, lightning flashes and cloud-bursts, tide-rips and +tidal waves, undertows and waterspouts, great whirls and sucks +and eddies, earthquakes and volcanoes, surfs that thunder on +rock-ribbed coasts and seas that leap aboard the largest crafts +that float, crushing humans to pulp or licking them off into the +sea and to death—and these insensate monsters do not know +that tiny sensitive creature, all nerves and weaknesses, whom men +call Jack London, and who himself thinks he is all right and +quite a superior being.</p> + +<p>In the maze and chaos of the conflict of these vast and +draughty Titans, it is for me to thread my precarious way. +The bit of life that is I will exult over them. The bit of +life that is I, in so far as it succeeds in baffling them or in +bitting them to its service, will imagine that it is +godlike. It is good to ride the tempest and feel +godlike. I dare to assert that for a finite speck of +pulsating jelly to feel godlike is a far more glorious feeling +than for a god to feel godlike.</p> + +<p>Here is the sea, the wind, and the wave. Here are the +seas, the winds, and the waves of all the world. Here is +ferocious environment. And here is difficult adjustment, +the achievement of which is delight to the small quivering vanity +that is I. I like. I am so made. It is my own +particular form of vanity, that is all.</p> + +<p>There is also another side to the voyage of the +<i>Snark</i>. Being alive, I want to see, and all the world +is a bigger thing to see than one small town or valley. We +have done little outlining of the voyage. Only one thing is +definite, and that is that our first port of call will be +Honolulu. Beyond a few general ideas, we have no thought of +our next port after Hawaii. We shall make up our minds as +we get nearer, in a general way we know that we shall wander +through the South Seas, take in Samoa, New Zealand, Tasmania, +Australia, New Guinea, Borneo, and Sumatra, and go on up through +the Philippines to Japan. Then will come Korea, China, +India, the Red Sea, and the Mediterranean. After that the +voyage becomes too vague to describe, though we know a number of +things we shall surely do, and we expect to spend from one to +several months in every country in Europe.</p> + +<p>The <i>Snark</i> is to be sailed. There will be a +gasolene engine on board, but it will be used only in case of +emergency, such as in bad water among reefs and shoals, where a +sudden calm in a swift current leaves a sailing-boat +helpless. The rig of the <i>Snark</i> is to be what is +called the “ketch.” The ketch rig is a +compromise between the yawl and the schooner. Of late years +the yawl rig has proved the best for cruising. The ketch +retains the cruising virtues of the yawl, and in addition manages +to embrace a few of the sailing virtues of the schooner. +The foregoing must be taken with a pinch of salt. It is all +theory in my head. I’ve never sailed a ketch, nor +even seen one. The theory commends itself to me. Wait +till I get out on the ocean, then I’ll be able to tell more +about the cruising and sailing qualities of the ketch.</p> + +<p>As originally planned, the <i>Snark</i> was to be forty feet +long on the water-line. But we discovered there was no +space for a bath-room, and for that reason we have increased her +length to forty-five feet. Her greatest beam is fifteen +feet. She has no house and no hold. There is six feet +of headroom, and the deck is unbroken save for two companionways +and a hatch for’ard. The fact that there is no house +to break the strength of the deck will make us feel safer in case +great seas thunder their tons of water down on board. A +large and roomy cockpit, sunk beneath the deck, with high rail +and self-bailing, will make our rough-weather days and nights +more comfortable.</p> + +<p>There will be no crew. Or, rather, Charmian, Roscoe, and +I are the crew. We are going to do the thing with our own +hands. With our own hands we’re going to +circumnavigate the globe. Sail her or sink her, with our +own hands we’ll do it. Of course there will be a cook +and a cabin-boy. Why should we stew over a stove, wash +dishes, and set the table? We could stay on land if we +wanted to do those things. Besides, we’ve got to +stand watch and work the ship. And also, I’ve got to +work at my trade of writing in order to feed us and to get new +sails and tackle and keep the <i>Snark</i> in efficient working +order. And then there’s the ranch; I’ve got to +keep the vineyard, orchard, and hedges growing.</p> + +<p>When we increased the length of the <i>Snark</i> in order to +get space for a bath-room, we found that all the space was not +required by the bath-room. Because of this, we increased +the size of the engine. Seventy horse-power our engine is, +and since we expect it to drive us along at a nine-knot clip, we +do not know the name of a river with a current swift enough to +defy us.</p> + +<p>We expect to do a lot of inland work. The smallness of +the <i>Snark</i> makes this possible. When we enter the +land, out go the masts and on goes the engine. There are +the canals of China, and the Yang-tse River. We shall spend +months on them if we can get permission from the +government. That will be the one obstacle to our inland +voyaging—governmental permission. But if we can get +that permission, there is scarcely a limit to the inland voyaging +we can do.</p> + +<p>When we come to the Nile, why we can go up the Nile. We +can go up the Danube to Vienna, up the Thames to London, and we +can go up the Seine to Paris and moor opposite the Latin Quarter +with a bow-line out to Notre Dame and a stern-line fast to the +Morgue. We can leave the Mediterranean and go up the +Rhône to Lyons, there enter the Saône, cross from the +Saône to the Maine through the Canal de Bourgogne, and from +the Marne enter the Seine and go out the Seine at Havre. +When we cross the Atlantic to the United States, we can go up the +Hudson, pass through the Erie Canal, cross the Great Lakes, leave +Lake Michigan at Chicago, gain the Mississippi by way of the +Illinois River and the connecting canal, and go down the +Mississippi to the Gulf of Mexico. And then there are the +great rivers of South America. We’ll know something +about geography when we get back to California.</p> + +<p>People that build houses are often sore perplexed; but if they +enjoy the strain of it, I’ll advise them to build a boat +like the <i>Snark</i>. Just consider, for a moment, the +strain of detail. Take the engine. What is the best +kind of engine—the two cycle? three cycle? four +cycle? My lips are mutilated with all kinds of strange +jargon, my mind is mutilated with still stranger ideas and is +foot-sore and weary from travelling in new and rocky realms of +thought.—Ignition methods; shall it be make-and-break or +jump-spark? Shall dry cells or storage batteries be +used? A storage battery commends itself, but it requires a +dynamo. How powerful a dynamo? And when we have +installed a dynamo and a storage battery, it is simply ridiculous +not to light the boat with electricity. Then comes the +discussion of how many lights and how many candle-power. It +is a splendid idea. But electric lights will demand a more +powerful storage battery, which, in turn, demands a more powerful +dynamo.</p> + +<p>And now that we’ve gone in for it, why not have a +searchlight? It would be tremendously useful. But the +searchlight needs so much electricity that when it runs it will +put all the other lights out of commission. Again we travel +the weary road in the quest after more power for storage battery +and dynamo. And then, when it is finally solved, some one +asks, “What if the engine breaks down?” And we +collapse. There are the sidelights, the binnacle light, and +the anchor light. Our very lives depend upon them. So +we have to fit the boat throughout with oil lamps as well.</p> + +<p>But we are not done with that engine yet. The engine is +powerful. We are two small men and a small woman. It +will break our hearts and our backs to hoist anchor by +hand. Let the engine do it. And then comes the +problem of how to convey power for’ard from the engine to +the winch. And by the time all this is settled, we +redistribute the allotments of space to the engine-room, galley, +bath-room, state-rooms, and cabin, and begin all over +again. And when we have shifted the engine, I send off a +telegram of gibberish to its makers at New York, something like +this: <i>Toggle-joint abandoned change thrust-bearing accordingly +distance from forward side of flywheel to face of stern post +sixteen feet six inches</i>.</p> + +<p>Just potter around in quest of the best steering gear, or try +to decide whether you will set up your rigging with old-fashioned +lanyards or with turnbuckles, if you want strain of detail. +Shall the binnacle be located in front of the wheel in the centre +of the beam, or shall it be located to one side in front of the +wheel?—there’s room right there for a library of +sea-dog controversy. Then there’s the problem of +gasolene, fifteen hundred gallons of it—what are the safest +ways to tank it and pipe it? and which is the best +fire-extinguisher for a gasolene fire? Then there is the +pretty problem of the life-boat and the stowage of the +same. And when that is finished, come the cook and +cabin-boy to confront one with nightmare possibilities. It +is a small boat, and we’ll be packed close together. +The servant-girl problem of landsmen pales to +insignificance. We did select one cabin-boy, and by that +much were our troubles eased. And then the cabin-boy fell +in love and resigned.</p> + +<p>And in the meanwhile how is a fellow to find time to study +navigation—when he is divided between these problems and +the earning of the money wherewith to settle the problems? +Neither Roscoe nor I know anything about navigation, and the +summer is gone, and we are about to start, and the problems are +thicker than ever, and the treasury is stuffed with +emptiness. Well, anyway, it takes years to learn +seamanship, and both of us are seamen. If we don’t +find the time, we’ll lay in the books and instruments and +teach ourselves navigation on the ocean between San Francisco and +Hawaii.</p> + +<p>There is one unfortunate and perplexing phase of the voyage of +the <i>Snark</i>. Roscoe, who is to be my co-navigator, is +a follower of one, Cyrus R. Teed. Now Cyrus R. Teed has a +different cosmology from the one generally accepted, and Roscoe +shares his views. Wherefore Roscoe believes that the +surface of the earth is concave and that we live on the inside of +a hollow sphere. Thus, though we shall sail on the one +boat, the <i>Snark</i>, Roscoe will journey around the world on +the inside, while I shall journey around on the outside. +But of this, more anon. We threaten to be of the one mind +before the voyage is completed. I am confident that I shall +convert him into making the journey on the outside, while he is +equally confident that before we arrive back in San Francisco I +shall be on the inside of the earth. How he is going to get +me through the crust I don’t know, but Roscoe is ay a +masterful man.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p>P.S.—That engine! While we’ve got it, and +the dynamo, and the storage battery, why not have an +ice-machine? Ice in the tropics! It is more necessary +than bread. Here goes for the ice-machine! Now I am +plunged into chemistry, and my lips hurt, and my mind hurts, and +how am I ever to find the time to study navigation?</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap02"></a>CHAPTER II<br /> +<span class="GutSmall">THE INCONCEIVABLE AND +MONSTROUS</span></h2> + +<p>“<span class="smcap">Spare</span> no money,” I +said to Roscoe. “Let everything on the <i>Snark</i> +be of the best. And never mind decoration. Plain pine +boards is good enough finishing for me. But put the money +into the construction. Let the <i>Snark</i> be as staunch +and strong as any boat afloat. Never mind what it costs to +make her staunch and strong; you see that she is made staunch and +strong, and I’ll go on writing and earning the money to pay +for it.”</p> + +<p>And I did . . . as well as I could; for the <i>Snark</i> ate +up money faster than I could earn it. In fact, every little +while I had to borrow money with which to supplement my +earnings. Now I borrowed one thousand dollars, now I +borrowed two thousand dollars, and now I borrowed five thousand +dollars. And all the time I went on working every day and +sinking the earnings in the venture. I worked Sundays as +well, and I took no holidays. But it was worth it. +Every time I thought of the <i>Snark</i> I knew she was worth +it.</p> + +<p>For know, gentle reader, the staunchness of the +<i>Snark</i>. She is forty-five feet long on the +waterline. Her garboard strake is three inches thick; her +planking two and one-half inches thick; her deck-planking two +inches thick and in all her planking there are no butts. I +know, for I ordered that planking especially from Puget +Sound. Then the <i>Snark</i> has four water-tight +compartments, which is to say that her length is broken by three +water-tight bulkheads. Thus, no matter how large a leak the +<i>Snark</i> may spring, Only one compartment can fill with +water. The other three compartments will keep her afloat, +anyway, and, besides, will enable us to mend the leak. +There is another virtue in these bulkheads. The last +compartment of all, in the very stern, contains six tanks that +carry over one thousand gallons of gasolene. Now gasolene +is a very dangerous article to carry in bulk on a small craft far +out on the wide ocean. But when the six tanks that do not +leak are themselves contained in a compartment hermetically +sealed off from the rest of the boat, the danger will be seen to +be very small indeed.</p> + +<p>The <i>Snark</i> is a sail-boat. She was built primarily +to sail. But incidentally, as an auxiliary, a +seventy-horse-power engine was installed. This is a good, +strong engine. I ought to know. I paid for it to come +out all the way from New York City. Then, on deck, above +the engine, is a windlass. It is a magnificent +affair. It weighs several hundred pounds and takes up no +end of deck-room. You see, it is ridiculous to hoist up +anchor by hand-power when there is a seventy-horse-power engine +on board. So we installed the windlass, transmitting power +to it from the engine by means of a gear and castings specially +made in a San Francisco foundry.</p> + +<p>The <i>Snark</i> was made for comfort, and no expense was +spared in this regard. There is the bath-room, for +instance, small and compact, it is true, but containing all the +conveniences of any bath-room upon land. The bath-room is a +beautiful dream of schemes and devices, pumps, and levers, and +sea-valves. Why, in the course of its building, I used to +lie awake nights thinking about that bath-room. And next to +the bath-room come the life-boat and the launch. They are +carried on deck, and they take up what little space might have +been left us for exercise. But then, they beat life +insurance; and the prudent man, even if he has built as staunch +and strong a craft as the <i>Snark</i>, will see to it that he +has a good life-boat as well. And ours is a good one. +It is a dandy. It was stipulated to cost one hundred and +fifty dollars, and when I came to pay the bill, it turned out to +be three hundred and ninety-five dollars. That shows how +good a life-boat it is.</p> + +<p>I could go on at great length relating the various virtues and +excellences of the <i>Snark</i>, but I refrain. I have +bragged enough as it is, and I have bragged to a purpose, as will +be seen before my tale is ended. And please remember its +title, “The Inconceivable and Monstrous.” It +was planned that the <i>Snark</i> should sail on October 1, +1906. That she did not so sail was inconceivable and +monstrous. There was no valid reason for not sailing except +that she was not ready to sail, and there was no conceivable +reason why she was not ready. She was promised on November +first, on November fifteenth, on December first; and yet she was +never ready. On December first Charmian and I left the +sweet, clean Sonoma country and came down to live in the stifling +city—but not for long, oh, no, only for two weeks, for we +would sail on December fifteenth. And I guess we ought to +know, for Roscoe said so, and it was on his advice that we came +to the city to stay two weeks. Alas, the two weeks went by, +four weeks went by, six weeks went by, eight weeks went by, and +we were farther away from sailing than ever. Explain +it? Who?—me? I can’t. It is the one +thing in all my life that I have backed down on. There is +no explaining it; if there were, I’d do it. I, who am +an artisan of speech, confess my inability to explain why the +<i>Snark</i> was not ready. As I have said, and as I must +repeat, it was inconceivable and monstrous.</p> + +<p>The eight weeks became sixteen weeks, and then, one day, +Roscoe cheered us up by saying: “If we don’t sail +before April first, you can use my head for a +football.”</p> + +<p>Two weeks later he said, “I’m getting my head in +training for that match.”</p> + +<p>“Never mind,” Charmian and I said to each other; +“think of the wonderful boat it is going to be when it is +completed.”</p> + +<p>Whereat we would rehearse for our mutual encouragement the +manifold virtues and excellences of the <i>Snark</i>. Also, +I would borrow more money, and I would get down closer to my desk +and write harder, and I refused heroically to take a Sunday off +and go out into the hills with my friends. I was building a +boat, and by the eternal it was going to be a boat, and a boat +spelled out all in capitals—B—O—A—T; and +no matter what it cost I didn’t care. So long as it +was a B O A T.</p> + +<p>And, oh, there is one other excellence of the <i>Snark</i>, +upon which I must brag, namely, her bow. No sea could ever +come over it. It laughs at the sea, that bow does; it +challenges the sea; it snorts defiance at the sea. And +withal it is a beautiful bow; the lines of it are dreamlike; I +doubt if ever a boat was blessed with a more beautiful and at the +same time a more capable bow. It was made to punch +storms. To touch that bow is to rest one’s hand on +the cosmic nose of things. To look at it is to realize that +expense cut no figure where it was concerned. And every +time our sailing was delayed, or a new expense was tacked on, we +thought of that wonderful bow and were content.</p> + +<p>The <i>Snark</i> is a small boat. When I figured seven +thousand dollars as her generous cost, I was both generous and +correct. I have built barns and houses, and I know the +peculiar trait such things have of running past their estimated +cost. This knowledge was mine, was already mine, when I +estimated the probable cost of the building of the <i>Snark</i> +at seven thousand dollars. Well, she cost thirty +thousand. Now don’t ask me, please. It is the +truth. I signed the cheques and I raised the money. +Of course there is no explaining it, inconceivable and monstrous +is what it is, as you will agree, I know, ere my tale is +done.</p> + +<p>Then there was the matter of delay. I dealt with +forty-seven different kinds of union men and with one hundred and +fifteen different firms. And not one union man and not one +firm of all the union men and all the firms ever delivered +anything at the time agreed upon, nor ever was on time for +anything except pay-day and bill-collection. Men pledged me +their immortal souls that they would deliver a certain thing on a +certain date; as a rule, after such pledging, they rarely +exceeded being three months late in delivery. And so it +went, and Charmian and I consoled each other by saying what a +splendid boat the <i>Snark</i> was, so staunch and strong; also, +we would get into the small boat and row around the <i>Snark</i>, +and gloat over her unbelievably wonderful bow.</p> + +<p>“Think,” I would say to Charmian, “of a gale +off the China coast, and of the <i>Snark</i> hove to, that +splendid bow of hers driving into the storm. Not a drop +will come over that bow. She’ll be as dry as a +feather, and we’ll be all below playing whist while the +gale howls.”</p> + +<p>And Charmian would press my hand enthusiastically and exclaim: +“It’s worth every bit of it—the delay, and +expense, and worry, and all the rest. Oh, what a truly +wonderful boat!”</p> + +<p>Whenever I looked at the bow of the <i>Snark</i> or thought of +her water-tight compartments, I was encouraged. Nobody +else, however, was encouraged. My friends began to make +bets against the various sailing dates of the <i>Snark</i>. +Mr. Wiget, who was left behind in charge of our Sonoma ranch was +the first to cash his bet. He collected on New Year’s +Day, 1907. After that the bets came fast and furious. +My friends surrounded me like a gang of harpies, making bets +against every sailing date I set. I was rash, and I was +stubborn. I bet, and I bet, and I continued to bet; and I +paid them all. Why, the women-kind of my friends grew so +brave that those among them who never bet before began to bet +with me. And I paid them, too.</p> + +<p>“Never mind,” said Charmian to me; “just +think of that bow and of being hove to on the China +Seas.”</p> + +<p>“You see,” I said to my friends, when I paid the +latest bunch of wagers, “neither trouble nor cash is being +spared in making the <i>Snark</i> the most seaworthy craft that +ever sailed out through the Golden Gate—that is what causes +all the delay.”</p> + +<p>In the meantime editors and publishers with whom I had +contracts pestered me with demands for explanations. But +how could I explain to them, when I was unable to explain to +myself, or when there was nobody, not even Roscoe, to explain to +me? The newspapers began to laugh at me, and to publish +rhymes anent the <i>Snark’s</i> departure with refrains +like, “Not yet, but soon.” And Charmian cheered +me up by reminding me of the bow, and I went to a banker and +borrowed five thousand more. There was one recompense for +the delay, however. A friend of mine, who happens to be a +critic, wrote a roast of me, of all I had done, and of all I ever +was going to do; and he planned to have it published after I was +out on the ocean. I was still on shore when it came out, +and he has been busy explaining ever since.</p> + +<p>And the time continued to go by. One thing was becoming +apparent, namely, that it was impossible to finish the +<i>Snark</i> in San Francisco. She had been so long in the +building that she was beginning to break down and wear out. +In fact, she had reached the stage where she was breaking down +faster than she could be repaired. She had become a +joke. Nobody took her seriously; least of all the men who +worked on her. I said we would sail just as she was and +finish building her in Honolulu. Promptly she sprang a leak +that had to be attended to before we could sail. I started +her for the boat-ways. Before she got to them she was +caught between two huge barges and received a vigorous +crushing. We got her on the ways, and, part way along, the +ways spread and dropped her through, stern-first, into the +mud.</p> + +<p>It was a pretty tangle, a job for wreckers, not +boat-builders. There are two high tides every twenty-four +hours, and at every high tide, night and day, for a week, there +were two steam tugs pulling and hauling on the +<i>Snark</i>. There she was, stuck, fallen between the ways +and standing on her stern. Next, and while still in that +predicament, we started to use the gears and castings made in the +local foundry whereby power was conveyed from the engine to the +windlass. It was the first time we ever tried to use that +windlass. The castings had flaws; they shattered asunder, +the gears ground together, and the windlass was out of +commission. Following upon that, the seventy-horse-power +engine went out of commission. This engine came from New +York; so did its bed-plate; there was a flaw in the bed-plate; +there were a lot of flaws in the bed-plate; and the +seventy-horse-power engine broke away from its shattered +foundations, reared up in the air, smashed all connections and +fastenings, and fell over on its side. And the <i>Snark</i> +continued to stick between the spread ways, and the two tugs +continued to haul vainly upon her.</p> + +<p>“Never mind,” said Charmian, “think of what +a staunch, strong boat she is.”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said I, “and of that beautiful +bow.”</p> + +<p>So we took heart and went at it again. The ruined engine +was lashed down on its rotten foundation; the smashed castings +and cogs of the power transmission were taken down and stored +away—all for the purpose of taking them to Honolulu where +repairs and new castings could be made. Somewhere in the +dim past the <i>Snark</i> had received on the outside one coat of +white paint. The intention of the colour was still evident, +however, when one got it in the right light. The +<i>Snark</i> had never received any paint on the inside. On +the contrary, she was coated inches thick with the grease and +tobacco-juice of the multitudinous mechanics who had toiled upon +her. Never mind, we said; the grease and filth could be +planed off, and later, when we fetched Honolulu, the <i>Snark</i> +could be painted at the same time as she was being rebuilt.</p> + +<p>By main strength and sweat we dragged the <i>Snark</i> off +from the wrecked ways and laid her alongside the Oakland City +Wharf. The drays brought all the outfit from home, the +books and blankets and personal luggage. Along with this, +everything else came on board in a torrent of +confusion—wood and coal, water and water-tanks, vegetables, +provisions, oil, the life-boat and the launch, all our friends, +all the friends of our friends and those who claimed to be their +friends, to say nothing of some of the friends of the friends of +the friends of our crew. Also there were reporters, and +photographers, and strangers, and cranks, and finally, and over +all, clouds of coal-dust from the wharf.</p> + +<p>We were to sail Sunday at eleven, and Saturday afternoon had +arrived. The crowd on the wharf and the coal-dust were +thicker than ever. In one pocket I carried a cheque-book, a +fountain-pen, a dater, and a blotter; in another pocket I carried +between one and two thousand dollars in paper money and +gold. I was ready for the creditors, cash for the small +ones and cheques for the large ones, and was waiting only for +Roscoe to arrive with the balances of the accounts of the hundred +and fifteen firms who had delayed me so many months. And +then—</p> + +<p>And then the inconceivable and monstrous happened once +more. Before Roscoe could arrive there arrived another +man. He was a United States marshal. He tacked a +notice on the <i>Snark’s</i> brave mast so that all on the +wharf could read that the <i>Snark</i> had been libelled for +debt. The marshal left a little old man in charge of the +<i>Snark</i>, and himself went away. I had no longer any +control of the <i>Snark</i>, nor of her wonderful bow. The +little old man was now her lord and master, and I learned that I +was paying him three dollars a day for being lord and +master. Also, I learned the name of the man who had +libelled the <i>Snark</i>. It was Sellers; the debt was two +hundred and thirty-two dollars; and the deed was no more than was +to be expected from the possessor of such a name. +Sellers! Ye gods! Sellers!</p> + +<p>But who under the sun was Sellers? I looked in my +cheque-book and saw that two weeks before I had made him out a +cheque for five hundred dollars. Other cheque-books showed +me that during the many months of the building of the +<i>Snark</i> I had paid him several thousand dollars. Then +why in the name of common decency hadn’t he tried to +collect his miserable little balance instead of libelling the +<i>Snark</i>? I thrust my hands into my pockets, and in one +pocket encountered the cheque-hook and the dater and the pen, and +in the other pocket the gold money and the paper money. +There was the wherewithal to settle his pitiful account a few +score of times and over—why hadn’t he given me a +chance? There was no explanation; it was merely the +inconceivable and monstrous.</p> + +<p>To make the matter worse, the <i>Snark</i> had been libelled +late Saturday afternoon; and though I sent lawyers and agents all +over Oakland and San Francisco, neither United States judge, nor +United States marshal, nor Mr. Sellers, nor Mr. Sellers’ +attorney, nor anybody could be found. They were all out of +town for the weekend. And so the <i>Snark</i> did not sail +Sunday morning at eleven. The little old man was still in +charge, and he said no. And Charmian and I walked out on an +opposite wharf and took consolation in the <i>Snark’s</i> +wonderful bow and thought of all the gales and typhoons it would +proudly punch.</p> + +<p>“A bourgeois trick,” I said to Charmian, speaking +of Mr. Sellers and his libel; “a petty trader’s +panic. But never mind; our troubles will cease when once we +are away from this and out on the wide ocean.”</p> + +<p>And in the end we sailed away, on Tuesday morning, April 23, +1907. We started rather lame, I confess. We had to +hoist anchor by hand, because the power transmission was a +wreck. Also, what remained of our seventy-horse-power +engine was lashed down for ballast on the bottom of the +<i>Snark</i>. But what of such things? They could be +fixed in Honolulu, and in the meantime think of the magnificent +rest of the boat! It is true, the engine in the launch +wouldn’t run, and the life-boat leaked like a sieve; but +then they weren’t the <i>Snark</i>; they were mere +appurtenances. The things that counted were the water-tight +bulkheads, the solid planking without butts, the bath-room +devices—they were the <i>Snark</i>. And then there +was, greatest of all, that noble, wind-punching bow.</p> + +<p>We sailed out through the Golden Gate and set our course south +toward that part of the Pacific where we could hope to pick up +with the north-east trades. And right away things began to +happen. I had calculated that youth was the stuff for a +voyage like that of the <i>Snark</i>, and I had taken three +youths—the engineer, the cook, and the cabin-boy. My +calculation was only two-thirds <i>off</i>; I had forgotten to +calculate on seasick youth, and I had two of them, the cook and +the cabin boy. They immediately took to their bunks, and +that was the end of their usefulness for a week to come. It +will be understood, from the foregoing, that we did not have the +hot meals we might have had, nor were things kept clean and +orderly down below. But it did not matter very much anyway, +for we quickly discovered that our box of oranges had at some +time been frozen; that our box of apples was mushy and spoiling; +that the crate of cabbages, spoiled before it was ever delivered +to us, had to go overboard instanter; that kerosene had been +spilled on the carrots, and that the turnips were woody and the +beets rotten, while the kindling was dead wood that +wouldn’t burn, and the coal, delivered in rotten +potato-sacks, had spilled all over the deck and was washing +through the scuppers.</p> + +<p>But what did it matter? Such things were mere +accessories. There was the boat—she was all right, +wasn’t she? I strolled along the deck and in one +minute counted fourteen butts in the beautiful planking ordered +specially from Puget Sound in order that there should be no butts +in it. Also, that deck leaked, and it leaked badly. +It drowned Roscoe out of his bunk and ruined the tools in the +engine-room, to say nothing of the provisions it ruined in the +galley. Also, the sides of the <i>Snark</i> leaked, and the +bottom leaked, and we had to pump her every day to keep her +afloat. The floor of the galley is a couple of feet above +the inside bottom of the <i>Snark</i>; and yet I have stood on +the floor of the galley, trying to snatch a cold bite, and been +wet to the knees by the water churning around inside four hours +after the last pumping.</p> + +<p>Then those magnificent water-tight compartments that cost so +much time and money—well, they weren’t water-tight +after all. The water moved free as the air from one +compartment to another; furthermore, a strong smell of gasolene +from the after compartment leads me to suspect that some one or +more of the half-dozen tanks there stored have sprung a +leak. The tanks leak, and they are not hermetically sealed +in their compartment. Then there was the bath-room with its +pumps and levers and sea-valves—it went out of commission +inside the first twenty hours. Powerful iron levers broke +off short in one’s hand when one tried to pump with +them. The bath-room was the swiftest wreck of any portion +of the <i>Snark</i>.</p> + +<p>And the iron-work on the <i>Snark</i>, no matter what its +source, proved to be mush. For instance, the bed-plate of +the engine came from New York, and it was mush; so were the +casting and gears for the windlass that came from San +Francisco. And finally, there was the wrought iron used in +the rigging, that carried away in all directions when the first +strains were put upon it. Wrought iron, mind you, and it +snapped like macaroni.</p> + +<p>A gooseneck on the gaff of the mainsail broke short off. +We replaced it with the gooseneck from the gaff of the storm +trysail, and the second gooseneck broke short off inside fifteen +minutes of use, and, mind you, it had been taken from the gaff of +the storm trysail, upon which we would have depended in time of +storm. At the present moment the <i>Snark</i> trails her +mainsail like a broken wing, the gooseneck being replaced by a +rough lashing. We’ll see if we can get honest iron in +Honolulu.</p> + +<p>Man had betrayed us and sent us to sea in a sieve, but the +Lord must have loved us, for we had calm weather in which to +learn that we must pump every day in order to keep afloat, and +that more trust could be placed in a wooden toothpick than in the +most massive piece of iron to be found aboard. As the +staunchness and the strength of the <i>Snark</i> went glimmering, +Charmian and I pinned our faith more and more to the +<i>Snark’s</i> wonderful bow. There was nothing else +left to pin to. It was all inconceivable and monstrous, we +knew, but that bow, at least, was rational. And then, one +evening, we started to heave to.</p> + +<p>How shall I describe it? First of all, for the benefit +of the tyro, let me explain that heaving to is that sea +manœuvre which, by means of short and balanced canvas, +compels a vessel to ride bow-on to wind and sea. When the +wind is too strong, or the sea is too high, a vessel of the size +of the <i>Snark</i> can heave to with ease, whereupon there is no +more work to do on deck. Nobody needs to steer. The +lookout is superfluous. All hands can go below and sleep or +play whist.</p> + +<p>Well, it was blowing half of a small summer gale, when I told +Roscoe we’d heave to. Night was coming on. I +had been steering nearly all day, and all hands on deck (Roscoe +and Bert and Charmian) were tired, while all hands below were +seasick. It happened that we had already put two reefs in +the big mainsail. The flying-jib and the jib were taken in, +and a reef put in the fore-staysail. The mizzen was also +taken in. About this time the flying jib-boom buried itself +in a sea and broke short off. I started to put the wheel +down in order to heave to. The <i>Snark</i> at the moment +was rolling in the trough. She continued rolling in the +trough. I put the spokes down harder and harder. She +never budged from the trough. (The trough, gentle reader, +is the most dangerous position all in which to lay a +vessel.) I put the wheel hard down, and still the +<i>Snark</i> rolled in the trough. Eight points was the +nearest I could get her to the wind. I had Roscoe and Bert +come in on the main-sheet. The <i>Snark</i> rolled on in +the trough, now putting her rail under on one side and now under +on the other side.</p> + +<p>Again the inconceivable and monstrous was showing its grizzly +head. It was grotesque, impossible. I refused to +believe it. Under double-reefed mainsail and single-reefed +staysail the <i>Snark</i> refused to heave to. We flattened +the mainsail down. It did not alter the +<i>Snark’s</i> course a tenth of a degree. We slacked +the mainsail off with no more result. We set a storm +trysail on the mizzen, and took in the mainsail. No +change. The <i>Snark</i> roiled on in the trough. +That beautiful bow of hers refused to come up and face the +wind.</p> + +<p>Next we took in the reefed staysail. Thus, the only bit +of canvas left on her was the storm trysail on the mizzen. +If anything would bring her bow up to the wind, that would. +Maybe you won’t believe me when I say it failed, but I do +say it failed. And I say it failed because I saw it fail, +and not because I believe it failed. I don’t believe +it did fail. It is unbelievable, and I am not telling you +what I believe; I am telling you what I saw.</p> + +<p>Now, gentle reader, what would you do if you were on a small +boat, rolling in the trough of the sea, a trysail on that small +boat’s stern that was unable to swing the bow up into the +wind? Get out the sea-anchor. It’s just what we +did. We had a patent one, made to order and warranted not +to dive. Imagine a hoop of steel that serves to keep open +the mouth of a large, conical, canvas bag, and you have a +sea-anchor. Well, we made a line fast to the sea-anchor and +to the bow of the <i>Snark</i>, and then dropped the sea-anchor +overboard. It promptly dived. We had a tripping line +on it, so we tripped the sea-anchor and hauled it in. We +attached a big timber as a float, and dropped the sea-anchor over +again. This time it floated. The line to the bow grew +taut. The trysail on the mizzen tended to swing the bow +into the wind, but, in spite of this tendency, the <i>Snark</i> +calmly took that sea-anchor in her teeth, and went on ahead, +dragging it after her, still in the trough of the sea. And +there you are. We even took in the trysail, hoisted the +full mizzen in its place, and hauled the full mizzen down flat, +and the <i>Snark</i> wallowed in the trough and dragged the +sea-anchor behind her. Don’t believe me. I +don’t believe it myself. I am merely telling you what +I saw.</p> + +<p>Now I leave it to you. Who ever heard of a sailing-boat +that wouldn’t heave to?—that wouldn’t heave to +with a sea-anchor to help it? Out of my brief experience +with boats I know I never did. And I stood on deck and +looked on the naked face of the inconceivable and +monstrous—the <i>Snark</i> that wouldn’t heave +to. A stormy night with broken moonlight had come on. +There was a splash of wet in the air, and up to windward there +was a promise of rain-squalls; and then there was the trough of +the sea, cold and cruel in the moonlight, in which the +<i>Snark</i> complacently rolled. And then we took in the +sea-anchor and the mizzen, hoisted the reefed staysail, ran the +<i>Snark</i> off before it, and went below—not to the hot +meal that should have awaited us, but to skate across the slush +and slime on the cabin floor, where cook and cabin-boy lay like +dead men in their bunks, and to lie down in our own bunks, with +our clothes on ready for a call, and to listen to the bilge-water +spouting knee-high on the galley floor.</p> + +<p>In the Bohemian Club of San Francisco there are some crack +sailors. I know, because I heard them pass judgment on the +<i>Snark</i> during the process of her building. They found +only one vital thing the matter with her, and on this they were +all agreed, namely, that she could not run. She was all +right in every particular, they said, except that I’d never +be able to run her before it in a stiff wind and sea. +“Her lines,” they explained enigmatically, “it +is the fault of her lines. She simply cannot be made to +run, that is all.” Well, I wish I’d only had +those crack sailors of the Bohemian Club on board the +<i>Snark</i> the other night for them to see for themselves their +one, vital, unanimous judgment absolutely reversed. +Run? It is the one thing the <i>Snark</i> does to +perfection. Run? She ran with a sea-anchor fast +for’ard and a full mizzen flattened down aft. +Run? At the present moment, as I write this, we are bowling +along before it, at a six-knot clip, in the north-east +trades. Quite a tidy bit of sea is running. There is +nobody at the wheel, the wheel is not even lashed and is set over +a half-spoke weather helm. To be precise, the wind is +north-east; the <i>Snark’s</i> mizzen is furled, her +mainsail is over to starboard, her head-sheets are hauled flat: +and the <i>Snark’s</i> course is south-south-west. +And yet there are men who have sailed the seas for forty years +and who hold that no boat can run before it without being +steered. They’ll call me a liar when they read this; +it’s what they called Captain Slocum when he said the same +of his <i>Spray</i>.</p> + +<p>As regards the future of the <i>Snark</i> I’m all at +sea. I don’t know. If I had the money or the +credit, I’d build another <i>Snark</i> that <i>would</i> +heave to. But I am at the end of my resources. +I’ve got to put up with the present <i>Snark</i> or +quit—and I can’t quit. So I guess I’ll +have to try to get along with heaving the <i>Snark</i> to stern +first. I am waiting for the next gale to see how it will +work. I think it can be done. It all depends on how +her stern takes the seas. And who knows but that some wild +morning on the China Sea, some gray-beard skipper will stare, rub +his incredulous eyes and stare again, at the spectacle of a +weird, small craft very much like the <i>Snark</i>, hove to +stern-first and riding out the gale?</p> + +<p>P.S. On my return to California after the voyage, I +learned that the <i>Snark</i> was forty-three feet on the +water-line instead of forty-five. This was due to the fact +that the builder was not on speaking terms with the tape-line or +two-foot rule.</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap03"></a>CHAPTER III<br /> +<span class="GutSmall">ADVENTURE</span></h2> + +<p><span class="smcap">No</span>, adventure is not dead, and in +spite of the steam engine and of Thomas Cook & Son. +When the announcement of the contemplated voyage of the +<i>Snark</i> was made, young men of “roving +disposition” proved to be legion, and young women as +well—to say nothing of the elderly men and women who +volunteered for the voyage. Why, among my personal friends +there were at least half a dozen who regretted their recent or +imminent marriages; and there was one marriage I know of that +almost failed to come off because of the <i>Snark</i>.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p>Every mail to me was burdened with the letters of applicants +who were suffocating in the “man-stifled towns,” and +it soon dawned upon me that a twentieth century Ulysses required +a corps of stenographers to clear his correspondence before +setting sail. No, adventure is certainly not dead—not +while one receives letters that begin:</p> + +<p>“There is no doubt that when you read this soul-plea +from a female stranger in New York City,” etc.; and wherein +one learns, a little farther on, that this female stranger weighs +only ninety pounds, wants to be cabin-boy, and “yearns to +see the countries of the world.”</p> + +<p>The possession of a “passionate fondness for +geography,” was the way one applicant expressed the +wander-lust that was in him; while another wrote, “I am +cursed with an eternal yearning to be always on the move, +consequently this letter to you.” But best of all was +the fellow who said he wanted to come because his feet +itched.</p> + +<p>There were a few who wrote anonymously, suggesting names of +friends and giving said friends’ qualifications; but to me +there was a hint of something sinister in such proceedings, and I +went no further in the matter.</p> + +<p>With two or three exceptions, all the hundreds that +volunteered for my crew were very much in earnest. Many of +them sent their photographs. Ninety per cent. offered to +work in any capacity, and ninety-nine per cent. offered to work +without salary. “Contemplating your voyage on the +<i>Snark</i>,” said one, “and notwithstanding its +attendant dangers, to accompany you (in any capacity whatever) +would be the climax of my ambitions.” Which reminds +me of the young fellow who was “seventeen years old and +ambicious,” and who, at the end of his letter, earnestly +requested “but please do not let this git into the papers +or magazines.” Quite different was the one who said, +“I would be willing to work like hell and not demand +pay.” Almost all of them wanted me to telegraph, at +their expense, my acceptance of their services; and quite a +number offered to put up a bond to guarantee their appearance on +sailing date.</p> + +<p>Some were rather vague in their own minds concerning the work +to be done on the <i>Snark</i>; as, for instance, the one who +wrote: “I am taking the liberty of writing you this note to +find out if there would be any possibility of my going with you +as one of the crew of your boat to make sketches and +illustrations.” Several, unaware of the needful work +on a small craft like the <i>Snark</i>, offered to serve, as one +of them phrased it, “as assistant in filing materials +collected for books and novels.” That’s what +one gets for being prolific.</p> + +<p>“Let me give my qualifications for the job,” wrote +one. “I am an orphan living with my uncle, who is a +hot revolutionary socialist and who says a man without the red +blood of adventure is an animated dish-rag.” Said +another: “I can swim some, though I don’t know any of +the new strokes. But what is more important than strokes, +the water is a friend of mine.” “If I was put +alone in a sail-boat, I could get her anywhere I wanted to +go,” was the qualification of a third—and a better +qualification than the one that follows, “I have also +watched the fish-boats unload.” But possibly the +prize should go to this one, who very subtly conveys his deep +knowledge of the world and life by saying: “My age, in +years, is twenty-two.”</p> + +<p>Then there were the simple straight-out, homely, and unadorned +letters of young boys, lacking in the felicities of expression, +it is true, but desiring greatly to make the voyage. These +were the hardest of all to decline, and each time I declined one +it seemed as if I had struck Youth a slap in the face. They +were so earnest, these boys, they wanted so much to go. +“I am sixteen but large for my age,” said one; and +another, “Seventeen but large and healthy.” +“I am as strong at least as the average boy of my +size,” said an evident weakling. “Not afraid of +any kind of work,” was what many said, while one in +particular, to lure me no doubt by inexpensiveness, wrote: +“I can pay my way to the Pacific coast, so that part would +probably be acceptable to you.” “Going around +the world is <i>the one thing</i> I want to do,” said one, +and it seemed to be the one thing that a few hundred wanted to +do. “I have no one who cares whether I go or +not,” was the pathetic note sounded by another. One +had sent his photograph, and speaking of it, said, +“I’m a homely-looking sort of a chap, but looks +don’t always count.” And I am confident that +the lad who wrote the following would have turned out all right: +“My age is 19 years, but I am rather small and consequently +won’t take up much room, but I’m tough as the +devil.” And there was one thirteen-year-old applicant +that Charmian and I fell in love with, and it nearly broke our +hearts to refuse him.</p> + +<p>But it must not be imagined that most of my volunteers were +boys; on the contrary, boys constituted a very small +proportion. There were men and women from every walk in +life. Physicians, surgeons, and dentists offered in large +numbers to come along, and, like all the professional men, +offered to come without pay, to serve in any capacity, and to +pay, even, for the privilege of so serving.</p> + +<p>There was no end of compositors and reporters who wanted to +come, to say nothing of experienced valets, chefs, and +stewards. Civil engineers were keen on the voyage; +“lady” companions galore cropped up for Charmian; +while I was deluged with the applications of would-be private +secretaries. Many high school and university students +yearned for the voyage, and every trade in the working class +developed a few applicants, the machinists, electricians, and +engineers being especially strong on the trip. I was +surprised at the number, who, in musty law offices, heard the +call of adventure; and I was more than surprised by the number of +elderly and retired sea captains who were still thralls to the +sea. Several young fellows, with millions coming to them +later on, were wild for the adventure, as were also several +county superintendents of schools.</p> + +<p>Fathers and sons wanted to come, and many men with their +wives, to say nothing of the young woman stenographer who wrote: +“Write immediately if you need me. I shall bring my +typewriter on the first train.” But the best of all +is the following—observe the delicate way in which he +worked in his wife: “I thought I would drop you a line of +inquiry as to the possibility of making the trip with you, am 24 +years of age, married and broke, and a trip of that kind would be +just what we are looking for.”</p> + +<p>Come to think of it, for the average man it must be fairly +difficult to write an honest letter of self-recommendation. +One of my correspondents was so stumped that he began his letter +with the words, “This is a hard task”; and, after +vainly trying to describe his good points, he wound up with, +“It is a hard job writing about one’s +self.” Nevertheless, there was one who gave himself a +most glowing and lengthy character, and in conclusion stated that +he had greatly enjoyed writing it.</p> + +<p>“But suppose this: your cabin-boy could run your engine, +could repair it when out of order. Suppose he could take +his turn at the wheel, could do any carpenter or machinist +work. Suppose he is strong, healthy, and willing to +work. Would you not rather have him than a kid that gets +seasick and can’t do anything but wash dishes?” +It was letters of this sort that I hated to decline. The +writer of it, self-taught in English, had been only two years in +the United States, and, as he said, “I am not wishing to go +with you to earn my living, but I wish to learn and +see.” At the time of writing to me he was a designer +for one of the big motor manufacturing companies; he had been to +sea quite a bit, and had been used all his life to the handling +of small boats.</p> + +<p>“I have a good position, but it matters not so with me +as I prefer travelling,” wrote another. “As to +salary, look at me, and if I am worth a dollar or two, all right, +and if I am not, nothing said. As to my honesty and +character, I shall be pleased to show you my employers. +Never drink, no tobacco, but to be honest, I myself, after a +little more experience, want to do a little writing.”</p> + +<p>“I can assure you that I am eminently respectable, but +find other respectable people tiresome.” The man who +wrote the foregoing certainly had me guessing, and I am still +wondering whether or not he’d have found me tiresome, or +what the deuce he did mean.</p> + +<p>“I have seen better days than what I am passing through +to-day,” wrote an old salt, “but I have seen them a +great deal worse also.”</p> + +<p>But the willingness to sacrifice on the part of the man who +wrote the following was so touching that I could not accept: +“I have a father, a mother, brothers and sisters, dear +friends and a lucrative position, and yet I will sacrifice all to +become one of your crew.”</p> + +<p>Another volunteer I could never have accepted was the finicky +young fellow who, to show me how necessary it was that I should +give him a chance, pointed out that “to go in the ordinary +boat, be it schooner or steamer, would be impracticable, for I +would have to mix among and live with the ordinary type of +seamen, which as a rule is not a clean sort of life.”</p> + +<p>Then there was the young fellow of twenty-six, who had +“run through the gamut of human emotions,” and had +“done everything from cooking to attending Stanford +University,” and who, at the present writing, was “A +vaquero on a fifty-five-thousand-acre range.” Quite +in contrast was the modesty of the one who said, “I am not +aware of possessing any particular qualities that would be likely +to recommend me to your consideration. But should you be +impressed, you might consider it worth a few minutes’ time +to answer. Otherwise, there’s always work at the +trade. Not expecting, but hoping, I remain, etc.”</p> + +<p>But I have held my head in both my hands ever since, trying to +figure out the intellectual kinship between myself and the one +who wrote: “Long before I knew of you, I had mixed +political economy and history and deducted therefrom many of your +conclusions in concrete.”</p> + +<p>Here, in its way, is one of the best, as it is the briefest, +that I received: “If any of the present company signed on +for cruise happens to get cold feet and you need one more who +understands boating, engines, etc., would like to hear from you, +etc.” Here is another brief one: “Point blank, +would like to have the job of cabin-boy on your trip around the +world, or any other job on board. Am nineteen years old, +weigh one hundred and forty pounds, and am an +American.”</p> + +<p>And here is a good one from a man a “little over five +feet long”: “When I read about your manly plan of +sailing around the world in a small boat with Mrs. London, I was +so much rejoiced that I felt I was planning it myself, and I +thought to write you about filling either position of cook or +cabin-boy myself, but for some reason I did not do it, and I came +to Denver from Oakland to join my friend’s business last +month, but everything is worse and unfavourable. But +fortunately you have postponed your departure on account of the +great earthquake, so I finally decided to propose you to let me +fill either of the positions. I am not very strong, being a +man of a little over five feet long, although I am of sound +health and capability.”</p> + +<p>“I think I can add to your outfit an additional method +of utilizing the power of the wind,” wrote a well-wisher, +“which, while not interfering with ordinary sails in light +breezes, will enable you to use the whole force of the wind in +its mightiest blows, so that even when its force is so great that +you may have to take in every inch of canvas used in the ordinary +way, you may carry the fullest spread with my method. With +my attachment your craft could not be UPSET.”</p> + +<p>The foregoing letter was written in San Francisco under the +date of April 16, 1906. And two days later, on April 18, +came the Great Earthquake. And that’s why I’ve +got it in for that earthquake, for it made a refugee out of the +man who wrote the letter, and prevented us from ever getting +together.</p> + +<p>Many of my brother socialists objected to my making the +cruise, of which the following is typical: “The Socialist +Cause and the millions of oppressed victims of Capitalism has a +right and claim upon your life and services. If, however, +you persist, then, when you swallow the last mouthful of salt +chuck you can hold before sinking, remember that we at least +protested.”</p> + +<p>One wanderer over the world who “could, if opportunity +afforded, recount many unusual scenes and events,” spent +several pages ardently trying to get to the point of his letter, +and at last achieved the following: “Still I am neglecting +the point I set out to write you about. So will say at once +that it has been stated in print that you and one or two others +are going to take a cruize around the world a little fifty- or +sixty-foot boat. I therefore cannot get myself to think +that a man of your attainments and experience would attempt such +a proceeding, which is nothing less than courting death in that +way. And even if you were to escape for some time, your +whole Person, and those with you would be bruised from the +ceaseless motion of a craft of the above size, even if she were +padded, a thing not usual at sea.” Thank you, kind +friend, thank you for that qualification, “a thing not +usual at sea.” Nor is this friend ignorant of the +sea. As he says of himself, “I am not a land-lubber, +and I have sailed every sea and ocean.” And he winds +up his letter with: “Although not wishing to offend, it +would be madness to take any woman outside the bay even, in such +a craft.”</p> + +<p>And yet, at the moment of writing this, Charmian is in her +state-room at the typewriter, Martin is cooking dinner, Tochigi +is setting the table, Roscoe and Bert are caulking the deck, and +the <i>Snark</i> is steering herself some five knots an hour in a +rattling good sea—and the <i>Snark</i> is not padded, +either.</p> + +<p>“Seeing a piece in the paper about your intended trip, +would like to know if you would like a good crew, as there is six +of us boys all good sailor men, with good discharges from the +Navy and Merchant Service, all true Americans, all between the +ages of 20 and 22, and at present are employed as riggers at the +Union Iron Works, and would like very much to sail with +you.”—It was letters like this that made me regret +the boat was not larger.</p> + +<p>And here writes the one woman in all the world—outside +of Charmian—for the cruise: “If you have not +succeeded in getting a cook I would like very much to take the +trip in that capacity. I am a woman of fifty, healthy and +capable, and can do the work for the small company that compose +the crew of the <i>Snark</i>. I am a very good cook and a +very good sailor and something of a traveller, and the length of +the voyage, if of ten years’ duration, would suit me better +than one. References, etc.”</p> + +<p>Some day, when I have made a lot of money, I’m going to +build a big ship, with room in it for a thousand +volunteers. They will have to do all the work of navigating +that boat around the world, or they’ll stay at home. +I believe that they’ll work the boat around the world, for +I know that Adventure is not dead. I know Adventure is not +dead because I have had a long and intimate correspondence with +Adventure.</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap04"></a>CHAPTER IV<br /> +<span class="GutSmall">FINDING ONE’S WAY ABOUT</span></h2> + +<p>“<span class="smcap">But</span>,” our friends +objected, “how dare you go to sea without a navigator on +board? You’re not a navigator, are you?”</p> + +<p>I had to confess that I was not a navigator, that I had never +looked through a sextant in my life, and that I doubted if I +could tell a sextant from a nautical almanac. And when they +asked if Roscoe was a navigator, I shook my head. Roscoe +resented this. He had glanced at the “Epitome,” +bought for our voyage, knew how to use logarithm tables, had seen +a sextant at some time, and, what of this and of his seafaring +ancestry, he concluded that he did know navigation. But +Roscoe was wrong, I still insist. When a young boy he came +from Maine to California by way of the Isthmus of Panama, and +that was the only time in his life that he was out of sight of +land. He had never gone to a school of navigation, nor +passed an examination in the same; nor had he sailed the deep sea +and learned the art from some other navigator. He was a San +Francisco Bay yachtsman, where land is always only several miles +away and the art of navigation is never employed.</p> + +<p>So the <i>Snark</i> started on her long voyage without a +navigator. We beat through the Golden Gate on April 23, and +headed for the Hawaiian Islands, twenty-one hundred sea-miles +away as the gull flies. And the outcome was our +justification. We arrived. And we arrived, +furthermore, without any trouble, as you shall see; that is, +without any trouble to amount to anything. To begin with, +Roscoe tackled the navigating. He had the theory all right, +but it was the first time he had ever applied it, as was +evidenced by the erratic behaviour of the <i>Snark</i>. Not +but what the <i>Snark</i> was perfectly steady on the sea; the +pranks she cut were on the chart. On a day with a light +breeze she would make a jump on the chart that advertised +“a wet sail and a flowing sheet,” and on a day when +she just raced over the ocean, she scarcely changed her position +on the chart. Now when one’s boat has logged six +knots for twenty-four consecutive hours, it is incontestable that +she has covered one hundred and forty-four miles of ocean. +The ocean was all right, and so was the patent log; as for speed, +one saw it with his own eyes. Therefore the thing that was +not all right was the figuring that refused to boost the +<i>Snark</i> along over the chart. Not that this happened +every day, but that it did happen. And it was perfectly +proper and no more than was to be expected from a first attempt +at applying a theory.</p> + +<p>The acquisition of the knowledge of navigation has a strange +effect on the minds of men. The average navigator speaks of +navigation with deep respect. To the layman navigation is a +deed and awful mystery, which feeling has been generated in him +by the deep and awful respect for navigation that the layman has +seen displayed by navigators. I have known frank, +ingenuous, and modest young men, open as the day, to learn +navigation and at once betray secretiveness, reserve, and +self-importance as if they had achieved some tremendous +intellectual attainment. The average navigator impresses +the layman as a priest of some holy rite. With bated +breath, the amateur yachtsman navigator invites one in to look at +his chronometer. And so it was that our friends suffered +such apprehension at our sailing without a navigator.</p> + +<p>During the building of the <i>Snark</i>, Roscoe and I had an +agreement, something like this: “I’ll furnish the +books and instruments,” I said, “and do you study up +navigation now. I’ll be too busy to do any +studying. Then, when we get to sea, you can teach me what +you have learned.” Roscoe was delighted. +Furthermore, Roscoe was as frank and ingenuous and modest as the +young men I have described. But when we got out to sea and +he began to practise the holy rite, while I looked on admiringly, +a change, subtle and distinctive, marked his bearing. When +he shot the sun at noon, the glow of achievement wrapped him in +lambent flame. When he went below, figured out his +observation, and then returned on deck and announced our latitude +and longitude, there was an authoritative ring in his voice that +was new to all of us. But that was not the worst of +it. He became filled with incommunicable information. +And the more he discovered the reasons for the erratic jumps of +the <i>Snark</i> over the chart, and the less the <i>Snark</i> +jumped, the more incommunicable and holy and awful became his +information. My mild suggestions that it was about time +that I began to learn, met with no hearty response, with no +offers on his part to help me. He displayed not the +slightest intention of living up to our agreement.</p> + +<p>Now this was not Roscoe’s fault; he could not help +it. He had merely gone the way of all the men who learned +navigation before him. By an understandable and forgivable +confusion of values, plus a loss of orientation, he felt weighted +by responsibility, and experienced the possession of power that +was like unto that of a god. All his life Roscoe had lived +on land, and therefore in sight of land. Being constantly +in sight of land, with landmarks to guide him, he had managed, +with occasional difficulties, to steer his body around and about +the earth. Now he found himself on the sea, +wide-stretching, bounded only by the eternal circle of the +sky. This circle looked always the same. There were +no landmarks. The sun rose to the east and set to the west +and the stars wheeled through the night. But who may look +at the sun or the stars and say, “My place on the face of +the earth at the present moment is four and three-quarter miles +to the west of Jones’s Cash Store of Smithersville”? +or “I know where I am now, for the Little Dipper informs me +that Boston is three miles away on the second turning to the +right”? And yet that was precisely what Roscoe +did. That he was astounded by the achievement, is putting +it mildly. He stood in reverential awe of himself; he had +performed a miraculous feat. The act of finding himself on +the face of the waters became a rite, and he felt himself a +superior being to the rest of us who knew not this rite and were +dependent on him for being shepherded across the heaving and +limitless waste, the briny highroad that connects the continents +and whereon there are no mile-stones. So, with the sextant +he made obeisance to the sun-god, he consulted ancient tomes and +tables of magic characters, muttered prayers in a strange tongue +that sounded like <i>Indexerrorparallaxrefraction</i>, made +cabalistic signs on paper, added and carried one, and then, on a +piece of holy script called the Grail—I mean the +Chart—he placed his finger on a certain space conspicuous +for its blankness and said, “Here we are.” When +we looked at the blank space and asked, “And where is +that?” he answered in the cipher-code of the higher +priesthood, “31-15-47 north, 133-5-30 west.” +And we said “Oh,” and felt mighty small.</p> + +<p>So I aver, it was not Roscoe’s fault. He was like +unto a god, and he carried us in the hollow of his hand across +the blank spaces on the chart. I experienced a great +respect for Roscoe; this respect grew so profound that had he +commanded, “Kneel down and worship me,” I know that I +should have flopped down on the deck and yammered. But, one +day, there came a still small thought to me that said: +“This is not a god; this is Roscoe, a mere man like +myself. What he has done, I can do. Who taught +him? Himself. Go you and do likewise—be your +own teacher.” And right there Roscoe crashed, and he +was high priest of the <i>Snark</i> no longer. I invaded +the sanctuary and demanded the ancient tomes and magic tables, +also the prayer-wheel—the sextant, I mean.</p> + +<p>And now, in simple language. I shall describe how I +taught myself navigation. One whole afternoon I sat in the +cockpit, steering with one hand and studying logarithms with the +other. Two afternoons, two hours each, I studied the +general theory of navigation and the particular process of taking +a meridian altitude. Then I took the sextant, worked out +the index error, and shot the sun. The figuring from the +data of this observation was child’s play. In the +“Epitome” and the “Nautical Almanac” were +scores of cunning tables, all worked out by mathematicians and +astronomers. It was like using interest tables and +lightning-calculator tables such as you all know. The +mystery was mystery no longer. I put my finger on the chart +and announced that that was where we were. I was right too, +or at least I was as right as Roscoe, who selected a spot a +quarter of a mile away from mine. Even he was willing to +split the distance with me. I had exploded the mystery, and +yet, such was the miracle of it, I was conscious of new power in +me, and I felt the thrill and tickle of pride. And when +Martin asked me, in the same humble and respectful way I had +previously asked Roscoe, as to where we were, it was with +exaltation and spiritual chest-throwing that I answered in the +cipher-code of the higher priesthood and heard Martin’s +self-abasing and worshipful “Oh.” As for +Charmian, I felt that in a new way I had proved my right to her; +and I was aware of another feeling, namely, that she was a most +fortunate woman to have a man like me.</p> + +<p>I couldn’t help it. I tell it as a vindication of +Roscoe and all the other navigators. The poison of power +was working in me. I was not as other men—most other +men; I knew what they did not know,—the mystery of the +heavens, that pointed out the way across the deep. And the +taste of power I had received drove me on. I steered at the +wheel long hours with one hand, and studied mystery with the +other. By the end of the week, teaching myself, I was able +to do divers things. For instance, I shot the North Star, +at night, of course; got its altitude, corrected for index error, +dip, etc., and found our latitude. And this latitude agreed +with the latitude of the previous noon corrected by dead +reckoning up to that moment. Proud? Well, I was even +prouder with my next miracle. I was going to turn in at +nine o’clock. I worked out the problem, +self-instructed, and learned what star of the first magnitude +would be passing the meridian around half-past eight. This +star proved to be Alpha Crucis. I had never heard of the +star before. I looked it up on the star map. It was +one of the stars of the Southern Cross. What! thought I; +have we been sailing with the Southern Cross in the sky of nights +and never known it? Dolts that we are! Gudgeons and +moles! I couldn’t believe it. I went over the +problem again, and verified it. Charmian had the wheel from +eight till ten that evening. I told her to keep her eyes +open and look due south for the Southern Cross. And when +the stars came out, there shone the Southern Cross low on the +horizon. Proud? No medicine man nor high priest was +ever prouder. Furthermore, with the prayer-wheel I shot +Alpha Crucis and from its altitude worked out our latitude. +And still furthermore, I shot the North Star, too, and it agreed +with what had been told me by the Southern Cross. +Proud? Why, the language of the stars was mine, and I +listened and heard them telling me my way over the deep.</p> + +<p>Proud? I was a worker of miracles. I forgot how +easily I had taught myself from the printed page. I forgot +that all the work (and a tremendous work, too) had been done by +the masterminds before me, the astronomers and mathematicians, +who had discovered and elaborated the whole science of navigation +and made the tables in the “Epitome.” I +remembered only the everlasting miracle of it—that I had +listened to the voices of the stars and been told my place upon +the highway of the sea. Charmian did not know, Martin did +not know, Tochigi, the cabin-boy, did not know. But I told +them. I was God’s messenger. I stood between +them and infinity. I translated the high celestial speech +into terms of their ordinary understanding. We were +heaven-directed, and it was I who could read the sign-post of the +sky!—I! I!</p> + +<p>And now, in a cooler moment, I hasten to blab the whole +simplicity of it, to blab on Roscoe and the other navigators and +the rest of the priesthood, all for fear that I may become even +as they, secretive, immodest, and inflated with +self-esteem. And I want to say this now: any young fellow +with ordinary gray matter, ordinary education, and with the +slightest trace of the student-mind, can get the books, and +charts, and instruments and teach himself navigation. Now I +must not be misunderstood. Seamanship is an entirely +different matter. It is not learned in a day, nor in many +days; it requires years. Also, navigating by dead reckoning +requires long study and practice. But navigating by +observations of the sun, moon, and stars, thanks to the +astronomers and mathematicians, is child’s play. Any +average young fellow can teach himself in a week. And yet +again I must not be misunderstood. I do not mean to say +that at the end of a week a young fellow could take charge of a +fifteen-thousand-ton steamer, driving twenty knots an hour +through the brine, racing from land to land, fair weather and +foul, clear sky or cloudy, steering by degrees on the compass +card and making landfalls with most amazing precision. But +what I do mean is just this: the average young fellow I have +described can get into a staunch sail-boat and put out across the +ocean, without knowing anything about navigation, and at the end +of the week he will know enough to know where he is on the +chart. He will be able to take a meridian observation with +fair accuracy, and from that observation, with ten minutes of +figuring, work out his latitude and longitude. And, +carrying neither freight nor passengers, being under no press to +reach his destination, he can jog comfortably along, and if at +any time he doubts his own navigation and fears an imminent +landfall, he can heave to all night and proceed in the +morning.</p> + +<p>Joshua Slocum sailed around the world a few years ago in a +thirty-seven-foot boat all by himself. I shall never +forget, in his narrative of the voyage, where he heartily +indorsed the idea of young men, in similar small boats, making +similar voyage. I promptly indorsed his idea, and so +heartily that I took my wife along. While it certainly +makes a Cook’s tour look like thirty cents, on top of that, +amid on top of the fun and pleasure, it is a splendid education +for a young man—oh, not a mere education in the things of +the world outside, of lands, and peoples, and climates, but an +education in the world inside, an education in one’s self, +a chance to learn one’s own self, to get on speaking terms +with one’s soul. Then there is the training and the +disciplining of it. First, naturally, the young fellow will +learn his limitations; and next, inevitably, he will proceed to +press back those limitations. And he cannot escape +returning from such a voyage a bigger and better man. And +as for sport, it is a king’s sport, taking one’s self +around the world, doing it with one’s own hands, depending +on no one but one’s self, and at the end, back at the +starting-point, contemplating with inner vision the planet +rushing through space, and saying, “I did it; with my own +hands I did it. I went clear around that whirling sphere, +and I can travel alone, without any nurse of a sea-captain to +guide my steps across the seas. I may not fly to other +stars, but of this star I myself am master.”</p> + +<p>As I write these lines I lift my eyes and look seaward. +I am on the beach of Waikiki on the island of Oahu. Far, in +the azure sky, the trade-wind clouds drift low over the +blue-green turquoise of the deep sea. Nearer, the sea is +emerald and light olive-green. Then comes the reef, where +the water is all slaty purple flecked with red. Still +nearer are brighter greens and tans, lying in alternate stripes +and showing where sandbeds lie between the living coral +banks. Through and over and out of these wonderful colours +tumbles and thunders a magnificent surf. As I say, I lift +my eyes to all this, and through the white crest of a breaker +suddenly appears a dark figure, erect, a man-fish or a sea-god, +on the very forward face of the crest where the top falls over +and down, driving in toward shore, buried to his loins in smoking +spray, caught up by the sea and flung landward, bodily, a quarter +of a mile. It is a Kanaka on a surf-board. And I know +that when I have finished these lines I shall be out in that riot +of colour and pounding surf, trying to bit those breakers even as +he, and failing as he never failed, but living life as the best +of us may live it. And the picture of that coloured sea and +that flying sea-god Kanaka becomes another reason for the young +man to go west, and farther west, beyond the Baths of Sunset, and +still west till he arrives home again.</p> + +<p>But to return. Please do not think that I already know +it all. I know only the rudiments of navigation. +There is a vast deal yet for me to learn. On the +<i>Snark</i> there is a score of fascinating books on navigation +waiting for me. There is the danger-angle of Lecky, there +is the line of Sumner, which, when you know least of all where +you are, shows most conclusively where you are, and where you are +not. There are dozens and dozens of methods of finding +one’s location on the deep, and one can work years before +he masters it all in all its fineness.</p> + +<p>Even in the little we did learn there were slips that +accounted for the apparently antic behaviour of the +<i>Snark</i>. On Thursday, May 16, for instance, the trade +wind failed us. During the twenty-four hours that ended +Friday at noon, by dead reckoning we had not sailed twenty +miles. Yet here are our positions, at noon, for the two +days, worked out from our observations:</p> +<table> +<tr> +<td><p>Thursday</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right">20°</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right">57′</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right">9″</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">N</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right">152°</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right">40′</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right">30″</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">W</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>Friday</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right">21°</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right">15′</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right">33″</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">N</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right">154°</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right">12′</p> +</td> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +<p>The difference between the two positions was something like +eighty miles. Yet we knew we had not travelled twenty +miles. Now our figuring was all right. We went over +it several times. What was wrong was the observations we +had taken. To take a correct observation requires practice +and skill, and especially so on a small craft like the +<i>Snark</i>. The violently moving boat and the closeness +of the observer’s eye to the surface of the water are to +blame. A big wave that lifts up a mile off is liable to +steal the horizon away.</p> + +<p>But in our particular case there was another perturbing +factor. The sun, in its annual march north through the +heavens, was increasing its declination. On the 19th +parallel of north latitude in the middle of May the sun is nearly +overhead. The angle of arc was between eighty-eight and +eighty-nine degrees. Had it been ninety degrees it would +have been straight overhead. It was on another day that we +learned a few things about taking the altitude of the almost +perpendicular sun. Roscoe started in drawing the sun down +to the eastern horizon, and he stayed by that point of the +compass despite the fact that the sun would pass the meridian to +the south. I, on the other hand, started in to draw the sun +down to south-east and strayed away to the south-west. You +see, we were teaching ourselves. As a result, at +twenty-five minutes past twelve by the ship’s time, I +called twelve o’clock by the sun. Now this signified +that we had changed our location on the face of the world by +twenty-five minutes, which was equal to something like six +degrees of longitude, or three hundred and fifty miles. +This showed the <i>Snark</i> had travelled fifteen knots per hour +for twenty-four consecutive hours—and we had never noticed +it! It was absurd and grotesque. But Roscoe, still +looking east, averred that it was not yet twelve +o’clock. He was bent on giving us a twenty-knot +clip. Then we began to train our sextants rather wildly all +around the horizon, and wherever we looked, there was the sun, +puzzlingly close to the sky-line, sometimes above it and +sometimes below it. In one direction the sun was +proclaiming morning, in another direction it was proclaiming +afternoon. The sun was all right—we knew that; +therefore we were all wrong. And the rest of the afternoon +we spent in the cockpit reading up the matter in the books and +finding out what was wrong. We missed the observation that +day, but we didn’t the next. We had learned.</p> + +<p>And we learned well, better than for a while we thought we +had. At the beginning of the second dog-watch one evening, +Charmian and I sat down on the forecastle-head for a rubber of +cribbage. Chancing to glance ahead, I saw cloud-capped +mountains rising from the sea. We were rejoiced at the +sight of land, but I was in despair over our navigation. I +thought we had learned something, yet our position at noon, plus +what we had run since, did not put us within a hundred miles of +land. But there was the land, fading away before our eyes +in the fires of sunset. The land was all right. There +was no disputing it. Therefore our navigation was all +wrong. But it wasn’t. That land we saw was the +summit of Haleakala, the House of the Sun, the greatest extinct +volcano in the world. It towered ten thousand feet above +the sea, and it was all of a hundred miles away. We sailed +all night at a seven-knot clip, and in the morning the House of +the Sun was still before us, and it took a few more hours of +sailing to bring it abreast of us. “That island is +Maui,” we said, verifying by the chart. “That +next island sticking out is Molokai, where the lepers are. +And the island next to that is Oahu. There is Makapuu Head +now. We’ll be in Honolulu to-morrow. Our +navigation is all right.”</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap05"></a>CHAPTER V<br /> +<span class="GutSmall">THE FIRST LANDFALL</span></h2> + +<p>“<span class="smcap">It</span> will not be so monotonous +at sea,” I promised my fellow-voyagers on the +<i>Snark</i>. “The sea is filled with life. It +is so populous that every day something new is happening. +Almost as soon as we pass through the Golden Gate and head south +we’ll pick up with the flying fish. We’ll be +having them fried for breakfast. We’ll be catching +bonita and dolphin, and spearing porpoises from the +bowsprit. And then there are the sharks—sharks +without end.”</p> + +<p>We passed through the Golden Gate and headed south. We +dropped the mountains of California beneath the horizon, and +daily the surf grew warmer. But there were no flying fish, +no bonita and dolphin. The ocean was bereft of life. +Never had I sailed on so forsaken a sea. Always, before, in +the same latitudes, had I encountered flying fish.</p> + +<p>“Never mind,” I said. “Wait till we +get off the coast of Southern California. Then we’ll +pick up the flying fish.”</p> + +<p>We came abreast of Southern California, abreast of the +Peninsula of Lower California, abreast of the coast of Mexico; +and there were no flying fish. Nor was there anything +else. No life moved. As the days went by the absence +of life became almost uncanny.</p> + +<p>“Never mind,” I said. “When we do pick +up with the flying fish we’ll pick up with everything +else. The flying fish is the staff of life for all the +other breeds. Everything will come in a bunch when we find +the flying fish.”</p> + +<p>When I should have headed the <i>Snark</i> south-west for +Hawaii, I still held her south. I was going to find those +flying fish. Finally the time came when, if I wanted to go +to Honolulu, I should have headed the <i>Snark</i> due west, +instead of which I kept her south. Not until latitude +19° did we encounter the first flying fish. He was very +much alone. I saw him. Five other pairs of eager eyes +scanned the sea all day, but never saw another. So sparse +were the flying fish that nearly a week more elapsed before the +last one on board saw his first flying fish. As for the +dolphin, bonita, porpoise, and all the other hordes of +life—there weren’t any.</p> + +<p>Not even a shark broke surface with his ominous dorsal +fin. Bert took a dip daily under the bowsprit, hanging on +to the stays and dragging his body through the water. And +daily he canvassed the project of letting go and having a decent +swim. I did my best to dissuade him. But with him I +had lost all standing as an authority on sea life.</p> + +<p>“If there are sharks,” he demanded, “why +don’t they show up?”</p> + +<p>I assured him that if he really did let go and have a swim the +sharks would promptly appear. This was a bluff on my +part. I didn’t believe it. It lasted as a +deterrent for two days. The third day the wind fell calm, +and it was pretty hot. The <i>Snark</i> was moving a knot +an hour. Bert dropped down under the bowsprit and let +go. And now behold the perversity of things. We had +sailed across two thousand miles and more of ocean and had met +with no sharks. Within five minutes after Bert finished his +swim, the fin of a shark was cutting the surface in circles +around the <i>Snark</i>.</p> + +<p>There was something wrong about that shark. It bothered +me. It had no right to be there in that deserted +ocean. The more I thought about it, the more +incomprehensible it became. But two hours later we sighted +land and the mystery was cleared up. He had come to us from +the land, and not from the uninhabited deep. He had +presaged the landfall. He was the messenger of the +land.</p> + +<p>Twenty-seven days out from San Francisco we arrived at the +island of Oahu, Territory of Hawaii. In the early morning +we drifted around Diamond Head into full view of Honolulu; and +then the ocean burst suddenly into life. Flying fish +cleaved the air in glittering squadrons. In five minutes we +saw more of them than during the whole voyage. Other fish, +large ones, of various sorts, leaped into the air. There +was life everywhere, on sea and shore. We could see the +masts and funnels of the shipping in the harbour, the hotels and +bathers along the beach at Waikiki, the smoke rising from the +dwelling-houses high up on the volcanic slopes of the Punch Bowl +and Tantalus. The custom-house tug was racing toward us and +a big school of porpoises got under our bow and began cutting the +most ridiculous capers. The port doctor’s launch came +charging out at us, and a big sea turtle broke the surface with +his back and took a look at us. Never was there such a +burgeoning of life. Strange faces were on our decks, +strange voices were speaking, and copies of that very +morning’s newspaper, with cable reports from all the world, +were thrust before our eyes. Incidentally, we read that the +<i>Snark</i> and all hands had been lost at sea, and that she had +been a very unseaworthy craft anyway. And while we read +this information a wireless message was being received by the +congressional party on the summit of Haleakala announcing the +safe arrival of the <i>Snark</i>.</p> + +<p>It was the <i>Snark’s</i> first landfall—and such +a landfall! For twenty-seven days we had been on the +deserted deep, and it was pretty hard to realize that there was +so much life in the world. We were made dizzy by it. +We could not take it all in at once. We were like awakened +Rip Van Winkles, and it seemed to us that we were dreaming. +On one side the azure sea lapped across the horizon into the +azure sky; on the other side the sea lifted itself into great +breakers of emerald that fell in a snowy smother upon a white +coral beach. Beyond the beach, green plantations of +sugar-cane undulated gently upward to steeper slopes, which, in +turn, became jagged volcanic crests, drenched with tropic showers +and capped by stupendous masses of trade-wind clouds. At +any rate, it was a most beautiful dream. The <i>Snark</i> +turned and headed directly in toward the emerald surf, till it +lifted and thundered on either hand; and on either hand, scarce a +biscuit-toss away, the reef showed its long teeth, pale green and +menacing.</p> + +<p>Abruptly the land itself, in a riot of olive-greens of a +thousand hues, reached out its arms and folded the <i>Snark</i> +in. There was no perilous passage through the reef, no +emerald surf and azure sea—nothing but a warm soft land, a +motionless lagoon, and tiny beaches on which swam dark-skinned +tropic children. The sea had disappeared. The +<i>Snark’s</i> anchor rumbled the chain through the +hawse-pipe, and we lay without movement on a “lineless, +level floor.” It was all so beautiful and strange +that we could not accept it as real. On the chart this +place was called Pearl Harbour, but we called it Dream +Harbour.</p> + +<p>A launch came off to us; in it were members of the Hawaiian +Yacht Club, come to greet us and make us welcome, with true +Hawaiian hospitality, to all they had. They were ordinary +men, flesh and blood and all the rest; but they did not tend to +break our dreaming. Our last memories of men were of United +States marshals and of panicky little merchants with rusty +dollars for souls, who, in a reeking atmosphere of soot and +coal-dust, laid grimy hands upon the <i>Snark</i> and held her +back from her world adventure. But these men who came to +meet us were clean men. A healthy tan was on their cheeks, +and their eyes were not dazzled and bespectacled from gazing +overmuch at glittering dollar-heaps. No, they merely +verified the dream. They clinched it with their unsmirched +souls.</p> + +<p>So we went ashore with them across a level flashing sea to the +wonderful green land. We landed on a tiny wharf, and the +dream became more insistent; for know that for twenty-seven days +we had been rocking across the ocean on the tiny +<i>Snark</i>. Not once in all those twenty-seven days had +we known a moment’s rest, a moment’s cessation from +movement. This ceaseless movement had become +ingrained. Body and brain we had rocked and rolled so long +that when we climbed out on the tiny wharf kept on rocking and +rolling. This, naturally, we attributed to the wharf. +It was projected psychology. I spraddled along the wharf +and nearly fell into the water. I glanced at Charmian, and +the way she walked made me sad. The wharf had all the +seeming of a ship’s deck. It lifted, tilted, heaved +and sank; and since there were no handrails on it, it kept +Charmian and me busy avoiding falling in. I never saw such +a preposterous little wharf. Whenever I watched it closely, +it refused to roll; but as soon as I took my attention off from +it, away it went, just like the <i>Snark</i>. Once, I +caught it in the act, just as it upended, and I looked down the +length of it for two hundred feet, and for all the world it was +like the deck of a ship ducking into a huge head-sea.</p> + +<p>At last, however, supported by our hosts, we negotiated the +wharf and gained the land. But the land was no +better. The very first thing it did was to tilt up on one +side, and far as the eye could see I watched it tilt, clear to +its jagged, volcanic backbone, and I saw the clouds above tilt, +too. This was no stable, firm-founded land, else it would +not cut such capers. It was like all the rest of our +landfall, unreal. It was a dream. At any moment, like +shifting vapour, it might dissolve away. The thought +entered my head that perhaps it was my fault, that my head was +swimming or that something I had eaten had disagreed with +me. But I glanced at Charmian and her sad walk, and even as +I glanced I saw her stagger and bump into the yachtsman by whose +side she walked. I spoke to her, and she complained about +the antic behaviour of the land.</p> + +<p>We walked across a spacious, wonderful lawn and down an avenue +of royal palms, and across more wonderful lawn in the gracious +shade of stately trees. The air was filled with the songs +of birds and was heavy with rich warm fragrances—wafture +from great lilies, and blazing blossoms of hibiscus, and other +strange gorgeous tropic flowers. The dream was becoming +almost impossibly beautiful to us who for so long had seen naught +but the restless, salty sea. Charmian reached out her hand +and clung to me—for support against the ineffable beauty of +it, thought I. But no. As I supported her I braced my +legs, while the flowers and lawns reeled and swung around +me. It was like an earthquake, only it quickly passed +without doing any harm. It was fairly difficult to catch +the land playing these tricks. As long as I kept my mind on +it, nothing happened. But as soon as my attention was +distracted, away it went, the whole panorama, swinging and +heaving and tilting at all sorts of angles. Once, however, +I turned my head suddenly and caught that stately line of royal +palms swinging in a great arc across the sky. But it +stopped, just as soon as I caught it, and became a placid dream +again.</p> + +<p>Next we came to a house of coolness, with great sweeping +veranda, where lotus-eaters might dwell. Windows and doors +were wide open to the breeze, and the songs and fragrances blew +lazily in and out. The walls were hung with +tapa-cloths. Couches with grass-woven covers invited +everywhere, and there was a grand piano, that played, I was sure, +nothing more exciting than lullabies. +Servants—Japanese maids in native costume—drifted +around and about, noiselessly, like butterflies. Everything +was preternaturally cool. Here was no blazing down of a +tropic sun upon an unshrinking sea. It was too good to be +true. But it was not real. It was a +dream-dwelling. I knew, for I turned suddenly and caught +the grand piano cavorting in a spacious corner of the room. +I did not say anything, for just then we were being received by a +gracious woman, a beautiful Madonna, clad in flowing white and +shod with sandals, who greeted us as though she had known us +always.</p> + +<p>We sat at table on the lotus-eating veranda, served by the +butterfly maids, and ate strange foods and partook of a nectar +called poi. But the dream threatened to dissolve. It +shimmered and trembled like an iridescent bubble about to +break. I was just glancing out at the green grass and +stately trees and blossoms of hibiscus, when suddenly I felt the +table move. The table, and the Madonna across from me, and +the veranda of the lotus-eaters, the scarlet hibiscus, the +greensward and the trees—all lifted and tilted before my +eyes, and heaved and sank down into the trough of a monstrous +sea. I gripped my chair convulsively and held on. I +had a feeling that I was holding on to the dream as well as the +chair. I should not have been surprised had the sea rushed +in and drowned all that fairyland and had I found myself at the +wheel of the <i>Snark</i> just looking up casually from the study +of logarithms. But the dream persisted. I looked +covertly at the Madonna and her husband. They evidenced no +perturbation. The dishes had not moved upon the +table. The hibiscus and trees and grass were still +there. Nothing had changed. I partook of more nectar, +and the dream was more real than ever.</p> + +<p>“Will you have some iced tea?” asked the Madonna; +and then her side of the table sank down gently and I said yes to +her at an angle of forty-five degrees.</p> + +<p>“Speaking of sharks,” said her husband, “up +at Niihau there was a man—” And at that moment +the table lifted and heaved, and I gazed upward at him at an +angle of forty-five degrees.</p> + +<p>So the luncheon went on, and I was glad that I did not have to +bear the affliction of watching Charmian walk. Suddenly, +however, a mysterious word of fear broke from the lips of the +lotus-eaters. “Ah, ah,” thought I, “now +the dream goes glimmering.” I clutched the chair +desperately, resolved to drag back to the reality of the +<i>Snark</i> some tangible vestige of this lotus land. I +felt the whole dream lurching and pulling to be gone. Just +then the mysterious word of fear was repeated. It sounded +like <i>Reporters</i>. I looked and saw three of them +coming across the lawn. Oh, blessed reporters! Then +the dream was indisputably real after all. I glanced out +across the shining water and saw the <i>Snark</i> at anchor, and +I remembered that I had sailed in her from San Francisco to +Hawaii, and that this was Pearl Harbour, and that even then I was +acknowledging introductions and saying, in reply to the first +question, “Yes, we had delightful weather all the way +down.”</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap06"></a>CHAPTER VI<br /> +<span class="GutSmall">A ROYAL SPORT</span></h2> + +<p><span class="smcap">That</span> is what it is, a royal sport +for the natural kings of earth. The grass grows right down +to the water at Waikiki Beach, and within fifty feet of the +everlasting sea. The trees also grow down to the salty edge +of things, and one sits in their shade and looks seaward at a +majestic surf thundering in on the beach to one’s very +feet. Half a mile out, where is the reef, the white-headed +combers thrust suddenly skyward out of the placid turquoise-blue +and come rolling in to shore. One after another they come, +a mile long, with smoking crests, the white battalions of the +infinite army of the sea. And one sits and listens to the +perpetual roar, and watches the unending procession, and feels +tiny and fragile before this tremendous force expressing itself +in fury and foam and sound. Indeed, one feels +microscopically small, and the thought that one may wrestle with +this sea raises in one’s imagination a thrill of +apprehension, almost of fear. Why, they are a mile long, +these bull-mouthed monsters, and they weigh a thousand tons, and +they charge in to shore faster than a man can run. What +chance? No chance at all, is the verdict of the shrinking +ego; and one sits, and looks, and listens, and thinks the grass +and the shade are a pretty good place in which to be.</p> + +<p>And suddenly, out there where a big smoker lifts skyward, +rising like a sea-god from out of the welter of spume and +churning white, on the giddy, toppling, overhanging and +downfalling, precarious crest appears the dark head of a +man. Swiftly he rises through the rushing white. His +black shoulders, his chest, his loins, his limbs—all is +abruptly projected on one’s vision. Where but the +moment before was only the wide desolation and invincible roar, +is now a man, erect, full-statured, not struggling frantically in +that wild movement, not buried and crushed and buffeted by those +mighty monsters, but standing above them all, calm and superb, +poised on the giddy summit, his feet buried in the churning foam, +the salt smoke rising to his knees, and all the rest of him in +the free air and flashing sunlight, and he is flying through the +air, flying forward, flying fast as the surge on which he +stands. He is a Mercury—a brown Mercury. His +heels are winged, and in them is the swiftness of the sea. +In truth, from out of the sea he has leaped upon the back of the +sea, and he is riding the sea that roars and bellows and cannot +shake him from its back. But no frantic outreaching and +balancing is his. He is impassive, motionless as a statue +carved suddenly by some miracle out of the sea’s depth from +which he rose. And straight on toward shore he flies on his +winged heels and the white crest of the breaker. There is a +wild burst of foam, a long tumultuous rushing sound as the +breaker falls futile and spent on the beach at your feet; and +there, at your feet steps calmly ashore a Kanaka, burnt, golden +and brown by the tropic sun. Several minutes ago he was a +speck a quarter of a mile away. He has “bitted the +bull-mouthed breaker” and ridden it in, and the pride in +the feat shows in the carriage of his magnificent body as he +glances for a moment carelessly at you who sit in the shade of +the shore. He is a Kanaka—and more, he is a man, a +member of the kingly species that has mastered matter and the +brutes and lorded it over creation.</p> + +<p>And one sits and thinks of Tristram’s last wrestle with +the sea on that fatal morning; and one thinks further, to the +fact that that Kanaka has done what Tristram never did, and that +he knows a joy of the sea that Tristram never knew. And +still further one thinks. It is all very well, sitting here +in cool shade of the beach, but you are a man, one of the kingly +species, and what that Kanaka can do, you can do yourself. +Go to. Strip off your clothes that are a nuisance in this +mellow clime. Get in and wrestle with the sea; wing your +heels with the skill and power that reside in you; bit the +sea’s breakers, master them, and ride upon their backs as a +king should.</p> + +<p>And that is how it came about that I tackled +surf-riding. And now that I have tackled it, more than ever +do I hold it to be a royal sport. But first let me explain +the physics of it. A wave is a communicated +agitation. The water that composes the body of a wave does +not move. If it did, when a stone is thrown into a pond and +the ripples spread away in an ever widening circle, there would +appear at the centre an ever increasing hole. No, the water +that composes the body of a wave is stationary. Thus, you +may watch a particular portion of the ocean’s surface and +you will see the same water rise and fall a thousand times to the +agitation communicated by a thousand successive waves. Now +imagine this communicated agitation moving shoreward. As +the bottom shoals, the lower portion of the wave strikes land +first and is stopped. But water is fluid, and the upper +portion has not struck anything, wherefore it keeps on +communicating its agitation, keeps on going. And when the +top of the wave keeps on going, while the bottom of it lags +behind, something is bound to happen. The bottom of the +wave drops out from under and the top of the wave falls over, +forward, and down, curling and cresting and roaring as it does +so. It is the bottom of a wave striking against the top of +the land that is the cause of all surfs.</p> + +<p>But the transformation from a smooth undulation to a breaker +is not abrupt except where the bottom shoals abruptly. Say +the bottom shoals gradually for from quarter of a mile to a mile, +then an equal distance will be occupied by the +transformation. Such a bottom is that off the beach of +Waikiki, and it produces a splendid surf-riding surf. One +leaps upon the back of a breaker just as it begins to break, and +stays on it as it continues to break all the way in to shore.</p> + +<p>And now to the particular physics of surf-riding. Get +out on a flat board, six feet long, two feet wide, and roughly +oval in shape. Lie down upon it like a small boy on a +coaster and paddle with your hands out to deep water, where the +waves begin to crest. Lie out there quietly on the +board. Sea after sea breaks before, behind, and under and +over you, and rushes in to shore, leaving you behind. When +a wave crests, it gets steeper. Imagine yourself, on your +hoard, on the face of that steep slope. If it stood still, +you would slide down just as a boy slides down a hill on his +coaster. “But,” you object, “the wave +doesn’t stand still.” Very true, but the water +composing the wave stands still, and there you have the +secret. If ever you start sliding down the face of that +wave, you’ll keep on sliding and you’ll never reach +the bottom. Please don’t laugh. The face of +that wave may be only six feet, yet you can slide down it a +quarter of a mile, or half a mile, and not reach the +bottom. For, see, since a wave is only a communicated +agitation or impetus, and since the water that composes a wave is +changing every instant, new water is rising into the wave as fast +as the wave travels. You slide down this new water, and yet +remain in your old position on the wave, sliding down the still +newer water that is rising and forming the wave. You slide +precisely as fast as the wave travels. If it travels +fifteen miles an hour, you slide fifteen miles an hour. +Between you and shore stretches a quarter of mile of water. +As the wave travels, this water obligingly heaps itself into the +wave, gravity does the rest, and down you go, sliding the whole +length of it. If you still cherish the notion, while +sliding, that the water is moving with you, thrust your arms into +it and attempt to paddle; you will find that you have to be +remarkably quick to get a stroke, for that water is dropping +astern just as fast as you are rushing ahead.</p> + +<p>And now for another phase of the physics of surf-riding. +All rules have their exceptions. It is true that the water +in a wave does not travel forward. But there is what may be +called the send of the sea. The water in the overtoppling +crest does move forward, as you will speedily realize if you are +slapped in the face by it, or if you are caught under it and are +pounded by one mighty blow down under the surface panting and +gasping for half a minute. The water in the top of a wave +rests upon the water in the bottom of the wave. But when +the bottom of the wave strikes the land, it stops, while the top +goes on. It no longer has the bottom of the wave to hold it +up. Where was solid water beneath it, is now air, and for +the first time it feels the grip of gravity, and down it falls, +at the same time being torn asunder from the lagging bottom of +the wave and flung forward. And it is because of this that +riding a surf-board is something more than a mere placid sliding +down a hill. In truth, one is caught up and hurled +shoreward as by some Titan’s hand.</p> + +<p>I deserted the cool shade, put on a swimming suit, and got +hold of a surf-board. It was too small a board. But I +didn’t know, and nobody told me. I joined some little +Kanaka boys in shallow water, where the breakers were well spent +and small—a regular kindergarten school. I watched +the little Kanaka boys. When a likely-looking breaker came +along, they flopped upon their stomachs on their boards, kicked +like mad with their feet, and rode the breaker in to the +beach. I tried to emulate them. I watched them, tried +to do everything that they did, and failed utterly. The +breaker swept past, and I was not on it. I tried again and +again. I kicked twice as madly as they did, and +failed. Half a dozen would be around. We would all +leap on our boards in front of a good breaker. Away our +feet would churn like the stern-wheels of river steamboats, and +away the little rascals would scoot while I remained in disgrace +behind.</p> + +<p>I tried for a solid hour, and not one wave could I persuade to +boost me shoreward. And then arrived a friend, Alexander +Hume Ford, a globe trotter by profession, bent ever on the +pursuit of sensation. And he had found it at Waikiki. +Heading for Australia, he had stopped off for a week to find out +if there were any thrills in surf-riding, and he had become +wedded to it. He had been at it every day for a month and +could not yet see any symptoms of the fascination lessening on +him. He spoke with authority.</p> + +<p>“Get off that board,” he said. “Chuck +it away at once. Look at the way you’re trying to +ride it. If ever the nose of that board hits bottom, +you’ll be disembowelled. Here, take my board. +It’s a man’s size.”</p> + +<p>I am always humble when confronted by knowledge. Ford +knew. He showed me how properly to mount his board. +Then he waited for a good breaker, gave me a shove at the right +moment, and started me in. Ah, delicious moment when I felt +that breaker grip and fling me.</p> + +<p>On I dashed, a hundred and fifty feet, and subsided with the +breaker on the sand. From that moment I was lost. I +waded back to Ford with his board. It was a large one, +several inches thick, and weighed all of seventy-five +pounds. He gave me advice, much of it. He had had no +one to teach him, and all that he had laboriously learned in +several weeks he communicated to me in half an hour. I +really learned by proxy. And inside of half an hour I was +able to start myself and ride in. I did it time after time, +and Ford applauded and advised. For instance, he told me to +get just so far forward on the board and no farther. But I +must have got some farther, for as I came charging in to land, +that miserable board poked its nose down to bottom, stopped +abruptly, and turned a somersault, at the same time violently +severing our relations. I was tossed through the air like a +chip and buried ignominiously under the downfalling +breaker. And I realized that if it hadn’t been for +Ford, I’d have been disembowelled. That particular +risk is part of the sport, Ford says. Maybe he’ll +have it happen to him before he leaves Waikiki, and then, I feel +confident, his yearning for sensation will be satisfied for a +time.</p> + +<p>When all is said and done, it is my steadfast belief that +homicide is worse than suicide, especially if, in the former +case, it is a woman. Ford saved me from being a +homicide. “Imagine your legs are a rudder,” he +said. “Hold them close together, and steer with +them.” A few minutes later I came charging in on a +comber. As I neared the beach, there, in the water, up to +her waist, dead in front of me, appeared a woman. How was I +to stop that comber on whose back I was? It looked like a +dead woman. The board weighed seventy-five pounds, I +weighed a hundred and sixty-five. The added weight had a +velocity of fifteen miles per hour. The board and I +constituted a projectile. I leave it to the physicists to +figure out the force of the impact upon that poor, tender +woman. And then I remembered my guardian angel, Ford. +“Steer with your legs!” rang through my brain. +I steered with my legs, I steered sharply, abruptly, with all my +legs and with all my might. The board sheered around +broadside on the crest. Many things happened +simultaneously. The wave gave me a passing buffet, a light +tap as the taps of waves go, but a tap sufficient to knock me off +the board and smash me down through the rushing water to bottom, +with which I came in violent collision and upon which I was +rolled over and over. I got my head out for a breath of air +and then gained my feet. There stood the woman before +me. I felt like a hero. I had saved her life. +And she laughed at me. It was not hysteria. She had +never dreamed of her danger. Anyway, I solaced myself, it +was not I but Ford that saved her, and I didn’t have to +feel like a hero. And besides, that leg-steering was +great. In a few minutes more of practice I was able to +thread my way in and out past several bathers and to remain on +top my breaker instead of going under it.</p> + +<p>“To-morrow,” Ford said, “I am going to take +you out into the blue water.”</p> + +<p>I looked seaward where he pointed, and saw the great smoking +combers that made the breakers I had been riding look like +ripples. I don’t know what I might have said had I +not recollected just then that I was one of a kingly +species. So all that I did say was, “All right, +I’ll tackle them to-morrow.”</p> + +<p>The water that rolls in on Waikiki Beach is just the same as +the water that laves the shores of all the Hawaiian Islands; and +in ways, especially from the swimmer’s standpoint, it is +wonderful water. It is cool enough to be comfortable, while +it is warm enough to permit a swimmer to stay in all day without +experiencing a chill. Under the sun or the stars, at high +noon or at midnight, in midwinter or in midsummer, it does not +matter when, it is always the same temperature—not too +warm, not too cold, just right. It is wonderful water, salt +as old ocean itself, pure and crystal-clear. When the +nature of the water is considered, it is not so remarkable after +all that the Kanakas are one of the most expert of swimming +races.</p> + +<p>So it was, next morning, when Ford came along, that I plunged +into the wonderful water for a swim of indeterminate +length. Astride of our surf-boards, or, rather, flat down +upon them on our stomachs, we paddled out through the +kindergarten where the little Kanaka boys were at play. +Soon we were out in deep water where the big smokers came roaring +in. The mere struggle with them, facing them and paddling +seaward over them and through them, was sport enough in +itself. One had to have his wits about him, for it was a +battle in which mighty blows were struck, on one side, and in +which cunning was used on the other side—a struggle between +insensate force and intelligence. I soon learned a +bit. When a breaker curled over my head, for a swift +instant I could see the light of day through its emerald body; +then down would go my head, and I would clutch the board with all +my strength. Then would come the blow, and to the onlooker +on shore I would be blotted out. In reality the board and I +have passed through the crest and emerged in the respite of the +other side. I should not recommend those smashing blows to +an invalid or delicate person. There is weight behind them, +and the impact of the driven water is like a sandblast. +Sometimes one passes through half a dozen combers in quick +succession, and it is just about that time that he is liable to +discover new merits in the stable land and new reasons for being +on shore.</p> + +<p>Out there in the midst of such a succession of big smoky ones, +a third man was added to our party, one Freeth. Shaking the +water from my eyes as I emerged from one wave and peered ahead to +see what the next one looked like, I saw him tearing in on the +back of it, standing upright on his board, carelessly poised, a +young god bronzed with sunburn. We went through the wave on +the back of which he rode. Ford called to him. He +turned an airspring from his wave, rescued his board from its +maw, paddled over to us and joined Ford in showing me +things. One thing in particular I learned from Freeth, +namely, how to encounter the occasional breaker of exceptional +size that rolled in. Such breakers were really ferocious, +and it was unsafe to meet them on top of the board. But +Freeth showed me, so that whenever I saw one of that calibre +rolling down on me, I slid off the rear end of the board and +dropped down beneath the surface, my arms over my head and +holding the board. Thus, if the wave ripped the board out +of my hands and tried to strike me with it (a common trick of +such waves), there would be a cushion of water a foot or more in +depth, between my head and the blow. When the wave passed, +I climbed upon the board and paddled on. Many men have been +terribly injured, I learn, by being struck by their boards.</p> + +<p>The whole method of surf-riding and surf-fighting, learned, is +one of non-resistance. Dodge the blow that is struck at +you. Dive through the wave that is trying to slap you in +the face. Sink down, feet first, deep under the surface, +and let the big smoker that is trying to smash you go by far +overhead. Never be rigid. Relax. Yield yourself +to the waters that are ripping and tearing at you. When the +undertow catches you and drags you seaward along the bottom, +don’t struggle against it. If you do, you are liable +to be drowned, for it is stronger than you. Yield yourself +to that undertow. Swim with it, not against it, and you +will find the pressure removed. And, swimming with it, +fooling it so that it does not hold you, swim upward at the same +time. It will be no trouble at all to reach the +surface.</p> + +<p>The man who wants to learn surf-riding must be a strong +swimmer, and he must be used to going under the water. +After that, fair strength and common-sense are all that is +required. The force of the big comber is rather +unexpected. There are mix-ups in which board and rider are +torn apart and separated by several hundred feet. The +surf-rider must take care of himself. No matter how many +riders swim out with him, he cannot depend upon any of them for +aid. The fancied security I had in the presence of Ford and +Freeth made me forget that it was my first swim out in deep water +among the big ones. I recollected, however, and rather +suddenly, for a big wave came in, and away went the two men on +its back all the way to shore. I could have been drowned a +dozen different ways before they got back to me.</p> + +<p>One slides down the face of a breaker on his surf-board, but +he has to get started to sliding. Board and rider must be +moving shoreward at a good rate before the wave overtakes +them. When you see the wave coming that you want to ride +in, you turn tail to it and paddle shoreward with all your +strength, using what is called the windmill stroke. This is +a sort of spurt performed immediately in front of the wave. +If the board is going fast enough, the wave accelerates it, and +the board begins its quarter-of-a-mile slide.</p> + +<p>I shall never forget the first big wave I caught out there in +the deep water. I saw it coming, turned my back on it and +paddled for dear life. Faster and faster my board went, +till it seemed my arms would drop off. What was happening +behind me I could not tell. One cannot look behind and +paddle the windmill stroke. I heard the crest of the wave +hissing and churning, and then my board was lifted and flung +forward. I scarcely knew what happened the first +half-minute. Though I kept my eyes open, I could not see +anything, for I was buried in the rushing white of the +crest. But I did not mind. I was chiefly conscious of +ecstatic bliss at having caught the wave. At the end of +the half-minute, however, I began to see things, and to +breathe. I saw that three feet of the nose of my board was +clear out of water and riding on the air. I shifted my +weight forward, and made the nose come down. Then I lay, +quite at rest in the midst of the wild movement, and watched the +shore and the bathers on the beach grow distinct. I +didn’t cover quite a quarter of a mile on that wave, +because, to prevent the board from diving, I shifted my weight +back, but shifted it too far and fell down the rear slope of the +wave.</p> + +<p>It was my second day at surf-riding, and I was quite proud of +myself. I stayed out there four hours, and when it was +over, I was resolved that on the morrow I’d come in +standing up. But that resolution paved a distant +place. On the morrow I was in bed. I was not sick, +but I was very unhappy, and I was in bed. When describing +the wonderful water of Hawaii I forgot to describe the wonderful +sun of Hawaii. It is a tropic sun, and, furthermore, in the +first part of June, it is an overhead sun. It is also an +insidious, deceitful sun. For the first time in my life I +was sunburned unawares. My arms, shoulders, and back had +been burned many times in the past and were tough; but not so my +legs. And for four hours I had exposed the tender backs of +my legs, at right-angles, to that perpendicular Hawaiian +sun. It was not until after I got ashore that I discovered +the sun had touched me. Sunburn at first is merely warm; +after that it grows intense and the blisters come out. +Also, the joints, where the skin wrinkles, refuse to bend. +That is why I spent the next day in bed. I couldn’t +walk. And that is why, to-day, I am writing this in +bed. It is easier to than not to. But to-morrow, ah, +to-morrow, I shall be out in that wonderful water, and I shall +come in standing up, even as Ford and Freeth. And if I fail +to-morrow, I shall do it the next day, or the next. Upon +one thing I am resolved: the <i>Snark</i> shall not sail from +Honolulu until I, too, wing my heels with the swiftness of the +sea, and become a sun-burned, skin-peeling Mercury.</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap07"></a>CHAPTER VII<br /> +<span class="GutSmall">THE LEPERS OF MOLOKAI</span></h2> + +<p><span class="smcap">When</span> the <i>Snark</i> sailed along +the windward coast of Molokai, on her way to Honolulu, I looked +at the chart, then pointed to a low-lying peninsula backed by a +tremendous cliff varying from two to four thousand feet in +height, and said: “The pit of hell, the most cursed place +on earth.” I should have been shocked, if, at that +moment, I could have caught a vision of myself a month later, +ashore in the most cursed place on earth and having a +disgracefully good time along with eight hundred of the lepers +who were likewise having a good time. Their good time was +not disgraceful; but mine was, for in the midst of so much misery +it was not meet for me to have a good time. That is the way +I felt about it, and my only excuse is that I couldn’t help +having a good time.</p> + +<p>For instance, in the afternoon of the Fourth of July all the +lepers gathered at the race-track for the sports. I had +wandered away from the Superintendent and the physicians in order +to get a snapshot of the finish of one of the races. It was +an interesting race, and partisanship ran high. Three +horses were entered, one ridden by a Chinese, one by an Hawaiian, +and one by a Portuguese boy. All three riders were lepers; +so were the judges and the crowd. The race was twice around +the track. The Chinese and the Hawaiian got away together +and rode neck and neck, the Portuguese boy toiling along two +hundred feet behind. Around they went in the same +positions. Halfway around on the second and final lap the +Chinese pulled away and got one length ahead of the +Hawaiian. At the same time the Portuguese boy was beginning +to crawl up. But it looked hopeless. The crowd went +wild. All the lepers were passionate lovers of +horseflesh. The Portuguese boy crawled nearer and +nearer. I went wild, too. They were on the home +stretch. The Portuguese boy passed the Hawaiian. +There was a thunder of hoofs, a rush of the three horses bunched +together, the jockeys plying their whips, and every last onlooker +bursting his throat, or hers, with shouts and yells. +Nearer, nearer, inch by inch, the Portuguese boy crept up, and +passed, yes, passed, winning by a head from the Chinese. I +came to myself in a group of lepers. They were yelling, +tossing their hats, and dancing around like fiends. So was +I. When I came to I was waving my hat and murmuring +ecstatically: “By golly, the boy wins! The boy +wins!”</p> + +<p>I tried to check myself. I assured myself that I was +witnessing one of the horrors of Molokai, and that it was +shameful for me, under such circumstances, to be so light-hearted +and light-headed. But it was no use. The next event +was a donkey-race, and it was just starting; so was the +fun. The last donkey in was to win the race, and what +complicated the affair was that no rider rode his own +donkey. They rode one another’s donkeys, the result +of which was that each man strove to make the donkey he rode beat +his own donkey ridden by some one else, Naturally, only men +possessing very slow or extremely obstreperous donkeys had +entered them for the race. One donkey had been trained to +tuck in its legs and lie down whenever its rider touched its +sides with his heels. Some donkeys strove to turn around +and come back; others developed a penchant for the side of the +track, where they stuck their heads over the railing and stopped; +while all of them dawdled. Halfway around the track one +donkey got into an argument with its rider. When all the +rest of the donkeys had crossed the wire, that particular donkey +was still arguing. He won the race, though his rider lost +it and came in on foot. And all the while nearly a thousand +lepers were laughing uproariously at the fun. Anybody in my +place would have joined with them in having a good time.</p> + +<p>All the foregoing is by way of preamble to the statement that +the horrors of Molokai, as they have been painted in the past, do +not exist. The Settlement has been written up repeatedly by +sensationalists, and usually by sensationalists who have never +laid eyes on it. Of course, leprosy is leprosy, and it is a +terrible thing; but so much that is lurid has been written about +Molokai that neither the lepers, nor those who devote their lives +to them, have received a fair deal. Here is a case in +point. A newspaper writer, who, of course, had never been +near the Settlement, vividly described Superintendent McVeigh, +crouching in a grass hut and being besieged nightly by starving +lepers on their knees, wailing for food. This hair-raising +account was copied by the press all over the United States and +was the cause of many indignant and protesting editorials. +Well, I lived and slept for five days in Mr. McVeigh’s +“grass hut” (which was a comfortable wooden cottage, +by the way; and there isn’t a grass house in the whole +Settlement), and I heard the lepers wailing for food—only +the wailing was peculiarly harmonious and rhythmic, and it was +accompanied by the music of stringed instruments, violins, +guitars, <i>ukuleles</i>, and banjos. Also, the wailing was +of various sorts. The leper brass band wailed, and two +singing societies wailed, and lastly a quintet of excellent +voices wailed. So much for a lie that should never have +been printed. The wailing was the serenade which the glee +clubs always give Mr. McVeigh when he returns from a trip to +Honolulu.</p> + +<p>Leprosy is not so contagious as is imagined. I went for +a week’s visit to the Settlement, and I took my wife +along—all of which would not have happened had we had any +apprehension of contracting the disease. Nor did we wear +long, gauntleted gloves and keep apart from the lepers. On +the contrary, we mingled freely with them, and before we left, +knew scores of them by sight and name. The precautions of +simple cleanliness seem to be all that is necessary. On +returning to their own houses, after having been among and +handling lepers, the non-lepers, such as the physicians and the +superintendent, merely wash their faces and hands with mildly +antiseptic soap and change their coats.</p> + +<p>That a leper is unclean, however, should be insisted upon; and +the segregation of lepers, from what little is known of the +disease, should be rigidly maintained. On the other hand, +the awful horror with which the leper has been regarded in the +past, and the frightful treatment he has received, have been +unnecessary and cruel. In order to dispel some of the +popular misapprehensions of leprosy, I want to tell something of +the relations between the lepers and non-lepers as I observed +them at Molokai. On the morning after our arrival Charmian +and I attended a shoot of the Kalaupapa Rifle Club, and caught +our first glimpse of the democracy of affliction and alleviation +that obtains. The club was just beginning a prize shoot for +a cup put up by Mr. McVeigh, who is also a member of the club, as +also are Dr. Goodhue and Dr. Hollmann, the resident physicians +(who, by the way, live in the Settlement with their wives). +All about us, in the shooting booth, were the lepers. +Lepers and non-lepers were using the same guns, and all were +rubbing shoulders in the confined space. The majority of +the lepers were Hawaiians. Sitting beside me on a bench was +a Norwegian. Directly in front of me, in the stand, was an +American, a veteran of the Civil War, who had fought on the +Confederate side. He was sixty-five years of age, but that +did not prevent him from running up a good score. Strapping +Hawaiian policemen, lepers, khaki-clad, were also shooting, as +were Portuguese, Chinese, and kokuas—the latter are native +helpers in the Settlement who are non-lepers. And on the +afternoon that Charmian and I climbed the two-thousand-foot +<i>pali</i> and looked our last upon the Settlement, the +superintendent, the doctors, and the mixture of nationalities and +of diseased and non-diseased were all engaged in an exciting +baseball game.</p> + +<p>Not so was the leper and his greatly misunderstood and feared +disease treated during the middle ages in Europe. At that +time the leper was considered legally and politically dead. +He was placed in a funeral procession and led to the church, +where the burial service was read over him by the officiating +clergyman. Then a spadeful of earth was dropped upon his +chest and he was dead-living dead. While this rigorous +treatment was largely unnecessary, nevertheless, one thing was +learned by it. Leprosy was unknown in Europe until it was +introduced by the returning Crusaders, whereupon it spread slowly +until it had seized upon large numbers of the people. +Obviously, it was a disease that could be contracted by +contact. It was a contagion, and it was equally obvious +that it could be eradicated by segregation. Terrible and +monstrous as was the treatment of the leper in those days, the +great lesson of segregation was learned. By its means +leprosy was stamped out.</p> + +<p>And by the same means leprosy is even now decreasing in the +Hawaiian Islands. But the segregation of the lepers on +Molokai is not the horrible nightmare that has been so often +exploited by <i>yellow</i> writers. In the first place, the +leper is not torn ruthlessly from his family. When a +suspect is discovered, he is invited by the Board of Health to +come to the Kalihi receiving station at Honolulu. His fare +and all expenses are paid for him. He is first passed upon +by microscopical examination by the bacteriologist of the Board +of Health. If the <i>bacillus lepræ</i> is found, the +patient is examined by the Board of Examining Physicians, five in +number. If found by them to be a leper, he is so declared, +which finding is later officially confirmed by the Board of +Health, and the leper is ordered straight to Molokai. +Furthermore, during the thorough trial that is given his case, +the patient has the right to be represented by a physician whom +he can select and employ for himself. Nor, after having +been declared a leper, is the patient immediately rushed off to +Molokai. He is given ample time, weeks, and even months, +sometimes, during which he stays at Kalihi and winds up or +arranges all his business affairs. At Molokai, in turn, he +may be visited by his relatives, business agents, etc., though +they are not permitted to eat and sleep in his house. +Visitors’ houses, kept “clean,” are maintained +for this purpose.</p> + +<p>I saw an illustration of the thorough trial given the suspect, +when I visited Kalihi with Mr. Pinkham, president of the Board of +Health. The suspect was an Hawaiian, seventy years of age, +who for thirty-four years had worked in Honolulu as a pressman in +a printing office. The bacteriologist had decided that he +was a leper, the Examining Board had been unable to make up its +mind, and that day all had come out to Kalihi to make another +examination.</p> + +<p>When at Molokai, the declared leper has the privilege of +re-examination, and patients are continually coming back to +Honolulu for that purpose. The steamer that took me to +Molokai had on board two returning lepers, both young women, one +of whom had come to Honolulu to settle up some property she +owned, and the other had come to Honolulu to see her sick +mother. Both had remained at Kalihi for a month.</p> + +<p>The Settlement of Molokai enjoys a far more delightful climate +than even Honolulu, being situated on the windward side of the +island in the path of the fresh north-east trades. The +scenery is magnificent; on one side is the blue sea, on the other +the wonderful wall of the <i>pali</i>, receding here and there +into beautiful mountain valleys. Everywhere are grassy +pastures over which roam the hundreds of horses which are owned +by the lepers. Some of them have their own carts, rigs, and +traps. In the little harbour of Kalaupapa lie fishing boats +and a steam launch, all of which are privately owned and operated +by lepers. Their bounds upon the sea are, of course, +determined: otherwise no restriction is put upon their +sea-faring. Their fish they sell to the Board of Health, +and the money they receive is their own. While I was there, +one night’s catch was four thousand pounds.</p> + +<p>And as these men fish, others farm. All trades are +followed. One leper, a pure Hawaiian, is the boss +painter. He employs eight men, and takes contracts for +painting buildings from the Board of Health. He is a member +of the Kalaupapa Rifle Club, where I met him, and I must confess +that he was far better dressed than I. Another man, +similarly situated, is the boss carpenter. Then, in +addition to the Board of Health store, there are little privately +owned stores, where those with shopkeeper’s souls may +exercise their peculiar instincts. The Assistant +Superintendent, Mr. Waiamau, a finely educated and able man, is a +pure Hawaiian and a leper. Mr. Bartlett, who is the present +storekeeper, is an American who was in business in Honolulu +before he was struck down by the disease. All that these +men earn is that much in their own pockets. If they do not +work, they are taken care of anyway by the territory, given food, +shelter, clothes, and medical attendance. The Board of +Health carries on agriculture, stock-raising, and dairying, for +local use, and employment at fair wages is furnished to all that +wish to work. They are not compelled to work, however, for +they are the wards of the territory. For the young, and the +very old, and the helpless there are homes and hospitals.</p> + +<p>Major Lee, an American and long a marine engineer for the +Inter Island Steamship Company, I met actively at work in the new +steam laundry, where he was busy installing the machinery. +I met him often, afterwards, and one day he said to me:</p> + +<p>“Give us a good breeze about how we live here. For +heaven’s sake write us up straight. Put your foot +down on this chamber-of-horrors rot and all the rest of it. +We don’t like being misrepresented. We’ve got +some feelings. Just tell the world how we really are in +here.”</p> + +<p>Man after man that I met in the Settlement, and woman after +woman, in one way or another expressed the same sentiment. +It was patent that they resented bitterly the sensational and +untruthful way in which they have been exploited in the past.</p> + +<p>In spite of the fact that they are afflicted by disease, the +lepers form a happy colony, divided into two villages and +numerous country and seaside homes, of nearly a thousand +souls. They have six churches, a Young Men’s +Christian Association building, several assembly halls, a band +stand, a race-track, baseball grounds, shooting ranges, an +athletic club, numerous glee clubs, and two brass bands.</p> + +<p>“They are so contented down there,” Mr. Pinkham +told me, “that you can’t drive them away with a +shot-gun.”</p> + +<p>This I later verified for myself. In January of this +year, eleven of the lepers, on whom the disease, after having +committed certain ravages, showed no further signs of activity, +were brought back to Honolulu for re-examination. They were +loath to come; and, on being asked whether or not they wanted to +go free if found clean of leprosy, one and all answered, +“Back to Molokai.”</p> + +<p>In the old days, before the discovery of the leprosy bacillus, +a small number of men and women, suffering from various and +wholly different diseases, were adjudged lepers and sent to +Molokai. Years afterward they suffered great consternation +when the bacteriologists declared that they were not afflicted +with leprosy and never had been. They fought against being +sent away from Molokai, and in one way or another, as helpers and +nurses, they got jobs from the Board of Health and +remained. The present jailer is one of these men. +Declared to be a non-leper, he accepted, on salary, the charge of +the jail, in order to escape being sent away.</p> + +<p>At the present moment, in Honolulu, there is a +bootblack. He is an American negro. Mr. McVeigh told +me about him. Long ago, before the bacteriological tests, +he was sent to Molokai as a leper. As a ward of the state +he developed a superlative degree of independence and fomented +much petty mischief. And then, one day, after having been +for years a perennial source of minor annoyances, the +bacteriological test was applied, and he was declared a +non-leper.</p> + +<p>“Ah, ha!” chortled Mr. McVeigh. “Now +I’ve got you! Out you go on the next steamer and good +riddance!”</p> + +<p>But the negro didn’t want to go. Immediately he +married an old woman, in the last stages of leprosy, and began +petitioning the Board of Health for permission to remain and +nurse his sick wife. There was no one, he said +pathetically, who could take care of his poor wife as well as he +could. But they saw through his game, and he was deported +on the steamer and given the freedom of the world. But he +preferred Molokai. Landing on the leeward side of Molokai, +he sneaked down the <i>pali</i> one night and took up his abode +in the Settlement. He was apprehended, tried and convicted +of trespass, sentenced to pay a small fine, and again deported on +the steamer with the warning that if he trespassed again, he +would be fined one hundred dollars and be sent to prison in +Honolulu. And now, when Mr. McVeigh comes up to Honolulu, +the bootblack shines his shoes for him and says:</p> + +<p>“Say, Boss, I lost a good home down there. Yes, +sir, I lost a good home.” Then his voice sinks to a +confidential whisper as he says, “Say, Boss, can’t I +go back? Can’t you fix it for me so as I can go +back?”</p> + +<p>He had lived nine years on Molokai, and he had had a better +time there than he has ever had, before and after, on the +outside.</p> + +<p>As regards the fear of leprosy itself, nowhere in the +Settlement among lepers, or non-lepers, did I see any sign of +it. The chief horror of leprosy obtains in the minds of +those who have never seen a leper and who do not know anything +about the disease. At the hotel at Waikiki a lady expressed +shuddering amazement at my having the hardihood to pay a visit to +the Settlement. On talking with her I learned that she had +been born in Honolulu, had lived there all her life, and had +never laid eyes on a leper. That was more than I could say +of myself in the United States, where the segregation of lepers +is loosely enforced and where I have repeatedly seen lepers on +the streets of large cities.</p> + +<p>Leprosy is terrible, there is no getting away from that; but +from what little I know of the disease and its degree of +contagiousness, I would by far prefer to spend the rest of my +days in Molokai than in any tuberculosis sanatorium. In +every city and county hospital for poor people in the United +States, or in similar institutions in other countries, sights as +terrible as those in Molokai can be witnessed, and the sum total +of these sights is vastly more terrible. For that matter, +if it were given me to choose between being compelled to live in +Molokai for the rest of my life, or in the East End of London, +the East Side of New York, or the Stockyards of Chicago, I would +select Molokai without debate. I would prefer one year of +life in Molokai to five years of life in the above-mentioned +cesspools of human degradation and misery.</p> + +<p>In Molokai the people are happy. I shall never forget +the celebration of the Fourth of July I witnessed there. At +six o’clock in the morning the “horribles” were +out, dressed fantastically, astride horses, mules, and donkeys +(their own property), and cutting capers all over the +Settlement. Two brass bands were out as well. Then +there were the <i>pa-u</i> riders, thirty or forty of them, +Hawaiian women all, superb horsewomen dressed gorgeously in the +old, native riding costume, and dashing about in twos and threes +and groups. In the afternoon Charmian and I stood in the +judge’s stand and awarded the prizes for horsemanship and +costume to the <i>pa-u</i> riders. All about were the +hundreds of lepers, with wreaths of flowers on heads and necks +and shoulders, looking on and making merry. And always, +over the brows of hills and across the grassy level stretches, +appearing and disappearing, were the groups of men and women, +gaily dressed, on galloping horses, horses and riders +flower-bedecked and flower-garlanded, singing, and laughing, and +riding like the wind. And as I stood in the judge’s +stand and looked at all this, there came to my recollection the +lazar house of Havana, where I had once beheld some two hundred +lepers, prisoners inside four restricted walls until they +died. No, there are a few thousand places I wot of in this +world over which I would select Molokai as a place of permanent +residence. In the evening we went to one of the leper +assembly halls, where, before a crowded audience, the singing +societies contested for prizes, and where the night wound up with +a dance. I have seen the Hawaiians living in the slums of +Honolulu, and, having seen them, I can readily understand why the +lepers, brought up from the Settlement for re-examination, +shouted one and all, “Back to Molokai!”</p> + +<p>One thing is certain. The leper in the Settlement is far +better off than the leper who lies in hiding outside. Such +a leper is a lonely outcast, living in constant fear of discovery +and slowly and surely rotting away. The action of leprosy +is not steady. It lays hold of its victim, commits a +ravage, and then lies dormant for an indeterminate period. +It may not commit another ravage for five years, or ten years, or +forty years, and the patient may enjoy uninterrupted good +health. Rarely, however, do these first ravages cease of +themselves. The skilled surgeon is required, and the +skilled surgeon cannot be called in for the leper who is in +hiding. For instance, the first ravage may take the form of +a perforating ulcer in the sole of the foot. When the bone +is reached, necrosis sets in. If the leper is in hiding, he +cannot be operated upon, the necrosis will continue to eat its +way up the bone of the leg, and in a brief and horrible time that +leper will die of gangrene or some other terrible +complication. On the other hand, if that same leper is in +Molokai, the surgeon will operate upon the foot, remove the +ulcer, cleanse the bone, and put a complete stop to that +particular ravage of the disease. A month after the +operation the leper will be out riding horseback, running foot +races, swimming in the breakers, or climbing the giddy sides of +the valleys for mountain apples. And as has been stated +before, the disease, lying dormant, may not again attack him for +five, ten, or forty years.</p> + +<p>The old horrors of leprosy go back to the conditions that +obtained before the days of antiseptic surgery, and before the +time when physicians like Dr. Goodhue and Dr. Hollmann went to +live at the Settlement. Dr. Goodhue is the pioneer surgeon +there, and too much praise cannot be given him for the noble work +he has done. I spent one morning in the operating room with +him and of the three operations he performed, two were on men, +newcomers, who had arrived on the same steamer with me. In +each case, the disease had attacked in one spot only. One +had a perforating ulcer in the ankle, well advanced, and the +other man was suffering from a similar affliction, well advanced, +under his arm. Both cases were well advanced because the +man had been on the outside and had not been treated. In +each case. Dr. Goodhue put an immediate and complete stop +to the ravage, and in four weeks those two men will be as well +and able-bodied as they ever were in their lives. The only +difference between them and you or me is that the disease is +lying dormant in their bodies and may at any future time commit +another ravage.</p> + +<p>Leprosy is as old as history. References to it are found +in the earliest written records. And yet to-day practically +nothing more is known about it than was known then. This +much was known then, namely, that it was contagious and that +those afflicted by it should be segregated. The difference +between then and now is that to-day the leper is more rigidly +segregated and more humanely treated. But leprosy itself +still remains the same awful and profound mystery. A +reading of the reports of the physicians and specialists of all +countries reveals the baffling nature of the disease. These +leprosy specialists are unanimous on no one phase of the +disease. They do not know. In the past they rashly +and dogmatically generalized. They generalize no +longer. The one possible generalization that can be drawn +from all the investigation that has been made is that leprosy is +<i>feebly contagious</i>. But in what manner it is feebly +contagious is not known. They have isolated the bacillus of +leprosy. They can determine by bacteriological examination +whether or not a person is a leper; but they are as far away as +ever from knowing how that bacillus finds its entrance into the +body of a non-leper. They do not know the length of time of +incubation. They have tried to inoculate all sorts of +animals with leprosy, and have failed.</p> + +<p>They are baffled in the discovery of a serum wherewith to +fight the disease. And in all their work, as yet, they have +found no clue, no cure. Sometimes there have been blazes of +hope, theories of causation and much heralded cures, but every +time the darkness of failure quenched the flame. A doctor +insists that the cause of leprosy is a long-continued fish diet, +and he proves his theory voluminously till a physician from the +highlands of India demands why the natives of that district +should therefore be afflicted by leprosy when they have never +eaten fish, nor all the generations of their fathers before +them. A man treats a leper with a certain kind of oil or +drug, announces a cure, and five, ten, or forty years afterwards +the disease breaks out again. It is this trick of leprosy +lying dormant in the body for indeterminate periods that is +responsible for many alleged cures. But this much is +certain: <i>as yet there has been no authentic case of a +cure</i>.</p> + +<p>Leprosy is <i>feebly contagious</i>, but how is it +contagious? An Austrian physician has inoculated himself +and his assistants with leprosy and failed to catch it. But +this is not conclusive, for there is the famous case of the +Hawaiian murderer who had his sentence of death commuted to life +imprisonment on his agreeing to be inoculated with the +<i>bacillus lepræ</i>. Some time after inoculation, +leprosy made its appearance, and the man died a leper on +Molokai. Nor was this conclusive, for it was discovered +that at the time he was inoculated several members of his family +were already suffering from the disease on Molokai. He may +have contracted the disease from them, and it may have been well +along in its mysterious period of incubation at the time he was +officially inoculated. Then there is the case of that hero +of the Church, Father Damien, who went to Molokai a clean man and +died a leper. There have been many theories as to how he +contracted leprosy, but nobody knows. He never knew +himself. But every chance that he ran has certainly been +run by a woman at present living in the Settlement; who has lived +there many years; who has had five leper husbands, and had +children by them; and who is to-day, as she always has been, free +of the disease.</p> + +<p>As yet no light has been shed upon the mystery of +leprosy. When more is learned about the disease, a cure for +it may be expected. Once an efficacious serum is +discovered, and leprosy, because it is so feebly contagious, will +pass away swiftly from the earth. The battle waged with it +will be short and sharp. In the meantime, how to discover +that serum, or some other unguessed weapon? In the present +it is a serious matter. It is estimated that there are half +a million lepers, not segregated, in India alone. Carnegie +libraries, Rockefeller universities, and many similar +benefactions are all very well; but one cannot help thinking how +far a few thousands of dollars would go, say in the leper +Settlement of Molokai. The residents there are accidents of +fate, scapegoats to some mysterious natural law of which man +knows nothing, isolated for the welfare of their fellows who else +might catch the dread disease, even as they have caught it, +nobody knows how. Not for their sakes merely, but for the +sake of future generations, a few thousands of dollars would go +far in a legitimate and scientific search after a cure for +leprosy, for a serum, or for some undreamed discovery that will +enable the medical world to exterminate the <i>bacillus +lepræ</i>. There’s the place for your money, +you philanthropists.</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap08"></a>CHAPTER VIII<br /> +<span class="GutSmall">THE HOUSE OF THE SUN</span></h2> + +<p><span class="smcap">There</span> are hosts of people who +journey like restless spirits round and about this earth in +search of seascapes and landscapes and the wonders and beauties +of nature. They overrun Europe in armies; they can be met +in droves and herds in Florida and the West Indies, at the +Pyramids, and on the slopes and summits of the Canadian and +American Rockies; but in the House of the Sun they are as rare as +live and wriggling dinosaurs. Haleakala is the Hawaiian +name for “the House of the Sun.” It is a noble +dwelling, situated on the Island of Maui; but so few tourists +have ever peeped into it, much less entered it, that their number +may be practically reckoned as zero. Yet I venture to state +that for natural beauty and wonder the nature-lover may see +dissimilar things as great as Haleakala, but no greater, while he +will never see elsewhere anything more beautiful or +wonderful. Honolulu is six days’ steaming from San +Francisco; Maui is a night’s run on the steamer from +Honolulu; and six hours more if he is in a hurry, can bring the +traveller to Kolikoli, which is ten thousand and thirty-two feet +above the sea and which stands hard by the entrance portal to the +House of the Sun. Yet the tourist comes not, and Haleakala +sleeps on in lonely and unseen grandeur.</p> + +<p>Not being tourists, we of the <i>Snark</i> went to +Haleakala. On the slopes of that monster mountain there is +a cattle ranch of some fifty thousand acres, where we spent the +night at an altitude of two thousand feet. The next morning +it was boots and saddles, and with cow-boys and packhorses we +climbed to Ukulele, a mountain ranch-house, the altitude of +which, fifty-five hundred feet, gives a severely temperate +climate, compelling blankets at night and a roaring fireplace in +the living-room. Ukulele, by the way, is the Hawaiian for +“jumping flea” as it is also the Hawaiian for a +certain musical instrument that may be likened to a young +guitar. It is my opinion that the mountain ranch-house was +named after the young guitar. We were not in a hurry, and +we spent the day at Ukulele, learnedly discussing altitudes and +barometers and shaking our particular barometer whenever any +one’s argument stood in need of demonstration. Our +barometer was the most graciously acquiescent instrument I have +ever seen. Also, we gathered mountain raspberries, large as +hen’s eggs and larger, gazed up the pasture-covered lava +slopes to the summit of Haleakala, forty-five hundred feet above +us, and looked down upon a mighty battle of the clouds that was +being fought beneath us, ourselves in the bright sunshine.</p> + +<p>Every day and every day this unending battle goes on. +Ukiukiu is the name of the trade-wind that comes raging down out +of the north-east and hurls itself upon Haleakala. Now +Haleakala is so bulky and tall that it turns the north-east +trade-wind aside on either hand, so that in the lee of Haleakala +no trade-wind blows at all. On the contrary, the wind blows +in the counter direction, in the teeth of the north-east +trade. This wind is called Naulu. And day and night +and always Ukiukiu and Naulu strive with each other, advancing, +retreating, flanking, curving, curling, and turning and twisting, +the conflict made visible by the cloud-masses plucked from the +heavens and hurled back and forth in squadrons, battalions, +armies, and great mountain ranges. Once in a while, +Ukiukiu, in mighty gusts, flings immense cloud-masses clear over +the summit of Haleakala; whereupon Naulu craftily captures them, +lines them up in new battle-formation, and with them smites back +at his ancient and eternal antagonist. Then Ukiukiu sends a +great cloud-army around the eastern-side of the mountain. +It is a flanking movement, well executed. But Naulu, from +his lair on the leeward side, gathers the flanking army in, +pulling and twisting and dragging it, hammering it into shape, +and sends it charging back against Ukiukiu around the western +side of the mountain. And all the while, above and below +the main battle-field, high up the slopes toward the sea, Ukiukiu +and Naulu are continually sending out little wisps of cloud, in +ragged skirmish line, that creep and crawl over the ground, among +the trees and through the canyons, and that spring upon and +capture one another in sudden ambuscades and sorties. And +sometimes Ukiukiu or Naulu, abruptly sending out a heavy charging +column, captures the ragged little skirmishers or drives them +skyward, turning over and over, in vertical whirls, thousands of +feet in the air.</p> + +<p>But it is on the western slopes of Haleakala that the main +battle goes on. Here Naulu masses his heaviest formations +and wins his greatest victories. Ukiukiu grows weak toward +late afternoon, which is the way of all trade-winds, and is +driven backward by Naulu. Naulu’s generalship is +excellent. All day he has been gathering and packing away +immense reserves. As the afternoon draws on, he welds them +into a solid column, sharp-pointed, miles in length, a mile in +width, and hundreds of feet thick. This column he slowly +thrusts forward into the broad battle-front of Ukiukiu, and +slowly and surely Ukiukiu, weakening fast, is split +asunder. But it is not all bloodless. At times +Ukiukiu struggles wildly, and with fresh accessions of strength +from the limitless north-east, smashes away half a mile at a time +of Naulu’s column and sweeps it off and away toward West +Maui. Sometimes, when the two charging armies meet end-on, +a tremendous perpendicular whirl results, the cloud-masses, +locked together, mounting thousands of feet into the air and +turning over and over. A favourite device of Ukiukiu is to +send a low, squat formation, densely packed, forward along the +ground and under Naulu. When Ukiukiu is under, he proceeds +to buck. Naulu’s mighty middle gives to the blow and +bends upward, but usually he turns the attacking column back upon +itself and sets it milling. And all the while the ragged +little skirmishers, stray and detached, sneak through the trees +and canyons, crawl along and through the grass, and surprise one +another with unexpected leaps and rushes; while above, far above, +serene and lonely in the rays of the setting sun, Haleakala looks +down upon the conflict. And so, the night. But in the +morning, after the fashion of trade-winds, Ukiukiu gathers +strength and sends the hosts of Naulu rolling back in confusion +and rout. And one day is like another day in the battle of +the clouds, where Ukiukiu and Naulu strive eternally on the +slopes of Haleakala.</p> + +<p>Again in the morning, it was boots and saddles, cow-boys, and +packhorses, and the climb to the top began. One packhorse +carried twenty gallons of water, slung in five-gallon bags on +either side; for water is precious and rare in the crater itself, +in spite of the fact that several miles to the north and east of +the crater-rim more rain comes down than in any other place in +the world. The way led upward across countless lava flows, +without regard for trails, and never have I seen horses with such +perfect footing as that of the thirteen that composed our +outfit. They climbed or dropped down perpendicular places +with the sureness and coolness of mountain goats, and never a +horse fell or baulked.</p> + +<p>There is a familiar and strange illusion experienced by all +who climb isolated mountains. The higher one climbs, the +more of the earth’s surface becomes visible, and the effect +of this is that the horizon seems up-hill from the +observer. This illusion is especially notable on Haleakala, +for the old volcano rises directly from the sea without +buttresses or connecting ranges. In consequence, as fast as +we climbed up the grim slope of Haleakala, still faster did +Haleakala, ourselves, and all about us, sink down into the centre +of what appeared a profound abyss. Everywhere, far above +us, towered the horizon. The ocean sloped down from the +horizon to us. The higher we climbed, the deeper did we +seem to sink down, the farther above us shone the horizon, and +the steeper pitched the grade up to that horizontal line where +sky and ocean met. It was weird and unreal, and vagrant +thoughts of Simm’s Hole and of the volcano through which +Jules Verne journeyed to the centre of the earth flitted through +one’s mind.</p> + +<p>And then, when at last we reached the summit of that monster +mountain, which summit was like the bottom of an inverted cone +situated in the centre of an awful cosmic pit, we found that we +were at neither top nor bottom. Far above us was the +heaven-towering horizon, and far beneath us, where the top of the +mountain should have been, was a deeper deep, the great crater, +the House of the Sun. Twenty-three miles around stretched +the dizzy walls of the crater. We stood on the edge of the +nearly vertical western wall, and the floor of the crater lay +nearly half a mile beneath. This floor, broken by +lava-flows and cinder-cones, was as red and fresh and uneroded as +if it were but yesterday that the fires went out. The +cinder-cones, the smallest over four hundred feet in height and +the largest over nine hundred, seemed no more than puny little +sand-hills, so mighty was the magnitude of the setting. Two +gaps, thousands of feet deep, broke the rim of the crater, and +through these Ukiukiu vainly strove to drive his fleecy herds of +trade-wind clouds. As fast as they advanced through the +gaps, the heat of the crater dissipated them into thin air, and +though they advanced always, they got nowhere.</p> + +<p>It was a scene of vast bleakness and desolation, stern, +forbidding, fascinating. We gazed down upon a place of fire +and earthquake. The tie-ribs of earth lay bare before +us. It was a workshop of nature still cluttered with the +raw beginnings of world-making. Here and there great dikes +of primordial rock had thrust themselves up from the bowels of +earth, straight through the molten surface-ferment that had +evidently cooled only the other day. It was all unreal and +unbelievable. Looking upward, far above us (in reality +beneath us) floated the cloud-battle of Ukiukiu and Naulu. +And higher up the slope of the seeming abyss, above the +cloud-battle, in the air and sky, hung the islands of Lanai and +Molokai. Across the crater, to the south-east, still +apparently looking upward, we saw ascending, first, the turquoise +sea, then the white surf-line of the shore of Hawaii; above that +the belt of trade-clouds, and next, eighty miles away, rearing +their stupendous hulks out of the azure sky, tipped with snow, +wreathed with cloud, trembling like a mirage, the peaks of Mauna +Kea and Mauna Loa hung poised on the wall of heaven.</p> + +<p>It is told that long ago, one Maui, the son of Hina, lived on +what is now known as West Maui. His mother, Hina, employed +her time in the making of <i>kapas</i>. She must have made +them at night, for her days were occupied in trying to dry the +<i>kapas</i>. Each morning, and all morning, she toiled at +spreading them out in the sun. But no sooner were they out, +than she began taking them in, in order to have them all under +shelter for the night. For know that the days were shorter +then than now. Maui watched his mother’s futile toil +and felt sorry for her. He decided to do +something—oh, no, not to help her hang out and take in the +<i>kapas</i>. He was too clever for that. His idea +was to make the sun go slower. Perhaps he was the first +Hawaiian astronomer. At any rate, he took a series of +observations of the sun from various parts of the island. +His conclusion was that the sun’s path was directly across +Haleakala. Unlike Joshua, he stood in no need of divine +assistance. He gathered a huge quantity of coconuts, from +the fibre of which he braided a stout cord, and in one end of +which he made a noose, even as the cow-boys of Haleakala do to +this day. Next he climbed into the House of the Sun and +laid in wait. When the sun came tearing along the path, +bent on completing its journey in the shortest time possible, the +valiant youth threw his lariat around one of the sun’s +largest and strongest beams. He made the sun slow down +some; also, he broke the beam short off. And he kept on +roping and breaking off beams till the sun said it was willing to +listen to reason. Maui set forth his terms of peace, which +the sun accepted, agreeing to go more slowly thereafter. +Wherefore Hina had ample time in which to dry her <i>kapas</i>, +and the days are longer than they used to be, which last is quite +in accord with the teachings of modern astronomy.</p> + +<p>We had a lunch of jerked beef and hard <i>poi</i> in a stone +corral, used of old time for the night-impounding of cattle being +driven across the island. Then we skirted the rim for half +a mile and began the descent into the crater. Twenty-five +hundred feet beneath lay the floor, and down a steep slope of +loose volcanic cinders we dropped, the sure-footed horses +slipping and sliding, but always keeping their feet. The +black surface of the cinders, when broken by the horses’ +hoofs, turned to a yellow ochre dust, virulent in appearance and +acid of taste, that arose in clouds. There was a gallop +across a level stretch to the mouth of a convenient blow-hole, +and then the descent continued in clouds of volcanic dust, +winding in and out among cinder-cones, brick-red, old rose, and +purplish black of colour. Above us, higher and higher, +towered the crater-walls, while we journeyed on across +innumerable lava-flows, turning and twisting a devious way among +the adamantine billows of a petrified sea. Saw-toothed +waves of lava vexed the surface of this weird ocean, while on +either hand arose jagged crests and spiracles of fantastic +shape. Our way led on past a bottomless pit and along and +over the main stream of the latest lava-flow for seven miles.</p> + +<p>At the lower end of the crater was our camping spot, in a +small grove of <i>olapa</i> and <i>kolea</i> trees, tucked away +in a corner of the crater at the base of walls that rose +perpendicularly fifteen hundred feet. Here was pasturage +for the horses, but no water, and first we turned aside and +picked our way across a mile of lava to a known water-hole in a +crevice in the crater-wall. The water-hole was empty. +But on climbing fifty feet up the crevice, a pool was found +containing half a dozen barrels of water. A pail was +carried up, and soon a steady stream of the precious liquid was +running down the rock and filling the lower pool, while the +cow-boys below were busy fighting the horses back, for there was +room for one only to drink at a time. Then it was on to +camp at the foot of the wall, up which herds of wild goats +scrambled and blatted, while the tent arose to the sound of +rifle-firing. Jerked beef, hard <i>poi</i>, and broiled kid +were the menu. Over the crest of the crater, just above our +heads, rolled a sea of clouds, driven on by Ukiukiu. Though +this sea rolled over the crest unceasingly, it never blotted out +nor dimmed the moon, for the heat of the crater dissolved the +clouds as fast as they rolled in. Through the moonlight, +attracted by the camp-fire, came the crater cattle to peer and +challenge. They were rolling fat, though they rarely drank +water, the morning dew on the grass taking its place. It +was because of this dew that the tent made a welcome bedchamber, +and we fell asleep to the chanting of <i>hulas</i> by the +unwearied Hawaiian cow-boys, in whose veins, no doubt, ran the +blood of Maui, their valiant forebear.</p> + +<p>The camera cannot do justice to the House of the Sun. +The sublimated chemistry of photography may not lie, but it +certainly does not tell all the truth. The Koolau Gap may +be faithfully reproduced, just as it impinged on the retina of +the camera, yet in the resulting picture the gigantic scale of +things would be missing. Those walls that seem several +hundred feet in height are almost as many thousand; that entering +wedge of cloud is a mile and a half wide in the gap itself, while +beyond the gap it is a veritable ocean; and that foreground of +cinder-cone and volcanic ash, mushy and colourless in appearance, +is in truth gorgeous-hued in brick-red, terra-cotta rose, yellow +ochre, and purplish black. Also, words are a vain thing and +drive to despair. To say that a crater-wall is two thousand +feet high is to say just precisely that it is two thousand feet +high; but there is a vast deal more to that crater-wall than a +mere statistic. The sun is ninety-three millions of miles +distant, but to mortal conception the adjoining county is farther +away. This frailty of the human brain is hard on the +sun. It is likewise hard on the House of the Sun. +Haleakala has a message of beauty and wonder for the human soul +that cannot be delivered by proxy. Kolikoli is six hours +from Kahului; Kahului is a night’s run from Honolulu; +Honolulu is six days from San Francisco; and there you are.</p> + +<p>We climbed the crater-walls, put the horses over impossible +places, rolled stones, and shot wild goats. I did not get +any goats. I was too busy rolling stones. One spot in +particular I remember, where we started a stone the size of a +horse. It began the descent easy enough, rolling over, +wobbling, and threatening to stop; but in a few minutes it was +soaring through the air two hundred feet at a jump. It grew +rapidly smaller until it struck a slight slope of volcanic sand, +over which it darted like a startled jackrabbit, kicking up +behind it a tiny trail of yellow dust. Stone and dust +diminished in size, until some of the party said the stone had +stopped. That was because they could not see it any +longer. It had vanished into the distance beyond their +ken. Others saw it rolling farther on—I know I did; +and it is my firm conviction that that stone is still +rolling.</p> + +<p>Our last day in the crater, Ukiukiu gave us a taste of his +strength. He smashed Naulu back all along the line, filled +the House of the Sun to overflowing with clouds, and drowned us +out. Our rain-gauge was a pint cup under a tiny hole in the +tent. That last night of storm and rain filled the cup, and +there was no way of measuring the water that spilled over into +the blankets. With the rain-gauge out of business there was +no longer any reason for remaining; so we broke camp in the +wet-gray of dawn, and plunged eastward across the lava to the +Kaupo Gap. East Maui is nothing more or less than the vast +lava stream that flowed long ago through the Kaupo Gap; and down +this stream we picked our way from an altitude of six thousand +five hundred feet to the sea. This was a day’s work +in itself for the horses; but never were there such horses. +Safe in the bad places, never rushing, never losing their heads, +as soon as they found a trail wide and smooth enough to run on, +they ran. There was no stopping them until the trail became +bad again, and then they stopped of themselves. +Continuously, for days, they had performed the hardest kind of +work, and fed most of the time on grass foraged by themselves at +night while we slept, and yet that day they covered twenty-eight +leg-breaking miles and galloped into Hana like a bunch of +colts. Also, there were several of them, reared in the dry +region on the leeward side of Haleakala, that had never worn +shoes in all their lives. Day after day, and all day long, +unshod, they had travelled over the sharp lava, with the extra +weight of a man on their backs, and their hoofs were in better +condition than those of the shod horses.</p> + +<p>The scenery between Vieiras’s (where the Kaupo Gap +empties into the sea) and Lana, which we covered in half a day, +is well worth a week or month; but, wildly beautiful as it is, it +becomes pale and small in comparison with the wonderland that +lies beyond the rubber plantations between Hana and the Honomanu +Gulch. Two days were required to cover this marvellous +stretch, which lies on the windward side of Haleakala. The +people who dwell there call it the “ditch country,” +an unprepossessing name, but it has no other. Nobody else +ever comes there. Nobody else knows anything about +it. With the exception of a handful of men, whom business +has brought there, nobody has heard of the ditch country of +Maui. Now a ditch is a ditch, assumably muddy, and usually +traversing uninteresting and monotonous landscapes. But the +Nahiku Ditch is not an ordinary ditch. The windward side of +Haleakala is serried by a thousand precipitous gorges, down which +rush as many torrents, each torrent of which achieves a score of +cascades and waterfalls before it reaches the sea. More +rain comes down here than in any other region in the world. +In 1904 the year’s downpour was four hundred and twenty +inches. Water means sugar, and sugar is the backbone of the +territory of Hawaii, wherefore the Nahiku Ditch, which is not a +ditch, but a chain of tunnels. The water travels +underground, appearing only at intervals to leap a gorge, +travelling high in the air on a giddy flume and plunging into and +through the opposing mountain. This magnificent waterway is +called a “ditch,” and with equal appropriateness can +Cleopatra’s barge be called a box-car.</p> + +<p>There are no carriage roads through the ditch country, and +before the ditch was built, or bored, rather, there was no +horse-trail. Hundreds of inches of rain annually, on +fertile soil, under a tropic sun, means a steaming jungle of +vegetation. A man, on foot, cutting his way through, might +advance a mile a day, but at the end of a week he would be a +wreck, and he would have to crawl hastily back if he wanted to +get out before the vegetation overran the passage way he had +cut. O’Shaughnessy was the daring engineer who +conquered the jungle and the gorges, ran the ditch and made the +horse-trail. He built enduringly, in concrete and masonry, +and made one of the most remarkable water-farms in the +world. Every little runlet and dribble is harvested and +conveyed by subterranean channels to the main ditch. But so +heavily does it rain at times that countless spillways let the +surplus escape to the sea.</p> + +<p>The horse-trail is not very wide. Like the engineer who +built it, it dares anything. Where the ditch plunges +through the mountain, it climbs over; and where the ditch leaps a +gorge on a flume, the horse-trail takes advantage of the ditch +and crosses on top of the flume. That careless trail thinks +nothing of travelling up or down the faces of precipices. +It gouges its narrow way out of the wall, dodging around +waterfalls or passing under them where they thunder down in white +fury; while straight overhead the wall rises hundreds of feet, +and straight beneath it sinks a thousand. And those +marvellous mountain horses are as unconcerned as the trail. +They fox-trot along it as a matter of course, though the footing +is slippery with rain, and they will gallop with their hind feet +slipping over the edge if you let them. I advise only those +with steady nerves and cool heads to tackle the Nahiku Ditch +trail. One of our cow-boys was noted as the strongest and +bravest on the big ranch. He had ridden mountain horses all +his life on the rugged western slopes of Haleakala. He was +first in the horse-breaking; and when the others hung back, as a +matter of course, he would go in to meet a wild bull in the +cattle-pen. He had a reputation. But he had never +ridden over the Nahiku Ditch. It was there he lost his +reputation. When he faced the first flume, spanning a +hair-raising gorge, narrow, without railings, with a bellowing +waterfall above, another below, and directly beneath a wild +cascade, the air filled with driving spray and rocking to the +clamour and rush of sound and motion—well, that cow-boy +dismounted from his horse, explained briefly that he had a wife +and two children, and crossed over on foot, leading the horse +behind him.</p> + +<p>The only relief from the flumes was the precipices; and the +only relief from the precipices was the flumes, except where the +ditch was far under ground, in which case we crossed one horse +and rider at a time, on primitive log-bridges that swayed and +teetered and threatened to carry away. I confess that at +first I rode such places with my feet loose in the stirrups, and +that on the sheer walls I saw to it, by a definite, conscious act +of will, that the foot in the outside stirrup, overhanging the +thousand feet of fall, was exceedingly loose. I say +“at first”; for, as in the crater itself we quickly +lost our conception of magnitude, so, on the Nahiku Ditch, we +quickly lost our apprehension of depth. The ceaseless +iteration of height and depth produced a state of consciousness +in which height and depth were accepted as the ordinary +conditions of existence; and from the horse’s back to look +sheer down four hundred or five hundred feet became quite +commonplace and non-productive of thrills. And as +carelessly as the trail and the horses, we swung along the dizzy +heights and ducked around or through the waterfalls.</p> + +<p>And such a ride! Falling water was everywhere. We +rode above the clouds, under the clouds, and through the clouds! +and every now and then a shaft of sunshine penetrated like a +search-light to the depths yawning beneath us, or flashed upon +some pinnacle of the crater-rim thousands of feet above. At +every turn of the trail a waterfall or a dozen waterfalls, +leaping hundreds of feet through the air, burst upon our +vision. At our first night’s camp, in the Keanae +Gulch, we counted thirty-two waterfalls from a single +viewpoint. The vegetation ran riot over that wild +land. There were forests of koa and kolea trees, and +candlenut trees; and then there were the trees called ohia-ai, +which bore red mountain apples, mellow and juicy and most +excellent to eat. Wild bananas grew everywhere, clinging to +the sides of the gorges, and, overborne by their great bunches of +ripe fruit, falling across the trail and blocking the way. +And over the forest surged a sea of green life, the climbers of a +thousand varieties, some that floated airily, in lacelike +filaments, from the tallest branches others that coiled and wound +about the trees like huge serpents; and one, the ei-ei, that was +for all the world like a climbing palm, swinging on a thick stem +from branch to branch and tree to tree and throttling the +supports whereby it climbed. Through the sea of green, +lofty tree-ferns thrust their great delicate fronds, and the +lehua flaunted its scarlet blossoms. Underneath the +climbers, in no less profusion, grew the warm-coloured, +strangely-marked plants that in the United States one is +accustomed to seeing preciously conserved in hot-houses. In +fact, the ditch country of Maui is nothing more nor less than a +huge conservatory. Every familiar variety of fern +flourishes, and more varieties that are unfamiliar, from the +tiniest maidenhair to the gross and voracious staghorn, the +latter the terror of the woodsmen, interlacing with itself in +tangled masses five or six feet deep and covering acres.</p> + +<p>Never was there such a ride. For two days it lasted, +when we emerged into rolling country, and, along an actual +wagon-road, came home to the ranch at a gallop. I know it +was cruel to gallop the horses after such a long, hard journey; +but we blistered our hands in vain effort to hold them in. +That’s the sort of horses they grow on Haleakala. At +the ranch there was great festival of cattle-driving, branding, +and horse-breaking. Overhead Ukiukiu and Naulu battled +valiantly, and far above, in the sunshine, towered the mighty +summit of Haleakala.</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap09"></a>CHAPTER IX<br /> +<span class="GutSmall">A PACIFIC TRAVERSE</span></h2> + +<p><i>Sandwich Islands to Tahiti</i>.—<i>There is great +difficulty in making this passage across the trades</i>. +<i>The whalers and all others speak with great doubt of fetching +Tahiti from the Sandwich islands</i>. <i>Capt. Bruce says +that a vessel should keep to the northward until she gets a start +of wind before bearing for her destination</i>. <i>In his +passage between them in November</i>, 1837, <i>he had no +variables near the line in coming south</i>, <i>and never could +make easting on either tack</i>, <i>though he endeavoured by +every means to do so</i>.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">So</span> say the sailing directions for +the South Pacific Ocean; and that is all they say. There is +not a word more to help the weary voyager in making this long +traverse—nor is there any word at all concerning the +passage from Hawaii to the Marquesas, which lie some eight +hundred miles to the northeast of Tahiti and which are the more +difficult to reach by just that much. The reason for the +lack of directions is, I imagine, that no voyager is supposed to +make himself weary by attempting so impossible a traverse. +But the impossible did not deter the +<i>Snark</i>,—principally because of the fact that we did +not read that particular little paragraph in the sailing +directions until after we had started. We sailed from Hilo, +Hawaii, on October 7, and arrived at Nuka-hiva, in the Marquesas, +on December 6. The distance was two thousand miles as the +crow flies, while we actually travelled at least four thousand +miles to accomplish it, thus proving for once and for ever that +the shortest distance between two points is not always a straight +line. Had we headed directly for the Marquesas, we might +have travelled five or six thousand miles.</p> + +<p>Upon one thing we were resolved: we would not cross the Line +west of 130° west longitude. For here was the +problem. To cross the Line to the west of that point, if +the southeast trades were well around to the southeast, would +throw us so far to leeward of the Marquesas that a head-beat +would be maddeningly impossible. Also, we had to remember +the equatorial current, which moves west at a rate of anywhere +from twelve to seventy-five miles a day. A pretty pickle, +indeed, to be to leeward of our destination with such a current +in our teeth. No; not a minute, nor a second, west of +130° west longitude would we cross the Line. But since +the southeast trades were to be expected five or six degrees +north of the Line (which, if they were well around to the +southeast or south-southeast, would necessitate our sliding off +toward south-southwest), we should have to hold to the eastward, +north of the Line, and north of the southeast trades, until we +gained at least 128° west longitude.</p> + +<p>I have forgotten to mention that the seventy-horse-power +gasolene engine, as usual, was not working, and that we could +depend upon wind alone. Neither was the launch engine +working. And while I am about it, I may as well confess +that the five-horse-power, which ran the lights, fans, and pumps, +was also on the sick-list. A striking title for a book +haunts me, waking and sleeping. I should like to write that +book some day and to call it “Around the World with Three +Gasolene Engines and a Wife.” But I am afraid I shall +not write it, for fear of hurting the feelings of some of the +young gentlemen of San Francisco, Honolulu, and Hilo, who learned +their trades at the expense of the <i>Snark’s</i> +engines.</p> + +<p>It looked easy on paper. Here was Hilo and there was our +objective, 128° west longitude. With the northeast +trade blowing we could travel a straight line between the two +points, and even slack our sheets off a goodly bit. But one +of the chief troubles with the trades is that one never knows +just where he will pick them up and just in what direction they +will be blowing. We picked up the northeast trade right +outside of Hilo harbour, but the miserable breeze was away around +into the east. Then there was the north equatorial current +setting westward like a mighty river. Furthermore, a small +boat, by the wind and bucking into a big headsea, does not work +to advantage. She jogs up and down and gets nowhere. +Her sails are full and straining, every little while she presses +her lee-rail under, she flounders, and bumps, and splashes, and +that is all. Whenever she begins to gather way, she runs +ker-chug into a big mountain of water and is brought to a +standstill. So, with the <i>Snark</i>, the resultant of her +smallness, of the trade around into the east, and of the strong +equatorial current, was a long sag south. Oh, she did not +go quite south. But the easting she made was +distressing. On October 11, she made forty miles easting; +October 12, fifteen miles; October 13, no easting; October 14, +thirty miles; October 15, twenty-three miles; October 16, eleven +miles; and on October 17, she actually went to the westward four +miles. Thus, in a week she made one hundred and fifteen +miles easting, which was equivalent to sixteen miles a day. +But, between the longitude of Hilo and 128° west longitude is +a difference of twenty-seven degrees, or, roughly, sixteen +hundred miles. At sixteen miles a day, one hundred days +would be required to accomplish this distance. And even +then, our objective, 128° west longitude, was five degrees +north of the Line, while Nuka-hiva, in the Marquesas, lay nine +degrees south of the Line and twelve degrees to the west!</p> + +<p>There remained only one thing to do—to work south out of +the trade and into the variables. It is true that Captain +Bruce found no variables on his traverse, and that he +“never could make easting on either tack.” It +was the variables or nothing with us, and we prayed for better +luck than he had had. The variables constitute the belt of +ocean lying between the trades and the doldrums, and are +conjectured to be the draughts of heated air which rise in the +doldrums, flow high in the air counter to the trades, and +gradually sink down till they fan the surface of the ocean where +they are found. And they are found where they are found; +for they are wedged between the trades and the doldrums, which +same shift their territory from day to day and month to +month.</p> + +<p>We found the variables in 11° north latitude, and 11° +north latitude we hugged jealously. To the south lay the +doldrums. To the north lay the northeast trade that refused +to blow from the northeast. The days came and went, and +always they found the <i>Snark</i> somewhere near the eleventh +parallel. The variables were truly variable. A light +head-wind would die away and leave us rolling in a calm for +forty-eight hours. Then a light head-wind would spring up, +blow for three hours, and leave us rolling in another calm for +forty-eight hours. Then—hurrah!—the wind would +come out of the west, fresh, beautifully fresh, and send the +<i>Snark</i> along, wing and wing, her wake bubbling, the +log-line straight astern. At the end of half an hour, while +we were preparing to set the spinnaker, with a few sickly gasps +the wind would die away. And so it went. We wagered +optimistically on every favourable fan of air that lasted over +five minutes; but it never did any good. The fans faded out +just the same.</p> + +<p>But there were exceptions. In the variables, if you wait +long enough, something is bound to happen, and we were so +plentifully stocked with food and water that we could afford to +wait. On October 26, we actually made one hundred and three +miles of easting, and we talked about it for days +afterwards. Once we caught a moderate gale from the south, +which blew itself out in eight hours, but it helped us to +seventy-one miles of easting in that particular twenty-four +hours. And then, just as it was expiring, the wind came +straight out from the north (the directly opposite quarter), and +fanned us along over another degree of easting.</p> + +<p>In years and years no sailing vessel has attempted this +traverse, and we found ourselves in the midst of one of the +loneliest of the Pacific solitudes. In the sixty days we +were crossing it we sighted no sail, lifted no steamer’s +smoke above the horizon. A disabled vessel could drift in +this deserted expanse for a dozen generations, and there would be +no rescue. The only chance of rescue would be from a vessel +like the <i>Snark</i>, and the <i>Snark</i> happened to be there +principally because of the fact that the traverse had been begun +before the particular paragraph in the sailing directions had +been read. Standing upright on deck, a straight line drawn +from the eye to the horizon would measure three miles and a +half. Thus, seven miles was the diameter of the circle of +the sea in which we had our centre. Since we remained +always in the centre, and since we constantly were moving in some +direction, we looked upon many circles. But all circles +looked alike. No tufted islets, gray headlands, nor +glistening patches of white canvas ever marred the symmetry of +that unbroken curve. Clouds came and went, rising up over +the rim of the circle, flowing across the space of it, and +spilling away and down across the opposite rim.</p> + +<p>The world faded as the procession of the weeks marched +by. The world faded until at last there ceased to be any +world except the little world of the <i>Snark</i>, freighted with +her seven souls and floating on the expanse of the waters. +Our memories of the world, the great world, became like dreams of +former lives we had lived somewhere before we came to be born on +the <i>Snark</i>. After we had been out of fresh vegetables +for some time, we mentioned such things in much the same way I +have heard my father mention the vanished apples of his +boyhood. Man is a creature of habit, and we on the +<i>Snark</i> had got the habit of the <i>Snark</i>. +Everything about her and aboard her was as a matter of course, +and anything different would have been an irritation and an +offence.</p> + +<p>There was no way by which the great world could intrude. +Our bell rang the hours, but no caller ever rang it. There +were no guests to dinner, no telegrams, no insistent telephone +jangles invading our privacy. We had no engagements to +keep, no trains to catch, and there were no morning newspapers +over which to waste time in learning what was happening to our +fifteen hundred million other fellow-creatures.</p> + +<p>But it was not dull. The affairs of our little world had +to be regulated, and, unlike the great world, our world had to be +steered in its journey through space. Also, there were +cosmic disturbances to be encountered and baffled, such as do not +afflict the big earth in its frictionless orbit through the +windless void. And we never knew, from moment to moment, +what was going to happen next. There were spice and variety +enough and to spare. Thus, at four in the morning, I +relieve Hermann at the wheel.</p> + +<p>“East-northeast,” he gives me the course. +“She’s eight points off, but she ain’t +steering.”</p> + +<p>Small wonder. The vessel does not exist that can be +steered in so absolute a calm.</p> + +<p>“I had a breeze a little while ago—maybe it will +come back again,” Hermann says hopefully, ere he starts +forward to the cabin and his bunk.</p> + +<p>The mizzen is in and fast furled. In the night, what of +the roll and the absence of wind, it had made life too hideous to +be permitted to go on rasping at the mast, smashing at the +tackles, and buffeting the empty air into hollow outbursts of +sound. But the big mainsail is still on, and the staysail, +jib, and flying-jib are snapping and slashing at their sheets +with every roll. Every star is out. Just for luck I +put the wheel hard over in the opposite direction to which it had +been left by Hermann, and I lean back and gaze up at the +stars. There is nothing else for me to do. There is +nothing to be done with a sailing vessel rolling in a stark +calm.</p> + +<p>Then I feel a fan on my cheek, faint, so faint, that I can +just sense it ere it is gone. But another comes, and +another, until a real and just perceptible breeze is +blowing. How the <i>Snark’s</i> sails manage to feel +it is beyond me, but feel it they do, as she does as well, for +the compass card begins slowly to revolve in the binnacle. +In reality, it is not revolving at all. It is held by +terrestrial magnetism in one place, and it is the <i>Snark</i> +that is revolving, pivoted upon that delicate cardboard device +that floats in a closed vessel of alcohol.</p> + +<p>So the <i>Snark</i> comes back on her course. The breath +increases to a tiny puff. The <i>Snark</i> feels the weight +of it and actually heels over a trifle. There is flying +scud overhead, and I notice the stars being blotted out. +Walls of darkness close in upon me, so that, when the last star +is gone, the darkness is so near that it seems I can reach out +and touch it on every side. When I lean toward it, I can +feel it loom against my face. Puff follows puff, and I am +glad the mizzen is furled. Phew! that was a stiff +one! The <i>Snark</i> goes over and down until her lee-rail +is buried and the whole Pacific Ocean is pouring in. Four +or five of these gusts make me wish that the jib and flying-jib +were in. The sea is picking up, the gusts are growing +stronger and more frequent, and there is a splatter of wet in the +air. There is no use in attempting to gaze to +windward. The wall of blackness is within arm’s +length. Yet I cannot help attempting to see and gauge the +blows that are being struck at the <i>Snark</i>. There is +something ominous and menacing up there to windward, and I have a +feeling that if I look long enough and strong enough, I shall +divine it. Futile feeling. Between two gusts I leave +the wheel and run forward to the cabin companionway, where I +light matches and consult the barometer. +“29-90” it reads. That sensitive instrument +refuses to take notice of the disturbance which is humming with a +deep, throaty voice in the rigging. I get back to the wheel +just in time to meet another gust, the strongest yet. Well, +anyway, the wind is abeam and the <i>Snark</i> is on her course, +eating up easting. That at least is well.</p> + +<p>The jib and flying-jib bother me, and I wish they were +in. She would make easier weather of it, and less risky +weather likewise. The wind snorts, and stray raindrops pelt +like birdshot. I shall certainly have to call all hands, I +conclude; then conclude the next instant to hang on a little +longer. Maybe this is the end of it, and I shall have +called them for nothing. It is better to let them +sleep. I hold the <i>Snark</i> down to her task, and from +out of the darkness, at right angles, comes a deluge of rain +accompanied by shrieking wind. Then everything eases except +the blackness, and I rejoice in that I have not called the +men.</p> + +<p>No sooner does the wind ease than the sea picks up. The +combers are breaking now, and the boat is tossing like a +cork. Then out of the blackness the gusts come harder and +faster than before. If only I knew what was up there to +windward in the blackness! The <i>Snark</i> is making heavy +weather of it, and her lee-rail is buried oftener than not. +More shrieks and snorts of wind. Now, if ever, is the time +to call the men. I <i>will</i> call them, I resolve. +Then there is a burst of rain, a slackening of the wind, and I do +not call. But it is rather lonely, there at the wheel, +steering a little world through howling blackness. It is +quite a responsibility to be all alone on the surface of a little +world in time of stress, doing the thinking for its sleeping +inhabitants. I recoil from the responsibility as more gusts +begin to strike and as a sea licks along the weather rail and +splashes over into the cockpit. The salt water seems +strangely warm to my body and is shot through with ghostly +nodules of phosphorescent light. I shall surely call all +hands to shorten sail. Why should they sleep? I am a +fool to have any compunctions in the matter. My intellect +is arrayed against my heart. It was my heart that said, +“Let them sleep.” Yes, but it was my intellect +that backed up my heart in that judgment. Let my intellect +then reverse the judgment; and, while I am speculating as to what +particular entity issued that command to my intellect, the gusts +die away. Solicitude for mere bodily comfort has no place +in practical seamanship, I conclude sagely; but study the feel of +the next series of gusts and do not call the men. After +all, it <i>is</i> my intellect, behind everything, +procrastinating, measuring its knowledge of what the <i>Snark</i> +can endure against the blows being struck at her, and waiting the +call of all hands against the striking of still severer +blows.</p> + +<p>Daylight, gray and violent, steals through the cloud-pall and +shows a foaming sea that flattens under the weight of recurrent +and increasing squalls. Then comes the rain, filling the +windy valleys of the sea with milky smoke and further flattening +the waves, which but wait for the easement of wind and rain to +leap more wildly than before. Come the men on deck, their +sleep out, and among them Hermann, his face on the broad grin in +appreciation of the breeze of wind I have picked up. I turn +the wheel over to Warren and start to go below, pausing on the +way to rescue the galley stovepipe which has gone adrift. I +am barefooted, and my toes have had an excellent education in the +art of clinging; but, as the rail buries itself in a green sea, I +suddenly sit down on the streaming deck. Hermann +good-naturedly elects to question my selection of such a +spot. Then comes the next roll, and he sits down, suddenly, +and without premeditation. The <i>Snark</i> heels over and +down, the rail takes it green, and Hermann and I, clutching the +precious stove-pipe, are swept down into the lee-scuppers. +After that I finish my journey below, and while changing my +clothes grin with satisfaction—the <i>Snark</i> is making +easting.</p> + +<p>No, it is not all monotony. When we had worried along +our easting to 126° west longitude, we left the variables and +headed south through the doldrums, where was much calm weather +and where, taking advantage of every fan of air, we were often +glad to make a score of miles in as many hours. And yet, on +such a day, we might pass through a dozen squalls and be +surrounded by dozens more. And every squall was to be +regarded as a bludgeon capable of crushing the +<i>Snark</i>. We were struck sometimes by the centres and +sometimes by the sides of these squalls, and we never knew just +where or how we were to be hit. The squall that rose up, +covering half the heavens, and swept down upon us, as likely as +not split into two squalls which passed us harmlessly on either +side while the tiny, innocent looking squall that appeared to +carry no more than a hogshead of water and a pound of wind, would +abruptly assume cyclopean proportions, deluging us with rain and +overwhelming us with wind. Then there were treacherous +squalls that went boldly astern and sneaked back upon us from a +mile to leeward. Again, two squalls would tear along, one +on each side of us, and we would get a fillip from each of +them. Now a gale certainly grows tiresome after a few +hours, but squalls never. The thousandth squall in +one’s experience is as interesting as the first one, and +perhaps a bit more so. It is the tyro who has no +apprehension of them. The man of a thousand squalls +respects a squall. He knows what they are.</p> + +<p>It was in the doldrums that our most exciting event +occurred. On November 20, we discovered that through an +accident we had lost over one-half of the supply of fresh water +that remained to us. Since we were at that time forty-three +days out from Hilo, our supply of fresh water was not +large. To lose over half of it was a catastrophe. On +close allowance, the remnant of water we possessed would last +twenty days. But we were in the doldrums; there was no +telling where the southeast trades were, nor where we would pick +them up.</p> + +<p>The handcuffs were promptly put upon the pump, and once a day +the water was portioned out. Each of us received a quart +for personal use, and eight quarts were given to the cook. +Enters now the psychology of the situation. No sooner had +the discovery of the water shortage been made than I, for one, +was afflicted with a burning thirst. It seemed to me that I +had never been so thirsty in my life. My little quart of +water I could easily have drunk in one draught, and to refrain +from doing so required a severe exertion of will. Nor was I +alone in this. All of us talked water, thought water, and +dreamed water when we slept. We examined the charts for +possible islands to which to run in extremity, but there were no +such islands. The Marquesas were the nearest, and they were +the other side of the Line, and of the doldrums, too, which made +it even worse. We were in 3° north latitude, while the +Marquesas were 9° south latitude—a difference of over a +thousand miles. Furthermore, the Marquesas lay some +fourteen degrees to the west of our longitude. A pretty +pickle for a handful of creatures sweltering on the ocean in the +heat of tropic calms.</p> + +<p>We rigged lines on either side between the main and mizzen +riggings. To these we laced the big deck awning, hoisting +it up aft with a sailing pennant so that any rain it might +collect would run forward where it could be caught. Here +and there squalls passed across the circle of the sea. All +day we watched them, now to port or starboard, and again ahead or +astern. But never one came near enough to wet us. In +the afternoon a big one bore down upon us. It spread out +across the ocean as it approached, and we could see it emptying +countless thousands of gallons into the salt sea. Extra +attention was paid to the awning and then we waited. +Warren, Martin, and Hermann made a vivid picture. Grouped +together, holding on to the rigging, swaying to the roll, they +were gazing intently at the squall. Strain, anxiety, and +yearning were in every posture of their bodies. Beside them +was the dry and empty awning. But they seemed to grow limp +and to droop as the squall broke in half, one part passing on +ahead, the other drawing astern and going to leeward.</p> + +<p>But that night came rain. Martin, whose psychological +thirst had compelled him to drink his quart of water early, got +his mouth down to the lip of the awning and drank the deepest +draught I ever have seen drunk. The precious water came +down in bucketfuls and tubfuls, and in two hours we caught and +stored away in the tanks one hundred and twenty gallons. +Strange to say, in all the rest of our voyage to the Marquesas +not another drop of rain fell on board. If that squall had +missed us, the handcuffs would have remained on the pump, and we +would have busied ourselves with utilizing our surplus gasolene +for distillation purposes.</p> + +<p>Then there was the fishing. One did not have to go in +search of it, for it was there at the rail. A three-inch +steel hook, on the end of a stout line, with a piece of white rag +for bait, was all that was necessary to catch bonitas weighing +from ten to twenty-five pounds. Bonitas feed on +flying-fish, wherefore they are unaccustomed to nibbling at the +hook. They strike as gamely as the gamest fish in the sea, +and their first run is something that no man who has ever caught +them will forget. Also, bonitas are the veriest +cannibals. The instant one is hooked he is attacked by his +fellows. Often and often we hauled them on board with +fresh, clean-bitten holes in them the size of teacups.</p> + +<p>One school of bonitas, numbering many thousands, stayed with +us day and night for more than three weeks. Aided by the +<i>Snark</i>, it was great hunting; for they cut a swath of +destruction through the ocean half a mile wide and fifteen +hundred miles in length. They ranged along abreast of the +<i>Snark</i> on either side, pouncing upon the flying-fish her +forefoot scared up. Since they were continually pursuing +astern the flying-fish that survived for several flights, they +were always overtaking the <i>Snark</i>, and at any time one +could glance astern and on the front of a breaking wave see +scores of their silvery forms coasting down just under the +surface. When they had eaten their fill, it was their +delight to get in the shadow of the boat, or of her sails, and a +hundred or so were always to be seen lazily sliding along and +keeping cool.</p> + +<p>But the poor flying-fish! Pursued and eaten alive by the +bonitas and dolphins, they sought flight in the air, where the +swooping seabirds drove them back into the water. Under +heaven there was no refuge for them. Flying-fish do not +play when they essay the air. It is a life-and-death affair +with them. A thousand times a day we could lift our eyes +and see the tragedy played out. The swift, broken circling +of a guny might attract one’s attention. A glance +beneath shows the back of a dolphin breaking the surface in a +wild rush. Just in front of its nose a shimmering palpitant +streak of silver shoots from the water into the air—a +delicate, organic mechanism of flight, endowed with sensation, +power of direction, and love of life. The guny swoops for +it and misses, and the flying-fish, gaining its altitude by +rising, kite-like, against the wind, turns in a half-circle and +skims off to leeward, gliding on the bosom of the wind. +Beneath it, the wake of the dolphin shows in churning foam. +So he follows, gazing upward with large eyes at the flashing +breakfast that navigates an element other than his own. He +cannot rise to so lofty occasion, but he is a thorough-going +empiricist, and he knows, sooner or later, if not gobbled up by +the guny, that the flying-fish must return to the water. +And then—breakfast. We used to pity the poor winged +fish. It was sad to see such sordid and bloody +slaughter. And then, in the night watches, when a forlorn +little flying-fish struck the mainsail and fell gasping and +splattering on the deck, we would rush for it just as eagerly, +just as greedily, just as voraciously, as the dolphins and +bonitas. For know that flying-fish are most toothsome for +breakfast. It is always a wonder to me that such dainty +meat does not build dainty tissue in the bodies of the +devourers. Perhaps the dolphins and bonitas are +coarser-fibred because of the high speed at which they drive +their bodies in order to catch their prey. But then again, +the flying-fish drive their bodies at high speed, too.</p> + +<p>Sharks we caught occasionally, on large hooks, with +chain-swivels, bent on a length of small rope. And sharks +meant pilot-fish, and remoras, and various sorts of parasitic +creatures. Regular man-eaters some of the sharks proved, +tiger-eyed and with twelve rows of teeth, razor-sharp. By +the way, we of the <i>Snark</i> are agreed that we have eaten +many fish that will not compare with baked shark smothered in +tomato dressing. In the calms we occasionally caught a fish +called “haké” by the Japanese cook. And +once, on a spoon-hook trolling a hundred yards astern, we caught +a snake-like fish, over three feet in length and not more than +three inches in diameter, with four fangs in his jaw. He +proved the most delicious fish—delicious in meat and +flavour—that we have ever eaten on board.</p> + +<p>The most welcome addition to our larder was a green +sea-turtle, weighing a full hundred pounds and appearing on the +table most appetizingly in steaks, soups, and stews, and finally +in a wonderful curry which tempted all hands into eating more +rice than was good for them. The turtle was sighted to +windward, calmly sleeping on the surface in the midst of a huge +school of curious dolphins. It was a deep-sea turtle of a +surety, for the nearest land was a thousand miles away. We +put the <i>Snark</i> about and went back for him, Hermann driving +the granes into his head and neck. When hauled aboard, +numerous remora were clinging to his shell, and out of the +hollows at the roots of his flippers crawled several large +crabs. It did not take the crew of the <i>Snark</i> longer +than the next meal to reach the unanimous conclusion that it +would willingly put the <i>Snark</i> about any time for a +turtle.</p> + +<p>But it is the dolphin that is the king of deep-sea +fishes. Never is his colour twice quite the same. +Swimming in the sea, an ethereal creature of palest azure, he +displays in that one guise a miracle of colour. But it is +nothing compared with the displays of which he is capable. +At one time he will appear green—pale green, deep green, +phosphorescent green; at another time blue—deep blue, +electric blue, all the spectrum of blue. Catch him on a +hook, and he turns to gold, yellow gold, all gold. Haul him +on deck, and he excels the spectrum, passing through +inconceivable shades of blues, greens, and yellows, and then, +suddenly, turning a ghostly white, in the midst of which are +bright blue spots, and you suddenly discover that he is speckled +like a trout. Then back from white he goes, through all the +range of colours, finally turning to a mother-of-pearl.</p> + +<p>For those who are devoted to fishing, I can recommend no finer +sport than catching dolphin. Of course, it must be done on +a thin line with reel and pole. A No. 7, +O’Shaughnessy tarpon hook is just the thing, baited with an +entire flying-fish. Like the bonita, the dolphin’s +fare consists of flying-fish, and he strikes like lightning at +the bait. The first warning is when the reel screeches and +you see the line smoking out at right angles to the boat. +Before you have time to entertain anxiety concerning the length +of your line, the fish rises into the air in a succession of +leaps. Since he is quite certain to be four feet long or +over, the sport of landing so gamey a fish can be realized. +When hooked, he invariably turns golden. The idea of the +series of leaps is to rid himself of the hook, and the man who +has made the strike must be of iron or decadent if his heart does +not beat with an extra flutter when he beholds such gorgeous +fish, glittering in golden mail and shaking itself like a +stallion in each mid-air leap. ’Ware slack! If +you don’t, on one of those leaps the hook will be flung out +and twenty feet away. No slack, and away he will go on +another run, culminating in another series of leaps. About +this time one begins to worry over the line, and to wish that he +had had nine hundred feet on the reel originally instead of six +hundred. With careful playing the line can be saved, and +after an hour of keen excitement the fish can be brought to +gaff. One such dolphin I landed on the <i>Snark</i> +measured four feet and seven inches.</p> + +<p>Hermann caught dolphins more prosaically. A hand-line +and a chunk of shark-meat were all he needed. His hand-line +was very thick, but on more than one occasion it parted and lost +the fish. One day a dolphin got away with a lure of +Hermann’s manufacture, to which were lashed four +O’Shaughnessy hooks. Within an hour the same dolphin +was landed with the rod, and on dissecting him the four hooks +were recovered. The dolphins, which remained with us over a +month, deserted us north of the line, and not one was seen during +the remainder of the traverse.</p> + +<p>So the days passed. There was so much to be done that +time never dragged. Had there been little to do, time could +not have dragged with such wonderful seascapes and +cloudscapes—dawns that were like burning imperial cities +under rainbows that arched nearly to the zenith; sunsets that +bathed the purple sea in rivers of rose-coloured light, flowing +from a sun whose diverging, heaven-climbing rays were of the +purest blue. Overside, in the heat of the day, the sea was +an azure satiny fabric, in the depths of which the sunshine +focussed in funnels of light. Astern, deep down, when there +was a breeze, bubbled a procession of milky-turquoise +ghosts—the foam flung down by the hull of the <i>Snark</i> +each time she floundered against a sea. At night the wake +was phosphorescent fire, where the medusa slime resented our +passing bulk, while far down could be observed the unceasing +flight of comets, with long, undulating, nebulous +tails—caused by the passage of the bonitas through the +resentful medusa slime. And now and again, from out of the +darkness on either hand, just under the surface, larger +phosphorescent organisms flashed up like electric lights, marking +collisions with the careless bonitas skurrying ahead to the good +hunting just beyond our bowsprit.</p> + +<p>We made our easting, worked down through the doldrums, and +caught a fresh breeze out of south-by-west. Hauled up by +the wind, on such a slant, we would fetch past the Marquesas far +away to the westward. But the next day, on Tuesday, +November 26, in the thick of a heavy squall, the wind shifted +suddenly to the southeast. It was the trade at last. +There were no more squalls, naught but fine weather, a fair wind, +and a whirling log, with sheets slacked off and with spinnaker +and mainsail swaying and bellying on either side. The trade +backed more and more, until it blew out of the northeast, while +we steered a steady course to the southwest. Ten days of +this, and on the morning of December 6, at five o’clock, we +sighted land “just where it ought to have been,” dead +ahead. We passed to leeward of Ua-huka, skirted the +southern edge of Nuka-hiva, and that night, in driving squalls +and inky darkness, fought our way in to an anchorage in the +narrow bay of Taiohae. The anchor rumbled down to the +blatting of wild goats on the cliffs, and the air we breathed was +heavy with the perfume of flowers. The traverse was +accomplished. Sixty days from land to land, across a lonely +sea above whose horizons never rise the straining sails of +ships.</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap10"></a>CHAPTER X<br /> +<span class="GutSmall">TYPEE</span></h2> + +<p><span class="smcap">To</span> the eastward Ua-huka was being +blotted out by an evening rain-squall that was fast overtaking +the <i>Snark</i>. But that little craft, her big spinnaker +filled by the southeast trade, was making a good race of +it. Cape Martin, the southeasternmost point of Nuku-hiva, +was abeam, and Comptroller Bay was opening up as we fled past its +wide entrance, where Sail Rock, for all the world like the +spritsail of a Columbia River salmon-boat, was making brave +weather of it in the smashing southeast swell.</p> + +<p>“What do you make that out to be?” I asked +Hermann, at the wheel.</p> + +<p>“A fishing-boat, sir,” he answered after careful +scrutiny.</p> + +<p>Yet on the chart it was plainly marked, “Sail +Rock.”</p> + +<p>But we were more interested in the recesses of Comptroller +Bay, where our eyes eagerly sought out the three bights of land +and centred on the midmost one, where the gathering twilight +showed the dim walls of a valley extending inland. How +often we had pored over the chart and centred always on that +midmost bight and on the valley it opened—the Valley of +Typee. “Taipi” the chart spelled it, and +spelled it correctly, but I prefer “Typee,” and I +shall always spell it “Typee.” When I was a +little boy, I read a book spelled in that manner—Herman +Melville’s “Typee”; and many long hours I +dreamed over its pages. Nor was it all dreaming. I +resolved there and then, mightily, come what would, that when I +had gained strength and years, I, too, would voyage to +Typee. For the wonder of the world was penetrating to my +tiny consciousness—the wonder that was to lead me to many +lands, and that leads and never pails. The years passed, +but Typee was not forgotten. Returned to San Francisco from +a seven months’ cruise in the North Pacific, I decided the +time had come. The brig <i>Galilee</i> was sailing for the +Marquesas, but her crew was complete and I, who was an +able-seaman before the mast and young enough to be overweeningly +proud of it, was willing to condescend to ship as cabin-boy in +order to make the pilgrimage to Typee. Of course, the +<i>Galilee</i> would have sailed from the Marquesas without me, +for I was bent on finding another Fayaway and another +Kory-Kory. I doubt that the captain read desertion in my +eye. Perhaps even the berth of cabin-boy was already +filled. At any rate, I did not get it.</p> + +<p>Then came the rush of years, filled brimming with projects, +achievements, and failures; but Typee was not forgotten, and here +I was now, gazing at its misty outlines till the squall swooped +down and the <i>Snark</i> dashed on into the driving +smother. Ahead, we caught a glimpse and took the compass +bearing of Sentinel Rock, wreathed with pounding surf. Then +it, too, was effaced by the rain and darkness. We steered +straight for it, trusting to hear the sound of breakers in time +to sheer clear. We had to steer for it. We had naught +but a compass bearing with which to orientate ourselves, and if +we missed Sentinel Rock, we missed Taiohae Bay, and we would have +to throw the <i>Snark</i> up to the wind and lie off and on the +whole night—no pleasant prospect for voyagers weary from a +sixty days’ traverse of the vast Pacific solitude, and +land-hungry, and fruit-hungry, and hungry with an appetite of +years for the sweet vale of Typee.</p> + +<p>Abruptly, with a roar of sound, Sentinel Rock loomed through +the rain dead ahead. We altered our course, and, with +mainsail and spinnaker bellying to the squall, drove past. +Under the lea of the rock the wind dropped us, and we rolled in +an absolute calm. Then a puff of air struck us, right in +our teeth, out of Taiohae Bay. It was in spinnaker, up +mizzen, all sheets by the wind, and we were moving slowly ahead, +heaving the lead and straining our eyes for the fixed red light +on the ruined fort that would give us our bearings to +anchorage. The air was light and baffling, now east, now +west, now north, now south; while from either hand came the roar +of unseen breakers. From the looming cliffs arose the +blatting of wild goats, and overhead the first stars were peeping +mistily through the ragged train of the passing squall. At +the end of two hours, having come a mile into the bay, we dropped +anchor in eleven fathoms. And so we came to Taiohae.</p> + +<p>In the morning we awoke in fairyland. The <i>Snark</i> +rested in a placid harbour that nestled in a vast amphitheatre, +the towering, vine-clad walls of which seemed to rise directly +from the water. Far up, to the east, we glimpsed the thin +line of a trail, visible in one place, where it scoured across +the face of the wall.</p> + +<p>“The path by which Toby escaped from Typee!” we +cried.</p> + +<p>We were not long in getting ashore and astride horses, though +the consummation of our pilgrimage had to be deferred for a +day. Two months at sea, bare-footed all the time, without +space in which to exercise one’s limbs, is not the best +preliminary to leather shoes and walking. Besides, the land +had to cease its nauseous rolling before we could feel fit for +riding goat-like horses over giddy trails. So we took a +short ride to break in, and crawled through thick jungle to make +the acquaintance of a venerable moss-grown idol, where had +foregathered a German trader and a Norwegian captain to estimate +the weight of said idol, and to speculate upon depreciation in +value caused by sawing him in half. They treated the old +fellow sacrilegiously, digging their knives into him to see how +hard he was and how deep his mossy mantle, and commanding him to +rise up and save them trouble by walking down to the ship +himself. In lieu of which, nineteen Kanakas slung him on a +frame of timbers and toted him to the ship, where, battened down +under hatches, even now he is cleaving the South Pacific Hornward +and toward Europe—the ultimate abiding-place for all good +heathen idols, save for the few in America and one in particular +who grins beside me as I write, and who, barring shipwreck, will +grin somewhere in my neighbourhood until I die. And he will +win out. He will be grinning when I am dust.</p> + +<p>Also, as a preliminary, we attended a feast, where one Taiara +Tamarii, the son of an Hawaiian sailor who deserted from a +whaleship, commemorated the death of his Marquesan mother by +roasting fourteen whole hogs and inviting in the village. +So we came along, welcomed by a native herald, a young girl, who +stood on a great rock and chanted the information that the +banquet was made perfect by our presence—which information +she extended impartially to every arrival. Scarcely were we +seated, however, when she changed her tune, while the company +manifested intense excitement. Her cries became eager and +piercing. From a distance came answering cries, in +men’s voices, which blended into a wild, barbaric chant +that sounded incredibly savage, smacking of blood and war. +Then, through vistas of tropical foliage appeared a procession of +savages, naked save for gaudy loin-cloths. They advanced +slowly, uttering deep guttural cries of triumph and +exaltation. Slung from young saplings carried on their +shoulders were mysterious objects of considerable weight, hidden +from view by wrappings of green leaves.</p> + +<p>Nothing but pigs, innocently fat and roasted to a turn, were +inside those wrappings, but the men were carrying them into camp +in imitation of old times when they carried in +“long-pig.” Now long-pig is not pig. +Long-pig is the Polynesian euphemism for human flesh; and these +descendants of man-eaters, a king’s son at their head, +brought in the pigs to table as of old their grandfathers had +brought in their slain enemies. Every now and then the +procession halted in order that the bearers should have every +advantage in uttering particularly ferocious shouts of victory, +of contempt for their enemies, and of gustatory desire. So +Melville, two generations ago, witnessed the bodies of slain +Happar warriors, wrapped in palm-leaves, carried to banquet at +the Ti. At another time, at the Ti, he “observed a +curiously carved vessel of wood,” and on looking into it +his eyes “fell upon the disordered members of a human +skeleton, the bones still fresh with moisture, and with particles +of flesh clinging to them here and there.”</p> + +<p>Cannibalism has often been regarded as a fairy story by +ultracivilized men who dislike, perhaps, the notion that their +own savage forebears have somewhere in the past been addicted to +similar practices. Captain Cook was rather sceptical upon +the subject, until, one day, in a harbour of New Zealand, he +deliberately tested the matter. A native happened to have +brought on board, for sale, a nice, sun-dried head. At +Cook’s orders strips of the flesh were cut away and handed +to the native, who greedily devoured them. To say the +least, Captain Cook was a rather thorough-going empiricist. +At any rate, by that act he supplied one ascertained fact of +which science had been badly in need. Little did he dream +of the existence of a certain group of islands, thousands of +miles away, where in subsequent days there would arise a curious +suit at law, when an old chief of Maui would be charged with +defamation of character because he persisted in asserting that +his body was the living repository of Captain Cook’s great +toe. It is said that the plaintiffs failed to prove that +the old chief was not the tomb of the navigator’s great +toe, and that the suit was dismissed.</p> + +<p>I suppose I shall not have the chance in these degenerate days +to see any long-pig eaten, but at least I am already the +possessor of a duly certified Marquesan calabash, oblong in +shape, curiously carved, over a century old, from which has been +drunk the blood of two shipmasters. One of those captains +was a mean man. He sold a decrepit whale-boat, as good as +new what of the fresh white paint, to a Marquesan chief. +But no sooner had the captain sailed away than the whale-boat +dropped to pieces. It was his fortune, some time +afterwards, to be wrecked, of all places, on that particular +island. The Marquesan chief was ignorant of rebates and +discounts; but he had a primitive sense of equity and an equally +primitive conception of the economy of nature, and he balanced +the account by eating the man who had cheated him.</p> + +<p>We started in the cool dawn for Typee, astride ferocious +little stallions that pawed and screamed and bit and fought one +another quite oblivious of the fragile humans on their backs and +of the slippery boulders, loose rocks, and yawning gorges. +The way led up an ancient road through a jungle of <i>hau</i> +trees. On every side were the vestiges of a one-time dense +population. Wherever the eye could penetrate the thick +growth, glimpses were caught of stone walls and of stone +foundations, six to eight feet in height, built solidly +throughout, and many yards in width and depth. They formed +great stone platforms, upon which, at one time, there had been +houses. But the houses and the people were gone, and huge +trees sank their roots through the platforms and towered over the +under-running jungle. These foundations are called +<i>pae-paes</i>—the <i>pi-pis</i> of Melville, who spelled +phonetically.</p> + +<p>The Marquesans of the present generation lack the energy to +hoist and place such huge stones. Also, they lack +incentive. There are plenty of <i>pae-paes</i> to go +around, with a few thousand unoccupied ones left over. Once +or twice, as we ascended the valley, we saw magnificent +<i>pae-paes</i> bearing on their general surface pitiful little +straw huts, the proportions being similar to a voting booth +perched on the broad foundation of the Pyramid of Cheops. +For the Marquesans are perishing, and, to judge from conditions +at Taiohae, the one thing that retards their destruction is the +infusion of fresh blood. A pure Marquesan is a +rarity. They seem to be all half-breeds and strange +conglomerations of dozens of different races. Nineteen able +labourers are all the trader at Taiohae can muster for the +loading of copra on shipboard, and in their veins runs the blood +of English, American, Dane, German, French, Corsican, Spanish, +Portuguese, Chinese, Hawaiian, Paumotan, Tahitian, and Easter +Islander. There are more races than there are persons, but +it is a wreckage of races at best. Life faints and stumbles +and gasps itself away. In this warm, equable clime—a +truly terrestrial paradise—where are never extremes of +temperature and where the air is like balm, kept ever pure by the +ozone-laden southeast trade, asthma, phthisis, and tuberculosis +flourish as luxuriantly as the vegetation. Everywhere, from +the few grass huts, arises the racking cough or exhausted groan +of wasted lungs. Other horrible diseases prosper as well, +but the most deadly of all are those that attack the lungs. +There is a form of consumption called “galloping,” +which is especially dreaded. In two months’ time it +reduces the strongest man to a skeleton under a +grave-cloth. In valley after valley the last inhabitant has +passed and the fertile soil has relapsed to jungle. In +Melville’s day the valley of Hapaa (spelled by him +“Happar”) was peopled by a strong and warlike +tribe. A generation later, it contained but two hundred +persons. To-day it is an untenanted, howling, tropical +wilderness.</p> + +<p>We climbed higher and higher in the valley, our unshod +stallions picking their steps on the disintegrating trail, which +led in and out through the abandoned <i>pae-paes</i> and +insatiable jungle. The sight of red mountain apples, the +<i>ohias</i>, familiar to us from Hawaii, caused a native to be +sent climbing after them. And again he climbed for +cocoa-nuts. I have drunk the cocoanuts of Jamaica and of +Hawaii, but I never knew how delicious such draught could be till +I drank it here in the Marquesas. Occasionally we rode +under wild limes and oranges—great trees which had survived +the wilderness longer than the motes of humans who had cultivated +them.</p> + +<p>We rode through endless thickets of yellow-pollened +cassi—if riding it could be called; for those fragrant +thickets were inhabited by wasps. And such wasps! +Great yellow fellows the size of small canary birds, darting +through the air with behind them drifting a bunch of legs a +couple of inches long. A stallion abruptly stands on his +forelegs and thrusts his hind legs skyward. He withdraws +them from the sky long enough to make one wild jump ahead, and +then returns them to their index position. It is +nothing. His thick hide has merely been punctured by a +flaming lance of wasp virility. Then a second and a third +stallion, and all the stallions, begin to cavort on their +forelegs over the precipitous landscape. Swat! A +white-hot poniard penetrates my cheek. Swat again!! I +am stabbed in the neck. I am bringing up the rear and +getting more than my share. There is no retreat, and the +plunging horses ahead, on a precarious trail, promise little +safety. My horse overruns Charmian’s horse, and that +sensitive creature, fresh-stung at the psychological moment, +planks one of his hoofs into my horse and the other hoof into +me. I thank my stars that he is not steel-shod, and +half-arise from the saddle at the impact of another flaming +dagger. I am certainly getting more than my share, and so +is my poor horse, whose pain and panic are only exceeded by +mine.</p> + +<p>“Get out of the way! I’m coming!” I +shout, frantically dashing my cap at the winged vipers around +me.</p> + +<p>On one side of the trail the landscape rises straight +up. On the other side it sinks straight down. The +only way to get out of my way is to keep on going. How that +string of horses kept their feet is a miracle; but they dashed +ahead, over-running one another, galloping, trotting, stumbling, +jumping, scrambling, and kicking methodically skyward every time +a wasp landed on them. After a while we drew breath and +counted our injuries. And this happened not once, nor +twice, but time after time. Strange to say, it never grew +monotonous. I know that I, for one, came through each brush +with the undiminished zest of a man flying from sudden +death. No; the pilgrim from Taiohae to Typee will never +suffer from <i>ennui</i> on the way.</p> + +<p>At last we arose above the vexation of wasps. It was a +matter of altitude, however, rather than of fortitude. All +about us lay the jagged back-bones of ranges, as far as the eye +could see, thrusting their pinnacles into the trade-wind +clouds. Under us, from the way we had come, the +<i>Snark</i> lay like a tiny toy on the calm water of Taiohae +Bay. Ahead we could see the inshore indentation of +Comptroller Bay. We dropped down a thousand feet, and Typee +lay beneath us. “Had a glimpse of the gardens of +paradise been revealed to me I could scarcely have been more +ravished with the sight”—so said Melville on the +moment of his first view of the valley. He saw a +garden. We saw a wilderness. Where were the hundred +groves of the breadfruit tree he saw? We saw jungle, +nothing but jungle, with the exception of two grass huts and +several clumps of cocoanuts breaking the primordial green +mantle. Where was the <i>Ti</i> of Mehevi, the +bachelors’ hall, the palace where women were taboo, and +where he ruled with his lesser chieftains, keeping the half-dozen +dusty and torpid ancients to remind them of the valorous +past? From the swift stream no sounds arose of maids and +matrons pounding <i>tapa</i>. And where was the hut that +old Narheyo eternally builded? In vain I looked for him +perched ninety feet from the ground in some tall cocoanut, taking +his morning smoke.</p> + +<p>We went down a zigzag trail under overarching, matted jungle, +where great butterflies drifted by in the silence. No +tattooed savage with club and javelin guarded the path; and when +we forded the stream, we were free to roam where we +pleased. No longer did the taboo, sacred and merciless, +reign in that sweet vale. Nay, the taboo still did reign, a +new taboo, for when we approached too near the several wretched +native women, the taboo was uttered warningly. And it was +well. They were lepers. The man who warned us was +afflicted horribly with elephantiasis. All were suffering +from lung trouble. The valley of Typee was the abode of +death, and the dozen survivors of the tribe were gasping feebly +the last painful breaths of the race.</p> + +<p>Certainly the battle had not been to the strong, for once the +Typeans were very strong, stronger than the Happars, stronger +than the Taiohaeans, stronger than all the tribes of +Nuku-hiva. The word “typee,” or, rather, +“taipi,” originally signified an eater of human +flesh. But since all the Marquesans were human-flesh +eaters, to be so designated was the token that the Typeans were +the human-flesh eaters par excellence. Not alone to +Nuku-hiva did the Typean reputation for bravery and ferocity +extend. In all the islands of the Marquesas the Typeans +were named with dread. Man could not conquer them. +Even the French fleet that took possession of the Marquesas left +the Typeans alone. Captain Porter, of the frigate +<i>Essex</i>, once invaded the valley. His sailors and +marines were reinforced by two thousand warriors of Happar and +Taiohae. They penetrated quite a distance into the valley, +but met with so fierce a resistance that they were glad to +retreat and get away in their flotilla of boats and +war-canoes.</p> + +<p>Of all inhabitants of the South Seas, the Marquesans were +adjudged the strongest and the most beautiful. Melville +said of them: “I was especially struck by the physical +strength and beauty they displayed . . . In beauty of form they +surpassed anything I had ever seen. Not a single instance +of natural deformity was observable in all the throng attending +the revels. Every individual appeared free from those +blemishes which sometimes mar the effect of an otherwise perfect +form. But their physical excellence did not merely consist +in an exemption from these evils; nearly every individual of the +number might have been taken for a sculptor’s +model.” Mendaña, the discoverer of the +Marquesas, described the natives as wondrously beautiful to +behold. Figueroa, the chronicler of his voyage, said of +them: “In complexion they were nearly white; of good +stature and finely formed.” Captain Cook called the +Marquesans the most splendid islanders in the South Seas. +The men were described, as “in almost every instance of +lofty stature, scarcely ever less than six feet in +height.”</p> + +<p>And now all this strength and beauty has departed, and the +valley of Typee is the abode of some dozen wretched creatures, +afflicted by leprosy, elephantiasis, and tuberculosis. +Melville estimated the population at two thousand, not taking +into consideration the small adjoining valley of Ho-o-u-mi. +Life has rotted away in this wonderful garden spot, where the +climate is as delightful and healthful as any to be found in the +world. Not alone were the Typeans physically magnificent; +they were pure. Their air did not contain the bacilli and +germs and microbes of disease that fill our own air. And +when the white men imported in their ships these various +micro-organisms or disease, the Typeans crumpled up and went down +before them.</p> + +<p>When one considers the situation, one is almost driven to the +conclusion that the white race flourishes on impurity and +corruption. Natural selection, however, gives the +explanation. We of the white race are the survivors and the +descendants of the thousands of generations of survivors in the +war with the micro-organisms. Whenever one of us was born +with a constitution peculiarly receptive to these minute enemies, +such a one promptly died. Only those of us survived who +could withstand them. We who are alive are the immune, the +fit—the ones best constituted to live in a world of hostile +micro-organisms. The poor Marquesans had undergone no such +selection. They were not immune. And they, who had +made a custom of eating their enemies, were now eaten by enemies +so microscopic as to be invisible, and against whom no war of +dart and javelin was possible. On the other hand, had there +been a few hundred thousand Marquesans to begin with, there might +have been sufficient survivors to lay the foundation for a new +race—a regenerated race, if a plunge into a festering bath +of organic poison can be called regeneration.</p> + +<p>We unsaddled our horses for lunch, and after we had fought the +stallions apart—mine with several fresh chunks bitten out +of his back—and after we had vainly fought the sand-flies, +we ate bananas and tinned meats, washed down by generous draughts +of cocoanut milk. There was little to be seen. The +jungle had rushed back and engulfed the puny works of man. +Here and there <i>pai-pais</i> were to be stumbled upon, but +there were no inscriptions, no hieroglyphics, no clues to the +past they attested—only dumb stones, builded and carved by +hands that were forgotten dust. Out of the <i>pai-pais</i> +grew great trees, jealous of the wrought work of man, splitting +and scattering the stones back into the primeval chaos.</p> + +<p>We gave up the jungle and sought the stream with the idea of +evading the sand-flies. Vain hope! To go in swimming +one must take off his clothes. The sand-flies are aware of +the fact, and they lurk by the river bank in countless +myriads. In the native they are called the <i>nau-nau</i>, +which is pronounced “now-now.” They are +certainly well named, for they are the insistent present. +There is no past nor future when they fasten upon one’s +epidermis, and I am willing to wager that Omer Khayyám +could never have written the Rubáiyat in the valley of +Typee—it would have been psychologically impossible. +I made the strategic mistake of undressing on the edge of a steep +bank where I could dive in but could not climb out. When I +was ready to dress, I had a hundred yards’ walk on the bank +before I could reach my clothes. At the first step, fully +ten thousand <i>nau-naus</i> landed upon me. At the second +step I was walking in a cloud. By the third step the sun +was dimmed in the sky. After that I don’t know what +happened. When I arrived at my clothes, I was a +maniac. And here enters my grand tactical error. +There is only one rule of conduct in dealing with +<i>nau-naus</i>. Never swat them. Whatever you do, +don’t swat them. They are so vicious that in the +instant of annihilation they eject their last atom of poison into +your carcass. You must pluck them delicately, between thumb +and forefinger, and persuade them gently to remove their +proboscides from your quivering flesh. It is like pulling +teeth. But the difficulty was that the teeth sprouted +faster than I could pull them, so I swatted, and, so doing, +filled myself full with their poison. This was a week +ago. At the present moment I resemble a sadly neglected +smallpox convalescent.</p> + +<p>Ho-o-u-mi is a small valley, separated from Typee by a low +ridge, and thither we started when we had knocked our indomitable +and insatiable riding-animals into submission. As it was, +Warren’s mount, after a mile run, selected the most +dangerous part of the trail for an exhibition that kept us all on +the anxious seat for fully five minutes. We rode by the +mouth of Typee valley and gazed down upon the beach from which +Melville escaped. There was where the whale-boat lay on its +oars close in to the surf; and there was where Karakoee, the +taboo Kanaka, stood in the water and trafficked for the +sailor’s life. There, surely, was where Melville gave +Fayaway the parting embrace ere he dashed for the boat. And +there was the point of land from which Mehevi and Mow-mow and +their following swam off to intercept the boat, only to have +their wrists gashed by sheath-knives when they laid hold of the +gunwale, though it was reserved for Mow-mow to receive the +boat-hook full in the throat from Melville’s hands.</p> + +<p>We rode on to Ho-o-u-mi. So closely was Melville guarded +that he never dreamed of the existence of this valley, though he +must continually have met its inhabitants, for they belonged to +Typee. We rode through the same abandoned <i>pae-paes</i>, +but as we neared the sea we found a profusion of cocoanuts, +breadfruit trees and taro patches, and fully a dozen grass +dwellings. In one of these we arranged to pass the night, +and preparations were immediately put on foot for a feast. +A young pig was promptly despatched, and while he was being +roasted among hot stones, and while chickens were stewing in +cocoanut milk, I persuaded one of the cooks to climb an unusually +tall cocoanut palm. The cluster of nuts at the top was +fully one hundred and twenty-five feet from the ground, but that +native strode up to the tree, seized it in both hands, +jack-knived at the waist so that the soles of his feet rested +flatly against the trunk, and then he walked right straight up +without stopping. There were no notches in the tree. +He had no ropes to help him. He merely walked up the tree, +one hundred and twenty-five feet in the air, and cast down the +nuts from the summit. Not every man there had the physical +stamina for such a feat, or the lungs, rather, for most of them +were coughing their lives away. Some of the women kept up a +ceaseless moaning and groaning, so badly were their lungs +wasted. Very few of either sex were full-blooded +Marquesans. They were mostly half-breeds and +three-quarter-breeds of French, English, Danish, and Chinese +extraction. At the best, these infusions of fresh blood +merely delayed the passing, and the results led one to wonder +whether it was worth while.</p> + +<p>The feast was served on a broad <i>pae-pae</i>, the rear +portion of which was occupied by the house in which we were to +sleep. The first course was raw fish and <i>poi-poi</i>, +the latter sharp and more acrid of taste than the <i>poi</i> of +Hawaii, which is made from taro. The <i>poi-poi</i> of the +Marquesas is made from breadfruit. The ripe fruit, after +the core is removed, is placed in a calabash and pounded with a +stone pestle into a stiff, sticky paste. In this stage of +the process, wrapped in leaves, it can be buried in the ground, +where it will keep for years. Before it can be eaten, +however, further processes are necessary. A leaf-covered +package is placed among hot stones, like the pig, and thoroughly +baked. After that it is mixed with cold water and thinned +out—not thin enough to run, but thin enough to be eaten by +sticking one’s first and second fingers into it. On +close acquaintance it proves a pleasant and most healthful +food. And breadfruit, ripe and well boiled or +roasted! It is delicious. Breadfruit and taro are +kingly vegetables, the pair of them, though the former is +patently a misnomer and more resembles a sweet potato than +anything else, though it is not mealy like a sweet potato, nor is +it so sweet.</p> + +<p>The feast ended, we watched the moon rise over Typee. +The air was like balm, faintly scented with the breath of +flowers. It was a magic night, deathly still, without the +slightest breeze to stir the foliage; and one caught one’s +breath and felt the pang that is almost hurt, so exquisite was +the beauty of it. Faint and far could be heard the thin +thunder of the surf upon the beach. There were no beds; and +we drowsed and slept wherever we thought the floor softest. +Near by, a woman panted and moaned in her sleep, and all about us +the dying islanders coughed in the night.</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap11"></a>CHAPTER XI<br /> +<span class="GutSmall">THE NATURE MAN</span></h2> + +<p>I <span class="smcap">first</span> met him on Market Street in +San Francisco. It was a wet and drizzly afternoon, and he +was striding along, clad solely in a pair of abbreviated +knee-trousers and an abbreviated shirt, his bare feet going +slick-slick through the pavement-slush. At his heels +trooped a score of excited gamins. Every head—and +there were thousands—turned to glance curiously at him as +he went by. And I turned, too. Never had I seen such +lovely sunburn. He was all sunburn, of the sort a blond +takes on when his skin does not peel. His long yellow hair +was burnt, so was his beard, which sprang from a soil unploughed +by any razor. He was a tawny man, a golden-tawny man, all +glowing and radiant with the sun. Another prophet, thought +I, come up to town with a message that will save the world.</p> + +<p>A few weeks later I was with some friends in their bungalow in +the Piedmont hills overlooking San Francisco Bay. +“We’ve got him, we’ve got him,” they +barked. “We caught him up a tree; but he’s all +right now, he’ll feed from the hand. Come on and see +him.” So I accompanied them up a dizzy hill, and in a +rickety shack in the midst of a eucalyptus grove found my +sunburned prophet of the city pavements.</p> + +<p>He hastened to meet us, arriving in the whirl and blur of a +handspring. He did not shake hands with us; instead, his +greeting took the form of stunts. He turned more +handsprings. He twisted his body sinuously, like a snake, +until, having sufficiently limbered up, he bent from the hips, +and, with legs straight and knees touching, beat a tattoo on the +ground with the palms of his hands. He whirligigged and +pirouetted, dancing and cavorting round like an inebriated +ape. All the sun-warmth of his ardent life beamed in his +face. I am so happy, was the song without words he +sang.</p> + +<p>He sang it all evening, ringing the changes on it with an +endless variety of stunts. “A fool! a fool! I +met a fool in the forest!” thought I, and a worthy fool he +proved. Between handsprings and whirligigs he delivered his +message that would save the world. It was twofold. +First, let suffering humanity strip off its clothing and run wild +in the mountains and valleys; and, second, let the very miserable +world adopt phonetic spelling. I caught a glimpse of the +great social problems being settled by the city populations +swarming naked over the landscape, to the popping of shot-guns, +the barking of ranch-dogs, and countless assaults with pitchforks +wielded by irate farmers.</p> + +<p>The years passed, and, one sunny morning, the <i>Snark</i> +poked her nose into a narrow opening in a reef that smoked with +the crashing impact of the trade-wind swell, and beat slowly up +Papeete harbour. Coming off to us was a boat, flying a +yellow flag. We knew it contained the port doctor. +But quite a distance off, in its wake, was a tiny out rigger +canoe that puzzled us. It was flying a red flag. I +studied it through the glasses, fearing that it marked some +hidden danger to navigation, some recent wreck or some buoy or +beacon that had been swept away. Then the doctor came on +board. After he had examined the state of our health and +been assured that we had no live rats hidden away in the +<i>Snark</i>, I asked him the meaning of the red flag. +“Oh, that is Darling,” was the answer.</p> + +<p>And then Darling, Ernest Darling flying the red flag that is +indicative of the brotherhood of man, hailed us. +“Hello, Jack!” he called. “Hello, +Charmian!” He paddled swiftly nearer, and I saw that +he was the tawny prophet of the Piedmont hills. He came +over the side, a sun-god clad in a scarlet loin-cloth, with +presents of Arcady and greeting in both his hands—a bottle +of golden honey and a leaf-basket filled <i>with</i> great golden +mangoes, golden bananas specked with freckles of deeper gold, +golden pine-apples and golden limes, and juicy oranges minted +from the same precious ore of sun and soil. And in this +fashion under the southern sky, I met once more Darling, the +Nature Man.</p> + +<p>Tahiti is one of the most beautiful spots in the world, +inhabited by thieves and robbers and liars, also by several +honest and truthful men and women. Wherefore, because of +the blight cast upon Tahiti’s wonderful beauty by the +spidery human vermin that infest it, I am minded to write, not of +Tahiti, but of the Nature Man. He, at least, is refreshing +and wholesome. The spirit that emanates from him is so +gentle and sweet that it would harm nothing, hurt nobody’s +feelings save the feelings of a predatory and plutocratic +capitalist.</p> + +<p>“What does this red flag mean?” I asked.</p> + +<p>“Socialism, of course.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, yes, I know that,” I went on; “but +what does it mean in your hands?”</p> + +<p>“Why, that I’ve found my message.”</p> + +<p>“And that you are delivering it to Tahiti?” I +demanded incredulously.</p> + +<p>“Sure,” he answered simply; and later on I found +that he was, too.</p> + +<p>When we dropped anchor, lowered a small boat into the water, +and started ashore, the Nature Man joined us. Now, thought +I, I shall be pestered to death by this crank. Waking or +sleeping I shall never be quit of him until I sail away from +here.</p> + +<p>But never in my life was I more mistaken. I took a house +and went to live and work in it, and the Nature Man never came +near me. He was waiting for the invitation. In the +meantime he went aboard the <i>Snark</i> and took possession of +her library, delighted by the quantity of scientific books, and +shocked, as I learned afterwards, by the inordinate amount of +fiction. The Nature Man never wastes time on fiction.</p> + +<p>After a week or so, my conscience smote me, and I invited him +to dinner at a downtown hotel.</p> + +<p>He arrived, looking unwontedly stiff and uncomfortable in a +cotton jacket. When invited to peel it off, he beamed his +gratitude and joy, and did so, revealing his sun-gold skin, from +waist to shoulder, covered only by a piece of fish-net of coarse +twine and large of mesh. A scarlet loin-cloth completed his +costume. I began my acquaintance with him that night, and +during my long stay in Tahiti that acquaintance ripened into +friendship.</p> + +<p>“So you write books,” he said, one day when, tired +and sweaty, I finished my morning’s work.</p> + +<p>“I, too, write books,” he announced.</p> + +<p>Aha, thought I, now at last is he going to pester me with his +literary efforts. My soul was in revolt. I had not +come all the way to the South Seas to be a literary bureau.</p> + +<p>“This is the book I write,” he explained, smashing +himself a resounding blow on the chest with his clenched +fist. “The gorilla in the African jungle pounds his +chest till the noise of it can be heard half a mile +away.”</p> + +<p>“A pretty good chest,” quoth I, admiringly; +“it would even make a gorilla envious.”</p> + +<p>And then, and later, I learned the details of the marvellous +book Ernest Darling had written. Twelve years ago he lay +close to death. He weighed but ninety pounds, and was too +weak to speak. The doctors had given him up. His +father, a practising physician, had given him up. +Consultations with other physicians had been held upon him. +There was no hope for him. Overstudy (as a school-teacher +and as a university student) and two successive attacks of +pneumonia were responsible for his breakdown. Day by day he +was losing strength. He could extract no nutrition from the +heavy foods they gave him; nor could pellets and powders help his +stomach to do the work of digestion. Not only was he a +physical wreck, but he was a mental wreck. His mind was +overwrought. He was sick and tired of medicine, and he was +sick and tired of persons. Human speech jarred upon +him. Human attentions drove him frantic. The thought +came to him that since he was going to die, he might as well die +in the open, away from all the bother and irritation. And +behind this idea lurked a sneaking idea that perhaps he would not +die after all if only he could escape from the heavy foods, the +medicines, and the well-intentioned persons who made him +frantic.</p> + +<p>So Ernest Darling, a bag of bones and a death’s-head, a +perambulating corpse, with just the dimmest flutter of life in it +to make it perambulate, turned his back upon men and the +habitations of men and dragged himself for five miles through the +brush, away from the city of Portland, Oregon. Of course he +was crazy. Only a lunatic would drag himself out of his +death-bed.</p> + +<p>But in the brush, Darling found what he was looking +for—rest. Nobody bothered him with beefsteaks and +pork. No physicians lacerated his tired nerves by feeling +his pulse, nor tormented his tired stomach with pellets and +powders. He began to feel soothed. The sun was +shining warm, and he basked in it. He had the feeling that +the sun shine was an elixir of health. Then it seemed to +him that his whole wasted wreck of a body was crying for the +sun. He stripped off his clothes and bathed in the +sunshine. He felt better. It had done him +good—the first relief in weary months of pain.</p> + +<p>As he grew better, he sat up and began to take notice. +All about him were the birds fluttering and chirping, the +squirrels chattering and playing. He envied them their +health and spirits, their happy, care-free existence. That +he should contrast their condition with his was inevitable; and +that he should question why they were splendidly vigorous while +he was a feeble, dying wraith of a man, was likewise +inevitable. His conclusion was the very obvious one, +namely, that they lived naturally, while he lived most +unnaturally; therefore, if he intended to live, he must return to +nature.</p> + +<p>Alone, there in the brush, he worked out his problem and began +to apply it. He stripped off his clothing and leaped and +gambolled about, running on all fours, climbing trees; in short, +doing physical stunts,—and all the time soaking in the +sunshine. He imitated the animals. He built a nest of +dry leaves and grasses in which to sleep at night, covering it +over with bark as a protection against the early fall +rains. “Here is a beautiful exercise,” he told +me, once, flapping his arms mightily against his sides; “I +learned it from watching the roosters crow.” Another +time I remarked the loud, sucking intake with which he drank +cocoanut-milk. He explained that he had noticed the cows +drinking that way and concluded there must be something in +it. He tried it and found it good, and thereafter he drank +only in that fashion.</p> + +<p>He noted that the squirrels lived on fruits and nuts. He +started on a fruit-and-nut diet, helped out by bread, and he grew +stronger and put on weight. For three months he continued +his primordial existence in the brush, and then the heavy Oregon +rains drove him back to the habitations of men. Not in +three months could a ninety-pound survivor of two attacks of +pneumonia develop sufficient ruggedness to live through an Oregon +winter in the open.</p> + +<p>He had accomplished much, but he had been driven in. +There was no place to go but back to his father’s house, +and there, living in close rooms with lungs that panted for all +the air of the open sky, he was brought down by a third attack of +pneumonia. He grew weaker even than before. In that +tottering tabernacle of flesh, his brain collapsed. He lay +like a corpse, too weak to stand the fatigue of speaking, too +irritated and tired in his miserable brain to care to listen to +the speech of others. The only act of will of which he was +capable was to stick his fingers in his ears and resolutely to +refuse to hear a single word that was spoken to him. They +sent for the insanity experts. He was adjudged insane, and +also the verdict was given that he would not live a month.</p> + +<p>By one such mental expert he was carted off to a sanatorium on +Mt. Tabor. Here, when they learned that he was harmless, +they gave him his own way. They no longer dictated as to +the food he ate, so he resumed his fruits and nuts—olive +oil, peanut butter, and bananas the chief articles of his +diet. As he regained his strength he made up his mind to +live thenceforth his own life. If he lived like others, +according to social conventions, he would surely die. And +he did not want to die. The fear of death was one of the +strongest factors in the genesis of the Nature Man. To +live, he must have a natural diet, the open air, and the blessed +sunshine.</p> + +<p>Now an Oregon winter has no inducements for those who wish to +return to Nature, so Darling started out in search of a +climate. He mounted a bicycle and headed south for the +sunlands. Stanford University claimed him for a year. +Here he studied and worked his way, attending lectures in as +scant garb as the authorities would allow and applying as much as +possible the principles of living that he had learned in +squirrel-town. His favourite method of study was to go off +in the hills back of the University, and there to strip off his +clothes and lie on the grass, soaking in sunshine and health at +the same time that he soaked in knowledge.</p> + +<p>But Central California has her winters, and the quest for a +Nature Man’s climate drew him on. He tried Los +Angeles and Southern California, being arrested a few times and +brought before the insanity commissions because, forsooth, his +mode of life was not modelled after the mode of life of his +fellow-men. He tried Hawaii, where, unable to prove him +insane, the authorities deported him. It was not exactly a +deportation. He could have remained by serving a year in +prison. They gave him his choice. Now prison is death +to the Nature Man, who thrives only in the open air and in +God’s sunshine. The authorities of Hawaii are not to +be blamed. Darling was an undesirable citizen. Any +man is undesirable who disagrees with one. And that any man +should disagree to the extent Darling did in his philosophy of +the simple life is ample vindication of the Hawaiian authorities +verdict of his undesirableness.</p> + +<p>So Darling went thence in search of a climate which would not +only be desirable, but wherein he would not be undesirable. +And he found it in Tahiti, the garden-spot of garden-spots. +And so it was, according to the narrative as given, that he wrote +the pages of his book. He wears only a loin-cloth and a +sleeveless fish-net shirt. His stripped weight is one +hundred and sixty-five pounds. His health is perfect. +His eyesight, that at one time was considered ruined, is +excellent. The lungs that were practically destroyed by +three attacks of pneumonia have not only recovered, but are +stronger than ever before.</p> + +<p>I shall never forget the first time, while talking to me, that +he squashed a mosquito. The stinging pest had settled in +the middle of his back between his shoulders. Without +interrupting the flow of conversation, without dropping even a +syllable, his clenched fist shot up in the air, curved backward, +and smote his back between the shoulders, killing the mosquito +and making his frame resound like a bass drum. It reminded +me of nothing so much as of horses kicking the woodwork in their +stalls.</p> + +<p>“The gorilla in the African jungle pounds his chest +until the noise of it can be heard half a mile away,” he +will announce suddenly, and thereat beat a hair-raising, +devil’s tattoo on his own chest.</p> + +<p>One day he noticed a set of boxing-gloves hanging on the wall, +and promptly his eyes brightened.</p> + +<p>“Do you box?” I asked.</p> + +<p>“I used to give lessons in boxing when I was at +Stanford,” was the reply.</p> + +<p>And there and then we stripped and put on the gloves. +Bang! a long, gorilla arm flashed out, landing the gloved end on +my nose. Biff! he caught me, in a duck, on the side of the +head nearly knocking me over sidewise. I carried the lump +raised by that blow for a week. I ducked under a straight +left, and landed a straight right on his stomach. It was a +fearful blow. The whole weight of my body was behind it, +and his body had been met as it lunged forward. I looked +for him to crumple up and go down. Instead of which his +face beamed approval, and he said, “That was +beautiful.” The next instant I was covering up and +striving to protect myself from a hurricane of hooks, jolts, and +uppercuts. Then I watched my chance and drove in for the +solar plexus. I hit the mark. The Nature Man dropped +his arms, gasped, and sat down suddenly.</p> + +<p>“I’ll be all right,” he said. +“Just wait a moment.”</p> + +<p>And inside thirty seconds he was on his feet—ay, and +returning the compliment, for he hooked me in the solar plexus, +and I gasped, dropped my hands, and sat down just a trifle more +suddenly than he had.</p> + +<p>All of which I submit as evidence that the man I boxed with +was a totally different man from the poor, ninety-pound weight of +eight years before, who, given up by physicians and alienists, +lay gasping his life away in a closed room in Portland, +Oregon. The book that Ernest Darling has written is a good +book, and the binding is good, too.</p> + +<p>Hawaii has wailed for years her need for desirable +immigrants. She has spent much time, and thought, and +money, in importing desirable citizens, and she has, as yet, +nothing much to show for it. Yet Hawaii deported the Nature +Man. She refused to give him a chance. So it is, to +chasten Hawaii’s proud spirit, that I take this opportunity +to show her what she has lost in the Nature Man. When he +arrived in Tahiti, he proceeded to seek out a piece of land on +which to grow the food he ate. But land was difficult to +find—that is, inexpensive land. The Nature Man was +not rolling in wealth. He spent weeks in wandering over the +steep hills, until, high up the mountain, where clustered several +tiny canyons, he found eighty acres of brush-jungle which were +apparently unrecorded as the property of any one. The +government officials told him that if he would clear the land and +till it for thirty years he would be given a title for it.</p> + +<p>Immediately he set to work. And never was there such +work. Nobody farmed that high up. The land was +covered with matted jungle and overrun by wild pigs and countless +rats. The view of Papeete and the sea was magnificent, but +the outlook was not encouraging. He spent weeks in building +a road in order to make the plantation accessible. The pigs +and the rats ate up whatever he planted as fast as it +sprouted. He shot the pigs and trapped the rats. Of +the latter, in two weeks he caught fifteen hundred. +Everything had to be carried up on his back. He usually did +his packhorse work at night.</p> + +<p>Gradually he began to win out. A grass-walled house was +built. On the fertile, volcanic soil he had wrested from +the jungle and jungle beasts were growing five hundred cocoanut +trees, five hundred papaia trees, three hundred mango trees, many +breadfruit trees and alligator-pear trees, to say nothing of +vines, bushes, and vegetables. He developed the drip of the +hills in the canyons and worked out an efficient irrigation +scheme, ditching the water from canyon to canyon and paralleling +the ditches at different altitudes. His narrow canyons +became botanical gardens. The arid shoulders of the hills, +where formerly the blazing sun had parched the jungle and beaten +it close to earth, blossomed into trees and shrubs and +flowers. Not only had the Nature Man become +self-supporting, but he was now a prosperous agriculturist with +produce to sell to the city-dwellers of Papeete.</p> + +<p>Then it was discovered that his land, which the government +officials had informed him was without an owner, really had an +owner, and that deeds, descriptions, etc., were on record. +All his work bade fare to be lost. The land had been +valueless when he took it up, and the owner, a large landholder, +was unaware of the extent to which the Nature Man had developed +it. A just price was agreed upon, and Darling’s deed +was officially filed.</p> + +<p>Next came a more crushing blow. Darling’s access +to market was destroyed. The road he had built was fenced +across by triple barb-wire fences. It was one of those +jumbles in human affairs that is so common in this absurdest of +social systems. Behind it was the fine hand of the same +conservative element that haled the Nature Man before the +Insanity Commission in Los Angeles and that deported him from +Hawaii. It is so hard for self-satisfied men to understand +any man whose satisfactions are fundamentally different. It +seems clear that the officials have connived with the +conservative element, for to this day the road the Nature Man +built is closed; nothing has been done about it, while an adamant +unwillingness to do anything about it is evidenced on every +hand. But the Nature Man dances and sings along his +way. He does not sit up nights thinking about the wrong +which has been done him; he leaves the worrying to the doers of +the wrong. He has no time for bitterness. He believes +he is in the world for the purpose of being happy, and he has not +a moment to waste in any other pursuit.</p> + +<p>The road to his plantation is blocked. He cannot build a +new road, for there is no ground on which he can build it. +The government has restricted him to a wild-pig trail which runs +precipitously up the mountain. I climbed the trail with +him, and we had to climb with hands and feet in order to get +up. Nor can that wild-pig trail be made into a road by any +amount of toil less than that of an engineer, a steam-engine, and +a steel cable. But what does the Nature Man care? In +his gentle ethics the evil men do him he requites with +goodness. And who shall say he is not happier than +they?</p> + +<p>“Never mind their pesky road,” he said to me as we +dragged ourselves up a shelf of rock and sat down, panting, to +rest. “I’ll get an air machine soon and fool +them. I’m clearing a level space for a landing stage +for the airships, and next time you come to Tahiti you will +alight right at my door.”</p> + +<p>Yes, the Nature Man has some strange ideas besides that of the +gorilla pounding his chest in the African jungle. The +Nature Man has ideas about levitation. “Yes, +sir,” he said to me, “levitation is not +impossible. And think of the glory of it—lifting +one’s self from the ground by an act of will. Think +of it! The astronomers tell us that our whole solar system +is dying; that, barring accidents, it will all be so cold that no +life can live upon it. Very well. In that day all men +will be accomplished levitationists, and they will leave this +perishing planet and seek more hospitable worlds. How can +levitation be accomplished? By progressive fasts. +Yes, I have tried them, and toward the end I could feel myself +actually getting lighter.”</p> + +<p>The man is a maniac, thought I.</p> + +<p>“Of course,” he added, “these are only +theories of mine. I like to speculate upon the glorious +future of man. Levitation may not be possible, but I like +to think of it as possible.”</p> + +<p>One evening, when he yawned, I asked him how much sleep he +allowed himself.</p> + +<p>“Seven hours,” was the answer. “But in +ten years I’ll be sleeping only six hours, and in twenty +years only five hours. You see, I shall cut off an +hour’s sleep every ten years.”</p> + +<p>“Then when you are a hundred you won’t be sleeping +at all,” I interjected.</p> + +<p>“Just that. Exactly that. When I am a +hundred I shall not require sleep. Also, I shall be living +on air. There are plants that live on air, you +know.”</p> + +<p>“But has any man ever succeeded in doing it?”</p> + +<p>He shook his head.</p> + +<p>“I never heard of him if he did. But it is only a +theory of mine, this living on air. It would be fine, +wouldn’t it? Of course it may be +impossible—most likely it is. You see, I am not +unpractical. I never forget the present. When I soar +ahead into the future, I always leave a string by which to find +my way back again.”</p> + +<p>I fear me the Nature Man is a joker. At any rate he +lives the simple life. His laundry bill cannot be +large. Up on his plantation he lives on fruit the labour +cost of which, in cash, he estimates at five cents a day. +At present, because of his obstructed road and because he is head +over heels in the propaganda of socialism, he is living in town, +where his expenses, including rent, are twenty-five cents a +day. In order to pay those expenses he is running a night +school for Chinese.</p> + +<p>The Nature Man is not bigoted. When there is nothing +better to eat than meat, he eats meat, as, for instance, when in +jail or on shipboard and the nuts and fruits give out. Nor +does he seem to crystallize into anything except sunburn.</p> + +<p>“Drop anchor anywhere and the anchor will +drag—that is, if your soul is a limitless, fathomless sea, +and not dog-pound,” he quoted to me, then added: “You +see, my anchor is always dragging. I live for human health +and progress, and I strive to drag my anchor always in that +direction. To me, the two are identical. Dragging +anchor is what has saved me. My anchor did not hold me to +my death-bed. I dragged anchor into the brush and fooled +the doctors. When I recovered health and strength, I +started, by preaching and by example, to teach the people to +become nature men and nature women. But they had deaf +ears. Then, on the steamer coming to Tahiti, a +quarter-master expounded socialism to me. He showed me that +an economic square deal was necessary before men and women could +live naturally. So I dragged anchor once more, and now I am +working for the co-operative commonwealth. When that +arrives, it will be easy to bring about nature living.</p> + +<p>“I had a dream last night,” he went on +thoughtfully, his face slowly breaking into a glow. +“It seemed that twenty-five nature men and nature women had +just arrived on the steamer from California, and that I was +starting to go with them up the wild-pig trail to the +plantation.”</p> + +<p>Ah, me, Ernest Darling, sun-worshipper and nature man, there +are times when I am compelled to envy you and your carefree +existence. I see you now, dancing up the steps and cutting +antics on the veranda; your hair dripping from a plunge in the +salt sea, your eyes sparkling, your sun-gilded body flashing, +your chest resounding to the devil’s own tattoo as you +chant: “The gorilla in the African jungle pounds his chest +until the noise of it can be heard half a mile away.” +And I shall see you always as I saw you that last day, when the +<i>Snark</i> poked her nose once more through the passage in the +smoking reef, outward bound, and I waved good-bye to those on +shore. Not least in goodwill and affection was the wave I +gave to the golden sun-god in the scarlet loin-cloth, standing +upright in his tiny outrigger canoe.</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap12"></a>CHAPTER XII<br /> +<span class="GutSmall">THE HIGH SEAT OF ABUNDANCE</span></h2> +<blockquote><p>On the arrival of strangers, every man endeavoured +to obtain one as a friend and carry him off to his own +habitation, where he is treated with the greatest kindness by the +inhabitants of the district; they place him on a high seat and +feed him with abundance of the finest food.—<i>Polynesian +Researches</i>.</p> +</blockquote> +<p><span class="smcap">The</span> <i>Snark</i> was lying at +anchor at Raiatea, just off the village of Uturoa. She had +arrived the night before, after dark, and we were preparing to +pay our first visit ashore. Early in the morning I had +noticed a tiny outrigger canoe, with an impossible spritsail, +skimming the surface of the lagoon. The canoe itself was +coffin-shaped, a mere dugout, fourteen feet long, a scant twelve +inches wide, and maybe twenty-four inches deep. It had no +lines, except in so far that it was sharp at both ends. Its +sides were perpendicular. Shorn of the outrigger, it would +have capsized of itself inside a tenth of a second. It was +the outrigger that kept it right side up.</p> + +<p>I have said that the sail was impossible. It was. +It was one of those things, not that you have to see to believe, +but that you cannot believe after you have seen it. The +hoist of it and the length of its boom were sufficiently +appalling; but, not content with that, its artificer had given it +a tremendous head. So large was the head that no common +sprit could carry the strain of it in an ordinary breeze. +So a spar had been lashed to the canoe, projecting aft over the +water. To this had been made fast a sprit guy: thus, the +foot of the sail was held by the main-sheet, and the peak by the +guy to the sprit.</p> + +<p>It was not a mere boat, not a mere canoe, but a sailing +machine. And the man in it sailed it by his weight and his +nerve—principally by the latter. I watched the canoe +beat up from leeward and run in toward the village, its sole +occupant far out on the outrigger and luffing up and spilling the +wind in the puffs.</p> + +<p>“Well, I know one thing,” I announced; “I +don’t leave Raiatea till I have a ride in that +canoe.”</p> + +<p>A few minutes later Warren called down the companionway, +“Here’s that canoe you were talking about.”</p> + +<p>Promptly I dashed on deck and gave greeting to its owner, a +tall, slender Polynesian, ingenuous of face, and with clear, +sparkling, intelligent eyes. He was clad in a scarlet +loin-cloth and a straw hat. In his hands were +presents—a fish, a bunch of greens, and several enormous +yams. All of which acknowledged by smiles (which are +coinage still in isolated spots of Polynesia) and by frequent +repetitions of <i>mauruuru</i> (which is the Tahitian +“thank you”), I proceeded to make signs that I +desired to go for a sail in his canoe.</p> + +<p>His face lighted with pleasure and he uttered the single word, +“Tahaa,” turning at the same time and pointing to the +lofty, cloud-draped peaks of an island three miles away—the +island of Tahaa. It was fair wind over, but a head-beat +back. Now I did not want to go to Tahaa. I had +letters to deliver in Raiatea, and officials to see, and there +was Charmian down below getting ready to go ashore. By +insistent signs I indicated that I desired no more than a short +sail on the lagoon. Quick was the disappointment in his +face, yet smiling was the acquiescence.</p> + +<p>“Come on for a sail,” I called below to +Charmian. “But put on your swimming suit. +It’s going to be wet.”</p> + +<p>It wasn’t real. It was a dream. That canoe +slid over the water like a streak of silver. I climbed out +on the outrigger and supplied the weight to hold her down, while +Tehei (pronounced Tayhayee) supplied the nerve. He, too, in +the puffs, climbed part way out on the outrigger, at the same +time steering with both hands on a large paddle and holding the +mainsheet with his foot.</p> + +<p>“Ready about!” he called.</p> + +<p>I carefully shifted my weight inboard in order to maintain the +equilibrium as the sail emptied.</p> + +<p>“Hard a-lee!” he called, shooting her into the +wind.</p> + +<p>I slid out on the opposite side over the water on a spar +lashed across the canoe, and we were full and away on the other +tack.</p> + +<p>“All right,” said Tehei.</p> + +<p>Those three phrases, “Ready about,” “Hard +a-lee,” and “All right,” comprised +Tehei’s English vocabulary and led me to suspect that at +some time he had been one of a Kanaka crew under an American +captain. Between the puffs I made signs to him and +repeatedly and interrogatively uttered the word +<i>sailor</i>. Then I tried it in atrocious French. +<i>Marin</i> conveyed no meaning to him; nor did +<i>matelot</i>. Either my French was bad, or else he was +not up in it. I have since concluded that both conjectures +were correct. Finally, I began naming over the adjacent +islands. He nodded that he had been to them. By the +time my quest reached Tahiti, he caught my drift. His +thought-processes were almost visible, and it was a joy to watch +him think. He nodded his head vigorously. Yes, he had +been to Tahiti, and he added himself names of islands such as +Tikihau, Rangiroa, and Fakarava, thus proving that he had sailed +as far as the Paumotus—undoubtedly one of the crew of a +trading schooner.</p> + +<p>After our short sail, when he had returned on board, he by +signs inquired the destination of the <i>Snark</i>, and when I +had mentioned Samoa, Fiji, New Guinea, France, England, and +California in their geographical sequence, he said +“Samoa,” and by gestures intimated that he wanted to +go along. Whereupon I was hard put to explain that there +was no room for him. “<i>Petit bateau</i>” +finally solved it, and again the disappointment in his face was +accompanied by smiling acquiescence, and promptly came the +renewed invitation to accompany him to Tahaa.</p> + +<p>Charmian and I looked at each other. The exhilaration of +the ride we had taken was still upon us. Forgotten were the +letters to Raiatea, the officials we had to visit. Shoes, a +shirt, a pair of trousers, cigarettes, matches, and a book to read +were hastily crammed into a biscuit tin and wrapped in a rubber +blanket, and we were over the side and into the canoe.</p> + +<p>“When shall we look for you?” Warren called, as +the wind filled the sail and sent Tehei and me scurrying out on +the outrigger.</p> + +<p>“I don’t know,” I answered. +“When we get back, as near as I can figure it.”</p> + +<p>And away we went. The wind had increased, and with +slacked sheets we ran off before it. The freeboard of the +canoe was no more than two and a half inches, and the little +waves continually lapped over the side. This required +bailing. Now bailing is one of the principal functions of +the vahine. Vahine is the Tahitian for woman, and Charmian +being the only vahine aboard, the bailing fell appropriately to +her. Tehei and I could not very well do it, the both of us +being perched part way out on the outrigger and busied with +keeping the canoe bottom-side down. So Charmian bailed, +with a wooden scoop of primitive design, and so well did she do +it that there were occasions when she could rest off almost half +the time.</p> + +<p>Raiatea and Tahaa are unique in that they lie inside the same +encircling reef. Both are volcanic islands, ragged of +sky-line, with heaven-aspiring peaks and minarets. Since +Raiatea is thirty miles in circumference, and Tahaa fifteen +miles, some idea may be gained of the magnitude of the reef that +encloses them. Between them and the reef stretches from one +to two miles of water, forming a beautiful lagoon. The huge +Pacific seas, extending in unbroken lines sometimes a mile or +half as much again in length, hurl themselves upon the reef, +overtowering and falling upon it with tremendous crashes, and yet +the fragile coral structure withstands the shock and protects the +land. Outside lies destruction to the mightiest ship +afloat. Inside reigns the calm of untroubled water, whereon +a canoe like ours can sail with no more than a couple of inches +of free-board.</p> + +<p>We flew over the water. And such water!—clear as +the clearest spring-water, and crystalline in its clearness, all +intershot with a maddening pageant of colours and rainbow ribbons +more magnificently gorgeous than any rainbow. Jade green +alternated with turquoise, peacock blue with emerald, while now +the canoe skimmed over reddish purple pools, and again over pools +of dazzling, shimmering white where pounded coral sand lay +beneath and upon which oozed monstrous sea-slugs. One +moment we were above wonder-gardens of coral, wherein coloured +fishes disported, fluttering like marine butterflies; the next +moment we were dashing across the dark surface of deep channels, +out of which schools of flying fish lifted their silvery flight; +and a third moment we were above other gardens of living coral, +each more wonderful than the last. And above all was the +tropic, trade-wind sky with its fluffy clouds racing across the +zenith and heaping the horizon with their soft masses.</p> + +<p>Before we were aware, we were close in to Tahaa (pronounced +Tah-hah-ah, with equal accents), and Tehei was grinning approval +of the vahine’s proficiency at bailing. The canoe +grounded on a shallow shore, twenty feet from land, and we waded +out on a soft bottom where big slugs curled and writhed under our +feet and where small octopuses advertised their existence by +their superlative softness when stepped upon. Close to the +beach, amid cocoanut palms and banana trees, erected on stilts, +built of bamboo, with a grass-thatched roof, was Tehei’s +house. And out of the house came Tehei’s vahine, a +slender mite of a woman, kindly eyed and Mongolian of +feature—when she was not North American Indian. +“Bihaura,” Tehei called her, but he did not pronounce +it according to English notions of spelling. Spelled +“Bihaura,” it sounded like Bee-ah-oo-rah, with every +syllable sharply emphasized.</p> + +<p>She took Charmian by the hand and led her into the house, +leaving Tehei and me to follow. Here, by sign-language +unmistakable, we were informed that all they possessed was +ours. No hidalgo was ever more generous in the expression +of giving, while I am sure that few hidalgos were ever as +generous in the actual practice. We quickly discovered that +we dare not admire their possessions, for whenever we did admire +a particular object it was immediately presented to us. The +two vahines, according to the way of vahines, got together in a +discussion and examination of feminine fripperies, while Tehei +and I, manlike, went over fishing-tackle and wild-pig-hunting, to +say nothing of the device whereby bonitas are caught on +forty-foot poles from double canoes. Charmian admired a +sewing basket—the best example she had seen of Polynesian +basketry; it was hers. I admired a bonita hook, carved in +one piece from a pearl-shell; it was mine. Charmian was +attracted by a fancy braid of straw sennit, thirty feet of it in +a roll, sufficient to make a hat of any design one wished; the +roll of sennit was hers. My gaze lingered upon a +poi-pounder that dated back to the old stone days; it was +mine. Charmian dwelt a moment too long on a wooden +poi-bowl, canoe-shaped, with four legs, all carved in one piece +of wood; it was hers. I glanced a second time at a gigantic +cocoanut calabash; it was mine. Then Charmian and I held a +conference in which we resolved to admire no more—not +because it did not pay well enough, but because it paid too +well. Also, we were already racking our brains over the +contents of the <i>Snark</i> for suitable return presents. +Christmas is an easy problem compared with a Polynesian +giving-feast.</p> + +<p>We sat on the cool porch, on Bihaura’s best mats while +dinner was preparing, and at the same time met the +villagers. In twos and threes and groups they strayed +along, shaking hands and uttering the Tahitian word of +greeting—Ioarana, pronounced yo-rah-nah. The men, big +strapping fellows, were in loin-cloths, with here and there no +shirt, while the women wore the universal <i>ahu</i>, a sort of +adult pinafore that flows in graceful lines from the shoulders to +the ground. Sad to see was the elephantiasis that afflicted +some of them. Here would be a comely woman of magnificent +proportions, with the port of a queen, yet marred by one arm four +times—or a dozen times—the size of the other. +Beside her might stand a six-foot man, erect, mighty-muscled, +bronzed, with the body of a god, yet with feet and calves so +swollen that they ran together, forming legs, shapeless, +monstrous, that were for all the world like elephant legs.</p> + +<p>No one seems really to know the cause of the South Sea +elephantiasis. One theory is that it is caused by the +drinking of polluted water. Another theory attributes it to +inoculation through mosquito bites. A third theory charges +it to predisposition plus the process of acclimatization. +On the other hand, no one that stands in finicky dread of it and +similar diseases can afford to travel in the South Seas. +There will be occasions when such a one must drink water. +There may be also occasions when the mosquitoes let up +biting. But every precaution of the finicky one will be +useless. If he runs barefoot across the beach to have a +swim, he will tread where an elephantiasis case trod a few +minutes before. If he closets himself in his own house, yet +every bit of fresh food on his table will have been subjected to +the contamination, be it flesh, fish, fowl, or vegetable. +In the public market at Papeete two known lepers run stalls, and +heaven alone knows through what channels arrive at that market +the daily supplies of fish, fruit, meat, and vegetables. +The only happy way to go through the South Seas is with a +careless poise, without apprehension, and with a Christian +Science-like faith in the resplendent fortune of your own +particular star. When you see a woman, afflicted with +elephantiasis wringing out cream from cocoanut meat with her +naked hands, drink and reflect how good is the cream, forgetting +the hands that pressed it out. Also, remember that diseases +such as elephantiasis and leprosy do not seem to be caught by +contact.</p> + +<p>We watched a Raratongan woman, with swollen, distorted limbs, +prepare our cocoanut cream, and then went out to the cook-shed +where Tehei and Bihaura were cooking dinner. And then it +was served to us on a dry-goods box in the house. Our hosts +waited until we were done and then spread their table on the +floor. But our table! We were certainly in the high +seat of abundance. First, there was glorious raw fish, +caught several hours before from the sea and steeped the +intervening time in lime-juice diluted with water. Then +came roast chicken. Two cocoanuts, sharply sweet, served +for drink. There were bananas that tasted like strawberries +and that melted in the mouth, and there was banana-poi that made +one regret that his Yankee forebears ever attempted +puddings. Then there was boiled yam, boiled taro, and +roasted <i>feis</i>, which last are nothing more or less than +large mealy, juicy, red-coloured cooking bananas. We +marvelled at the abundance, and, even as we marvelled, a pig was +brought on, a whole pig, a sucking pig, swathed in green leaves +and roasted upon the hot stones of a native oven, the most +honourable and triumphant dish in the Polynesian cuisine. +And after that came coffee, black coffee, delicious coffee, +native coffee grown on the hillsides of Tahaa.</p> + +<p>Tehei’s fishing-tackle fascinated me, and after we +arranged to go fishing, Charmian and I decided to remain all +night. Again Tehei broached Samoa, and again my <i>petit +bateau</i> brought the disappointment and the smile of +acquiescence to his face. Bora Bora was my next port. +It was not so far away but that cutters made the passage back and +forth between it and Raiatea. So I invited Tehei to go that +far with us on the <i>Snark</i>. Then I learned that his +wife had been born on Bora Bora and still owned a house +there. She likewise was invited, and immediately came the +counter invitation to stay with them in their house in Born +Bora. It was Monday. Tuesday we would go fishing and +return to Raiatea. Wednesday we would sail by Tahaa and off +a certain point, a mile away, pick up Tehei and Bihaura and go on +to Bora Bora. All this we arranged in detail, and talked +over scores of other things as well, and yet Tehei knew three +phrases in English, Charmian and I knew possibly a dozen Tahitian +words, and among the four of us there were a dozen or so French +words that all understood. Of course, such polyglot +conversation was slow, but, eked out with a pad, a lead pencil, +the face of a clock Charmian drew on the back of a pad, and with +ten thousand and one gestures, we managed to get on very +nicely.</p> + +<p>At the first moment we evidenced an inclination for bed the +visiting natives, with soft <i>Iaoranas</i>, faded away, and +Tehei and Bihaura likewise faded away. The house consisted +of one large room, and it was given over to us, our hosts going +elsewhere to sleep. In truth, their castle was ours. +And right here, I want to say that of all the entertainment I +have received in this world at the hands of all sorts of races in +all sorts of places, I have never received entertainment that +equalled this at the hands of this brown-skinned couple of +Tahaa. I do not refer to the presents, the free-handed +generousness, the high abundance, but to the fineness of courtesy +and consideration and tact, and to the sympathy that was real +sympathy in that it was understanding. They did nothing +they thought ought to be done for us, according to their +standards, but they did what they divined we wanted to be done +for us, while their divination was most successful. It +would be impossible to enumerate the hundreds of little acts of +consideration they performed during the few days of our +intercourse. Let it suffice for me to say that of all +hospitality and entertainment I have known, in no case was theirs +not only not excelled, but in no case was it quite +equalled. Perhaps the most delightful feature of it was +that it was due to no training, to no complex social ideals, but +that it was the untutored and spontaneous outpouring from their +hearts.</p> + +<p>The next morning we went fishing, that is, Tehei, Charmian, +and I did, in the coffin-shaped canoe; but this time the enormous +sail was left behind. There was no room for sailing and +fishing at the same time in that tiny craft. Several miles +away, inside the reef, in a channel twenty fathoms deep, Tehei +dropped his baited hooks and rock-sinkers. The bait was +chunks of octopus flesh, which he bit out of a live octopus that +writhed in the bottom of the canoe. Nine of these lines he +set, each line attached to one end of a short length of bamboo +floating on the surface. When a fish was hooked, the end of +the bamboo was drawn under the water. Naturally, the other +end rose up in the air, bobbing and waving frantically for us to +make haste. And make haste we did, with whoops and yells +and driving paddles, from one signalling bamboo to another, +hauling up from the depths great glistening beauties from two to +three feet in length.</p> + +<p>Steadily, to the eastward, an ominous squall had been rising +and blotting out the bright trade-wind sky. And we were +three miles to leeward of home. We started as the first +wind-gusts whitened the water. Then came the rain, such +rain as only the tropics afford, where every tap and main in the +sky is open wide, and when, to top it all, the very reservoir +itself spills over in blinding deluge. Well, Charmian was +in a swimming suit, I was in pyjamas, and Tehei wore only a +loin-cloth. Bihaura was on the beach waiting for us, and +she led Charmian into the house in much the same fashion that the +mother leads in the naughty little girl who has been playing in +mud-puddles.</p> + +<p>It was a change of clothes and a dry and quiet smoke while +<i>kai-kai</i> was preparing. <i>Kai-kai</i>, by the way, +is the Polynesian for “food” or “to eat,” +or, rather, it is one form of the original root, whatever it may +have been, that has been distributed far and wide over the vast +area of the Pacific. It is <i>kai</i> in the Marquesas, +Raratonga, Manahiki, Niuë, Fakaafo, Tonga, New Zealand, and +Vaté. In Tahiti “to eat” changes to +<i>amu</i>, in Hawaii and Samoa to <i>ai</i>, in Ban to +<i>kana</i>, in Nina to <i>kana</i>, in Nongone to <i>kaka</i>, +and in New Caledonia to <i>ki</i>. But by whatsoever sound +or symbol, it was welcome to our ears after that long paddle in +the rain. Once more we sat in the high seat of abundance +until we regretted that we had been made unlike the image of the +giraffe and the camel.</p> + +<p>Again, when we were preparing to return to the <i>Snark</i>, +the sky to windward turned black and another squall swooped +down. But this time it was little rain and all wind. +It blew hour after hour, moaning and screeching through the +palms, tearing and wrenching and shaking the frail bamboo +dwelling, while the outer reef set up a mighty thundering as it +broke the force of the swinging seas. Inside the reef, the +lagoon, sheltered though it was, was white with fury, and not +even Tehei’s seamanship could have enabled his slender +canoe to live in such a welter.</p> + +<p>By sunset, the back of the squall had broken though it was +still too rough for the canoe. So I had Tehei find a native +who was willing to venture his cutter across to Raiatea for the +outrageous sum of two dollars, Chili, which is equivalent in our +money to ninety cents. Half the village was told off to +carry presents, with which Tehei and Bihaura speeded their +parting guests—captive chickens, fishes dressed and swathed +in wrappings of green leaves, great golden bunches of bananas, +leafy baskets spilling over with oranges and limes, alligator +pears (the butter-fruit, also called the <i>avoca</i>), huge +baskets of yams, bunches of taro and cocoanuts, and last of all, +large branches and trunks of trees—firewood for the +<i>Snark</i>.</p> + +<p>While on the way to the cutter we met the only white man on +Tahaa, and of all men, George Lufkin, a native of New +England! Eighty-six years of age he was, sixty-odd of +which, he said, he had spent in the Society Islands, with +occasional absences, such as the gold rush to Eldorado in +’forty-nine and a short period of ranching in California +near Tulare. Given no more than three months by the doctors +to live, he had returned to his South Seas and lived to +eighty-six and to chuckle over the doctors aforesaid, who were +all in their graves. <i>Fee-fee</i> he had, which is the +native for elephantiasis and which is pronounced fay-fay. A +quarter of a century before, the disease had fastened upon him, +and it would remain with him until he died. We asked him +about kith and kin. Beside him sat a sprightly damsel of +sixty, his daughter. “She is all I have,” he +murmured plaintively, “and she has no children +living.”</p> + +<p>The cutter was a small, sloop-rigged affair, but large it +seemed alongside Tehei’s canoe. On the other hand, +when we got out on the lagoon and were struck by another heavy +wind-squall, the cutter became liliputian, while the +<i>Snark</i>, in our imagination, seemed to promise all the +stability and permanence of a continent. They were good +boatmen. Tehei and Bihaura had come along to see us home, +and the latter proved a good boatwoman herself. The cutter +was well ballasted, and we met the squall under full sail. +It was getting dark, the lagoon was full of coral patches, and we +were carrying on. In the height of the squall we had to go +about, in order to make a short leg to windward to pass around a +patch of coral no more than a foot under the surface. As +the cutter filled on the other tack, and while she was in that +“dead” condition that precedes gathering way, she was +knocked flat. Jib-sheet and main-sheet were let go, and she +righted into the wind. Three times she was knocked down, +and three times the sheets were flung loose, before she could get +away on that tack.</p> + +<p>By the time we went about again, darkness had fallen. We +were now to windward of the <i>Snark</i>, and the squall was +howling. In came the jib, and down came the mainsail, all +but a patch of it the size of a pillow-slip. By an accident +we missed the <i>Snark</i>, which was riding it out to two +anchors, and drove aground upon the inshore coral. Running +the longest line on the <i>Snark</i> by means of the launch, and +after an hour’s hard work, we heaved the cutter off and had +her lying safely astern.</p> + +<p>The day we sailed for Bora Bora the wind was light, and we +crossed the lagoon under power to the point where Tehei and +Bihaura were to meet us. As we made in to the land between +the coral banks, we vainly scanned the shore for our +friends. There was no sign of them.</p> + +<p>“We can’t wait,” I said. “This +breeze won’t fetch us to Bora Bora by dark, and I +don’t want to use any more gasolene than I have +to.”</p> + +<p>You see, gasolene in the South Seas is a problem. One +never knows when he will be able to replenish his supply.</p> + +<p>But just then Tehei appeared through the trees as he came down +to the water. He had peeled off his shirt and was wildly +waving it. Bihaura apparently was not ready. Once +aboard, Tehei informed us by signs that we must proceed along the +land till we got opposite to his house. He took the wheel +and conned the <i>Snark</i> through the coral, around point after +point till we cleared the last point of all. Cries of +welcome went up from the beach, and Bihaura, assisted by several +of the villagers, brought off two canoe-loads of abundance. +There were yams, taro, <i>feis</i>, breadfruit, cocoanuts, +oranges, limes, pineapples, watermelons, alligator pears, +pomegranates, fish, chickens galore crowing and cackling and +laying eggs on our decks, and a live pig that squealed infernally +and all the time in apprehension of imminent slaughter.</p> + +<p>Under the rising moon we came in through the perilous passage +of the reef of Bora Bora and dropped anchor off Vaitapé +village. Bihaura, with housewifely anxiety, could not get +ashore too quickly to her house to prepare more abundance for +us. While the launch was taking her and Tehei to the little +jetty, the sound of music and of singing drifted across the quiet +lagoon. Throughout the Society Islands we had been +continually informed that we would find the Bora Borans very +jolly. Charmian and I went ashore to see, and on the +village green, by forgotten graves on the beach, found the youths +and maidens dancing, flower-garlanded and flower-bedecked, with +strange phosphorescent flowers in their hair that pulsed and +dimmed and glowed in the moonlight. Farther along the beach +we came upon a huge grass house, oval-shaped seventy feet in +length, where the elders of the village were singing +<i>himines</i>. They, too, were flower-garlanded and jolly, +and they welcomed us into the fold as little lost sheep straying +along from outer darkness.</p> + +<p>Early next morning Tehei was on board, with a string of +fresh-caught fish and an invitation to dinner for that +evening. On the way to dinner, we dropped in at the +<i>himine</i> house. The same elders were singing, with +here or there a youth or maiden that we had not seen the previous +night. From all the signs, a feast was in +preparation. Towering up from the floor was a mountain of +fruits and vegetables, flanked on either side by numerous +chickens tethered by cocoanut strips. After several +<i>himines</i> had been sung, one of the men arose and made +oration. The oration was made to us, and though it was +Greek to us, we knew that in some way it connected us with that +mountain of provender.</p> + +<p>“Can it be that they are presenting us with all +that?” Charmian whispered.</p> + +<p>“Impossible,” I muttered back. “Why +should they be giving it to us? Besides, there is no room +on the <i>Snark</i> for it. We could not eat a tithe of +it. The rest would spoil. Maybe they are inviting us +to the feast. At any rate, that they should give all that +to us is impossible.”</p> + +<p>Nevertheless we found ourselves once more in the high seat of +abundance. The orator, by gestures unmistakable, in detail +presented every item in the mountain to us, and next he presented +it to us <i>in toto</i>. It was an embarrassing +moment. What would you do if you lived in a hall bedroom +and a friend gave you a white elephant? Our <i>Snark</i> +was no more than a hall bedroom, and already she was loaded down +with the abundance of Tahaa. This new supply was too +much. We blushed, and stammered, and +<i>mauruuru’d</i>. We <i>mauruuru’d</i> with +repeated <i>nui’s</i> which conveyed the largeness and +overwhelmingness of our thanks. At the same time, by signs, +we committed the awful breach of etiquette of not accepting the +present. The <i>himine</i> singers’ disappointment +was plainly betrayed, and that evening, aided by Tehei, we +compromised by accepting one chicken, one bunch of bananas, one +bunch of taro, and so on down the list.</p> + +<p>But there was no escaping the abundance. I bought a +dozen chickens from a native out in the country, and the +following day he delivered thirteen chickens along with a +canoe-load of fruit. The French storekeeper presented us +with pomegranates and lent us his finest horse. The +gendarme did likewise, lending us a horse that was the very apple +of his eye. And everybody sent us flowers. The +<i>Snark</i> was a fruit-stand and a greengrocer’s shop +masquerading under the guise of a conservatory. We went +around flower-garlanded all the time. When the +<i>himine</i> singers came on board to sing, the maidens kissed +us welcome, and the crew, from captain to cabin-boy, lost its +heart to the maidens of Bora Bora. Tehei got up a big +fishing expedition in our honour, to which we went in a double +canoe, paddled by a dozen strapping Amazons. We were +relieved that no fish were caught, else the <i>Snark</i> would +have sunk at her moorings.</p> + +<p>The days passed, but the abundance did not diminish. On +the day of departure, canoe after canoe put off to us. +Tehei brought cucumbers and a young <i>papaia</i> tree burdened +with splendid fruit. Also, for me he brought a tiny, double +canoe with fishing apparatus complete. Further, he brought +fruits and vegetables with the same lavishness as at Tahaa. +Bihaura brought various special presents for Charmian, such as +silk-cotton pillows, fans, and fancy mats. The whole +population brought fruits, flowers, and chickens. And +Bihaura added a live sucking pig. Natives whom I did not +remember ever having seen before strayed over the rail and +presented me with such things as fish-poles, fish-lines, and +fish-hooks carved from pearl-shell.</p> + +<p>As the <i>Snark</i> sailed out through the reef, she had a +cutter in tow. This was the craft that was to take Bihaura +back to Tahaa—but not Tehei. I had yielded at last, +and he was one of the crew of the <i>Snark</i>. When the +cutter cast off and headed east, and the <i>Snark’s</i> bow +turned toward the west, Tehei knelt down by the cockpit and +breathed a silent prayer, the tears flowing down his +cheeks. A week later, when Martin got around to developing +and printing, he showed Tehei some of the photographs. And +that brown-skinned son of Polynesia, gazing on the pictured +lineaments of his beloved Bihaura broke down in tears.</p> + +<p>But the abundance! There was so much of it. We +could not work the <i>Snark</i> for the fruit that was in the +way. She was festooned with fruit. The life-boat and +launch were packed with it. The awning-guys groaned under +their burdens. But once we struck the full trade-wind sea, +the disburdening began. At every roll the <i>Snark</i> +shook overboard a bunch or so of bananas and cocoanuts, or a +basket of limes. A golden flood of limes washed about in +the lee-scuppers. The big baskets of yams burst, and +pineapples and pomegranates rolled back and forth. The +chickens had got loose and were everywhere, roosting on the +awnings, fluttering and squawking out on the jib-boom, and +essaying the perilous feat of balancing on the +spinnaker-boom. They were wild chickens, accustomed to +flight. When attempts were made to catch them, they flew +out over the ocean, circled about, and came back. Sometimes +they did not come back. And in the confusion, unobserved, +the little sucking pig got loose and slipped overboard.</p> + +<p>“On the arrival of strangers, every man endeavoured to +obtain one as a friend and carry him off to his own habitation, +where he is treated with the greatest kindness by the inhabitants +of the district: they place him on a high seat and feed him with +abundance of the finest foods.”</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap13"></a>CHAPTER XIII<br /> +<span class="GutSmall">THE STONE-FISHING OF BORA BORA</span></h2> + +<p><span class="smcap">At</span> five in the morning the conches +began to blow. From all along the beach the eerie sounds +arose, like the ancient voice of War, calling to the fishermen to +arise and prepare to go forth. We on the <i>Snark</i> +likewise arose, for there could be no sleep in that mad din of +conches. Also, we were going stone-fishing, though our +preparations were few.</p> + +<p><i>Tautai-taora</i> is the name for stone-fishing, +<i>tautai</i> meaning a “fishing instrument.” +And <i>taora</i> meaning “thrown.” But +<i>tautai-taora</i>, in combination, means +“stone-fishing,” for a stone is the instrument that +is thrown. Stone-fishing is in reality a fish-drive, +similar in principle to a rabbit-drive or a cattle-drive, though +in the latter affairs drivers and driven operate in the same +medium, while in the fish-drive the men must be in the air to +breathe and the fish are driven through the water. It does +not matter if the water is a hundred feet deep, the men, working +on the surface, drive the fish just the same.</p> + +<p>This is the way it is done. The canoes form in line, one +hundred to two hundred feet apart. In the bow of each canoe +a man wields a stone, several pounds in weight, which is attached +to a short rope. He merely smites the water with the stone, +pulls up the stone, and smites again. He goes on +smiting. In the stern of each canoe another man paddles, +driving the canoe ahead and at the same time keeping it in the +formation. The line of canoes advances to meet a second +line a mile or two away, the ends of the lines hurrying together +to form a circle, the far edge of which is the shore. The +circle begins to contract upon the shore, where the women, +standing in a long row out into the sea, form a fence of legs, +which serves to break any rushes of the frantic fish. At +the right moment when the circle is sufficiently small, a canoe +dashes out from shore, dropping overboard a long screen of +cocoanut leaves and encircling the circle, thus reinforcing the +palisade of legs. Of course, the fishing is always done +inside the reef in the lagoon.</p> + +<p>“<i>Très jolie</i>,” the gendarme said, +after explaining by signs and gestures that thousands of fish +would be caught of all sizes from minnows to sharks, and that the +captured fish would boil up and upon the very sand of the +beach.</p> + +<p>It is a most successful method of fishing, while its nature is +more that of an outing festival, rather than of a prosaic, +food-getting task. Such fishing parties take place about +once a month at Bora Bora, and it is a custom that has descended +from old time. The man who originated it is not +remembered. They always did this thing. But one +cannot help wondering about that forgotten savage of the long +ago, into whose mind first flashed this scheme of easy fishing, +of catching huge quantities of fish without hook, or net, or +spear. One thing about him we can know: he was a +radical. And we can be sure that he was considered +feather-brained and anarchistic by his conservative +tribesmen. His difficulty was much greater than that of the +modern inventor, who has to convince in advance only one or two +capitalists. That early inventor had to convince his whole +tribe in advance, for without the co-operation of the whole tribe +the device could not be tested. One can well imagine the +nightly pow-wow-ings in that primitive island world, when he +called his comrades antiquated moss-backs, and they called him a +fool, a freak, and a crank, and charged him with having come from +Kansas. Heaven alone knows at what cost of grey hairs and +expletives he must finally have succeeded in winning over a +sufficient number to give his idea a trial. At any rate, +the experiment succeeded. It stood the test of +truth—it worked! And thereafter, we can be confident, +there was no man to be found who did not know all along that it +was going to work.</p> + +<p>Our good friends, Tehei and Bihaura, who were giving the +fishing in our honour, had promised to come for us. We were +down below when the call came from on deck that they were +coming. We dashed up the companionway, to be overwhelmed by +the sight of the Polynesian barge in which we were to ride. +It was a long double canoe, the canoes lashed together by timbers +with an interval of water between, and the whole decorated with +flowers and golden grasses. A dozen flower-crowned Amazons +were at the paddles, while at the stern of each canoe was a +strapping steersman. All were garlanded with gold and +crimson and orange flowers, while each wore about the hips a +scarlet <i>pareu</i>. There were flowers everywhere, +flowers, flowers, flowers, without end. The whole thing +was an orgy of colour. On the platform forward resting on +the bows of the canoes, Tehei and Bihaura were dancing. All +voices were raised in a wild song or greeting.</p> + +<p>Three times they circled the <i>Snark</i> before coming +alongside to take Charmian and me on board. Then it was +away for the fishing-grounds, a five-mile paddle dead to +windward. “Everybody is jolly in Bora Bora,” is +the saying throughout the Society Islands, and we certainly found +everybody jolly. Canoe songs, shark songs, and fishing +songs were sung to the dipping of the paddles, all joining in on +the swinging choruses. Once in a while the cry <i>Mao</i>! +was raised, whereupon all strained like mad at the paddles. +Mao is shark, and when the deep-sea tigers appear, the natives +paddle for dear life for the shore, knowing full well the danger +they run of having their frail canoes overturned and of being +devoured. Of course, in our case there were no sharks, but +the cry of <i>mao</i> was used to incite them to paddle with as +much energy as if a shark were really after them. +“Hoé! Hoé!” was another cry that +made us foam through the water.</p> + +<p>On the platform Tehei and Bihaura danced, accompanied by songs +and choruses or by rhythmic hand-clappings. At other times +a musical knocking of the paddles against the sides of the canoes +marked the accent. A young girl dropped her paddle, leaped +to the platform, and danced a hula, in the midst of which, still +dancing, she swayed and bent, and imprinted on our cheeks the +kiss of welcome. Some of the songs, or <i>himines</i>, were +religious, and they were especially beautiful, the deep basses of +the men mingling with the altos and thin sopranos of the women +and forming a combination of sound that irresistibly reminded one +of an organ. In fact, “kanaka organ” is the +scoffer’s description of the <i>himine</i>. On the +other hand, some of the chants or ballads were very barbaric, +having come down from pre-Christian times.</p> + +<p>And so, singing, dancing, paddling, these joyous Polynesians +took us to the fishing. The gendarme, who is the French +ruler of Bora Bora, accompanied us with his family in a double +canoe of his own, paddled by his prisoners; for not only is he +gendarme and ruler, but he is jailer as well, and in this jolly +land when anybody goes fishing, all go fishing. A score of +single canoes, with outriggers, paddled along with us. +Around a point a big sailing-canoe appeared, running beautifully +before the wind as it bore down to greet us. Balancing +precariously on the outrigger, three young men saluted us with a +wild rolling of drums.</p> + +<p>The next point, half a mile farther on, brought us to the +place of meeting. Here the launch, which had been brought +along by Warren and Martin, attracted much attention. The +Bora Borans could not see what made it go. The canoes were +drawn upon the sand, and all hands went ashore to drink cocoanuts +and sing and dance. Here our numbers were added to by many +who arrived on foot from near-by dwellings, and a pretty sight it +was to see the flower-crowned maidens, hand in hand and two by +two, arriving along the sands.</p> + +<p>“They usually make a big catch,” Allicot, a +half-caste trader, told us. “At the finish the water +is fairly alive with fish. It is lots of fun. Of +course you know all the fish will be yours.”</p> + +<p>“All?” I groaned, for already the <i>Snark</i> was +loaded down with lavish presents, by the canoe-load, of fruits, +vegetables, pigs, and chickens.</p> + +<p>“Yes, every last fish,” Allicot answered. +“You see, when the surround is completed, you, being the +guest of honour, must take a harpoon and impale the first +one. It is the custom. Then everybody goes in with +their hands and throws the catch out on the sand. There +will be a mountain of them. Then one of the chiefs will +make a speech in which he presents you with the whole kit and +boodle. But you don’t have to take them all. +You get up and make a speech, selecting what fish you want for +yourself and presenting all the rest back again. Then +everybody says you are very generous.”</p> + +<p>“But what would be the result if I kept the whole +present?” I asked.</p> + +<p>“It has never happened,” was the answer. +“It is the custom to give and give back again.”</p> + +<p>The native minister started with a prayer for success in the +fishing, and all heads were bared. Next, the chief +fishermen told off the canoes and allotted them their +places. Then it was into the canoes and away. No +women, however, came along, with the exception of Bihaura and +Charmian. In the old days even they would have been +tabooed. The women remained behind to wade out into the +water and form the palisade of legs.</p> + +<p>The big double canoe was left on the beach, and we went in the +launch. Half the canoes paddled off to leeward, while we, +with the other half, headed to windward a mile and a half, until +the end of our line was in touch with the reef. The leader +of the drive occupied a canoe midway in our line. He stood +erect, a fine figure of an old man, holding a flag in his +hand. He directed the taking of positions and the forming +of the two lines by blowing on a conch. When all was ready, +he waved his flag to the right. With a single splash the +throwers in every canoe on that side struck the water with their +stones. While they were hauling them back—a matter of +a moment, for the stones scarcely sank beneath the +surface—the flag waved to the left, and with admirable +precision every stone on that side struck the water. So it +went, back and forth, right and left; with every wave of the flag +a long line of concussion smote the lagoon. At the same +time the paddles drove the canoes forward and what was being done +in our line was being done in the opposing line of canoes a mile +and more away.</p> + +<p>On the bow of the launch, Tehei, with eyes fixed on the +leader, worked his stone in unison with the others. Once, +the stone slipped from the rope, and the same instant Tehei went +overboard after it. I do not know whether or not that stone +reached the bottom, but I do know that the next instant Tehei +broke surface alongside with the stone in his hand. I +noticed this same accident occur several times among the near-by +canoes, but in each instance the thrower followed the stone and +brought it back.</p> + +<p>The reef ends of our lines accelerated, the shore ends lagged, +all under the watchful supervision of the leader, until at the +reef the two lines joined, forming the circle. Then the +contraction of the circle began, the poor frightened fish harried +shoreward by the streaks of concussion that smote the +water. In the same fashion elephants are driven through the +jungle by motes of men who crouch in the long grasses or behind +trees and make strange noises. Already the palisade of legs +had been built. We could see the heads of the women, in a +long line, dotting the placid surface of the lagoon. The +tallest women went farthest out, thus, with the exception of +those close inshore, nearly all were up to their necks in the +water.</p> + +<p>Still the circle narrowed, till canoes were almost +touching. There was a pause. A long canoe shot out +from shore, following the line of the circle. It went as +fast as paddles could drive. In the stern a man threw +overboard the long, continuous screen of cocoanut leaves. +The canoes were no longer needed, and overboard went the men to +reinforce the palisade with their legs. For the screen was +only a screen, and not a net, and the fish could dash through it +if they tried. Hence the need for legs that ever agitated +the screen, and for hands that splashed and throats that +yelled. Pandemonium reigned as the trap tightened.</p> + +<p>But no fish broke surface or collided against the hidden +legs. At last the chief fisherman entered the trap. +He waded around everywhere, carefully. But there were no +fish boiling up and out upon the sand. There was not a +sardine, not a minnow, not a polly-wog. Something must have +been wrong with that prayer; or else, and more likely, as one +grizzled fellow put it, the wind was not in its usual quarter and +the fish were elsewhere in the lagoon. In fact, there had +been no fish to drive.</p> + +<p>“About once in five these drives are failures,” +Allicot consoled us.</p> + +<p>Well, it was the stone-fishing that had brought us to Bora +Bora, and it was our luck to draw the one chance in five. +Had it been a raffle, it would have been the other way +about. This is not pessimism. Nor is it an indictment +of the plan of the universe. It is merely that feeling +which is familiar to most fishermen at the empty end of a hard +day.</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap14"></a>CHAPTER XIV<br /> +<span class="GutSmall">THE AMATEUR NAVIGATOR</span></h2> + +<p><span class="smcap">There</span> are captains and captains, +and some mighty fine captains, I know; but the run of the +captains on the <i>Snark</i> has been remarkably otherwise. +My experience with them has been that it is harder to take care +of one captain on a small boat than of two small babies. Of +course, this is no more than is to be expected. The good +men have positions, and are not likely to forsake their +one-thousand-to-fifteen-thousand-ton billets for the <i>Snark</i> +with her ten tons net. The <i>Snark</i> has had to cull her +navigators from the beach, and the navigator on the beach is +usually a congenital inefficient—the sort of man who beats +about for a fortnight trying vainly to find an ocean isle and who +returns with his schooner to report the island sunk with all on +board, the sort of man whose temper or thirst for strong waters +works him out of billets faster than he can work into them.</p> + +<p>The <i>Snark</i> has had three captains, and by the grace of +God she shall have no more. The first captain was so senile +as to be unable to give a measurement for a boom-jaw to a +carpenter. So utterly agedly helpless was he, that he was +unable to order a sailor to throw a few buckets of salt water on +the <i>Snark’s</i> deck. For twelve days, at anchor, +under an overhead tropic sun, the deck lay dry. It was a +new deck. It cost me one hundred and thirty-five dollars to +recaulk it. The second captain was angry. He was born +angry. “Papa is always angry,” was the +description given him by his half-breed son. The third +captain was so crooked that he couldn’t hide behind a +corkscrew. The truth was not in him, common honesty was not +in him, and he was as far away from fair play and square-dealing +as he was from his proper course when he nearly wrecked the +<i>Snark</i> on the Ring-gold Isles.</p> + +<p>It was at Suva, in the Fijis, that I discharged my third and +last captain and took up gain the rôle of amateur +navigator. I had essayed it once before, under my first +captain, who, out of San Francisco, jumped the <i>Snark</i> so +amazingly over the chart that I really had to find out what was +doing. It was fairly easy to find out, for we had a run of +twenty-one hundred miles before us. I knew nothing of +navigation; but, after several hours of reading up and half an +hour’s practice with the sextant, I was able to find the +<i>Snark’s</i> latitude by meridian observation and her +longitude by the simple method known as “equal +altitudes.” This is not a correct method. It is +not even a safe method, but my captain was attempting to navigate +by it, and he was the only one on board who should have been able +to tell me that it was a method to be eschewed. I brought +the <i>Snark</i> to Hawaii, but the conditions favoured me. +The sun was in northern declination and nearly overhead. +The legitimate “chronometer-sight” method of +ascertaining the longitude I had not heard of—yes, I had +heard of it. My first captain mentioned it vaguely, but +after one or two attempts at practice of it he mentioned it no +more.</p> + +<p>I had time in the Fijis to compare my chronometer with two +other chronometers. Two weeks previous, at Pago Pago, in +Samoa, I had asked my captain to compare our chronometer with the +chronometers on the American cruiser, the <i>Annapolis</i>. +This he told me he had done—of course he had done nothing +of the sort; and he told me that the difference he had +ascertained was only a small fraction of a second. He told +it to me with finely simulated joy and with words of praise for +my splendid time-keeper. I repeat it now, with words of +praise for his splendid and unblushing unveracity. For +behold, fourteen days later, in Suva, I compared the chronometer +with the one on the Atua, an Australian steamer, and found that +mine was thirty-one seconds fast. Now thirty-one seconds of +time, converted into arc, equals seven and one-quarter +miles. That is to say, if I were sailing west, in the +night-time, and my position, according to my dead reckoning from +my afternoon chronometer sight, was shown to be seven miles off +the land, why, at that very moment I would be crashing on the +reef. Next I compared my chronometer with Captain +Wooley’s. Captain Wooley, the harbourmaster, gives +the time to Suva, firing a gun signal at twelve, noon, three +times a week. According to his chronometer mine was +fifty-nine seconds fast, which is to say, that, sailing west, I +should be crashing on the reef when I thought I was fifteen miles +off from it.</p> + +<p>I compromised by subtracting thirty-one seconds from the total +of my chronometer’s losing error, and sailed away for +Tanna, in the New Hebrides, resolved, when nosing around the land +on dark nights, to bear in mind the other seven miles I might be +out according to Captain Wooley’s instrument. Tanna +lay some six hundred miles west-southwest from the Fijis, and it +was my belief that while covering that distance I could quite +easily knock into my head sufficient navigation to get me +there. Well, I got there, but listen first to my +troubles. Navigation <i>is</i> easy, I shall always contend +that; but when a man is taking three gasolene engines and a wife +around the world and is writing hard every day to keep the +engines supplied with gasolene and the wife with pearls and +volcanoes, he hasn’t much time left in which to study +navigation. Also, it is bound to be easier to study said +science ashore, where latitude and longitude are unchanging, in a +house whose position never alters, than it is to study navigation +on a boat that is rushing along day and night toward land that +one is trying to find and which he is liable to find disastrously +at a moment when he least expects it.</p> + +<p>To begin with, there are the compasses and the setting of the +courses. We sailed from Suva on Saturday afternoon, June 6, +1908, and it took us till after dark to run the narrow, +reef-ridden passage between the islands of Viti Levu and +Mbengha. The open ocean lay before me. There was +nothing in the way with the exception of Vatu Leile, a miserable +little island that persisted in poking up through the sea some +twenty miles to the west-southwest—just where I wanted to +go. Of course, it seemed quite simple to avoid it by +steering a course that would pass it eight or ten miles to the +north. It was a black night, and we were running before the +wind. The man at the wheel must be told what direction to +steer in order to miss Vatu Leile. But what +direction? I turned me to the navigation books. +“True Course” I lighted upon. The very +thing! What I wanted was the true course. I read +eagerly on:</p> + +<p>“The True Course is the angle made with the meridian by +a straight line on the chart drawn to connect the ship’s +position with the place bound to.”</p> + +<p>Just what I wanted. The <i>Snark’s</i> position +was at the western entrance of the passage between Viti Levu and +Mbengha. The immediate place she was bound to was a place +on the chart ten miles north of Vatu Leile. I pricked that +place off on the chart with my dividers, and with my parallel +rulers found that west-by-south was the true course. I had +but to give it to the man at the wheel and the <i>Snark</i> would +win her way to the safety of the open sea.</p> + +<p>But alas and alack and lucky for me, I read on. I +discovered that the compass, that trusty, everlasting friend of +the mariner, was not given to pointing north. It +varied. Sometimes it pointed east of north, sometimes west +of north, and on occasion it even turned tail on north and +pointed south. The variation at the particular spot on the +globe occupied by the <i>Snark</i> was 9° 40′ +easterly. Well, that had to be taken into account before I +gave the steering course to the man at the wheel. I +read:</p> + +<p>“The Correct Magnetic Course is derived from the True +Course by applying to it the variation.”</p> + +<p>Therefore, I reasoned, if the compass points 9° 40′ +eastward of north, and I wanted to sail due north, I should have +to steer 9° 40′ westward of the north indicated by the +compass and which was not north at all. So I added 9° +40′ to the left of my west-by-south course, thus getting my +correct Magnetic Course, and was ready once more to run to open +sea.</p> + +<p>Again alas and alack! The Correct Magnetic Course was +not the Compass Course. There was another sly little devil +lying in wait to trip me up and land me smashing on the reefs of +Vatu Leile. This little devil went by the name of +Deviation. I read:</p> + +<p>“The Compass Course is the course to steer, and is +derived from the Correct Magnetic Course by applying to it the +Deviation.”</p> + +<p>Now Deviation is the variation in the needle caused by the +distribution of iron on board of ship. This purely local +variation I derived from the deviation card of my standard +compass and then applied to the Correct Magnetic Course. +The result was the Compass Course. And yet, not yet. +My standard compass was amidships on the companionway. My +steering compass was aft, in the cockpit, near the wheel. +When the steering compass pointed west-by-south +three-quarters-south (the steering course), the standard compass +pointed west-one-half-north, which was certainly not the steering +course. I kept the <i>Snark</i> up till she was heading +west-by-south-three-quarters-south on the standard compass, which +gave, on the steering compass, south-west-by-west.</p> + +<p>The foregoing operations constitute the simple little matter +of setting a course. And the worst of it is that one must +perform every step correctly or else he will hear “Breakers +ahead!” some pleasant night, a nice sea-bath, and be given +the delightful diversion of fighting his way to the shore through +a horde of man-eating sharks.</p> + +<p>Just as the compass is tricky and strives to fool the mariner +by pointing in all directions except north, so does that guide +post of the sky, the sun, persist in not being where it ought to +be at a given time. This carelessness of the sun is the +cause of more trouble—at least it caused trouble for +me. To find out where one is on the earth’s surface, +he must know, at precisely the same time, where the sun is in the +heavens. That is to say, the sun, which is the timekeeper +for men, doesn’t run on time. When I discovered this, +I fell into deep gloom and all the Cosmos was filled with +doubt. Immutable laws, such as gravitation and the +conservation of energy, became wobbly, and I was prepared to +witness their violation at any moment and to remain +unastonished. For see, if the compass lied and the sun did +not keep its engagements, why should not objects lose their +mutual attraction and why should not a few bushel baskets of +force be annihilated? Even perpetual motion became +possible, and I was in a frame of mind prone to purchase +Keeley-Motor stock from the first enterprising agent that landed +on the <i>Snark’s</i> deck. And when I discovered +that the earth really rotated on its axis 366 times a year, while +there were only 365 sunrises and sunsets, I was ready to doubt my +own identity.</p> + +<p>This is the way of the sun. It is so irregular that it +is impossible for man to devise a clock that will keep the +sun’s time. The sun accelerates and retards as no +clock could be made to accelerate and retard. The sun is +sometimes ahead of its schedule; at other times it is lagging +behind; and at still other times it is breaking the speed limit +in order to overtake itself, or, rather, to catch up with where +it ought to be in the sky. In this last case it does not +slow down quick enough, and, as a result, goes dashing ahead of +where it ought to be. In fact, only four days in a year do +the sun and the place where the sun ought to be happen to +coincide. The remaining 361 days the sun is pothering +around all over the shop. Man, being more perfect than the +sun, makes a clock that keeps regular time. Also, he +calculates how far the sun is ahead of its schedule or +behind. The difference between the sun’s position and +the position where the sun ought to be if it were a decent, +self-respecting sun, man calls the Equation of Time. Thus, +the navigator endeavouring to find his ship’s position on +the sea, looks in his chronometer to see where precisely the sun +ought to be according to the Greenwich custodian of the +sun. Then to that location he applies the Equation of Time +and finds out where the sun ought to be and isn’t. +This latter location, along with several other locations, enables +him to find out what the man from Kansas demanded to know some +years ago.</p> + +<p>The <i>Snark</i> sailed from Fiji on Saturday, June 6, and the +next day, Sunday, on the wide ocean, out of sight of land, I +proceeded to endeavour to find out my position by a chronometer +sight for longitude and by a meridian observation for +latitude. The chronometer sight was taken in the morning +when the sun was some 21° above the horizon. I looked +in the Nautical Almanac and found that on that very day, June 7, +the sun was behind time 1 minute and 26 seconds, and that it was +catching up at a rate of 14.67 seconds per hour. The +chronometer said that at the precise moment of taking the +sun’s altitude it was twenty-five minutes after eight +o’clock at Greenwich. From this date it would seem a +schoolboy’s task to correct the Equation of Time. +Unfortunately, I was not a schoolboy. Obviously, at the +middle of the day, at Greenwich, the sun was 1 minute and 26 +seconds behind time. Equally obviously, if it were eleven +o’clock in the morning, the sun would be 1 minute and 26 +seconds behind time plus 14.67 seconds. If it were ten +o’clock in the morning, twice 14.67 seconds would have to +be added. And if it were 8: 25 in the morning, then +3½ times 14.67 seconds would have to be added. Quite +clearly, then, if, instead of being 8:25 <span +class="GutSmall">A.M.</span>, it were 8:25 <span +class="GutSmall">P.M.</span>, then 8½ times 14.67 seconds +would have to be, not added, but <i>subtracted</i>; for, if, at +noon, the sun were 1 minute and 26 seconds behind time, and if it +were catching up with where it ought to be at the rate of 14.67 +seconds per hour, then at 8.25 <span class="GutSmall">P.M.</span> +it would be much nearer where it ought to be than it had been at +noon.</p> + +<p>So far, so good. But was that 8:25 of the chronometer +<span class="GutSmall">A.M.</span>, or <span +class="GutSmall">P.M.</span>? I looked at the +<i>Snark’s</i> clock. It marked 8:9, and it was +certainly <span class="GutSmall">A.M.</span> for I had just +finished breakfast. Therefore, if it was eight in the +morning on board the <i>Snark</i>, the eight o’clock of the +chronometer (which was the time of the day at Greenwich) must be +a different eight o’clock from the <i>Snark’s</i> +eight o’clock. But what eight o’clock was +it? It can’t be the eight o’clock of this +morning, I reasoned; therefore, it must be either eight +o’clock this evening or eight o’clock last night.</p> + +<p>It was at this juncture that I fell into the bottomless pit of +intellectual chaos. We are in east longitude, I reasoned, +therefore we are ahead of Greenwich. If we are behind +Greenwich, then to-day is yesterday; if we are ahead of +Greenwich, then yesterday is to-day, but if yesterday is to-day, +what under the sun is to-day!—to-morrow? +Absurd! Yet it must be correct. When I took the sun +this morning at 8:25, the sun’s custodians at Greenwich +were just arising from dinner last night.</p> + +<p>“Then correct the Equation of Time for yesterday,” +says my logical mind.</p> + +<p>“But to-day is to-day,” my literal mind +insists. “I must correct the sun for to-day and not +for yesterday.”</p> + +<p>“Yet to-day is yesterday,” urges my logical +mind.</p> + +<p>“That’s all very well,” my literal mind +continues, “If I were in Greenwich I might be in +yesterday. Strange things happen in Greenwich. But I +know as sure as I am living that I am here, now, in to-day, June +7, and that I took the sun here, now, to-day, June 7. +Therefore, I must correct the sun here, now, to-day, June +7.”</p> + +<p>“Bosh!” snaps my logical mind. “Lecky +says—”</p> + +<p>“Never mind what Lecky says,” interrupts my +literal mind. “Let me tell you what the Nautical +Almanac says. The Nautical Almanac says that to-day, June +7, the sun was 1 minute and 26 seconds behind time and catching +up at the rate of 14.67 seconds per hour. It says that +yesterday, June 6, the sun was 1 minute and 36 seconds behind +time and catching up at the rate of 15.66 seconds per hour. +You see, it is preposterous to think of correcting to-day’s +sun by yesterday’s time-table.”</p> + +<p>“Fool!”</p> + +<p>“Idiot!”</p> + +<p>Back and forth they wrangle until my head is whirling around +and I am ready to believe that I am in the day after the last +week before next.</p> + +<p>I remembered a parting caution of the Suva harbour-master: +“<i>In east longitude take from the Nautical Almanac the +elements for the preceding day</i>.”</p> + +<p>Then a new thought came to me. I corrected the Equation +of Time for Sunday and for Saturday, making two separate +operations of it, and lo, when the results were compared, there +was a difference only of four-tenths of a second. I was a +changed man. I had found my way out of the crypt. The +<i>Snark</i> was scarcely big enough to hold me and my +experience. Four-tenths of a second would make a difference +of only one-tenth of a mile—a cable-length!</p> + +<p>All went merrily for ten minutes, when I chanced upon the +following rhyme for navigators:</p> +<blockquote><p>“Greenwich time least<br /> +Longitude east;<br /> +Greenwich best,<br /> +Longitude west.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Heavens! The <i>Snark’s</i> time was not as good +as Greenwich time. When it was 8:25 at Greenwich, on board +the <i>Snark</i> it was only 8:9. “Greenwich time +best, longitude west.” There I was. In west +longitude beyond a doubt.</p> + +<p>“Silly!” cries my literal mind. “You +are 8:9 <span class="GutSmall">A.M.</span> and Greenwich is 8:25 +<span class="GutSmall">P.M.</span>”</p> + +<p>“Very well,” answers my logical mind. +“To be correct, 8.25 <span class="GutSmall">P.M.</span> is +really twenty hours and twenty-five minutes, and that is +certainly better than eight hours and nine minutes. No, +there is no discussion; you are in west longitude.”</p> + +<p>Then my literal mind triumphs.</p> + +<p>“We sailed from Suva, in the Fijis, didn’t +we?” it demands, and logical mind agrees. “And +Suva is in east longitude?” Again logical mind +agrees. “And we sailed west (which would take us +deeper into east longitude), didn’t we? Therefore, +and you can’t escape it, we are in east +longitude.”</p> + +<p>“Greenwich time best, longitude west,” chants my +logical mind; “and you must grant that twenty hours and +twenty-five minutes is better than eight hours and nine +minutes.”</p> + +<p>“All right,” I break in upon the squabble; +“we’ll work up the sight and then we’ll +see.”</p> + +<p>And work it up I did, only to find that my longitude was +184° west.</p> + +<p>“I told you so,” snorts my logical mind.</p> + +<p>I am dumbfounded. So is my literal mind, for several +minutes. Then it enounces:</p> + +<p>“But there is no 184° west longitude, nor east +longitude, nor any other longitude. The largest meridian is +180° as you ought to know very well.”</p> + +<p>Having got this far, literal mind collapses from the brain +strain, logical mind is dumb flabbergasted; and as for me, I get +a bleak and wintry look in my eyes and go around wondering +whether I am sailing toward the China coast or the Gulf of +Darien.</p> + +<p>Then a thin small voice, which I do not recognize, coming from +nowhere in particular in my consciousness, says:</p> + +<p>“The total number of degrees is 360. Subtract the +184° west longitude from 360°, and you will get 176° +east longitude.”</p> + +<p>“That is sheer speculation,” objects literal mind; +and logical mind remonstrates. “There is no rule for +it.”</p> + +<p>“Darn the rules!” I exclaim. +“Ain’t I here?”</p> + +<p>“The thing is self-evident,” I continue. +“184° west longitude means a lapping over in east +longitude of four degrees. Besides I have been in east +longitude all the time. I sailed from Fiji, and Fiji is in +east longitude. Now I shall chart my position and prove it +by dead reckoning.”</p> + +<p>But other troubles and doubts awaited me. Here is a +sample of one. In south latitude, when the sun is in +northern declination, chronometer sights may be taken early in +the morning. I took mine at eight o’clock. Now, +one of the necessary elements in working up such a sight is +latitude. But one gets latitude at twelve o’clock, +noon, by a meridian observation. It is clear that in order +to work up my eight o’clock chronometer sight I must have +my eight o’clock latitude. Of course, if the +<i>Snark</i> were sailing due west at six knots per hour, for the +intervening four hours her latitude would not change. But +if she were sailing due south, her latitude would change to the +tune of twenty-four miles. In which case a simple addition +or subtraction would convert the twelve o’clock latitude +into eight o’clock latitude. But suppose the +<i>Snark</i> were sailing southwest. Then the traverse +tables must be consulted.</p> + +<p>This is the illustration. At eight <span +class="GutSmall">A.M.</span> I took my chronometer sight. +At the same moment the distance recorded on the log was +noted. At twelve <span class="GutSmall">M.</span>, when the +sight for latitude was taken, I again noted the log, which +showed me that since eight o’clock the <i>Snark</i> had run +24 miles. Her true course had been west ¾ +south. I entered Table I, in the distance column, on the +page for ¾ point courses, and stopped at 24, the number of +miles run. Opposite, in the next two columns, I found that +the <i>Snark</i> had made 3.5 miles of southing or latitude, and +that she had made 23.7 miles of westing. To find my eight +o’clock’ latitude was easy. I had but to +subtract 3.5 miles from my noon latitude. All the elements +being present, I worked up my longitude.</p> + +<p>But this was my eight o’clock longitude. Since +then, and up till noon, I had made 23.7 miles of westing. +What was my noon longitude? I followed the rule, turning to +Traverse Table No. II. Entering the table, according to +rule, and going through every detail, according to rule, I found +the difference of longitude for the four hours to be 25 +miles. I was aghast. I entered the table again, +according to rule; I entered the table half a dozen times, +according to rule, and every time found that my difference of +longitude was 25 miles. I leave it to you, gentle +reader. Suppose you had sailed 24 miles and that you had +covered 3.5 miles of latitude, then how could you have covered 25 +miles of longitude? Even if you had sailed due west 24 +miles, and not changed your latitude, how could you have changed +your longitude 25 miles? In the name of human reason, how +could you cover one mile more of longitude than the total number +of miles you had sailed?</p> + +<p>It was a reputable traverse table, being none other than +Bowditch’s. The rule was simple (as navigators’ +rules go); I had made no error. I spent an hour over it, +and at the end still faced the glaring impossibility of having +sailed 24 miles, in the course of which I changed my latitude 3.5 +miles and my longitude 25 miles. The worst of it was that +there was nobody to help me out. Neither Charmian nor +Martin knew as much as I knew about navigation. And all the +time the <i>Snark</i> was rushing madly along toward Tanna, in +the New Hebrides. Something had to be done.</p> + +<p>How it came to me I know not—call it an inspiration if +you will; but the thought arose in me: if southing is latitude, +why isn’t westing longitude? Why should I have to +change westing into longitude? And then the whole beautiful +situation dawned upon me. The meridians of longitude are 60 +miles (nautical) apart at the equator. At the poles they +run together. Thus, if I should travel up the 180° +meridian of longitude until I reached the North Pole, and if the +astronomer at Greenwich travelled up the 0 meridian of longitude +to the North Pole, then, at the North Pole, we could shake hands +with each other, though before we started for the North Pole we +had been some thousands of miles apart. Again: if a degree +of longitude was 60 miles wide at the equator, and if the same +degree, at the point of the Pole, had no width, then somewhere +between the Pole and the equator that degree would be half a mile +wide, and at other places a mile wide, two miles wide, ten miles +wide, thirty miles wide, ay, and sixty miles wide.</p> + +<p>All was plain again. The <i>Snark</i> was in 19° +south latitude. The world wasn’t as big around there +as at the equator. Therefore, every mile of westing at +19° south was more than a minute of longitude; for sixty +miles were sixty miles, but sixty minutes are sixty miles only at +the equator. George Francis Train broke Jules Verne’s +record of around the world. But any man that wants can +break George Francis Train’s record. Such a man would +need only to go, in a fast steamer, to the latitude of Cape Horn, +and sail due east all the way around. The world is very +small in that latitude, and there is no land in the way to turn +him out of his course. If his steamer maintained sixteen +knots, he would circumnavigate the globe in just about forty +days.</p> + +<p>But there are compensations. On Wednesday evening, June +10, I brought up my noon position by dead reckoning to eight +<span class="GutSmall">P.M.</span> Then I projected the +<i>Snark’s</i> course and saw that she would strike Futuna, +one of the easternmost of the New Hebrides, a volcanic cone two +thousand feet high that rose out of the deep ocean. I +altered the course so that the <i>Snark</i> would pass ten miles +to the northward. Then I spoke to Wada, the cook, who had +the wheel every morning from four to six.</p> + +<p>“Wada San, to-morrow morning, your watch, you look sharp +on weather-bow you see land.”</p> + +<p>And then I went to bed. The die was cast. I had +staked my reputation as a navigator. Suppose, just suppose, +that at daybreak there was no land. Then, where would my +navigation be? And where would we be? And how would +we ever find ourselves? or find any land? I caught ghastly +visions of the <i>Snark</i> sailing for months through ocean +solitudes and seeking vainly for land while we consumed our +provisions and sat down with haggard faces to stare cannibalism +in the face.</p> + +<p>I confess my sleep was not</p> +<blockquote><p>“ . . . like a summer sky<br /> +That held the music of a lark.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Rather did “I waken to the voiceless dark,” and +listen to the creaking of the bulkheads and the rippling of the +sea alongside as the <i>Snark</i> logged steadily her six knots +an hour. I went over my calculations again and again, +striving to find some mistake, until my brain was in such fever +that it discovered dozens of mistakes. Suppose, instead of +being sixty miles off Futuna, that my navigation was all wrong +and that I was only six miles off? In which case my course +would be wrong, too, and for all I knew the <i>Snark</i> might be +running straight at Futuna. For all I knew the <i>Snark</i> +might strike Futuna the next moment. I almost sprang from +the bunk at that thought; and, though I restrained myself, I know +that I lay for a moment, nervous and tense, waiting for the +shock.</p> + +<p>My sleep was broken by miserable nightmares. Earthquake +seemed the favourite affliction, though there was one man, with a +bill, who persisted in dunning me throughout the night. +Also, he wanted to fight; and Charmian continually persuaded me +to let him alone. Finally, however, the man with the +everlasting dun ventured into a dream from which Charmian was +absent. It was my opportunity, and we went at it, +gloriously, all over the sidewalk and street, until he cried +enough. Then I said, “Now how about that +bill?” Having conquered, I was willing to pay. +But the man looked at me and groaned. “It was all a +mistake,” he said; “the bill is for the house next +door.”</p> + +<p>That settled him, for he worried my dreams no more; and it +settled me, too, for I woke up chuckling at the episode. It +was three in the morning. I went up on deck. Henry, +the Rapa islander, was steering. I looked at the log. +It recorded forty-two miles. The <i>Snark</i> had not +abated her six-knot gait, and she had not struck Futuna +yet. At half-past five I was again on deck. Wada, at +the wheel, had seen no land. I sat on the cockpit rail, a +prey to morbid doubt for a quarter of an hour. Then I saw +land, a small, high piece of land, just where it ought to be, +rising from the water on the weather-bow. At six +o’clock I could clearly make it out to be the beautiful +volcanic cone of Futuna. At eight o’clock, when it +was abreast, I took its distance by the sextant and found it to +be 9.3 miles away. And I had elected to pass it 10 miles +away!</p> + +<p>Then, to the south, Aneiteum rose out of the sea, to the +north, Aniwa, and, dead ahead, Tanna. There was no +mistaking Tanna, for the smoke of its volcano was towering high +in the sky. It was forty miles away, and by afternoon, as +we drew close, never ceasing to log our six knots, we saw that it +was a mountainous, hazy land, with no apparent openings in its +coast-line. I was looking for Port Resolution, though I was +quite prepared to find that as an anchorage, it had been +destroyed. Volcanic earthquakes had lifted its bottom +during the last forty years, so that where once the largest ships +rode at anchor there was now, by last reports, scarcely space and +depth sufficient for the <i>Snark</i>. And why should not +another convulsion, since the last report, have closed the +harbour completely?</p> + +<p>I ran in close to the unbroken coast, fringed with rocks awash +upon which the crashing trade-wind sea burst white and +high. I searched with my glasses for miles, but could see +no entrance. I took a compass bearing of Futuna, another of +Aniwa, and laid them off on the chart. Where the two +bearings crossed was bound to be the position of the +<i>Snark</i>. Then, with my parallel rulers, I laid down a +course from the <i>Snark’s</i> position to Port +Resolution. Having corrected this course for variation and +deviation, I went on deck, and lo, the course directed me towards +that unbroken coast-line of bursting seas. To my Rapa +islander’s great concern, I held on till the rocks awash +were an eighth of a mile away.</p> + +<p>“No harbour this place,” he announced, shaking his +head ominously.</p> + +<p>But I altered the course and ran along parallel with the +coast. Charmian was at the wheel. Martin was at the +engine, ready to throw on the propeller. A narrow slit of +an opening showed up suddenly. Through the glasses I could +see the seas breaking clear across. Henry, the Rapa man, +looked with troubled eyes; so did Tehei, the Tahaa man.</p> + +<p>“No passage, there,” said Henry. “We +go there, we finish quick, sure.”</p> + +<p>I confess I thought so, too; but I ran on abreast, watching to +see if the line of breakers from one side the entrance did not +overlap the line from the other side. Sure enough, it +did. A narrow place where the sea ran smooth +appeared. Charmian put down the wheel and steadied +for the entrance. Martin threw on the engine, while all +hands and the cook sprang to take in sail.</p> + +<p>A trader’s house showed up in the bight of the +bay. A geyser, on the shore, a hundred yards away; spouted +a column of steam. To port, as we rounded a tiny point, the +mission station appeared.</p> + +<p>“Three fathoms,” cried Wada at the +lead-line. “Three fathoms,” “two +fathoms,” came in quick succession.</p> + +<p>Charmian put the wheel down, Martin stopped the engine, and +the <i>Snark</i> rounded to and the anchor rumbled down in three +fathoms. Before we could catch our breaths a swarm of black +Tannese was alongside and aboard—grinning, apelike +creatures, with kinky hair and troubled eyes, wearing safety-pins +and clay-pipes in their slitted ears: and as for the rest, +wearing nothing behind and less than that before. And I +don’t mind telling that that night, when everybody was +asleep, I sneaked up on deck, looked out over the quiet scene, +and gloated—yes, gloated—over my navigation.</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap15"></a>CHAPTER XV<br /> +<span class="GutSmall">CRUISING IN THE SOLOMONS</span></h2> + +<p>“<span class="smcap">Why</span> not come along +now?” said Captain Jansen to us, at Penduffryn, on the +island of Guadalcanar.</p> + +<p>Charmian and I looked at each other and debated silently for +half a minute. Then we nodded our heads +simultaneously. It is a way we have of making up our minds +to do things; and a very good way it is when one has no +temperamental tears to shed over the last tin-of condensed milk +when it has capsized. (We are living on tinned goods these +days, and since mind is rumoured to be an emanation of matter, +our similes are naturally of the packing-house variety.)</p> + +<p>“You’d better bring your revolvers along, and a +couple of rifles,” said Captain Jansen. +“I’ve got five rifles aboard, though the one Mauser +is without ammunition. Have you a few rounds to +spare?”</p> + +<p>We brought our rifles on board, several handfuls of Mauser +cartridges, and Wada and Nakata, the <i>Snark’s</i> cook +and cabin-boy respectively. Wada and Nakata were in a bit +of a funk. To say the least, they were not enthusiastic, +though never did Nakata show the white feather in the face of +danger. The Solomon Islands had not dealt kindly with +them. In the first place, both had suffered from Solomon +sores. So had the rest of us (at the time, I was nursing +two fresh ones on a diet of corrosive sublimate); but the two +Japanese had had more than their share. And the sores are +not nice. They may be described as excessively active +ulcers. A mosquito bite, a cut, or the slightest abrasion, +serves for lodgment of the poison with which the air seems to be +filled. Immediately the ulcer commences to eat. It +eats in every direction, consuming skin and muscle with +astounding rapidity. The pin-point ulcer of the first day +is the size of a dime by the second day, and by the end of the +week a silver dollar will not cover it.</p> + +<p>Worse than the sores, the two Japanese had been afflicted with +Solomon Island fever. Each had been down repeatedly with +it, and in their weak, convalescent moments they were wont to +huddle together on the portion of the <i>Snark</i> that happened +to be nearest to faraway Japan, and to gaze yearningly in that +direction.</p> + +<p>But worst of all, they were now brought on board the +<i>Minota</i> for a recruiting cruise along the savage coast of +Malaita. Wada, who had the worse funk, was sure that he +would never see Japan again, and with bleak, lack-lustre eyes he +watched our rifles and ammunition going on board the +<i>Minota</i>. He knew about the <i>Minota</i> and her +Malaita cruises. He knew that she had been captured six +months before on the Malaita coast, that her captain had been +chopped to pieces with tomahawks, and that, according to the +barbarian sense of equity on that sweet isle, she owed two more +heads. Also, a labourer on Penduffryn Plantation, a Malaita +boy, had just died of dysentery, and Wada knew that Penduffryn +had been put in the debt of Malaita by one more head. +Furthermore, in stowing our luggage away in the skipper’s +tiny cabin, he saw the axe gashes on the door where the +triumphant bushmen had cut their way in. And, finally, the +galley stove was without a pipe—said pipe having been part +of the loot.</p> + +<p>The <i>Minota</i> was a teak-built, Australian yacht, +ketch-rigged, long and lean, with a deep fin-keel, and designed +for harbour racing rather than for recruiting blacks. When +Charmian and I came on board, we found her crowded. Her +double boat’s crew, including substitutes, was fifteen, and +she had a score and more of “return” boys, whose time +on the plantations was served and who were bound back to their +bush villages. To look at, they were certainly true +head-hunting cannibals. Their perforated nostrils were +thrust through with bone and wooden bodkins the size of +lead-pencils. Numbers of them had punctured the extreme +meaty point of the nose, from which protruded, straight out, +spikes of turtle-shell or of beads strung on stiff wire. A +few had further punctured their noses with rows of holes +following the curves of the nostrils from lip to point. +Each ear of every man had from two to a dozen holes in +it—holes large enough to carry wooden plugs three inches in +diameter down to tiny holes in which were carried clay-pipes and +similar trifles. In fact, so many holes did they possess +that they lacked ornaments to fill them; and when, the following +day, as we neared Malaita, we tried out our rifles to see that +they were in working order, there was a general scramble for the +empty cartridges, which were thrust forthwith into the many +aching voids in our passengers’ ears.</p> + +<p>At the time we tried out our rifles we put up our barbed wire +railings. The <i>Minota</i>, crown-decked, without any +house, and with a rail six inches high, was too accessible to +boarders. So brass stanchions were screwed into the rail +and a double row of barbed wire stretched around her from stem to +stern and back again. Which was all very well as a +protection from savages, but it was mighty uncomfortable to those +on board when the <i>Minota</i> took to jumping and plunging in a +sea-way. When one dislikes sliding down upon the lee-rail +barbed wire, and when he dares not catch hold of the weather-rail +barbed wire to save himself from sliding, and when, with these +various disinclinations, he finds himself on a smooth flush-deck +that is heeled over at an angle of forty-five degrees, some of +the delights of Solomon Islands cruising may be +comprehended. Also, it must be remembered, the penalty of a +fall into the barbed wire is more than the mere scratches, for +each scratch is practically certain to become a venomous +ulcer. That caution will not save one from the wire was +evidenced one fine morning when we were running along the Malaita +coast with the breeze on our quarter. The wind was fresh, +and a tidy sea was making. A black boy was at the +wheel. Captain Jansen, Mr. Jacobsen (the mate), Charmian, +and I had just sat down on deck to breakfast. Three +unusually large seas caught us. The boy at the wheel lost +his head. Three times the <i>Minota</i> was swept. +The breakfast was rushed over the lee-rail. The knives and +forks went through the scuppers; a boy aft went clean overboard +and was dragged back; and our doughty skipper lay half inboard +and half out, jammed in the barbed wire. After that, for +the rest of the cruise, our joint use of the several remaining +eating utensils was a splendid example of primitive +communism. On the <i>Eugenie</i>, however, it was even +worse, for we had but one teaspoon among four of us—but the +<i>Eugenie</i> is another story.</p> + +<p>Our first port was Su’u on the west coast of +Malaita. The Solomon Islands are on the fringe of +things. It is difficult enough sailing on dark nights +through reef-spiked channels and across erratic currents where +there are no lights to guide (from northwest to southeast the +Solomons extend across a thousand miles of sea, and on all the +thousands of miles of coasts there is not one lighthouse); but +the difficulty is seriously enhanced by the fact that the land +itself is not correctly charted. Su’u is an +example. On the Admiralty chart of Malaita the coast at +this point runs a straight, unbroken line. Yet across this +straight, unbroken line the <i>Minota</i> sailed in twenty +fathoms of water. Where the land was alleged to be, was a +deep indentation. Into this we sailed, the mangroves +closing about us, till we dropped anchor in a mirrored +pond. Captain Jansen did not like the anchorage. It +was the first time he had been there, and Su’u had a bad +reputation. There was no wind with which to get away in +case of attack, while the crew could be bushwhacked to a man if +they attempted to tow out in the whale-boat. It was a +pretty trap, if trouble blew up.</p> + +<p>“Suppose the <i>Minota</i> went ashore—what would +you do?” I asked.</p> + +<p>“She’s not going ashore,” was Captain +Jansen’s answer.</p> + +<p>“But just in case she did?” I insisted. He +considered for a moment and shifted his glance from the mate +buckling on a revolver to the boat’s crew climbing into the +whale-boat each man with a rifle.</p> + +<p>“We’d get into the whale-boat, and get out of here +as fast as God’d let us,” came the skipper’s +delayed reply.</p> + +<p>He explained at length that no white man was sure of his +<i>Malaita</i> crew in a tight place; that the bushmen looked +upon all wrecks as their personal property; that the bushmen +possessed plenty of Snider rifles; and that he had on board a +dozen “return” boys for Su’u who were certain +to join in with their friends and relatives ashore when it came +to looting the <i>Minota</i>.</p> + +<p>The first work of the whale-boat was to take the +“return” boys and their trade-boxes ashore. +Thus one danger was removed. While this was being done, a +canoe came alongside manned by three naked savages. And +when I say naked, I mean naked. Not one vestige of clothing +did they have on, unless nose-rings, ear-plugs, and shell armlets +be accounted clothing. The head man in the canoe was an old +chief, one-eyed, reputed to be friendly, and so dirty that a +boat-scraper would have lost its edge on him. His mission +was to warn the skipper against allowing any of his people to go +ashore. The old fellow repeated the warning again that +night.</p> + +<p>In vain did the whale-boat ply about the shores of the bay in +quest of recruits. The bush was full of armed natives; all +willing enough to talk with the recruiter, but not one would +engage to sign on for three years’ plantation labour at six +pounds per year. Yet they were anxious enough to get our +people ashore. On the second day they raised a smoke on the +beach at the head of the bay. This being the customary +signal of men desiring to recruit, the boat was sent. But +nothing resulted. No one recruited, nor were any of our men +lured ashore. A little later we caught glimpses of a number +of armed natives moving about on the beach.</p> + +<p>Outside of these rare glimpses, there was no telling how many +might be lurking in the bush. There was no penetrating that +primeval jungle with the eye. In the afternoon, Captain +Jansen, Charmian, and I went dynamiting fish. Each one of +the boat’s crew carried a Lee-Enfield. +“Johnny,” the native recruiter, had a Winchester +beside him at the steering sweep. We rowed in close to a +portion of the shore that looked deserted. Here the boat +was turned around and backed in; in case of attack, the boat +would be ready to dash away. In all the time I was on +Malaita I never saw a boat land bow on. In fact, the +recruiting vessels use two boats—one to go in on the beach, +armed, of course, and the other to lie off several hundred feet +and “cover” the first boat. The <i>Minota</i>, +however, being a small vessel, did not carry a covering boat.</p> + +<p>We were close in to the shore and working in closer, +stern-first, when a school of fish was sighted. The fuse +was ignited and the stick of dynamite thrown. With the +explosion, the surface of the water was broken by the flash of +leaping fish. At the same instant the woods broke into +life. A score of naked savages, armed with bows and arrows, +spears, and Sniders, burst out upon the shore. At the same +moment our boat’s crew lifted their rifles. And thus +the opposing parties faced each other, while our extra boys dived +over after the stunned fish.</p> + +<p>Three fruitless days were spent at Su’u. The +<i>Minota</i> got no recruits from the bush, and the bushmen got +no heads from the <i>Minota</i>. In fact, the only one who +got anything was Wada, and his was a nice dose of fever. We +towed out with the whale-boat, and ran along the coast to Langa +Langa, a large village of salt-water people, built with +prodigious labour on a lagoon sand-bank—literally +<i>built</i> up, an artificial island reared as a refuge from the +blood-thirsty bushmen. Here, also, on the shore side of the +lagoon, was Binu, the place where the <i>Minota</i> was captured +half a year previously and her captain killed by the +bushmen. As we sailed in through the narrow entrance, a +canoe came alongside with the news that the man-of-war had just +left that morning after having burned three villages, killed some +thirty pigs, and drowned a baby. This was the Cambrian, +Captain Lewes commanding. He and I had first met in Korea +during the Japanese-Russian War, and we had been crossing each +other’s trail ever since without ever a meeting. The +day the <i>Snark</i> sailed into Suva, in the Fijis, we made out +the <i>Cambrian</i> going out. At Vila, in the New +Hebrides, we missed each other by one day. We passed each +other in the night-time off the island of Santo. And the +day the <i>Cambrian</i> arrived at Tulagi, we sailed from +Penduffryn, a dozen miles away. And here at Langa Langa we +had missed by several hours.</p> + +<p>The <i>Cambrian</i> had come to punish the murderers of the +<i>Minota’s</i> captain, but what she had succeeded in +doing we did not learn until later in the day, when a Mr. Abbot, +a missionary, came alongside in his whale-boat. The +villages had been burned and the pigs killed. But the +natives had escaped personal harm. The murderers had not +been captured, though the <i>Minota’s</i> flag and other of +her gear had been recovered. The drowning of the baby had +come about through a misunderstanding. Chief Johnny, of +Binu, had declined to guide the landing party into the bush, nor +could any of his men be induced to perform that office. +Whereupon Captain Lewes, righteously indignant, had told Chief +Johnny that he deserved to have his village burned. +Johnny’s <i>bêche de mer</i> English did not include +the word “deserve.” So his understanding of it +was that his village was to be burned anyway. The immediate +stampede of the inhabitants was so hurried that the baby was +dropped into the water. In the meantime Chief Johnny +hastened to Mr. Abbot. Into his hand he put fourteen +sovereigns and requested him to go on board the <i>Cambrian</i> +and buy Captain Lewes off. Johnny’s village was not +burned. Nor did Captain Lewes get the fourteen sovereigns, +for I saw them later in Johnny’s possession when he boarded +the <i>Minota</i>. The excuse Johnny gave me for not +guiding the landing party was a big boil which he proudly +revealed. His real reason, however, and a perfectly valid +one, though he did not state it, was fear of revenge on the part +of the bushmen. Had he, or any of his men, guided the +marines, he could have looked for bloody reprisals as soon as the +<i>Cambrian</i> weighed anchor.</p> + +<p>As an illustration of conditions in the Solomons, +Johnny’s business on board was to turn over, for a tobacco +consideration, the sprit, mainsail, and jib of a +whale-boat. Later in the day, a Chief Billy came on board +and turned over, for a tobacco consideration, the mast and +boom. This gear belonged to a whale-boat which Captain +Jansen had recovered the previous trip of the +<i>Minota</i>. The whale-boat belonged to Meringe +Plantation on the island of Ysabel. Eleven contract +labourers, Malaita men and bushmen at that, had decided to run +away. Being bushmen, they knew nothing of salt water nor of +the way of a boat in the sea. So they persuaded two natives +of San Cristoval, salt-water men, to run away with them. It +served the San Cristoval men right. They should have known +better. When they had safely navigated the stolen boat to +Malaita, they had their heads hacked off for their pains. +It was this boat and gear that Captain Jansen had recovered.</p> + +<p>Not for nothing have I journeyed all the way to the +Solomons. At last I have seen Charmian’s proud spirit +humbled and her imperious queendom of femininity dragged in the +dust. It happened at Langa Langa, ashore, on the +manufactured island which one cannot see for the houses. +Here, surrounded by hundreds of unblushing naked men, women, and +children, we wandered about and saw the sights. We had our +revolvers strapped on, and the boat’s crew, fully armed, +lay at the oars, stern in; but the lesson of the man-of-war was +too recent for us to apprehend trouble. We walked about +everywhere and saw everything until at last we approached a large +tree trunk that served as a bridge across a shallow +estuary. The blacks formed a wall in front of us and +refused to let us pass. We wanted to know why we were +stopped. The blacks said we could go on. We +misunderstood, and started. Explanations became more +definite. Captain Jansen and I, being men, could go +on. But no Mary was allowed to wade around that bridge, +much less cross it. “Mary” is bêche de +mer for woman. Charmian was a Mary. To her the bridge +was tambo, which is the native for taboo. Ah, how my chest +expanded! At last my manhood was vindicated. In truth +I belonged to the lordly sex. Charmian could trapse along +at our heels, but we were MEN, and we could go right over that +bridge while she would have to go around by whale-boat.</p> + +<p>Now I should not care to be misunderstood by what follows; but +it is a matter of common knowledge in the Solomons that attacks +of fever are often brought on by shock. Inside half an hour +after Charmian had been refused the right of way, she was being +rushed aboard the <i>Minota</i>, packed in blankets, and dosed +with quinine. I don’t know what kind of shock had +happened to Wada and Nakata, but at any rate they were down with +fever as well. The Solomons might be healthfuller.</p> + +<p>Also, during the attack of fever, Charmian developed a Solomon +sore. It was the last straw. Every one on the +<i>Snark</i> had been afflicted except her. I had thought +that I was going to lose my foot at the ankle by one +exceptionally malignant boring ulcer. Henry and Tehei, the +Tahitian sailors, had had numbers of them. Wada had been +able to count his by the score. Nakata had had single ones +three inches in length. Martin had been quite certain that +necrosis of his shinbone had set in from the roots of the amazing +colony he elected to cultivate in that locality. But +Charmian had escaped. Out of her long immunity had been +bred contempt for the rest of us. Her ego was flattered to +such an extent that one day she shyly informed me that it was all +a matter of pureness of blood. Since all the rest of us +cultivated the sores, and since she did not—well, anyway, +hers was the size of a silver dollar, and the pureness of her +blood enabled her to cure it after several weeks of strenuous +nursing. She pins her faith to corrosive sublimate. +Martin swears by iodoform. Henry uses lime-juice +undiluted. And I believe that when corrosive sublimate is +slow in taking hold, alternate dressings of peroxide of hydrogen +are just the thing. There are white men in the Solomons who +stake all upon boracic acid, and others who are prejudiced in +favour of lysol. I also have the weakness of a +panacea. It is California. I defy any man to get a +Solomon Island sore in California.</p> + +<p>We ran down the lagoon from Langa Langa, between mangrove +swamps, through passages scarcely wider than the <i>Minota</i>, +and past the reef villages of Kaloka and Auki. Like the +founders of Venice, these salt-water men were originally refugees +from the mainland. Too weak to hold their own in the bush, +survivors of village massacres, they fled to the sand-banks of +the lagoon. These sand-banks they built up into +islands. They were compelled to seek their provender from +the sea, and in time they became salt-water men. They +learned the ways of the fish and the shellfish, and they invented +hooks and lines, nets and fish-traps. They developed +canoe-bodies. Unable to walk about, spending all their time +in the canoes, they became thick-armed and broad-shouldered, with +narrow waists and frail spindly legs. Controlling the +sea-coast, they became wealthy, trade with the interior passing +largely through their hands. But perpetual enmity exists +between them and the bushmen. Practically their only truces +are on market-days, which occur at stated intervals, usually +twice a week. The bushwomen and the salt-water women do the +bartering. Back in the bush, a hundred yards away, fully +armed, lurk the bushmen, while to seaward, in the canoes, are the +salt-water men. There are very rare instances of the +market-day truces being broken. The bushmen like their fish +too well, while the salt-water men have an organic craving for +the vegetables they cannot grow on their crowded islets.</p> + +<p>Thirty miles from Langa Langa brought us to the passage +between Bassakanna Island and the mainland. Here, at +nightfall, the wind left us, and all night, with the whale-boat +towing ahead and the crew on board sweating at the sweeps, we +strove to win through. But the tide was against us. +At midnight, midway in the passage, we came up with the +<i>Eugenie</i>, a big recruiting schooner, towing with two +whale-boats. Her skipper, Captain Keller, a sturdy young +German of twenty-two, came on board for a “gam,” and +the latest news of Malaita was swapped back and forth. He +had been in luck, having gathered in twenty recruits at the +village of Fiu. While lying there, one of the customary +courageous killings had taken place. The murdered boy was +what is called a salt-water bushman—that is, a salt-water +man who is half bushman and who lives by the sea but does not +live on an islet. Three bushmen came down to this man where +he was working in his garden. They behaved in friendly +fashion, and after a time suggested <i>kai-kai</i>. +<i>Kai-kai</i> means food. He built a fire and started to +boil some taro. While bending over the pot, one of the +bushmen shot him through the head. He fell into the flames, +whereupon they thrust a spear through his stomach, turned it +around, and broke it off.</p> + +<p>“My word,” said Captain Keller, “I +don’t want ever to be shot with a Snider. +Spread! You could drive a horse and carriage through that +hole in his head.”</p> + +<p>Another recent courageous killing I heard of on Malaita was +that of an old man. A bush chief had died a natural +death. Now the bushmen don’t believe in natural +deaths. No one was ever known to die a natural death. +The only way to die is by bullet, tomahawk, or spear +thrust. When a man dies in any other way, it is a clear +case of having been charmed to death. When the bush chief +died naturally, his tribe placed the guilt on a certain +family. Since it did not matter which one of the family was +killed, they selected this old man who lived by himself. +This would make it easy. Furthermore, he possessed no +Snider. Also, he was blind. The old fellow got an +inkling of what was coming and laid in a large supply of +arrows. Three brave warriors, each with a Snider, came down +upon him in the night time. All night they fought valiantly +with him. Whenever they moved in the bush and made a noise +or a rustle, he discharged an arrow in that direction. In +the morning, when his last arrow was gone, the three heroes crept +up to him and blew his brains out.</p> + +<p>Morning found us still vainly toiling through the +passage. At last, in despair, we turned tail, ran out to +sea, and sailed clear round Bassakanna to our objective, +Malu. The anchorage at Malu was very good, but it lay +between the shore and an ugly reef, and while easy to enter, it +was difficult to leave. The direction of the southeast +trade necessitated a beat to windward; the point of the reef was +widespread and shallow; while a current bore down at all times +upon the point.</p> + +<p>Mr. Caulfeild, the missionary at Malu, arrived in his +whale-boat from a trip down the coast. A slender, delicate +man he was, enthusiastic in his work, level-headed and practical, +a true twentieth-century soldier of the Lord. When he came +down to this station on Malaita, as he said, he agreed to come +for six months. He further agreed that if he were alive at +the end of that time, he would continue on. Six years had +passed and he was still continuing on. Nevertheless he was +justified in his doubt as to living longer than six months. +Three missionaries had preceded him on Malaita, and in less than +that time two had died of fever and the third had gone home a +wreck.</p> + +<p>“What murder are you talking about?” he asked +suddenly, in the midst of a confused conversation with Captain +Jansen.</p> + +<p>Captain Jansen explained.</p> + +<p>“Oh, that’s not the one I have reference +to,” quoth Mr. Caulfeild. “That’s old +already. It happened two weeks ago.”</p> + +<p>It was here at Malu that I atoned for all the exulting and +gloating I had been guilty of over the Solomon sore Charmian had +collected at Langa Langa. Mr. Caulfeild was indirectly +responsible for my atonement. He presented us with a +chicken, which I pursued into the bush with a rifle. My +intention was to clip off its head. I succeeded, but in +doing so fell over a log and barked my shin. Result: three +Solomon sores. This made five all together that were +adorning my person. Also, Captain Jansen and Nakata had +caught <i>gari-gari</i>. Literally translated, +<i>gari-gari</i> is scratch-scratch. But translation was +not necessary for the rest of us. The skipper’s and +Nakata’s gymnastics served as a translation without +words.</p> + +<p>(No, the Solomon Islands are not as healthy as they might +be. I am writing this article on the island of Ysabel, +where we have taken the <i>Snark</i> to careen and clean her +cooper. I got over my last attack of fever this morning, +and I have had only one free day between attacks. +Charmian’s are two weeks apart. Wada is a wreck from +fever. Last night he showed all the symptoms of coming down +with pneumonia. Henry, a strapping giant of a Tahitian, +just up from his last dose of fever, is dragging around the deck +like a last year’s crab-apple. Both he and Tehei have +accumulated a praiseworthy display of Solomon sores. Also, +they have caught a new form of gari-gari, a sort of vegetable +poisoning like poison oak or poison ivy. But they are not +unique in this. A number of days ago Charmian, Martin, and +I went pigeon-shooting on a small island, and we have had a +foretaste of eternal torment ever since. Also, on that +small island, Martin cut the soles of his feet to ribbons on the +coral whilst chasing a shark—at least, so he says, but from +the glimpse I caught of him I thought it was the other way +about. The coral-cuts have all become Solomon sores. +Before my last fever I knocked the skin off my knuckles while +heaving on a line, and I now have three fresh sores. And +poor Nakata! For three weeks he has been unable to sit +down. He sat down yesterday for the first time, and managed +to stay down for fifteen minutes. He says cheerfully that +he expects to be cured of his gari-gari in another month. +Furthermore, his gari-gari, from too enthusiastic +scratch-scratching, has furnished footholds for countless Solomon +sores. Still furthermore, he has just come down with his +seventh attack of fever. If I were king, the worst +punishment I could inflict on my enemies would be to banish them +to the Solomons. On second thought, king or no king, I +don’t think I’d have the heart to do it.)</p> + +<p>Recruiting plantation labourers on a small, narrow yacht, +built for harbour sailing, is not any too nice. The decks +swarm with recruits and their families. The main cabin is +packed with them. At night they sleep there. The only +entrance to our tiny cabin is through the main cabin, and we jam +our way through them or walk over them. Nor is this +nice. One and all, they are afflicted with every form of +malignant skin disease. Some have ringworm, others have +<i>bukua</i>. This latter is caused by a vegetable parasite +that invades the skin and eats it away. The itching is +intolerable. The afflicted ones scratch until the air is +filled with fine dry flakes. Then there are yaws and many +other skin ulcerations. Men come aboard with Solomon sores +in their feet so large that they can walk only on their toes, or +with holes in their legs so terrible that a fist could be thrust +in to the bone. Blood-poisoning is very frequent, and +Captain Jansen, with sheath-knife and sail needle, operates +lavishly on one and all. No matter how desperate the +situation, after opening and cleansing, he claps on a poultice of +sea-biscuit soaked in water. Whenever we see a particularly +horrible case, we retire to a corner and deluge our own sores +with corrosive sublimate. And so we live and eat and sleep +on the <i>Minota</i>, taking our chance and “pretending it +is good.”</p> + +<p>At Suava, another artificial island, I had a second crow over +Charmian. A big fella marster belong Suava (which means the +high chief of Suava) came on board. But first he sent an +emissary to Captain Jansen for a fathom of calico with which to +cover his royal nakedness. Meanwhile he lingered in the +canoe alongside. The regal dirt on his chest I swear was +half an inch thick, while it was a good wager that the underneath +layers were anywhere from ten to twenty years of age. He +sent his emissary on board again, who explained that the big +fella marster belong Suava was condescendingly willing enough to +shake hands with Captain Jansen and me and cadge a stick or so of +trade tobacco, but that nevertheless his high-born soul was still +at so lofty an altitude that it could not sink itself to such a +depth of degradation as to shake hands with a mere female +woman. Poor Charmian! Since her Malaita experiences +she has become a changed woman. Her meekness and humbleness +are appallingly becoming, and I should not be surprised, when we +return to civilization and stroll along a sidewalk, to see her +take her station, with bowed head, a yard in the rear.</p> + +<p>Nothing much happened at Suava. Bichu, the native cook, +deserted. The <i>Minota</i> dragged anchor. It blew +heavy squalls of wind and rain. The mate, Mr. Jacobsen, and +Wada were prostrated with fever. Our Solomon sores +increased and multiplied. And the cockroaches on board held +a combined Fourth of July and Coronation Parade. They +selected midnight for the time, and our tiny cabin for the +place. They were from two to three inches long; there were +hundreds of them, and they walked all over us. When we +attempted to pursue them, they left solid footing, rose up in the +air, and fluttered about like humming-birds. They were much +larger than ours on the <i>Snark</i>. But ours are young +yet, and haven’t had a chance to grow. Also, the +<i>Snark</i> has centipedes, big ones, six inches long. We +kill them occasionally, usually in Charmian’s bunk. +I’ve been bitten twice by them, both times foully, while I +was asleep. But poor Martin had worse luck. After +being sick in bed for three weeks, the first day he sat up he sat +down on one. Sometimes I think they are the wisest who +never go to Carcassonne.</p> + +<p>Later on we returned to Malu, picked up seven recruits, hove +up anchor, and started to beat out the treacherous +entrance. The wind was chopping about, the current upon the +ugly point of reef setting strong. Just as we were on the +verge of clearing it and gaining open sea, the wind broke off +four points. The <i>Minota</i> attempted to go about, but +missed stays. Two of her anchors had been lost at +Tulagi. Her one remaining anchor was let go. Chain +was let out to give it a hold on the coral. Her fin keel +struck bottom, and her main topmast lurched and shivered as if +about to come down upon our heads. She fetched up on the +slack of the anchors at the moment a big comber smashed her +shoreward. The chain parted. It was our only +anchor. The <i>Minota</i> swung around on her heel and +drove headlong into the breakers.</p> + +<p>Bedlam reigned. All the recruits below, bushmen and +afraid of the sea, dashed panic-stricken on deck and got in +everybody’s way. At the same time the boat’s +crew made a rush for the rifles. They knew what going +ashore on Malaita meant—one hand for the ship and the other +hand to fight off the natives. What they held on with I +don’t know, and they needed to hold on as the <i>Minota</i> +lifted, rolled, and pounded on the coral. The bushmen clung +in the rigging, too witless to watch out for the topmast. +The whale-boat was run out with a tow-line endeavouring in a puny +way to prevent the <i>Minota</i> from being flung farther in +toward the reef, while Captain Jansen and the mate, the latter +pallid and weak with fever, were resurrecting a scrap-anchor from +out the ballast and rigging up a stock for it. Mr. +Caulfeild, with his mission boys, arrived in his whale-boat to +help.</p> + +<p>When the <i>Minota</i> first struck, there was not a canoe in +sight; but like vultures circling down out of the blue, canoes +began to arrive from every quarter. The boat’s crew, +with rifles at the ready, kept them lined up a hundred feet away +with a promise of death if they ventured nearer. And there +they clung, a hundred feet away, black and ominous, crowded with +men, holding their canoes with their paddles on the perilous edge +of the breaking surf. In the meantime the bushmen were +flocking down from the hills armed with spears, Sniders, arrows, +and clubs, until the beach was massed with them. To +complicate matters, at least ten of our recruits had been +enlisted from the very bushmen ashore who were waiting hungrily +for the loot of the tobacco and trade goods and all that we had +on board.</p> + +<p>The <i>Minota</i> was honestly built, which is the first +essential for any boat that is pounding on a reef. Some +idea of what she endured may be gained from the fact that in the +first twenty-four hours she parted two anchor-chains and eight +hawsers. Our boat’s crew was kept busy diving for the +anchors and bending new lines. There were times when she +parted the chains reinforced with hawsers. And yet she held +together. Tree trunks were brought from ashore and worked +under her to save her keel and bilges, but the trunks were gnawed +and splintered and the ropes that held them frayed to fragments, +and still she pounded and held together. But we were +luckier than the <i>Ivanhoe</i>, a big recruiting schooner, which +had gone ashore on Malaita several months previously and been +promptly rushed by the natives. The captain and crew +succeeded in getting away in the whale-boats, and the bushmen and +salt-water men looted her clean of everything portable.</p> + +<p>Squall after squall, driving wind and blinding rain, smote the +<i>Minota</i>, while a heavier sea was making. The +<i>Eugenie</i> lay at anchor five miles to windward, but she was +behind a point of land and could not know of our mishap. At +Captain Jansen’s suggestion, I wrote a note to Captain +Keller, asking him to bring extra anchors and gear to our +aid. But not a canoe could be persuaded to carry the +letter. I offered half a case of tobacco, but the blacks +grinned and held their canoes bow-on to the breaking seas. +A half a case of tobacco was worth three pounds. In two +hours, even against the strong wind and sea, a man could have +carried the letter and received in payment what he would have +laboured half a year for on a plantation. I managed to get +into a canoe and paddle out to where Mr. Caulfeild was running an +anchor with his whale-boat. My idea was that he would have +more influence over the natives. He called the canoes up to +him, and a score of them clustered around and heard the offer of +half a case of tobacco. No one spoke.</p> + +<p>“I know what you think,” the missionary called out +to them. “You think plenty tobacco on the schooner +and you’re going to get it. I tell you plenty rifles +on schooner. You no get tobacco, you get +bullets.”</p> + +<p>At last, one man, alone in a small canoe, took the letter and +started. Waiting for relief, work went on steadily on the +<i>Minota</i>. Her water-tanks were emptied, and spars, +sails, and ballast started shoreward. There were lively +times on board when the <i>Minota</i> rolled one bilge down and +then the other, a score of men leaping for life and legs as the +trade-boxes, booms, and eighty-pound pigs of iron ballast rushed +across from rail to rail and back again. The poor pretty +harbour yacht! Her decks and running rigging were a +raffle. Down below everything was disrupted. The +cabin floor had been torn up to get at the ballast, and rusty +bilge-water swashed and splashed. A bushel of limes, in a +mess of flour and water, charged about like so many sticky +dumplings escaped from a half-cooked stew. In the inner +cabin, Nakata kept guard over our rifles and ammunition.</p> + +<p>Three hours from the time our messenger started, a whale-boat, +pressing along under a huge spread of canvas, broke through the +thick of a shrieking squall to windward. It was Captain +Keller, wet with rain and spray, a revolver in belt, his +boat’s crew fully armed, anchors and hawsers heaped high +amidships, coming as fast as wind could drive—the white +man, the inevitable white man, coming to a white man’s +rescue.</p> + +<p>The vulture line of canoes that had waited so long broke and +disappeared as quickly as it had formed. The corpse was not +dead after all. We now had three whale-boats, two plying +steadily between the vessel and shore, the other kept busy +running out anchors, rebending parted hawsers, and recovering the +lost anchors. Later in the afternoon, after a consultation, +in which we took into consideration that a number of our +boat’s crew, as well as ten of the recruits, belonged to +this place, we disarmed the boat’s crew. This, +incidently, gave them both hands free to work for the +vessel. The rifles were put in the charge of five of Mr. +Caulfeild’s mission boys. And down below in the wreck +of the cabin the missionary and his converts prayed to God to +save the <i>Minota</i>. It was an impressive scene! the +unarmed man of God praying with cloudless faith, his savage +followers leaning on their rifles and mumbling amens. The +cabin walls reeled about them. The vessel lifted and +smashed upon the coral with every sea. From on deck came +the shouts of men heaving and toiling, praying, in another +fashion, with purposeful will and strength of arm.</p> + +<p>That night Mr. Caulfeild brought off a warning. One of +our recruits had a price on his head of fifty fathoms of +shell-money and forty pigs. Baffled in their desire to +capture the vessel, the bushmen decided to get the head of the +man. When killing begins, there is no telling where it will +end, so Captain Jansen armed a whale-boat and rowed in to the +edge of the beach. Ugi, one of his boat’s crew, stood +up and orated for him. Ugi was excited. Captain +Jansen’s warning that any canoe sighted that night would be +pumped full of lead, Ugi turned into a bellicose declaration of +war, which wound up with a peroration somewhat to the following +effect: “You kill my captain, I drink his blood and die +with him!”</p> + +<p>The bushmen contented themselves with burning an unoccupied +mission house, and sneaked back to the bush. The next day +the <i>Eugenie</i> sailed in and dropped anchor. Three days +and two nights the <i>Minota</i> pounded on the reef; but she +held together, and the shell of her was pulled off at last and +anchored in smooth water. There we said good-bye to her and +all on board, and sailed away on the <i>Eugenie</i>, bound for +Florida Island. <a name="citation268"></a><a href="#footnote268" +class="citation">[268]</a></p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap16"></a>CHAPTER XVI<br /> +<span class="GutSmall">BÊCHE DE MER ENGLISH</span></h2> + +<p><span class="smcap">Given</span> a number of white traders, a +wide area of land, and scores of savage languages and dialects, +the result will be that the traders will manufacture a totally +new, unscientific, but perfectly adequate, language. This +the traders did when they invented the Chinook lingo for use over +British Columbia, Alaska, and the Northwest Territory. So +with the lingo of the Kroo-boys of Africa, the pigeon English of +the Far East, and the bêche de mer of the westerly portion +of the South Seas. This latter is often called pigeon +English, but pigeon English it certainly is not. To show +how totally different it is, mention need be made only of the +fact that the classic piecee of China has no place in it.</p> + +<p>There was once a sea captain who needed a dusky potentate down +in his cabin. The potentate was on deck. The +captain’s command to the Chinese steward was “Hey, +boy, you go top-side catchee one piecee king.” Had +the steward been a New Hebridean or a Solomon islander, the +command would have been: “Hey, you fella boy, go look +’m eye belong you along deck, bring ’m me fella one +big fella marster belong black man.”</p> + +<p>It was the first white men who ventured through Melanesia +after the early explorers, who developed bêche de mer +English—men such as the bêche de mer fishermen, the +sandalwood traders, the pearl hunters, and the labour +recruiters. In the Solomons, for instance, scores of +languages and dialects are spoken. Unhappy the trader who +tried to learn them all; for in the next group to which he might +wander he would find scores of additional tongues. A common +language was necessary—a language so simple that a child +could learn it, with a vocabulary as limited as the intelligence +of the savages upon whom it was to be used. The traders did +not reason this out. Bêche de mer English was the +product of conditions and circumstances. Function precedes +organ; and the need for a universal Melanesian lingo preceded +bêche de mer English. Bêche de mer was purely +fortuitous, but it was fortuitous in the deterministic way. +Also, from the fact that out of the need the lingo arose, +bêche de mer English is a splendid argument for the +Esperanto enthusiasts.</p> + +<p>A limited vocabulary means that each word shall be +overworked. Thus, <i>fella</i>, in bêche de mer, +means all that <i>piecee</i> does and quite a bit more, and is +used continually in every possible connection. Another +overworked word is <i>belong</i>. Nothing stands +alone. Everything is related. The thing desired is +indicated by its relationship with other things. A +primitive vocabulary means primitive expression, thus, the +continuance of rain is expressed as <i>rain he stop</i>. +<i>Sun he come up</i> cannot possibly be misunderstood, while the +phrase-structure itself can be used without mental exertion in +ten thousand different ways, as, for instance, a native who +desires to tell you that there are fish in the water and who says +<i>fish he stop</i>. It was while trading on Ysabel island +that I learned the excellence of this usage. I wanted two +or three pairs of the large clam-shells (measuring three feet +across), but I did not want the meat inside. Also, I wanted +the meat of some of the smaller clams to make a chowder. My +instruction to the natives finally ripened into the following +“You fella bring me fella big fella clam—kai-kai he +no stop, he walk about. You fella bring me fella small +fella clam—kai-kai he stop.”</p> + +<p>Kai-kai is the Polynesian for food, meat, eating, and to eat: +but it would be hard to say whether it was introduced into +Melanesia by the sandalwood traders or by the Polynesian westward +drift. Walk about is a quaint phrase. Thus, if one +orders a Solomon sailor to put a tackle on a boom, he will +suggest, “That fella boom he walk about too +much.” And if the said sailor asks for shore liberty, +he will state that it is his desire to walk about. Or if +said sailor be seasick, he will explain his condition by stating, +“Belly belong me walk about too much.”</p> + +<p>Too much, by the way, does not indicate anything +excessive. It is merely the simple superlative. Thus, +if a native is asked the distance to a certain village, his +answer will be one of these four: “Close-up”; +“long way little bit”; “long way big +bit”; or “long way too much.” Long way +too much does not mean that one cannot walk to the village; it +means that he will have to walk farther than if the village were +a long way big bit.</p> + +<p><i>Gammon</i> is to lie, to exaggerate, to joke. +<i>Mary</i> is a woman. Any woman is a Mary. All +women are Marys. Doubtlessly the first dim white adventurer +whimsically called a native woman Mary, and of similar birth must +have been many other words in bêche de mer. The white +men were all seamen, and so capsize and sing out were introduced +into the lingo. One would not tell a Melanesian cook to +empty the dish-water, but he would tell him to capsize it. +To sing out is to cry loudly, to call out, or merely to +speak. Sing-sing is a song. The native Christian does +not think of God calling for Adam in the Garden of Eden; in the +native’s mind, God sings out for Adam.</p> + +<p>Savvee or catchee are practically the only words which have +been introduced straight from pigeon English. Of course, +pickaninny has happened along, but some of its uses are +delicious. Having bought a fowl from a native in a canoe, +the native asked me if I wanted “Pickaninny stop along him +fella.” It was not until he showed me a handful of +hen’s eggs that I understood his meaning. My word, as +an exclamation with a thousand significances, could have arrived +from nowhere else than Old England. A paddle, a sweep, or +an oar, is called washee, and washee is also the verb.</p> + +<p>Here is a letter, dictated by one Peter, a native trader at +Santa Anna, and addressed to his employer. Harry, the +schooner captain, started to write the letter, but was stopped by +Peter at the end of the second sentence. Thereafter the +letter runs in Peter’s own words, for Peter was afraid that +Harry gammoned too much, and he wanted the straight story of his +needs to go to headquarters.</p> +<blockquote><p style="text-align: right">“<span +class="smcap">Santa Anna</span></p> + +<p>“Trader Peter has worked 12 months for your firm and has +not received any pay yet. He hereby wants +£12.” (At this point Peter began +dictation). “Harry he gammon along him all the +time too much. I like him 6 tin biscuit, 4 bag rice, 24 tin +bullamacow. Me like him 2 rifle, me savvee look out along +boat, some place me go man he no good, he <i>kai-kai</i> along +me.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">“<span +class="smcap">Peter</span>.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p><i>Bullamacow</i> means tinned beef. This word was +corrupted from the English language by the Samoans, and from them +learned by the traders, who carried it along with them into +Melanesia. Captain Cook and the other early navigators made +a practice of introducing seeds, plants, and domestic animals +amongst the natives. It was at Samoa that one such +navigator landed a bull and a cow. “This is a bull +and cow,” said he to the Samoans. They thought he was +giving the name of the breed, and from that day to this, beef on +the hoof and beef in the tin is called <i>bullamacow</i>.</p> + +<p>A Solomon islander cannot say <i>fence</i>, so, in bêche +de mer, it becomes <i>fennis</i>; store is <i>sittore</i>, and +box is <i>bokkis</i>. Just now the fashion in chests, which +are known as boxes, is to have a bell-arrangement on the lock so +that the box cannot be opened without sounding an alarm. A +box so equipped is not spoken of as a mere box, but as the +<i>bokkis belong bell</i>.</p> + +<p><i>Fright</i> is the bêche de mer for fear. If a +native appears timid and one asks him the cause, he is liable to +hear in reply: “Me fright along you too much.” +Or the native may be <i>fright</i> along storm, or wild bush, or +haunted places. <i>Cross</i> covers every form of +anger. A man may be cross at one when he is feeling only +petulant; or he may be cross when he is seeking to chop off your +head and make a stew out of you. A recruit, after having +toiled three years on a plantation, was returned to his own +village on Malaita. He was clad in all kinds of gay and +sportive garments. On his head was a top-hat. He +possessed a trade-box full of calico, beads, porpoise-teeth, and +tobacco. Hardly was the anchor down, when the villagers +were on board. The recruit looked anxiously for his own +relatives, but none was to be seen. One of the natives took +the pipe out of his mouth. Another confiscated the strings +of beads from around his neck. A third relieved him of his +gaudy loin-cloth, and a fourth tried on the top-hat and omitted +to return it. Finally, one of them took his trade-box, +which represented three years’ toil, and dropped it into a +canoe alongside. “That fella belong you?” the +captain asked the recruit, referring to the thief. +“No belong me,” was the answer. “Then why +in Jericho do you let him take the box?” the captain +demanded indignantly. Quoth the recruit, “Me speak +along him, say bokkis he stop, that fella he cross along +me”—which was the recruit’s way of saying that +the other man would murder him. God’s wrath, when He +sent the Flood, was merely a case of being cross along +mankind.</p> + +<p>What name? is the great interrogation of bêche de +mer. It all depends on how it is uttered. It may +mean: What is your business? What do you mean by this +outrageous conduct? What do you want? What is the +thing you are after? You had best watch out; I demand an +explanation; and a few hundred other things. Call a native +out of his house in the middle of the night, and he is likely to +demand, “What name you sing out along me?”</p> + +<p>Imagine the predicament of the Germans on the plantations of +Bougainville Island, who are compelled to learn bêche de +mer English in order to handle the native labourers. It is +to them an unscientific polyglot, and there are no text-books by +which to study it. It is a source of unholy delight to the +other white planters and traders to hear the German wrestling +stolidly with the circumlocutions and short-cuts of a language +that has no grammar and no dictionary.</p> + +<p>Some years ago large numbers of Solomon islanders were +recruited to labour on the sugar plantations of Queensland. +A missionary urged one of the labourers, who was a convert, to +get up and preach a sermon to a shipload of Solomon islanders who +had just arrived. He chose for his subject the Fall of Man, +and the address he gave became a classic in all +Australasia. It proceeded somewhat in the following +manner:</p> + +<p>“Altogether you boy belong Solomons you no savvee white +man. Me fella me savvee him. Me fella me savvee talk +along white man.</p> + +<p>“Before long time altogether no place he stop. God +big fella marster belong white man, him fella He make ’m +altogether. God big fella marster belong white man, He make +’m big fella garden. He good fella too much. +Along garden plenty yam he stop, plenty cocoanut, plenty taro, +plenty <i>kumara</i> (sweet potatoes), altogether good fella +kai-kai too much.</p> + +<p>“Bimeby God big fella marster belong white man He make +’m one fella man and put ’m along garden belong +Him. He call ’m this fella man Adam. He name +belong him. He put him this fella man Adam along garden, +and He speak, ‘This fella garden he belong +you.’ And He look ’m this fella Adam he walk +about too much. Him fella Adam all the same sick; he no +savvee kai-kai; he walk about all the time. And God He no +savvee. God big fella marster belong white man, He scratch +’m head belong Him. God say: ‘What name? +Me no savvee what name this fella Adam he want.’</p> + +<p>“Bimeby God He scratch ’m head belong Him too +much, and speak: ‘Me fella me savvee, him fella Adam him +want ’m Mary.’ So He make Adam he go asleep, He +take one fella bone belong him, and He make ’m one fella +Mary along bone. He call him this fella Mary, Eve. He +give ’m this fella Eve along Adam, and He speak along him +fella Adam: ‘Close up altogether along this fella garden +belong you two fella. One fella tree he tambo (taboo) along +you altogether. This fella tree belong apple.’</p> + +<p>“So Adam Eve two fella stop along garden, and they two +fella have ’m good time too much. Bimeby, one day, +Eve she come along Adam, and she speak, ‘More good you me +two fella we eat ’m this fella apple.’ Adam he +speak, ‘No,’ and Eve she speak, ‘What name you +no like ’m me?’ And Adam he speak, ‘Me +like ’m you too much, but me fright along God.’ +And Eve she speak, ‘Gammon! What name? God He +no savvee look along us two fella all ’m time. God +big fella marster, He gammon along you.’ But Adam he +speak, ‘No.’ But Eve she talk, talk, talk, +allee time—allee same Mary she talk along boy along +Queensland and make ’m trouble along boy. And bimeby +Adam he tired too much, and he speak, ‘All +right.’ So these two fella they go eat +’m. When they finish eat ’m, my word, they +fright like hell, and they go hide along scrub.</p> + +<p>“And God He come walk about along garden, and He sing +out, ‘Adam!’ Adam he no speak. He too +much fright. My word! And God He sing out, +‘Adam!’ And Adam he speak, ‘You call +’m me?’ God He speak, ‘Me call ’m +you too much.’ Adam he speak, ‘Me sleep strong +fella too much.’ And God He speak, ‘You been +eat ’m this fella apple.’ Adam he speak, +‘No, me no been eat ’m.’ God He +speak. ‘What name you gammon along me? You been +eat ’m.’ And Adam he speak, ‘Yes, me been +eat ’m.’</p> + +<p>“And God big fella marster He cross along Adam Eve two +fella too much, and He speak, ‘You two fella finish along +me altogether. You go catch ’m bokkis (box) belong +you, and get to hell along scrub.’</p> + +<p>“So Adam Eve these two fella go along scrub. And +God He make ’m one big fennis (fence) all around garden and +He put ’m one fella marster belong God along fennis. +And He give this fella marster belong God one big fella musket, +and He speak, ‘S’pose you look ’m these two +fella Adam Eve, you shoot ’m plenty too +much.’”</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap17"></a>CHAPTER XVII<br /> +<span class="GutSmall">THE AMATEUR M.D.</span></h2> + +<p><span class="smcap">When</span> we sailed from San Francisco +on the <i>Snark</i> I knew as much about sickness as the Admiral +of the Swiss Navy knows about salt water. And here, at the +start, let me advise any one who meditates going to +out-of-the-way tropic places. Go to a first-class +druggist—the sort that have specialists on their salary +list who know everything. Talk the matter over with such an +one. Note carefully all that he says. Have a list +made of all that he recommends. Write out a cheque for the +total cost, and tear it up.</p> + +<p>I wish I had done the same. I should have been far +wiser, I know now, if I had bought one of those ready-made, +self-acting, fool-proof medicine chests such as are favoured by +fourth-rate ship-masters. In such a chest each bottle has a +number. On the inside of the lid is placed a simple table +of directions: No. 1, toothache; No. 2, smallpox; No. 3, +stomachache; No. 4, cholera; No. 5, rheumatism; and so on, +through the list of human ills. And I might have used it as +did a certain venerable skipper, who, when No. 3 was empty, mixed +a dose from No. 1 and No. 2, or, when No. 7 was all gone, dosed +his crew with 4 and 3 till 3 gave out, when he used 5 and 2.</p> + +<p>So far, with the exception of corrosive sublimate (which was +recommended as an antiseptic in surgical operations, and which I +have not yet used for that purpose), my medicine-chest has been +useless. It has been worse than useless, for it has +occupied much space which I could have used to advantage.</p> + +<p>With my surgical instruments it is different. While I +have not yet had serious use for them, I do not regret the space +they occupy. The thought of them makes me feel good. +They are so much life insurance, only, fairer than that last grim +game, one is not supposed to die in order to win. Of +course, I don’t know how to use them, and what I +don’t know about surgery would set up a dozen quacks in +prosperous practice. But needs must when the devil drives, +and we of the <i>Snark</i> have no warning when the devil may +take it into his head to drive, ay, even a thousand miles from +land and twenty days from the nearest port.</p> + +<p>I did not know anything about dentistry, but a friend fitted +me out with forceps and similar weapons, and in Honolulu I picked +up a book upon teeth. Also, in that sub-tropical city I +managed to get hold of a skull, from which I extracted the teeth +swiftly and painlessly. Thus equipped, I was ready, though +not exactly eager, to tackle any tooth that get in my way. +It was in Nuku-hiva, in the Marquesas, that my first case +presented itself in the shape of a little, old Chinese. The +first thing I did was to got the buck fever, and I leave it to +any fair-minded person if buck fever, with its attendant +heart-palpitations and arm-tremblings, is the right condition for +a man to be in who is endeavouring to pose as an old hand at the +business. I did not fool the aged Chinaman. He was as +frightened as I and a bit more shaky. I almost forgot to be +frightened in the fear that he would bolt. I swear, if he +had tried to, that I would have tripped him up and sat on him +until calmness and reason returned.</p> + +<p>I wanted that tooth. Also, Martin wanted a snap-shot of +me getting it. Likewise Charmian got her camera. Then +the procession started. We were stopping at what had been +the club-house when Stevenson was in the Marquesas on the +Casco. On the veranda, where he had passed so many pleasant +hours, the light was not good—for snapshots, I mean. +I led on into the garden, a chair in one hand, the other hand +filled with forceps of various sorts, my knees knocking together +disgracefully. The poor old Chinaman came second, and he +was shaking, too. Charmian and Martin brought up the rear, +armed with kodaks. We dived under the avocado trees, +threaded our way through the cocoanut palms, and came on a spot +that satisfied Martin’s photographic eye.</p> + +<p>I looked at the tooth, and then discovered that I could not +remember anything about the teeth I had pulled from the skull +five months previously. Did it have one prong? two prongs? +or three prongs? What was left of the part that showed +appeared very crumbly, and I knew that I should have taken hold of +the tooth deep down in the gum. It was very necessary that +I should know how many prongs that tooth had. Back to the +house I went for the book on teeth. The poor old victim +looked like photographs I had seen of fellow-countrymen of his, +criminals, on their knees, waiting the stroke of the beheading +sword.</p> + +<p>“Don’t let him get away,” I cautioned to +Martin. “I want that tooth.”</p> + +<p>“I sure won’t,” he replied with enthusiasm, +from behind his camera. “I want that +photograph.”</p> + +<p>For the first time I felt sorry for the Chinaman. Though +the book did not tell me anything about pulling teeth, it was all +right, for on one page I found drawings of all the teeth, +including their prongs and how they were set in the jaw. +Then came the pursuit of the forceps. I had seven pairs, +but was in doubt as to which pair I should use. I did not +want any mistake. As I turned the hardware over with rattle +and clang, the poor victim began to lose his grip and to turn a +greenish yellow around the gills. He complained about the +sun, but that was necessary for the photograph, and he had to +stand it. I fitted the forceps around the tooth, and the +patient shivered and began to wilt.</p> + +<p>“Ready?” I called to Martin.</p> + +<p>“All ready,” he answered.</p> + +<p>I gave a pull. Ye gods! The tooth was +loose! Out it came on the instant. I was jubilant as +I held it aloft in the forceps.</p> + +<p>“Put it back, please, oh, put it back,” Martin +pleaded. “You were too quick for me.”</p> + +<p>And the poor old Chinaman sat there while I put the tooth back +and pulled over. Martin snapped the camera. The deed +was done. Elation? Pride? No hunter was ever +prouder of his first pronged buck than I was of that three-pronged +tooth. I did it! I did it! With my own hands +and a pair of forceps I did it, to say nothing of the forgotten +memories of the dead man’s skull.</p> + +<p>My next case was a Tahitian sailor. He was a small man, +in a state of collapse from long days and nights of jumping +toothache. I lanced the gums first. I didn’t +know how to lance them, but I lanced them just the same. It +was a long pull and a strong pull. The man was a +hero. He groaned and moaned, and I thought he was going to +faint. But he kept his mouth open and let me pull. +And then it came.</p> + +<p>After that I was ready to meet all comers—just the +proper state of mind for a Waterloo. And it came. Its +name was Tomi. He was a strapping giant of a heathen with a +bad reputation. He was addicted to deeds of violence. +Among other things he had beaten two of his wives to death with +his fists. His father and mother had been naked +cannibals. When he sat down and I put the forceps into his +mouth, he was nearly as tall as I was standing up. Big men, +prone to violence, very often have a streak of fat in their +make-up, so I was doubtful of him. Charmian grabbed one arm +and Warren grabbed the other. Then the tug of war +began. The instant the forceps closed down on the tooth, +his jaws closed down on the forceps. Also, both his hands +flew up and gripped my pulling hand. I held on, and he held +on. Charmian and Warren held on. We wrestled all +about the shop.</p> + +<p>It was three against one, and my hold on an aching tooth was +certainly a foul one; but in spite of the handicap he got away +with us. The forceps slipped off, banging and grinding +along against his upper teeth with a nerve-scraping sound. +Out of his month flew the forceps, and he rose up in the air with +a blood-curdling yell. The three of us fell back. We +expected to be massacred. But that howling savage of +sanguinary reputation sank back in the chair. He held his +head in both his hands, and groaned and groaned and +groaned. Nor would he listen to reason. I was a +quack. My painless tooth-extraction was a delusion and a +snare and a low advertising dodge. I was so anxious to get +that tooth that I was almost ready to bribe him. But that +went against my professional pride and I let him depart with the +tooth still intact, the only case on record up to date of failure +on my part when once I had got a grip. Since then I have +never let a tooth go by me. Only the other day I +volunteered to beat up three days to windward to pull a woman +missionary’s tooth. I expect, before the voyage of +the <i>Snark</i> is finished, to be doing bridge work and putting +on gold crowns.</p> + +<p>I don’t know whether they are yaws or not—a +physician in Fiji told me they were, and a missionary in the +Solomons told me they were not; but at any rate I can vouch for +the fact that they are most uncomfortable. It was my luck +to ship in Tahiti a French-sailor, who, when we got to sea, +proved to be afflicted with a vile skin disease. The +<i>Snark</i> was too small and too much of a family party to +permit retaining him on board; but perforce, until we could reach +land and discharge him, it was up to me to doctor him. I +read up the books and proceeded to treat him, taking care +afterwards always to use a thorough antiseptic wash. When +we reached Tutuila, far from getting rid of him, the port doctor +declared a quarantine against him and refused to allow him +ashore. But at Apia, Samoa, I managed to ship him off on a +steamer to New Zealand. Here at Apia my ankles were badly +bitten by mosquitoes, and I confess to having scratched the +bites—as I had a thousand times before. By the time I +reached the island of Savaii, a small sore had developed on the +hollow of my instep. I thought it was due to chafe and to +acid fumes from the hot lava over which I tramped. An +application of salve would cure it—so I thought. The +salve did heal it over, whereupon an astonishing inflammation set +in, the new skin came off, and a larger sore was exposed. +This was repeated many times. Each time new skin formed, an +inflammation followed, and the circumference of the sore +increased. I was puzzled and frightened. All my life +my skin had been famous for its healing powers, yet here was +something that would not heal. Instead, it was daily eating +up more skin, while it had eaten down clear through the skin and +was eating up the muscle itself.</p> + +<p>By this time the <i>Snark</i> was at sea on her way to +Fiji. I remembered the French sailor, and for the first +time became seriously alarmed. Four other similar sores had +appeared—or ulcers, rather, and the pain of them kept me +awake at night. All my plans were made to lay up the +<i>Snark</i> in Fiji and get away on the first steamer to +Australia and professional M.D.’s. In the meantime, +in my amateur M.D. way, I did my best. I read through all +the medical works on board. Not a line nor a word could I +find descriptive of my affliction. I brought common +horse-sense to bear on the problem. Here were malignant and +excessively active ulcers that were eating me up. There was +an organic and corroding poison at work. Two things I +concluded must be done. First, some agent must be found to +destroy the poison. Secondly, the ulcers could not possibly +heal from the outside in; they must heal from the inside +out. I decided to fight the poison with corrosive +sublimate. The very name of it struck me as vicious. +Talk of fighting fire with fire! I was being consumed by a +corrosive poison, and it appealed to my fancy to fight it with +another corrosive poison. After several days I alternated +dressings of corrosive sublimate with dressings of peroxide of +hydrogen. And behold, by the time we reached Fiji four of +the five ulcers were healed, while the remaining one was no +bigger than a pea.</p> + +<p>I now felt fully qualified to treat yaws. Likewise I had +a wholesome respect for them. Not so the rest of the crew +of the <i>Snark</i>. In their case, seeing was not +believing. One and all, they had seen my dreadful +predicament; and all of them, I am convinced, had a subconscious +certitude that their own superb constitutions and glorious +personalities would never allow lodgment of so vile a poison in +their carcasses as my anæmic constitution and mediocre +personality had allowed to lodge in mine. At Port +Resolution, in the New Hebrides, Martin elected to walk +barefooted in the bush and returned on board with many cuts and +abrasions, especially on his shins.</p> + +<p>“You’d better be careful,” I warned +him. “I’ll mix up some corrosive sublimate for +you to wash those cuts with. An ounce of prevention, you +know.”</p> + +<p>But Martin smiled a superior smile. Though he did not +say so, I nevertheless was given to understand that he was +not as other men (I was the only man he could possibly have had +reference to), and that in a couple of days his cuts would be +healed. He also read me a dissertation upon the peculiar +purity of his blood and his remarkable healing powers. I +felt quite humble when he was done with me. Evidently I was +different from other men in so far as purity of blood was +concerned.</p> + +<p>Nakata, the cabin-boy, while ironing one day, mistook the calf +of his leg for the ironing-block and accumulated a burn three +inches in length and half an inch wide. He, too, smiled the +superior smile when I offered him corrosive sublimate and +reminded him of my own cruel experience. I was given to +understand, with all due suavity and courtesy, that no matter +what was the matter with my blood, his number-one, Japanese, +Port-Arthur blood was all right and scornful of the festive +microbe.</p> + +<p>Wada, the cook, took part in a disastrous landing of the +launch, when he had to leap overboard and fend the launch off the +beach in a smashing surf. By means of shells and coral he +cut his legs and feet up beautifully. I offered him the +corrosive sublimate bottle. Once again I suffered the +superior smile and was given to understand that his blood was the +same blood that had licked Russia and was going to lick the +United States some day, and that if his blood wasn’t able +to cure a few trifling cuts, he’d commit hari-kari in sheer +disgrace.</p> + +<p>From all of which I concluded that an amateur M.D. is without +honour on his own vessel, even if he has cured himself. The +rest of the crew had begun to look upon me as a sort of mild +mono-maniac on the question of sores and sublimate. Just +because my blood was impure was no reason that I should think +everybody else’s was. I made no more overtures. +Time and microbes were with me, and all I had to do was wait.</p> + +<p>“I think there’s some dirt in these cuts,” +Martin said tentatively, after several days. +“I’ll wash them out and then they’ll be all +right,” he added, after I had refused to rise to the +bait.</p> + +<p>Two more days passed, but the cuts did not pass, and I caught +Martin soaking his feet and legs in a pail of hot water.</p> + +<p>“Nothing like hot water,” he proclaimed +enthusiastically. “It beats all the dope the doctors +ever put up. These sores will be all right in the +morning.”</p> + +<p>But in the morning he wore a troubled look, and I knew that +the hour of my triumph approached.</p> + +<p>“I think I <i>will</i> try some of that medicine,” +he announced later on in the day. “Not that I think +it’ll do much good,” he qualified, “but +I’ll just give it a try anyway.”</p> + +<p>Next came the proud blood of Japan to beg medicine for its +illustrious sores, while I heaped coals of fire on all their +houses by explaining in minute and sympathetic detail the +treatment that should be given. Nakata followed +instructions implicitly, and day by day his sores grew +smaller. Wada was apathetic, and cured less readily. +But Martin still doubted, and because he did not cure +immediately, he developed the theory that while doctor’s +dope was all right, it did not follow that the same kind of dope +was efficacious with everybody. As for himself, corrosive +sublimate had no effect. Besides, how did I know that it +was the right stuff? I had had no experience. Just +because I happened to get well while using it was not proof that +it had played any part in the cure. There were such things +as coincidences. Without doubt there was a dope that would +cure the sores, and when he ran across a real doctor he would +find what that dope was and get some of it.</p> + +<p>About this time we arrived in the Solomon Islands. No +physician would ever recommend the group for invalids or +sanitoriums. I spent but little time there ere I really and +for the first time in my life comprehended how frail and unstable +is human tissue. Our first anchorage was Port Mary, on the +island of Santa Anna. The one lone white man, a trader, +came alongside. Tom Butler was his name, and he was a +beautiful example of what the Solomons can do to a strong +man. He lay in his whale-boat with the helplessness of a +dying man. No smile and little intelligence illumined his +face. He was a sombre death’s-head, too far gone to +grin. He, too, had yaws, big ones. We were compelled +to drag him over the rail of the <i>Snark</i>. He said that +his health was good, that he had not had the fever for some time, +and that with the exception of his arm he was all right and +trim. His arm appeared to be paralysed. Paralysis he +rejected with scorn. He had had it before, and +recovered. It was a common native disease on Santa Anna, he +said, as he was helped down the companion ladder, his dead arm +dropping, bump-bump, from step to step. He was certainly +the ghastliest guest we ever entertained, and we’ve had not +a few lepers and elephantiasis victims on board.</p> + +<p>Martin inquired about yaws, for here was a man who ought to +know. He certainly did know, if we could judge by his +scarred arms and legs and by the live ulcers that corroded in the +midst of the scars. Oh, one got used to yaws, quoth Tom +Butler. They were never really serious until they had eaten +deep into the flesh. Then they attacked the walls of the +arteries, the arteries burst, and there was a funeral. +Several of the natives had recently died that way ashore. +But what did it matter? If it wasn’t yaws, it was +something else in the Solomons.</p> + +<p>I noticed that from this moment Martin displayed a swiftly +increasing interest in his own yaws. Dosings with corrosive +sublimate were more frequent, while, in conversation, he began to +revert with growing enthusiasm to the clean climate of Kansas and +all other things Kansan. Charmian and I thought that +California was a little bit of all right. Henry swore by +Rapa, and Tehei staked all on Bora Bora for his own blood’s +sake; while Wada and Nakata sang the sanitary pæan of +Japan.</p> + +<p>One evening, as the <i>Snark</i> worked around the southern +end of the island of Ugi, looking for a reputed anchorage, a +Church of England missionary, a Mr. Drew, bound in his whaleboat +for the coast of San Cristoval, came alongside and stopped for +dinner. Martin, his legs swathed in Red Cross bandages till +they looked like a mummy’s, turned the conversation upon +yaws. Yes, said Mr. Drew, they were quite common in the +Solomons. All white men caught them.</p> + +<p>“And have you had them?” Martin demanded, in the +soul of him quite shocked that a Church of England missionary +could possess so vulgar an affliction.</p> + +<p>Mr. Drew nodded his head and added that not only had he had +them, but at that moment he was doctoring several.</p> + +<p>“What do you use on them?” Martin asked like a +flash.</p> + +<p>My heart almost stood still waiting the answer. By that +answer my professional medical prestige stood or fell. +Martin, I could see, was quite sure it was going to fall. +And then the answer—O blessed answer!</p> + +<p>“Corrosive sublimate,” said Mr. Drew.</p> + +<p>Martin gave in handsomely, I’ll admit, and I am +confident that at that moment, if I had asked permission to pull +one of his teeth, he would not have denied me.</p> + +<p>All white men in the Solomons catch yaws, and every cut or +abrasion practically means another yaw. Every man I met had +had them, and nine out of ten had active ones. There was +but one exception, a young fellow who had been in the islands +five months, who had come down with fever ten days after he +arrived, and who had since then been down so often with fever +that he had had neither time nor opportunity for yaws.</p> + +<p>Every one on the <i>Snark</i> except Charmian came down with +yaws. Hers was the same egotism that Japan and Kansas had +displayed. She ascribed her immunity to the pureness of her +blood, and as the days went by she ascribed it more often and +more loudly to the pureness of her blood. Privately I +ascribed her immunity to the fact that, being a woman, she +escaped most of the cuts and abrasions to which we hard-working +men were subject in the course of working the <i>Snark</i> around +the world. I did not tell her so. You see, I did not +wish to bruise her ego with brutal facts. Being an M.D., if +only an amateur one, I knew more about the disease than she, and +I knew that time was my ally. But alas, I abused my ally +when it dealt a charming little yaw on the shin. So quickly +did I apply antiseptic treatment, that the yaw was cured before +she was convinced that she had one. Again, as an M.D., I +was without honour on my own vessel; and, worse than that, I was +charged with having tried to mislead her into the belief that she +had had a yaw. The pureness of her blood was more rampant +than ever, and I poked my nose into my navigation books and kept +quiet. And then came the day. We were cruising along +the coast of Malaita at the time.</p> + +<p>“What’s that abaft your ankle-bone?” said +I.</p> + +<p>“Nothing,” said she.</p> + +<p>“All right,” said I; “but put some corrosive +sublimate on it just the same. And some two or three weeks +from now, when it is well and you have a scar that you will carry +to your grave, just forget about the purity of your blood and +your ancestral history and tell me what you think about yaws +anyway.”</p> + +<p>It was as large as a silver dollar, that yaw, and it took all +of three weeks to heal. There were times when Charmian +could not walk because of the hurt of it; and there were times +upon times when she explained that abaft the ankle-bone was the +most painful place to have a yaw. I explained, in turn, +that, never having experienced a yaw in that locality, I was +driven to conclude the hollow of the instep was the most painful +place for yaw-culture. We left it to Martin, who disagreed +with both of us and proclaimed passionately that the only truly +painful place was the shin. No wonder horse-racing is so +popular.</p> + +<p>But yaws lose their novelty after a time. At the present +moment of writing I have five yaws on my hands and three more on +my shin. Charmian has one on each side of her right +instep. Tehei is frantic with his. Martin’s +latest shin-cultures have eclipsed his earlier ones. And +Nakata has several score casually eating away at his +tissue. But the history of the <i>Snark</i> in the Solomons +has been the history of every ship since the early +discoverers. From the “Sailing Directions” I +quote the following:</p> + +<p>“The crews of vessels remaining any considerable time in +the Solomons find wounds and sores liable to change into +malignant ulcers.”</p> + +<p>Nor on the question of fever were the “Sailing +Directions” any more encouraging, for in them I read:</p> + +<p>“New arrivals are almost certain sooner or later to +suffer from fever. The natives are also subject to +it. The number of deaths among the whites in the year 1897 +amounted to 9 among a population of 50.”</p> + +<p>Some of these deaths, however, were accidental.</p> + +<p>Nakata was the first to come down with fever. This +occurred at Penduffryn. Wada and Henry followed him. +Charmian surrendered next. I managed to escape for a couple +of months; but when I was bowled over, Martin sympathetically +joined me several days later. Out of the seven of us all +told Tehei is the only one who has escaped; but his sufferings +from nostalgia are worse than fever. Nakata, as usual, +followed instructions faithfully, so that by the end of his third +attack he could take a two hours’ sweat, consume thirty or +forty grains of quinine, and be weak but all right at the end of +twenty-four hours.</p> + +<p>Wada and Henry, however, were tougher patients with which to +deal. In the first place, Wada got in a bad funk. He +was of the firm conviction that his star had set and that the +Solomons would receive his bones. He saw that life about +him was cheap. At Penduffryn he saw the ravages of +dysentery, and, unfortunately for him, he saw one victim carried +out on a strip of galvanized sheet-iron and dumped without coffin +or funeral into a hole in the ground. Everybody had fever, +everybody had dysentery, everybody had everything. Death +was common. Here to-day and gone to-morrow—and Wada +forgot all about to-day and made up his mind that to-morrow had +come.</p> + +<p>He was careless of his ulcers, neglected to sublimate them, +and by uncontrolled scratching spread them all over his +body. Nor would he follow instructions with fever, and, as +a result, would be down five days at a time, when a day would +have been sufficient. Henry, who is a strapping giant of a +man, was just as bad. He refused point blank to take +quinine, on the ground that years before he had had fever and +that the pills the doctor gave him were of different size and +colour from the quinine tablets I offered him. So Henry +joined Wada.</p> + +<p>But I fooled the pair of them, and dosed them with their own +medicine, which was faith-cure. They had faith in their +funk that they were going to die. I slammed a lot of +quinine down their throats and took their temperature. It +was the first time I had used my medicine-chest thermometer, and +I quickly discovered that it was worthless, that it had been +produced for profit and not for service. If I had let on to +my two patients that the thermometer did not work, there would +have been two funerals in short order. Their temperature I +swear was 105°. I solemnly made one and then the other +smoke the thermometer, allowed an expression of satisfaction to +irradiate my countenance, and joyfully told them that their +temperature was 94°. Then I slammed more quinine down +their throats, told them that any sickness or weakness they might +experience would be due to the quinine, and left them to get +well. And they did get well, Wada in spite of +himself. If a man can die through a misapprehension, is +there any immorality in making him live through a +misapprehension?</p> + +<p>Commend me the white race when it comes to grit and +surviving. One of our two Japanese and both our Tahitians +funked and had to be slapped on the back and cheered up and +dragged along by main strength toward life. Charmian and +Martin took their afflictions cheerfully, made the least of them, +and moved with calm certitude along the way of life. When +Wada and Henry were convinced that they were going to die, the +funeral atmosphere was too much for Tehei, who prayed dolorously +and cried for hours at a time. Martin, on the other hand, +cursed and got well, and Charmian groaned and made plans for what +she was going to do when she got well again.</p> + +<p>Charmian had been raised a vegetarian and a sanitarian. +Her Aunt Netta, who brought her up and who lived in a healthful +climate, did not believe in drugs. Neither did +Charmian. Besides, drugs disagreed with her. Their +effects were worse than the ills they were supposed to +alleviate. But she listened to the argument in favour of +quinine, accepted it as the lesser evil, and in consequence had +shorter, less painful, and less frequent attacks of fever. +We encountered a Mr. Caulfeild, a missionary, whose two +predecessors had died after less than six months’ residence +in the Solomons. Like them he had been a firm believer in +homeopathy, until after his first fever, whereupon, unlike them, +he made a grand slide back to allopathy and quinine, catching +fever and carrying on his Gospel work.</p> + +<p>But poor Wada! The straw that broke the cook’s +back was when Charmian and I took him along on a cruise to the +cannibal island of Malaita, in a small yacht, on the deck of +which the captain had been murdered half a year before. +<i>Kai-kai</i> means to eat, and Wada was sure he was going to be +<i>kai-kai’d</i>. We went about heavily armed, our +vigilance was unremitting, and when we went for a bath in the +mouth of a fresh-water stream, black boys, armed with rifles, did +sentry duty about us. We encountered English war vessels +burning and shelling villages in punishment for murders. +Natives with prices on their heads sought shelter on board of +us. Murder stalked abroad in the land. In +out-of-the-way places we received warnings from friendly savages +of impending attacks. Our vessel owed two heads to Malaita, +which were liable to be collected any time. Then to cap it +all, we were wrecked on a reef, and with rifles in one hand +warned the canoes of wreckers off while with the other hand we +toiled to save the ship. All of which was too much for +Wada, who went daffy, and who finally quitted the <i>Snark</i> on +the island of Ysabel, going ashore for good in a driving +rain-storm, between two attacks of fever, while threatened with +pneumonia. If he escapes being <i>kai-kai’d</i>, and +if he can survive sores and fever which are riotous ashore, he +can expect, if he is reasonably lucky, to get away from that +place to the adjacent island in anywhere from six to eight +weeks. He never did think much of my medicine, despite the +fact that I successfully and at the first trial pulled two aching +teeth for him.</p> + +<p>The <i>Snark</i> has been a hospital for months, and I confess +that we are getting used to it. At Meringe Lagoon, where we +careened and cleaned the <i>Snark’s</i> copper, there were +times when only one man of us was able to go into the water, +while the three white men on the plantation ashore were all down +with fever. At the moment of writing this we are lost at +sea somewhere northeast of Ysabel and trying vainly to find Lord +Howe Island, which is an atoll that cannot be sighted unless one +is on top of it. The chronometer has gone wrong. The +sun does not shine anyway, nor can I get a star observation at +night, and we have had nothing but squalls and rain for days and +days. The cook is gone. Nakata, who has been trying +to be both cook and cabin boy, is down on his back with +fever. Martin is just up from fever, and going down +again. Charmian, whose fever has become periodical, is +looking up in her date book to find when the next attack will +be. Henry has begun to eat quinine in an expectant +mood. And, since my attacks hit me with the suddenness of +bludgeon-blows I do not know from moment to moment when I shall +be brought down. By a mistake we gave our last flour away +to some white men who did not have any flour. We +don’t know when we’ll make land. Our Solomon +sores are worse than ever, and more numerous. The corrosive +sublimate was accidentally left ashore at Penduffryn; the +peroxide of hydrogen is exhausted; and I am experimenting with +boracic acid, lysol, and antiphlogystine. At any rate, if I +fail in becoming a reputable M.D., it won’t be from lack of +practice.</p> + +<p>P.S. It is now two weeks since the foregoing was +written, and Tehei, the only immune on board has been down ten +days with far severer fever than any of us and is still +down. His temperature has been repeatedly as high as 104, +and his pulse 115.</p> + +<p>P.S. At sea, between Tasman atoll and Manning +Straits. Tehei’s attack developed into black water +fever—the severest form of malarial fever, which, the +doctor-book assures me, is due to some outside infection as +well. Having pulled him through his fever, I am now at my +wit’s end, for he has lost his wits altogether. I am +rather recent in practice to take up the cure of insanity. +This makes the second lunacy case on this short voyage.</p> + +<p>P.S. Some day I shall write a book (for the profession), +and entitle it, “Around the World on the Hospital Ship +<i>Snark</i>.” Even our pets have not escaped. +We sailed from Meringe Lagoon with two, an Irish terrier and a +white cockatoo. The terrier fell down the cabin +companionway and lamed its nigh hind leg, then repeated the +manœuvre and lamed its off fore leg. At the present +moment it has but two legs to walk on. Fortunately, they +are on opposite sides and ends, so that she can still dot and +carry two. The cockatoo was crushed under the cabin +skylight and had to be killed. This was our first +funeral—though for that matter, the several chickens we +had, and which would have made welcome broth for the +convalescents, flew overboard and were drowned. Only the +cockroaches flourish. Neither illness nor accident ever +befalls them, and they grow larger and more carnivorous day by +day, gnawing our finger-nails and toe-nails while we sleep.</p> + +<p>P.S. Charmian is having another bout with fever. +Martin, in despair, has taken to horse-doctoring his yaws with +bluestone and to blessing the Solomons. As for me, in +addition to navigating, doctoring, and writing short stories, I +am far from well. With the exception of the insanity cases, +I’m the worst off on board. I shall catch the next +steamer to Australia and go on the operating table. Among +my minor afflictions, I may mention a new and mysterious +one. For the past week my hands have been swelling as with +dropsy. It is only by a painful effort that I can close +them. A pull on a rope is excruciating. The +sensations are like those that accompany severe chilblains. +Also, the skin is peeling off both hands at an alarming rate, +besides which the new skin underneath is growing hard and +thick. The doctor-book fails to mention this disease. +Nobody knows what it is.</p> + +<p>P.S. Well, anyway, I’ve cured the +chronometer. After knocking about the sea for eight +squally, rainy days, most of the time hove to, I succeeded in +catching a partial observation of the sun at midday. From +this I worked up my latitude, then headed by log to the latitude +of Lord Howe, and ran both that latitude and the island down +together. Here I tested the chronometer by longitude sights +and found it something like three minutes out. Since each +minute is equivalent to fifteen miles, the total error can be +appreciated. By repeated observations at Lord Howe I rated +the chronometer, finding it to have a daily losing error of +seven-tenths of a second. Now it happens that a year ago, +when we sailed from Hawaii, that selfsame chronometer had that +selfsame losing error of seven-tenths of a second. Since +that error was faithfully added every day, and since that error, +as proved by my observations at Lord Howe, has not changed, then +what under the sun made that chronometer all of a sudden +accelerate and catch up with itself three minutes? Can such +things be? Expert watchmakers say no; but I say that they +have never done any expert watch-making and watch-rating in the +Solomons. That it is the climate is my only +diagnosis. At any rate, I have successfully doctored the +chronometer, even if I have failed with the lunacy cases and with +Martin’s yaws.</p> + +<p>P.S. Martin has just tried burnt alum, and is blessing +the Solomons more fervently than ever.</p> + +<p>P.S. Between Manning Straits and Pavuvu Islands.</p> + +<p>Henry has developed rheumatism in his back, ten skins have +peeled off my hands and the eleventh is now peeling, while Tehei +is more lunatic than ever and day and night prays God not to kill +him. Also, Nakata and I are slashing away at fever +again. And finally up to date, Nakata last evening had an +attack of ptomaine poisoning, and we spent half the night pulling +him through.</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap18"></a>BACKWORD</h2> + +<p><span class="smcap">The</span> <i>Snark</i> was forty-three +feet on the water-line and fifty-five over all, with fifteen feet +beam (tumble-home sides) and seven feet eight inches +draught. She was ketch-rigged, carrying flying-jib, jib, +fore-staysail, main-sail, mizzen, and spinnaker. There were +six feet of head-room below, and she was crown-decked and +flush-decked. There were four alleged <i>water-tight</i> +compartments. A seventy-horse power auxiliary gas-engine +sporadically furnished locomotion at an approximate cost of +twenty dollars per mile. A five-horse power engine ran the +pumps when it was in order, and on two occasions proved capable +of furnishing juice for the search-light. The storage +batteries worked four or five times in the course of two +years. The fourteen-foot launch was rumoured to work at +times, but it invariably broke down whenever I stepped on +board.</p> + +<p>But the <i>Snark</i> sailed. It was the only way she +could get anywhere. She sailed for two years, and never +touched rock, reef, nor shoal. She had no inside ballast, +her iron keel weighed five tons, but her deep draught and high +freeboard made her very stiff. Caught under full sail in +tropic squalls, she buried her rail and deck many times, but +stubbornly refused to turn turtle. She steered easily, and +she could run day and night, without steering, close-by, +full-and-by, and with the wind abeam. With the wind on her +quarter and the sails properly trimmed, she steered herself +within two points, and with the wind almost astern she required +scarcely three points for self-steering.</p> + +<p>The <i>Snark</i> was partly built in San Francisco. The +morning her iron keel was to be cast was the morning of the great +earthquake. Then came anarchy. Six months overdue in +the building, I sailed the shell of her to Hawaii to be finished, +the engine lashed to the bottom, building materials lashed on +deck. Had I remained in San Francisco for completion, +I’d still be there. As it was, partly built, she cost +four times what she ought to have cost.</p> + +<p>The <i>Snark</i> was born unfortunately. She was +libelled in San Francisco, had her cheques protested as +fraudulent in Hawaii, and was fined for breach of quarantine in +the Solomons. To save themselves, the newspapers could not +tell the truth about her. When I discharged an incompetent +captain, they said I had beaten him to a pulp. When one +young man returned home to continue at college, it was reported +that I was a regular Wolf Larsen, and that my whole crew had +deserted because I had beaten it to a pulp. In fact the +only blow struck on the <i>Snark</i> was when the cook was +manhandled by a captain who had shipped with me under false +pretences, and whom I discharged in Fiji. Also, Charmian +and I boxed for exercise; but neither of us was seriously +maimed.</p> + +<p>The voyage was our idea of a good time. I built the +<i>Snark</i> and paid for it, and for all expenses. I +contracted to write thirty-five thousand words descriptive of the +trip for a magazine which was to pay me the same rate I received +for stories written at home. Promptly the magazine +advertised that it was sending me especially around the world for +itself. It was a wealthy magazine. And every man who +had business dealings with the <i>Snark</i> charged three prices +because forsooth the magazine could afford it. Down in the +uttermost South Sea isle this myth obtained, and I paid +accordingly. To this day everybody believes that the +magazine paid for everything and that I made a fortune out of the +voyage. It is hard, after such advertising, to hammer it +into the human understanding that the whole voyage was done for +the fun of it.</p> + +<p>I went to Australia to go into hospital, where I spent five +weeks. I spent five months miserably sick in hotels. +The mysterious malady that afflicted my hands was too much for +the Australian specialists. It was unknown in the +literature of medicine. No case like it had ever been +reported. It extended from my hands to my feet so that at +times I was as helpless as a child. On occasion my hands +were twice their natural size, with seven dead and dying skins +peeling off at the same time. There were times when my +toe-nails, in twenty-four hours, grew as thick as they were +long. After filing them off, inside another twenty-four +hours they were as thick as before.</p> + +<p>The Australian specialists agreed that the malady was +non-parasitic, and that, therefore, it must be nervous. It +did not mend, and it was impossible for me to continue the +voyage. The only way I could have continued it would have +been by being lashed in my bunk, for in my helpless condition, +unable to clutch with my hands, I could not have moved about on a +small rolling boat. Also, I said to myself that while there +were many boats and many voyages, I had but one pair of hands and +one set of toe-nails. Still further, I reasoned that in my +own climate of California I had always maintained a stable +nervous equilibrium. So back I came.</p> + +<p>Since my return I have completely recovered. And I have +found out what was the matter with me. I encountered a book +by Lieutenant-Colonel Charles E. Woodruff of the United States +Army entitled “Effects of Tropical Light on White +Men.” Then I knew. Later, I met Colonel +Woodruff, and learned that he had been similarly afflicted. +Himself an Army surgeon, seventeen Army surgeons sat on his case +in the Philippines, and, like the Australian specialists, +confessed themselves beaten. In brief, I had a strong +predisposition toward the tissue-destructiveness of tropical +light. I was being torn to pieces by the ultra-violet rays +just as many experimenters with the X-ray have been torn to +pieces.</p> + +<p>In passing, I may mention that among the other afflictions +that jointly compelled the abandonment of the voyage, was one +that is variously called the healthy man’s disease, +European Leprosy, and Biblical Leprosy. Unlike True +Leprosy, nothing is known of this mysterious malady. No +doctor has ever claimed a cure for a case of it, though +spontaneous cures are recorded. It comes, they know not +how. It is, they know not what. It goes, they know +not why. Without the use of drugs, merely by living in the +wholesome California climate, my silvery skin vanished. The +only hope the doctors had held out to me was a spontaneous cure, +and such a cure was mine.</p> + +<p>A last word: the test of the voyage. It is easy enough +for me or any man to say that it was enjoyable. But there +is a better witness, the one woman who made it from beginning to +end. In hospital when I broke the news to Charmian that I +must go back to California, the tears welled into her eyes. +For two days she was wrecked and broken by the knowledge that the +happy, happy voyage was abandoned.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Glen Ellen</span>, <span +class="smcap">California</span>,<br /> + <i>April</i> 7, 1911.</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap19"></a>FOOTNOTES</h2> + +<p><a name="footnote268"></a><a href="#citation268" +class="footnote">[268]</a> To point out that we of the +<i>Snark</i> are not a crowd of weaklings, which might be +concluded from our divers afflictions, I quote the following, +which I gleaned verbatim from the <i>Eugenie’s</i> log and +which may be considered as a sample of Solomon Islands +cruising:</p> +<p style="text-align: center">Ulava, Thursday, March 12, +1908.</p> + +<p>Boat went ashore in the morning. Got two loads ivory +nut, 4000 copra. Skipper down with fever.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">Ulava, Friday, March 13, 1908.</p> + +<p>Buying nuts from bushmen, 1½ ton. Mate and +skipper down with fever.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">Ulava, Saturday, March 14, +1908.</p> + +<p>At noon hove up and proceeded with a very light E.N.E. wind +for Ngora-Ngora. Anchored in 5 fathoms—shell and +coral. Mate down with fever.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">Ngora-Ngora, Sunday, March 15, +1908.</p> + +<p>At daybreak found that the boy Bagua had died during the +night, on dysentery. He was about 14 days sick. At +sunset, big N.W. squall. (Second anchor ready) +Lasting one hour and 30 minutes.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">At sea, Monday, March 16, 1908.</p> + +<p>Set course for Sikiana at 4 <span +class="GutSmall">P.M.</span> Wind broke off. Heavy +squalls during the night. Skipper down on dysentery, also +one man.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">At sea, Tuesday, March 17, +1908.</p> + +<p>Skipper and 2 crew down on dysentery. Mate fever.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">At sea, Wednesday, March 18, +1908.</p> + +<p>Big sea. Lee-rail under water all the time. Ship +under reefed mainsail, staysail, and inner jib. Skipper and +3 men dysentery. Mate fever.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">At sea, Thursday, March 19, +1908.</p> + +<p>Too thick to see anything. Blowing a gale all the +time. Pump plugged up and bailing with buckets. +Skipper and five boys down on dysentery.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">At sea, Friday, March 20, 1908.</p> + +<p>During night squalls with hurricane force. Skipper and +six men down on dysentery.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">At sea, Saturday, March 21, +1908.</p> + +<p>Turned back from Sikiana. Squalls all day with heavy +rain and sea. Skipper and best part of crew on +dysentery. Mate fever.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p>And so, day by day, with the majority of all on board +prostrated, the <i>Eugenie’s</i> log goes on. The +only variety occurred on March 31, when the mate came down with +dysentery and the skipper was floored by fever.</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CRUISE OF THE SNARK ***</div> +<div style='text-align:left'> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will +be renamed. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United +States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. 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