The Cruise of the Kawa
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Walter E. Traprock >> The Cruise of the Kawa
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[Illustration: The Author and His Island Bride]
THE CRUISE OF THE KAWA
WANDERINGS IN THE SOUTH SEAS
BY
WALTER E. TRAPROCK, F.R.S.S.E.U.
WITH SEVENTEEN ILLUSTRATIONS AND A MAP
1921
DEDICATION
TO THE GIRLS WE LEFT BEHIND--
KIPPIPUTUONA
(DAUGHTER OF PEARL AND CORAL)
LUPOBA-TILAANA
(MIST ON THE MOUNTAIN)
BABAI-ALOVA-BABAI
(ESSENCE OF ALOVA)
THIS VOLUME IS LOVINGLY DEDICATED
PUBLISHER'S NOTE
Of late the lure of the South Seas has laid its gentle spell rather
overwhelmingly upon American readers. To be unread in Polynesiana is
to be intellectually _declasse_.... In the face of this avid
appetite for tropic-scented literature, one may well imagine the
satisfaction of a publisher when offered opportunity of association
with such an expedition as that of the Kawa, an association
involving the exclusive privilege of publishing the manuscript of
Walter E. Traprock himself.
The public, we feel, is entitled to a frank word regarding the inception
of this volume. Now at last it is possible to withdraw the veil of
secrecy which has shrouded the undertaking almost until the date of
publication. _Almost_, we say, because some inklings of information
found their way into the newspapers early this summer. The leak, we
have reason to be believe, is traceable to a Marquesan valet who was
shipped at Papeete to fill the place left vacant by William Henry
Thomas, the strange facts surrounding whose desertion are recorded in
the pages which follow.
"Filbert Islands" Found
by South Seas Explorers
_Special to The Evening Telegram._
SAN FRANCISCO. Friday.--Returning
from an extensive exploring trip in the
South Seas, the auxiliary yacht Kawa,
which reached this port today, reports
the discovery of a new group of Polynesian
Islands. The new archipelago
has been named the Filbert Islands, because
of the extraordinary quantity of
nuts of that name found there, according
to the ship's company.
The Kawa is owned by Walter E.
Traprock. of Derby, Conn., head of the
expedition. Traprock leaves for Washington
today, where he will lay before
the National Geographic Society data
concerning his explorations.
The telltale newspaper item, reproduced above, outlines the story
behind this volume. What is not made clear is the fact that the entire
expedition was painstakingly planned many months ago, the publishers
themselves making it financially possible by contracting with Dr.
Traprock for his literary output. Provision was also made for recording
every phase of experience and discovery. With this in view, Dr.
Traprock's literary attainments were complemented by securing as his
companions the distinguished American artist, Herman Swank, and Reginald
K. Whinney, the scientist. By this characteristic bit of foresight was
the inclusive and authoritative character of the expedition's findings
assured.
How well we recall our parting with Traprock.
"Any further instructions?" queried the intrepid explorer from the
shadow of that ingenious yardarm.
"None," I replied. "You understand perfectly. Get the goods. See South
Sea life as it actually is. Write of it without restraint. Paint it.
Photograph it. Spare nothing. Record your scientific discoveries
faithfully. Be frank, be full...."
"Trust us!" came back Traprock's cheery cry, as the sturdy little
Kawa bore them toward their great adventures.
Herein are recorded many of their experiences and discoveries,
contributions of far-reaching significance and appeal.
Uninfluenced by professional self-interest, unshaken by our genuine
admiration for its predecessors, and despite our inherent inclination
toward modest conservatism, we unhesitatingly record the conviction
that "The Cruise of the Kawa" stands preeminent in the literature
of modern exploration--a supreme, superlative epic of the South Seas.
G.P.P.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I
We get under way. Polynesia's busiest corner. Our ship's company. A
patriotic celebration rudely interrupted. In the grip of the elements.
Necessary repairs. A night vigil. Land ho!
CHAPTER II
A real discovery. Polynesia analyzed. The astounding nature of the
Filberts. Their curious sound, and its reason. We make a landing. Our
first glimpse of the natives. The value of vaudeville.
CHAPTER III
Our handsome hosts. En route to the interior. Native flora and fauna.
We arrive at the capital. A lecture on Filbertine architecture. A
strange taboo. The serenade.
CHAPTER IV
A few of our native companions. Filbertine diet. Physiological
observations. We make a tour of the island. A call on the ladies.
Baahaabaa gives a feast. The embarrassments of hospitality. An alcoholic
escape.
CHAPTER V
A frank statement. We vote on the question of matrimony. A triple
wedding. An epithalmic verse. We remember the Kawa. An interview
with William Henry Thomas. Triplett's strategy. Safe within the atoll.
CHAPTER VI
Marital memories. A pillow-fight on the beach. A deep-sea devil. The
opening in the atoll. Swank paints a portrait. The _fatu-liva_ bird and
its curious gift. My adventure with the _wak-wak_. Saved!
CHAPTER VII
Excursions beyond the outer reef. Our aquatic wives. Premonitions. A
picnic on the mountain. Hearts and flowers. Whinney delivers a
geological dissertation. Babai finds a _fatu-liva_ nest. The strange
flower in my wife's hair.
CHAPTER VIII
Swank's popularity on the Island. Whinney's jealousy. An artistic duel.
Whinney's deplorable condition. An assembly of the Archipelago.
Water-sports on the reef. The Judgment.
CHAPTER IX
More premonitions. Triplett's curious behavior. A call from Baahaabaa.
We visit William Henry Thomas. His bride. The christening. A hideous
discovery. Pros and Cons. Out heart-breaking decision. A stirrup-cup
of lava-lava.
CHAPTER X
Once more the Kawa foots the sea. Triplett's observations and
our assistance. The death of the compass-plant. Lost! An orgy of
desperation. Oblivion and excess. The Kawa brings us home. Our
reception in Papeete. A celebration at the Tiare.
ILLUSTRATIONS
THE AUTHOR AND HIS ISLAND BRIDE
CAPTAIN EZRA TRIPLETT
A BEWILDERED BOTANIST
THE W.E. TRAPROCK EXPEDITION
BABAI AND HER TAA-TAA
WALTER E. TRAPROCK, F.R.S.S.E.U
GATHERING DEW-FISH ON THE OUTER REEF
HERMAN SWANK
LUPOBA-TILAANA, MIST ON THE MOUNTAIN
WATCHFUL WAITING
GOLDEN HARMONIES
WILLIAM HENRY THOMAS
THE LAGOON AT DAWN (WHINNEY'S VERSION)
THE LAGOON AT DAWN (SWANK'S VERSION)
THE NEST OF A FATU-LIVA
A FLEDGLING FATU-LIVA
BAAHAABAA MOURNING THE DEPARTURE OF HIS FRIENDS
CHAPTER I
We get under way. Polynesia's busiest corner. Our ship's company. A
patriotic celebration rudely interrupted. In the grip of the elements.
Necessary repairs. A night vigil. Land ho!
"Is she tight?" asked Captain Ezra Triplett. (We were speaking of my
yawl, the Kawa).
"As tight as a corset," was my reply.
"Good. I'll go."
In this short interview I obtained my captain for what was to prove
the most momentous voyage of my life.
The papers were signed forthwith in the parlor of Hop Long's
Pearl-of-the-Orient Cafeteria and dawn of the following day saw us
beyond the Golden Gate.
I will omit the narration of the eventful but ordinary occurrences
which enlivened the first six months of our trip and ask my reader to
transport himself with me to a corner with which he is doubtless already
familiar, namely, that formed by the intersection of the equator with
the 180th meridian.
This particular angle bears the same relation to the Southern Pacific
that the corner of Forty-second Street and Fifth Avenue does to the
Atlantic Seaboard. More explorers pass a given point in a given time
at this corner than at any other on the globe. [Footnote: See L. Kluck.
_Traffic Conditions in the South Seas_, Chap. IV., pp. 83-92.]
It was precisely noon, daylight-saving time, on July 4th, 1921, when
I stood on the corner referred to and, strange to say, found it
practically deserted. To be more accurate, I stood on the deck of my
auxiliary yawl, the Kawa, and she, the Kawa, wallowed on the corner
mentioned. To all intents and purposes our ship's company was alone. We
had the comforting knowledge that on our right, as one faced the bow,
were the Gilbert and Marshall groups (including the Sandwiches), on our
left the Society, Friendly and Loyalty Archipelagoes, back of us the
Marquesas and Paumotus and, directly on our course, the Carolines and
Solomons, celebrated for their beautiful women. [Footnote: See "Song of
Solomon," King James Version.] But we were becalmed and the geographic
items mentioned were, for the time being, hull-down. Thus we were free
to proceed with the business at hand, namely, the celebration of our
national holiday.
This we had been doing for several hours, with frequent toasts,
speeches, firecrackers and an occasional rocket aimed directly at the
eye of the tropical sun. Captain Triplett, being a stickler for marine
etiquette, had conditioned that there should be no liquor consumed
except when the sun was over the yard-arm. To this end he had fitted
a yard-arm to our cross-trees with a universal joint, thus enabling
us to keep the spar directly under the sun at any hour of the day or
night. Consequently our celebration was proceeding merrily.
While in this happy and isolated condition let me say a few words of
our ship's company. Having already mentioned the Captain I will dispose
of him first. Captain Ezra Triplett was a hard-bitten mariner. In fact,
he was, I think, the hardest-bitten mariner I have ever seen. He had
been bitten, according to his own tell, man-and-boy, for fifty-two
years, by every sort of insect, rodent and crustacean in existence.
He had had smallpox and three touches of scurvy, each of these blights
leaving its autograph. He had lost one eye in the Australian bush
where, naturally, it was impossible to find it. This had been replaced
by a blue marble of the size known, technically, as an eighteen-er,
giving him an alert appearance which had first attracted me. By nature
taciturn, he was always willing to sit up all night as long as the gin
was handy, an excellent trait in a navigator. About his neck he wore
a felt bag containing ten or a dozen assorted marbles with which he
furnished his vacant socket according to his fancy, and the effect of
his frequent changes was both unusual and diverting.
[Illustration: Captain Ezra Triplett]
[Illustration Note: CAPTAIN EZRA TRIPLETT
The annals of maritime history will never be complete until the name
of Captain Ezra Triplett of New Bedford, Massachusetts, receives the
recognition which is justly its. For more than ten generations the
forebears of this hard-bitten mariner have followed the sea in its
various ramifications.
The first Triplett was one of the companions of Goswold who, in 1609,
wintered on Cuttyhunk Island in Buzzard's Bay. From then on the members
of this hardy New England family have earned positions of trust and
honor. By courage and perseverance the subject of this portrait has
worked himself up from cabin boy on the sound steamer _Puritan_ (wrecked
on Bartlett's Reef, 1898) to his present position of commander of the
Kawa.
Of his important part in connection with the historic cruise described
in these pages, the Kawa's owner, Dr. Traprock, has no hesitancy in
saying, "Frankly, without Triplett the thing never could have been
done." The accompanying photograph was taken just after the captain
had been hauled out of the surf in Papeete. It will be remarked that
he still maintains an indomitable front and holds his trusty Colt in
readiness for immediate action.]
But sail! Lord bless you, how Triplett could sail! It was wizardry,
sheer wizardry; "devil-work," the natives used to call it. Triplett,
blindfolded, could find the inlet to a hermetically sealed atoll. When
there wasn't any inlet he would wait for a seventh wave--which is
always extra large--and take her over on the crest, disregarding the
ragged coral below. The Kawa was a tight little craft, built
for rough work. She stood up nobly under the punishment her skipper
gave her.
Triplett's assistant was an individual named William Henry Thomas, a
retired Connecticut farmer who had chosen to end his days at sea. This,
it should be remarked, is the reverse of the usual order. The back-lots
of Connecticut are peopled by retired sea-captains who have gone back
to the land, which accounts in large measure for the condition of
agriculture in these communities. William Henry Thomas had appeared
as Triplett's selection. Once aboard ship his land habits stood him
in good stead in his various duties as cook, foremost-hand, butler and
valet, for it must not be supposed that the Kawa, tight though
she might be, was without a jaunty style of her own.
Our first-class cabin passengers were three, Reginald K. Whinney,
scientific man, world wanderer, data-demon and a devil when roused;
Herman Swank, bohemian, artist, and vagabond, forever in search of new
sensations, and myself, Walter E. Traprock, of Derby, Connecticut,
editor, war correspondent, and author, jack-of-all-trades, mostly
literary and none lucrative.
Our object? What, indeed, but life itself!
I had known my companions for years. We had been class-mates at New
Haven when our fathers were working our way through college. How far
away it all seemed on that torrid Fourth of July as we sat on the
Kawa's deck singing "Oralee", to which we had taught Triplett the bass.
"Like a blackbird in the spring,
Chanting Ora-lee...."
"Very un-sanitary," said Whinney, "a blackbird ... in the spring ...
very un-sanitary."
We laughed feebly.
Suddenly, as they do in the tropics, an extraordinary thing happened.
A simoon, a monsoon and a typhoon met, head on, at the exact corner
of the equator and the 180th meridian. We hadn't noticed one of
them,--they had given us no warning or signal of any kind. Before we
knew it they were upon us!
I have been in any one of the three separately many a time. In '95 off
the Blue Canary Islands I was caught in an octoroon, one of those
eight-sided storms, that spun our ship around like a top, and killed
all the canaries for miles about--the sea was strewn with their bodies.
But this!
"Below," bellowed Captain Triplett, and we made a dive for the hatch.
William Henry Thomas was the last in, having been in the bow setting
off a pinwheel, when the blow hit us. We dragged him in. My last memory
is of Triplett driving a nail back of the hatch-cover to keep it from
sliding.
How long we were whirled in that devil's grip of the elements I cannot
say. It may have been a day--it may have been a week. We were all
below, battened down ... tight. At times we lost consciousness--at
times we were sick--at times, both. I remember standing on Triplett's
face and peering out through a salt-glazed port-hole at a world of
waterspouts, as thick as forest trees, dancing, melting, crashing upon
us. I sank back. _This was the end_ ...
[Illustration: A Bewildered Botanist]
[Illustration Note: A BEWILDERED BOTANIST Here, against the background
of a closely woven hedge of southern hornbeam (_Carpinus Tropicalis_),
we see that eminent scientist, Reginald Whinney, in the act of
discovering, for the first time in any country, a magnificent specimen
of wild modesty (_Tiarella nuda_), which grows in great profusion
throughout the Filbert Islands. This tiny floweret is distantly related,
by marriage, to the European sensitive plant (_Plantus pudica_) but is
infinitely more sensitive and reticent. An illustration of this amazing
quality is found in the fact that its snowy blossoms blush a deep
crimson under the gaze of the human eye. At the touch of the human hand
the flowers turn inside-out and shrink to minute proportions. Dr.
Whinney attempted in vain to transplant specimens of this fragile
creation to our old-world botanical gardens but found the conditions of
modern plant life an insuperable barrier. The seeds of wild modesty
absolutely refuse to germinate in either Europe or America.]
* * * * *
Calm. Peace and sun! The beneficence of a warm, golden finger that
reached gently through the port-hole and rested on my eye. What had
happened? Oh--yes. "Like a blackbird in the spring." Slowly I fought
my way back to consciousness. Triplett was sitting in a corner still
clutching the hammer. On the floor lay Whinney and William Henry Thomas,
their twisted legs horribly suggestive of death.
"Air," I gasped.
Triplett feebly wrenched out the nail and we managed to pull the hatch
far enough back to squeeze through. Enlivened by the fresh air the
others crawled slowly after, except poor William Henry Thomas who still
lay inert.
"He's all right," said Whinney. "The gin bottle broke and dripped into
his mouth. He'll come to presently." He added in an undertone, "The
wages of gin..." Whinney was always quoting.
Minus our factotum we stood and silently surveyed what once had been
the Kawa. The leathern features of Captain Triplett twisted into a grin.
"Bald's a badger!" he murmured.
Everything had gone by the board. Mast, jigger, bow-sprit and running
gear. Not a trace of block or tackle rested on the surrounding sea.
We were clean-shaven. Of the chart, which had hung in a frame near the
binnacle, not a line remained. All our navigating instruments, quadrant,
sextant, and hydrant, with which we had amused ourselves making foolish
observations during that morning of the glorious Fourth, our chronometer
and speedometer,--all had absolutely disappeared.
"And there we are!" said Swank.
Triplett coughed apologetically and pulled his forelock.
"If you don't mind, sir, night'll be comin' on soon and I think we'd
better make sail."
"Make sail?" I murmured blankly. "How?"
"The bedding, sir," said Triplett.
"Of course!" I cried. "All hands abaft to make sail."
How we knotted our sheets and blankets together to fashion a rough
main-sail would be a tedious recital, for it was slow work. Our combined
efforts made, I should say, about eight knots an hour but half of them
pulled out at the least provocation. We persevered, however, and finally
completed our task. Nor were we an instant too soon, for just as we
had succeeded in getting the oars to stand upright and were anxiously
watching our well-worn army blankets belly out with the steady trade
wind, the sun, which for the last hour had hung above the horizon,
suddenly fell into the sea and night was upon us.
"There's that," said Whinney quietly.
Thus we slid through the velvet night with the Double Cross hanging
low, sou'west by south.
It must have been about an hour before dawn that a shiver of expectancy
thrilled us unanimously.
"Did you hear that, sir?" said Captain Triplett in a low tone.
"No ... what was it?"
"A sea-robin ... we must be near land ... there it is again."
I heard it that time ... the faint, sweet note of the male sea-robin.
Shortly afterward we heard the mewing of a sea-puss, evidently chasing
the robin.
"Sure enough, sir," said Triplett. "It'll be land." Somehow we felt
sure of it.
In calm elation and tired expectancy we strained our eyes through the
slow crescendo of the day's birth. Suddenly, the sun leaped over the
horizon and the long crimson rays flashed forward to where, dead ahead,
we could see a faint swelling on the skyline. "Land-ho!" we cried in
voices of strangled joy.
"Boys," said Captain Triplett, apologetically ... "we ain't got no
yard-arm, but the sun's up and there's land dead ahead, and I
reckon..."
He paused. Through the hatchway came William Henry Thomas bearing a
tray with four lily cups.
"Fair as a lily..." said Whinney (I knew he would).
Two minutes later we had fallen into heavy slumber while the Kawa
steered by the faithful Triplett, moved steadily toward our unknown
haven.
CHAPTER II
A real discovery. Polynesia analyzed. The astounding nature of the
Filberts. Their curious sound, and its reason. We make a landing. Our
first glimpse of the natives. The value of vaudeville.
There is nothing better, after a hurricane, than six hours' sleep. It
was high noon when we were awakened by William Henry Thomas and the
odor of coffee, which drew us to the quarter-deck. There, for the first
time, we were able to make an accurate survey of our surroundings and
realize the magnitude and importance of what had befallen us. While
we slept Captain Triplett had warped the denuded Kawa through
a labyrinth of coral and we now lay peacefully at anchor with the
island lying close in-board.
Its appearance, to put it mildly, was astonishing. Let me remind the
reader that for the previous four months we had been prowling through
the Southern Pacific meeting everywhere with disappointment and
disillusionment. We had inspected every island in every group noted
on every map from Mercator to Rand-McNally without finding any variation
in type from, "A," the low lying coral-atoll of the well-known broken
doughnut formation, to, "B," the high-browed, mansard design popularized
by F. O'Brien. [Footnote: This is the type "E". of Melville's overrated
classification--_Ed._] In a few of the outlying suburbs of
Melanesia and the lower half of Amnesia, we had found a few designs
which showed sketchy promise of originality: coral reefs in quaint
forms had been begun, outlining a scheme of decoration in contrast
with the austere mountains and valleys. But everywhere these had been
abandoned. Either the appropriation had given out, or the polyps had
gotten to squabbling among themselves and left their work to be slowly
worn away by the erosive action of sea and shipwrecked bottoms.
[Footnote: In Micronesia it was even worse, the islands offering a
dead-level of mediocrity which I have never seen equalled except in
the workingmen's cottages of Ampere, New Jersey, the home of the General
Electric Company.] Add to the geographic sameness the universal blight
of white civilization with its picture post-cards, professional hula
and ooh-la dancers, souvenir and gift shops, automat restaurants,
movie-palaces, tourists, artists and explorers, and you have some idea
of the boredom which had settled down over the Kawa and her
inmates.
Only a few days before Whinney, usually so philosophical, had burst
out petulantly with: "To hell with these islands. Give me a good mirage,
any time." Swank and I had heartily agreed with him, and it was in
that despondent spirit that we had begun our Fourth of July celebration.
As we sat cozily on deck, sipping our coffee, it slowly dawned on us
that we had made the amazing discovery of an absolutely new type of
island!--something so evidently virgin and unvisited that we could
only gaze in awe-struck silence.
"Do you know," whispered Swank, "I think this is the first time I have
ever seen a virgin"--he choked for an instant on a crumb--"island."
We could well believe it.
The islands lay before us in echelon formation. The one in our immediate
foreground was typical of the others. Its ground-floor plan was that
of a circle of beach and palm enclosing an inner sea from the center
of which rose an elaborate mountain to a sheer height of two thousand,
perhaps ten thousand, feet. The general effect was that of a pastry
masterpiece on a gigantic scale. [Footnote: Oddly enough the scene
struck me as strangely familiar but it was not until weeks afterward
that I recalled its prototype in the memory of a decoration worn by
General Grosdenovitch, Minister very-extraordinary to America from
Montenegro just before the little mountain kingdom blew up with a faint
pop and became absorbed by Jugo-Slovakia (sic).] We could only stare
in open-mouthed amazement, thrilled with the thought that we were
actually discoverers. A gorgeous feature of our find, in addition to
its satisfactory shape, was its color. Sand and vegetation were of the
conventional hues, but where the flanks of the rock rose from the
enclosed pool we observed that they were of the pure elementary colors,
red, blue and yellow, fresh and untarnished as in the latest masterpiece
from the brush of the Master of All Painters. Here before our eyes was
an unspoiled sample of what the world must have looked like on
varnishing day.
Swank, who is ultra-modern in his tendencies, was in ecstasies over
the naive simplicity of the color scheme. "Look at that red!" he
shouted. "Look at that blue!! Look at that yaller!!!" He dove below
and I heard rattling of tubes and brushes that told me he was about
to commit landscape. This time I knew he couldn't possibly make the
colors too violent.
Fringing the exquisitely tinted coral strand were outlying reefs,
alternately concave and convex, which gave the shore edge a scalloped,
almost rococo finish, which I have heard decorators call the
Chinese-Chippendale "effect." Borne to our nostrils by an occasional
reflex of the zooming trades came, ever and anon, entrancing whiffs
of a brand new odor.
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