Anxious Moments

In Polynesia

EARLY morning—a rusty-plated cargo boat creeps up towards the reef of a Pacific Island. Already natives are busy coming and going between the foreshore and the reef across a shallow patch of water strewn with coral boulders. They are carrying various things on to reef; boxes and native baskets of fruit and bunches of freshly cut bananas.

Breakers advance upon the reef in a persistent threatening way. The foremost one curls over; its crest slides forward and churns heavily into foam and bubbles.

Onward swirls the foam across the reef into those ragged edged channels and cavities with which the reef is entrenched.

The next movement is a violent backwash of the spent wave as the following breaker walls up to make its strike.

The process goes on hour after hour, day after day, without stop as it has done for the past million years and as it will continue to do until the end of time.

A growl goes up from the reef. You hear it mostly as a muffled roar ending in a slow “swish”; a kind of symphony of low notes swelling and fading, swelling and fading. After a storm terrific crashes and detonations boom out—such crashes and crunchings as would signal the col lapse of a mighty bridge structure or a city falling in.

Several natives standing near one of the coral gutters are holding a canoe with its bow towards the breakers. A wave comes over, flattens out and momentarily floods the reef. This is when a timid man feels like bolting for the foreshore. The canoe floats clear and witlf a quick push and rapid paddling, away goes the hollow log amidst a shower of spray.

A passenger to come ashore; a black speck appears on the rusty side of the ship and moves slowly downwards. Then it seems to hang there for a moment or two. The canoe appears to flutter up and down the vessel’s side. The speck dis appears into the canoe.

Back to the reef. Reaching the break ers the canoe is brought to a stop with its bow dead on to the waves as they race shorewards. The native responsible for the canoe is watching each wave. Every now and then a breaker comes along on which it is safe to make the “shoot over."

Here it comes now! The canoe shoots forward and in a second or two it is all over. Either the canoe is smashed or it has been whirled safely into the midst of those waiting on the reef to grasp it.

Anxious moments, these.

After the passengers comes the cargo cargo of all descriptions, from motor trucks, oil drums and pianos to foodstuffs and luggage.

A steamer usually does not anchor, but cruises slowly about, always under way, prepared for a squall or any set towards the reef. The propeller blades of the ves sel would chop a canoe to pieces were it to pass under the stern of the ship. Na tives are vividly aware of this risk.

Throughout Polynesia natives lighter tons of copra and thousands of cases of fruit besides awkward pieces of cargo, across seething reefs and think nothing of it. Europeans would be positively un able to land at many of the Pacific Islands were it not for these reef valiants.

—“D.”