Odd Corners Of The Pacific

Written for the Pacific Islands Monthly by Dwight Long, an American University man who is circumnavigating the globe in his ketch “Idle Hour."

HAVING completed 8000 miles of my world-encircling cruise, I landed in Tahiti with a broken hand.

I was unable to get assistance from the hospital, because I couldn’t speak French, and I accepted an invitation to be the guest of the French Commander of the Z elee. I could not speak any Tahitian and no one on board could speak English—anyway, not the King’s English. From a couple of the lads I found out that we were going to Toua Atoll, to pick up the remainder of the ship’s crew who were making a chart of a small cove in the coral reef.

Mr. Dwight Long, the young American who is navigating the tiny ketch “Idle Hour’’ around the world, left Sydney on May 8 for the North Queensland coast and Port Moresby ( Papua ). Thence he trill make his way, via the East Indies and the Suez Canal, to Europe.

The commander spoke very little English and understood less. At each meal I tried to be friendly. The six-course meal — everything from soup to nuts—took a long time to serve, and a word now and then tended to break the dead silence.

Solomon, a gigantic Tahitian, could speak a little English, so I conversed con siderably with him. Noticing my swollen hand, he declared it needed a massage.

With his powerful hands he grasped it and applied French ointment. His 190 pounds of glistening muscles meant well, but I doubted his knowledge concerning the proper treatment of my case. After a fortnight, I found I had two broken bones.

Toua Atoll

From the masthead at dawn we could see a row of coconut trees on the skyline.

As we came closer, I could see the sub marine reef fringing the lee side of the lagoon, with only a few inches of water covering the treacherous but beautiful formation. Fifteen fathoms were paid out as the anchor was let go.

The reminder of the crew were a wild looking bunch, with stubble-covered faces, after their month’s stay on uninhabited Toua Atoll. No natives lived on this island, owing to its poisonous fish. In habitants of neighbouring islands, however, occasionally go there to make copra.

As the Zelce was scheduled to sail imme ately after the equipment was all aboard, I decided to see what was to be seen. No place on the land was over eight feet above water. Hermit crabs were crawling all over the land, many living in fallen coco nut husks, which covered the ground. The tropical foliage was so dense that I pro ceeded very slowly. There was no soil and the palms grew right out of the coral, which is all the atoll is made of.

Having gone as far as I dared without danger of being left. I returned toward the cove where the Z elee lay anchored.

I came upon a large open space that was overgrown with tropical grasses. On either side I found stone foundations, which I later learned from the crew were the re mains of native dwellings along a street deserted for over a century. It is com monlv believed the natives died from eat ing the poisonous fish in the lagoon.

The boats were hoisted and anchors

lifted. Back to Tahiti, and on through the remainder of the Society Group in the Idle Hour.

Maupiti

No island in this group was as interest ing as Maupiti, at the extreme northern extremity of the archipelago. It is seldom visited, due to the treacherous pass, the only entrance into a shallow lagoon dot ted with coral heads.

During the regular trade-wind weather, it is impossible to get in or out of Mau piti Pass, as it is on the windward side of the island. Waves break completely across the narrow channel. As we ap proached the pass I could have sworn there was none there for, apparently, I could see no bite in the waves. It is very deceiving. One of the reefs extends out in front of the other. As I was sitting in the cockpit I could have thrown a peanut on the reef on either side! Surging violently to starboard, and then to port, we emerged into the coral-studded lagoon.

No sooner were we anchored than the natives wanted to trade. As we were the first visitors they had had for over a year, and their two local cutters were out of commission, no flour or sugar could be had on the island.

Many of the deals became very com plicated, as you might imagine. I traded Woolworth jewellery and perfumes for curios and coconut oil. For example, I gave a native a necklace, and in return we got two bunches of bananas and two dozen pawpaws. Another time, I traded a tiny bottle of nerfume for a quart of coconut oil and three dozen oranges. Then a chicken for three lbs. of flour; and many

a time we would trade a cent box of matches for an egg.

It was fun at first; but, after hours of dickering, with the natives continually changing their minds, we would have to just say that that was all for the day, and ask them to go.

As Maupiti is well off the beaten path, trading schooners do not even call. Here the natives live more true to primitive life.

There is not one white resident on the island. The women go bare-breasted — and why not—they know no shame. There is no such thing as vice on a remote island like Maupiti. They all live a natural life, close to nature.

We climbed the summit of the rocky bute that covers all the central island.

Prom our point of vantage we could see the coral formations which have grown up so rapidly in recent years that Maupiti is now the most treacherous lagoon to navi gate in the Society Group. We could also see the narrow bite, through which we had entered.

The trades were setting in and we readily observed it would be necessary to get out of the lagoon and through the pass as soon as possible, before the seas piled up so high that it would be impos sible.

Lonely Penrhyn

So on in the Idle Hour to Penrhyn, 700 miles to the north-west, the remotest atoll of New Zealand’s colonial possessions. It was the most difficult landfall I had made to date, as it is 300 miles from its nearest neighbour, and is in the midst of the doldrums where currents, varying con tinuously, tend to throw one off the course.

But worst of all was the fact that Pen rhyn is only 10 feet above sea level, and was only visible from our deck at four miles distance.

After eight days, we sighted the coconut trees which appeared to grow out of the sea. As we came closer, we could dis tinguish the motus near the mouth of the west passage.

We shot in through the pass, like a bul let, as the tide was with us. Anchored safe inside, Mr. Philip Woonton came aboard, making his official call; he was the Resident Agent at Penrhyn. He made us his house-guests and put everything on the island at our disposal.

All the houses are well kept. The streets are white coral, bordered with white stones. All the dwellings are either white washed or recently painted. There are na tive dwellings on the outskirts; but in the village all the houses are European style, for the fire hazard is too great in the dry season, with grass-houses built so close together.

We went to dinner that evening at the Resident Agent’s house. He informed us that Penrhyn is the largest atoll in the entire Cook Group. No leprosy, or ele phantiasis—in fact, no diseases of any kind. There is one church in the middle Of the village, which is the centre of com munity life.

Here, for the first time I had seen in the South Seas, the church is an asset to the natives. The New Zealand representative has wisely seen to it that only one creed, with one church, may be taught. He can regulate this, in an indirect manner, by not letting other missionaries settle on the isle. (He told me that when some other creed wishes to establish some church he can boost the price of land or building materials or tax it so it would be very unfavourable for it to try even to get started.) Thus, in the small villages, tliere is no friction and the nearest thing to Utopia has been achieved.

Until recently, copra was at such a low price that it was not worth making. Thus, hardly any money is handled. All have plenty to eat, as they own the land. The

Government wisely protects its subjects for they cannot sell their property. There are plenty of fish in the lagoon and on the reefs. ,They have a surprisingly great variety of dishes which they make from the various fish and coconuts. Occasion ally, a man will get a valuable pearl from

the lagoon. The women busy themselves making hats, some of the finest in the world. They are so finely woven that when the hat is completed, it weighs hardly an ounce.

We were informed that the pastor was returning to Rarotonga on the morrow.

A huge native feast was prepared for him and his family. A table of six pieces of corrugated iron, placed on five oil drums, was piled high with plates made of woven coconut leaves, laden heavily with food.

After feasting for two hours, the himenes started. Natives from the village of Omoka arrived from across the lagoon.

One group would sing a himene and im mediately the other group started another one, before the final chords of the former himene were completed. This continued on and on until 6.30 next morning. A native interpreted the Biblical theme of each himene. One group would sing about The Creation; the other about Daniel in the Lion’s Den: the first group about Cain Killing Abel; and the other about the Lord’s Supper; and so on. Literally, hundreds upon hundreds of verses are memorised.

My native friend told me that over 300 incidents have been thus memorised. All the dances became faster and more excit ing, accompanying the singing. I could see the pagan of 70 years ago. The thin veneer of Christianity and civilization was apparent.

We were in Penrhyn for over a fort night, and we had to draw our visit to a close. As you may imagine, it was very difficult to tear ourselves away from this remote isle, far off the beaten paths of our 20th century civilization.

Top: The isle of Toua, as seen from the deck of the French gunboat “Zelee.”

Middle: A village street on the island of Mau piti. Typical, steep bluff in the background.

Lower: A glimpse of the low-lying island of Penrhyn.