The Cruise of the Kawa: Wanderings in the South Seas Part 1

The Cruise of the Kawa.

by Walter E. Traprock.

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 _decla.s.se_.... In the face of this avid appet.i.te for tropic-scented literature, one may well imagine the satisfaction of a publisher when offered opportunity of a.s.sociation with such an expedition as that of the Kawa, an a.s.sociation involving the exclusive privilege of publishing the ma.n.u.script of Walter E. Traprock himself.

The public, we feel, is ent.i.tled 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 quant.i.ty 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 Sw.a.n.k, and Reginald K. Whinney, the scientist. By this characteristic bit of foresight was the inclusive and authoritative character of the expedition's findings a.s.sured.

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 st.u.r.dy 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.

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 pa.s.s 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 a.s.sorted marbles with which he furnished his vacant socket according to his fancy, and the effect of his frequent changes was both unusual and diverting.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Captain Ezra Triplett]

[Ill.u.s.tration Note: CAPTAIN EZRA TRIPLETT

The annals of maritime history will never be complete until the name of Captain Ezra Triplett of New Bedford, Ma.s.sachusetts, 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 n.o.bly under the punishment her skipper gave her.

Triplett's a.s.sistant 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-cla.s.s cabin pa.s.sengers were three, Reginald K. Whinney, scientific man, world wanderer, data-demon and a devil when roused; Herman Sw.a.n.k, 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 cla.s.s-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 ba.s.s.

"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.