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Walter E. Traprock - The Cruise of the Kawa
vegetation just off the fairway of the third hole at Garden City.] Into this we proceeded gingerly, intrepid
and alert, but ready to bolt at the slightest alarm.
The nut noises became constantly more ominous and menacing, but still we saw no sign of human life.
Near the edge of the forest we came to a halt. Plainly it would be unwise to venture within range of the
arboreal hailstones without protection, for though our pith-helmets were of the best quality they were,
after all, but pith, and a cocoanut is a cocoanut, the world over. While we were debating this point and
seeking a possible way into the jungle which was not overarched by trees I heard a low bird-call, as I
supposed, the even-song of the cross-billed cuttywink. On the instant a towering circle of dark forms
sprang from the haro and at a glance I saw that we were completely surrounded by gigantic Filbertines!
Darting a look over my shoulder I noted to my dismay an enormous land-crab towing our dory seaward.
It was a harrowing moment. As agreed upon, we waited for Triplett to take the initiative and in the
interim I took a hasty inventory of our reception committee. The general impression was that of great
beauty and physique entirely unadorned except for a narrow, beaded water-line and pendent apron
(rigolo in the Filbertine language) consisting of a seven-year-old clam shell decorated with
brightly colored papoo-reeds. The men's faces were calm, almost benign, and as far as I could see
unarmed except for long, sharply pointed bundles of leaves which they carried under their arms. Their
tattooing was the finest I have ever seen.
At this moment, however, my observations were concluded by Triplett's suddenly wheeling and saying
sharply, "Traprock! ... target practice!" This was a stunt we had often performed for the amusement and
mystification of kindly cannibals in the Solomons. I had seen it in vaudeville and taught it to Triplett. As
was my custom, I had in the pocket of my singlet a number of ship biscuit. Plucking out one of these I
placed it on my forehead and nose, holding it in place with the index finger. Triplett leveled his Colt a
good yard above my head and fired, I on the instant pressing the biscuit so that it fell in pieces to the
ground.
The effect on the Filbertines was marvelous.
They were too simple to be afraid. Their one emotion was wonder. Then Swank, grinning broadly,
uttered the one word, "Cinch!"
To a nation which had never heard a word ending in a consonant, this was apparently intensely
humorous. They burst into loud guffaws, supplemented with resounding slaps of their cupped hands on
their stomachs, at the same time raising an imitative cry of "Sink-ka! Sink-ka!"
This was our welcome to the Filbert Islands, and also the beginning of the formation of that new tongue,
Filbertese or nut-talk, which in the ensuing months was to mean so much to our small but absolutely
intrepid band.
CHAPTER III
Our handsome hosts. En route to the interior. Native flora and fauna. We arrive at the capitol. A lecture
on Filbertine architecture. A strange taboo. The serenade.
With the first burst of laughter it seemed that all embarrassment on the part of the natives had been
dissipated. Those nearest us insisted on patting our stomachs gently, at the same time uttering a soft,
crooning "soo-soo," [Footnote: This same sound is used by the natives of Sugar Hill, New Hampshire,
when calming their horses.] which it was obviously the proper thing to return, which we did to the
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