“Oh, goodie!” says Jessica, settling herself comfortably. “I love small kingdoms!”
“—with a very small king,” Ted continues. “About two days old, in fact.” And he’s off.
On another occasion, I made record of a typical exchange:
Ted: “—a lady of stupendiferous bearing—”
Jessica: “What bearing?”
Ted: “North by west.”
On the afternoon of September 22 we sighted the peaks of Rodrigues just off the port bow. By 1750 we were at the port of Mathurin, but still outside the reefs. A launch, loaded with officials, local residents, and boatmen came out to meet us. They undertook to pilot us through the intricate channel—and promptly dumped us on a reef. For the next half hour, in the growing dark, there was a certain amount of confusion, with mingled orders and oaths in English, French, Japanese, and various Creole dialects. Finally we worked clear and were secured in mid-channel by divers, who personally went down to set our anchor firmly in the coral.
No harm was done to the boat, aside from a small rubbed spot at the turn of the starboard bilge. There was also a small rubbed spot in the temper of the Skipper, but after I had pouted a bit, we ushered our guests below and exchanged introductions. Entry formalities were quickly cleared away by Christian Belcourt, medical officer, and Claude Rouchecouste, chief magistrate. Before we knew it, all seven of the Phoenix crew were in the launch, along with the reception committee, and heading in to shore for baths, drinks, and dinner with M. and Mme. Rouchecouste. (Monsieur because, although Rodrigues belongs to the British Crown Colony of Mauritius, it is predominantly French in language and culture.)
On the way in we passed the only navigational light of Rodrigues—a one-candlepower beacon marking the edge of the inner reef. We knew it was one candlepower, because we could see the candle itself, flickering fitfully behind its glass shade. As Ted summed it up, “If you can see this light, you’re too darn close!”
Now began ten of the pleasantest days we have ever spent anywhere. As on Keeling-Cocos all invitations and activities included all of us. The veranda of the magistrate’s large house near the landing was the unofficial clubhouse where we were made to feel at home and where good conversation, cold drinks, and numerous newspapers and magazines—both French and English—were always available. In the course of many convivial afternoons and evenings, we began to feel that, through the interest of our hosts of Rodrigues, we were learning more about our Japanese companions, their backgrounds and their impressions, than we had ever been able to elicit during the two years of our relationship.