Photo from Underwood and Underwood
Picking up the atoll of Anaa from the deck of the schooner Flying Fish
Lacour’s wife, granddaughter of a Welshman but all native in appearance, sat with the other women under the tohonu tree when I returned. I had seen thousands of fallen cocoanut-trees rotting in the swamps, and had climbed over the coral fields for several miles. There was no earth, only coral and shells and white shell-sand. Chickens evidently picked up something to eat, for I saw a dozen of them. In the lagoon, fish darted to and fro.
Photo from L. Gauthier
Canoes and cutters at atoll of Anaa, Paumotu Islands
Lacour’s wife had a yellowish baby in her lap, and she wore earrings, a wedding-ring, and a necklace and bracelets.
The boat was plying from the schooner to the shore, and I watched its progress. Piri a Tuahine held the steering oar, laughing, calling to his fellows to pull or not to pull, as I could see through a glass. A current affected the surf, increasing or decreasing its force at intervals, and it was now at its height. The boat entered the passage on a crest, but a following wave struck it hard, turned it broadside, and all but over. A flood entered the boat, but the men leaped out and, though up to their shoulders in the water, held it firm, and finally drew it close to the beach. The flour and the boxes and beds of native passengers were wetted, but they ran to the boat and carried their belongings near to the copra shed, and spread them to dry. Lacour cursed the boat and the sailors.
Near Lacour’s store was a house, in which lived Captain Nimau, owner of a small schooner. Nimau invited me to sleep there and see the moving pictures. We had brought Lacour a reel or so, and in anticipation, the people of Anaa had been gathering cocoanuts for a week. The films were old ones that Tahiti had wearied of, and Lacour got them for a trifle. The theater was his copra house, and there were no seats nor need of them.
He set the hour of seven for the show, and I alone stayed ashore for it. By six o’clock the residents began flocking to the shed with their entrance-fees. Each bore upon his back twenty-five cocoanuts, some in bags and others with the nuts tied on a pole by their husk. Fathers carried double or even triple quantities for their little ones, and each, as he arrived at Lacour’s, counted the nuts before the trader.
The women brought their own admission tickets. The acolyte, who had inveighed against the cinematograph, was second in line, and secured the best squatting space. His own cocoanuts were in Lacour’s bin.
When the screen was erected and the first picture flashed upon it, few of the people of Anaa were absent, and Lacour’s copra heap was piled high. There were a hundred and sixty people present, and four thousand nuts in the box-office.