A Yankee doctor in paradise

by S. M. Lambert

Hung to the ridgepole was a large basket decorated with white shells. Two men carefully washed their hands and lowered the great chief’s remains. After one glance at the bones, which they had spread on a mat, I had a keen desire to examine them for myself. But could I? There was a terrible hubbub, every branch of the Korave family yelling at each other. Then the headman said “all right” with variations.

There was a remarkably fine skull, indicating that somebody had had a generous brain pan with plenty of room above the eyebrows. At first I found two thigh bones and two tibias, just as any hero should have. When I got around to the two fibulas, the small leg-bones, I found them smaller than their mates, and was tactless enough to ask if their ancestor didn’t walk with a limp. Indignant denials. I was more impressed still when I picked up another fibula and tibia—golly, the man must have been three-legged! Also three radii and extra pelvic bones turned up. It looked as if the late king had three of everything to the common man’s two. There was a collection of small ribs that might have fitted a great many people, but if they had been assembled on Korave’s skeleton they would have presented a new problem in anatomy.

I disturbed Tabatauea’s faith as gently as I could by asking if they were sure these bones all came from the same man. They were very positively certain. Hadn’t the relics been carefully passed down through the generations? And this simple faith may cast light on some of the holy relics worshiped in our Christian churches.

Anderson’s flowery introduction had won much respect for my opinion, it appeared, for they asked what I could tell them about their mighty ancestor. Already they had allowed me to sit, just for a moment, on the enchanted stone where Korave used to sit; it was supposed to have a magic quality of coolness. Sure enough, it was quite cool. So I must tell them of their ancestor. The safe bet was to fall back on generalities. I told them that he was a very big man indeed, much bigger than one of his very large descendants whom I saw in the audience. Quite truthfully I praised the size of great Korave’s head; no commonplace man could have worn a skull like that. But my praise of the bones in toto made the hit of the day. Not only was Korave remarkable in other things, I said, but he had more bones than any man I had ever seen. After Anderson translated this he told me that they were very grateful for the information, which would be treasured among their legends of the hero.

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On Kuria it was my professional duty to confer with one of Robert Louis Stevenson’s least appreciated characters, District Commissioner Murdock, who had emerged from the days of piracy. Stevenson had actively disliked Murdock; somewhere in his tales of Apamama and King Timbinoka, the novelist had referred to Murdock as “a rat-faced Scotchman with a secretive disposition,” and “Timbinoka’s cook.” The feud stemmed on Murdock’s refusal to tell of a thousand and one nights he had been concerned in. He had plentiful reason to keep his mouth shut, for at the time the other Scot was snooping for adventure stories Murdock was a sort of business manager to the savage king who conquered Kuria and terrorized all surrounding islands. Murdock had also acted as contact man between the terrible Timbinoka and the terrible Bully Hayes, pirate and blackbirder extraordinary.

All the pirate I saw in Murdock was his flaring white mustache; the mouth below it stayed pretty tight, and he only grunted, until I won him over with a fancy new spinner for his fishing. Then he opened up and talked about himself.

As a consumptive lad of nineteen he had come there on a sailing ship and won Timbinoka’s heart by cooking him a good meal of vittles, and was hired on the spot. From frying fish he had graduated into diplomacy, mostly with Bully Hayes and his slaving deals with Timbinoka. Hayes, who probably hailed from San Francisco, would clean out whole islands and carry away the inhabitants to die in the fields and mines of Australia, Fiji, South America. As a side line, he would swoop down on the pearl fisheries, gathering the pearls and the girls. Out at sea he would repaint his ship with a new set of colors, to fool pursuing naval vessels. He often baited his trap with pretty girls; the ladies of Aitutaki were especially tempting, so he would take on a load of them and keep them in full view as he loitered by various islands. Then the native men, poor fools, would swim out to be captured and chained.

On one occasion, at least, Murdock went as the King’s agent to an island where Bully Hayes had carried a shipload of Timbinoka’s warriors to punish some of His Majesty’s disobedient subjects. When Bully took captives he had the privilege of buying them from Timbinoka. The monarch prospered on this industry, and was a tyrant of the old school. Once he sent Murdock with 300 slaves for coffee plantations in Mexico and Guatemala.

The King’s harem was extensive, and uninvited males were promptly slain. A splendid rifle shot, Timbinoka kept in practice by pinking disobedient wives, usually on the run. He owned every blade of grass, chased competitors out of his trading stores, forbade missionaries. He could be hospitable, but when he said, “Get out!” his guest said good-by. He bought liquor, boats and gadgets wholesale. His grand passion was sewing machines; he had a royal collection in various stages of decay; and a trader with music boxes to sell received a royal welcome. European clothes charmed him, and he couldn’t wait for the latest styles to come by boat. So he sent two natives to Auckland to learn tailoring. Alas for Timbinoka’s vanity! He got so very fat so very soon that the broadest coats and trousers split on him. He spent his declining years in an ornamental Mother Hubbard. Murdock showed me a photograph of him wearing one; so fat he couldn’t walk, he was being carried by eight men.