From Pole to Pole: A Book for Young People

by Sven Anders Hedin

Meanwhile the albatross is on its course westwards, careless of winds and currents. He heeds not the hardest storm, and, indeed, where could he hide himself from its violence? His dwelling is the air. The sea is high, and he skims just above the surface, rising to meet each wave and descending into every trough, and the tips of his wings seem to dip into the foam. The great ocean seems dreadfully dreary and deserted. The sun glistens on the spindrift, and the albatross is reflected in the smooth, bright roof of waves above the fairy crystal grottoes in the depths.

He rises to see whether the island he is thinking about is visible above the horizon. Beneath him he sees the dark, white-tipped, roaring sea. From the west, bluish-black rain-clouds sweep up and open their sluice-gates. Is the albatross hindered in his flight by the rain which pelts violently down on his back and wings? Well, yes, he must certainly be delayed, but he can foretell the weather with certainty enough to keep clear, and he is swift enough on the wing to make his escape when overtaken by rain. And he can always descend, fold his pinions, and rest dancing on the waves.

The rain over, he flies higher up again and now sees Easter Island, which from an immense depth rises above the water, terribly lonely in the great ocean. On a sloping beach he sees several monuments of stone, thirty feet high, in the form of human heads. They mark graves, and are memorials of a long-vanished settlement. Now there are only about 150 natives on Easter Island, and even these are doomed to extinction. Three white men live on the island, but it is long since news was heard of them, for no vessel has touched there for several years. Of other living things only rats, goats, fowls, and sea birds exist on the island.

At some distance to the north-east lies Sala-y-Gomez, a small island of perfectly bare rocks, only inhabited by sea-fowl, and there the albatross pays a passing visit. Now he rises again and continues his flight westwards. Soon he comes to a swarm of insignificant islands called the Low Archipelago. So we name the islands, but the dark-skinned natives who by some mysterious fortune have been banished to them call them Paumotu, or "Island Cloud." A poet could not have conceived a better name. There lie eighty-five groups of islands, each consisting of innumerable holms. They are really a cloud of islets, like a nebula or star mist in the sky, and this swarm is only one among many others studding all the western part of the Pacific Ocean.

Now the albatross soars round the rocks of the "Island Cloud." He can see them easily from up above, but it is a harder matter for a vessel to make its way between the treacherous rocks and reefs. Though they are so many, the aggregate area amounts to less than four square miles. Almost all are formed of coral, and most of them are atolls. Reef—building corals are small animals which extract lime from the water. They multiply by budding, and every group forms a common clan where living and dead members rest side by side. Coral animalculæ demand for their existence a firm, hard sea bottom, crystal-clear water, sufficient nutriment brought to them by waves and currents, and lastly a water temperature not falling below 68°. Therefore they occur only in tropical seas and near the surface, for the water becomes colder with the depth. At depths greater than 160 feet they are rare. They die and increase again and again, and therefore the coral reefs grow in height and breadth, and only the height of water at ebb tide puts a limit to their upward growth. The continual surf of the sea and stormy waves often break off whole blocks of coral limestone, which roll down and break up into sand. With this all cavities are filled in, and thus the action of the sea helps to consolidate and strengthen the reef. Other lime-extracting animalculæ and also seaweeds establish themselves on the reef. In the course of time the waves throw up loose blocks on the top of the reef, so that parts of it are always above the water-level. When the water rises during flood-tide, white foaming surf indicates the position of the reef at a long distance. During the ebb the reef itself is exposed and the sea is quiet. Between ebb and flood the fairway is dangerous, for there is nothing to warn a vessel, and it may run right on to a coral reef and be lost.

Reefs have various forms and lengths. The great Barrier Reef, which lies off the north-east coast of Australia, is 1200 miles long. When reefs form circles they are called atolls. By means of winds, birds, and ocean currents, seeds are carried about the ocean, and strike root on any parts of the reef which lie above the level of the flood-tide. In the fulness of time the atoll is completed, built up by animalculæ and plants. The "Island Cloud" is the largest continuous atoll region in all the world. There the circular coral islands lie like a collection of garlands thrown down upon the sea. Within them the water may be as much as 230 feet deep, and in the lagoons of some atolls all the fleets of the world could find room. The minute coral animalculæ have provided by their industrious labour shelter for the largest vessels.

On many of the atolls grow cocoa palms, and only then are the ring-shaped islands inhabitable. How curious they look to one approaching on a vessel! Only the crowns of the palms are seen above the horizon; the island, being low, is out of sight. One might be coming to an oasis in the boundless Sahara. At last the solid coral ground of the island comes into sight (Plate XXXVII.). Breakers dash against the outer side of the ring, but the lagoon within is smooth as a mirror in the lea of the corals and palms.

PLATE XXXVII. A CORAL STRAND.

Four thousand natives of Polynesian race live on the holms of the "Island Cloud," a couple of hundred on each atoll. They gather pearls and mother-of-pearl, and barter them for European goods at a ridiculously low price. On some islands, bread-fruit trees, pineapples, and bananas are grown. Animal life is very poor—rats, parrots, pigeons, thrushes, and lizards—but all the richer is the life in the sea outside. The natives are most excellent seamen, and it is hard to believe that they are lifelong prisoners on their islands. They sail with sails of matting made by the women, and have outriggers which give stability to their boats, and they cross boldly from island to island.