It could probably be shown by facts and figures that
there is no distinctly native American criminal class
except Congress.
—Pudd’nhead
Wilson’s New Calendar.
When one glances at the map the members of the stupendous
island wilderness of the Pacific seem to crowd upon
each other; but no, there is no crowding, even in
the center of a group; and between groups there are
lonely wide deserts of sea. Not everything is
known about the islands, their peoples and their languages.
A startling reminder of this is furnished by the
fact that in Fiji, twenty years ago, were living two
strange and solitary beings who came from an unknown
country and spoke an unknown language. “They
were picked up by a passing vessel many hundreds of
miles from any known land, floating in the same tiny
canoe in which they had been blown out to sea.
When found they were but skin and bone. No one
could understand what they said, and they have never
named their country; or, if they have, the name does
not correspond with that of any island on any chart.
They are now fat and sleek, and as happy as the day
is long. In the ship’s log there is an
entry of the latitude and longitude in which they
were found, and this is probably all the clue they
will ever have to their lost homes.”—[Forbes’s
“Two Years in Fiji.”]
What a strange and romantic episode it is; and how
one is tortured with curiosity to know whence those
mysterious creatures came, those Men Without a Country,
errant waifs who cannot name their lost home, wandering
Children of Nowhere.
Indeed, the Island Wilderness is the very home of
romance and dreams and mystery. The loneliness,
the solemnity, the beauty, and the deep repose of
this wilderness have a charm which is all their own
for the bruised spirit of men who have fought and
failed in the struggle for life in the great world;
and for men who have been hunted out of the great world
for crime; and for other men who love an easy and
indolent existence; and for others who love a roving
free life, and stir and change and adventure; and
for yet others who love an easy and comfortable career
of trading and money-getting, mixed with plenty of
loose matrimony by purchase, divorce without trial
or expense, and limitless spreeing thrown in to make
life ideally perfect.
We sailed again, refreshed.
The most cultivated person in the ship was a young
English, man whose home was in New Zealand.
He was a naturalist. His learning in his specialty
was deep and thorough, his interest in his subject
amounted to a passion, he had an easy gift of speech;
and so, when he talked about animals it was a pleasure
to listen to him. And profitable, too, though
he was sometimes difficult to understand because now
and then he used scientific technicalities which were
above the reach of some of us. They were pretty
sure to be above my reach, but as he was quite willing
to explain them I always made it a point to get him
to do it. I had a fair knowledge of his subject—layman’s
knowledge—to begin with, but it was his
teachings which crystalized it into scientific form
and clarity—in a word, gave it value.
