The light of Noctilucae in full vigor is a clear blue; but, if the water is agitated, it becomes nearly, if not quite white, producing rich silvery gleams sprinkled with greenish and bluish spangles.
Humboldt also described this phenomenon, in his Views of Nature:
In the ocean, gelatinous sea-worms, living and dead, shine like luminous stars, converting by their phosphorescent light the green surface of the ocean into one vast sheet of fire. Indelible is the impression left on my mind by those calm tropical nights in the Pacific, where the constellation of Argo in its zenith, and the setting Southern Cross, pour their mild planetary light through the ethereal azure of the sky, while dolphins mark the foaming waves with their luminous furrows.
24
Although O’Connell’s story sounds more like a fantasy, it tallies with Melville’s experiences a decade later and William Mariner’s several decades before. Thus Finau Ulukalala II, the most powerful chief in Tonga, took a great liking to Mariner, a young English sailor who had survived the massacre of half of his crewmates in 1806. The chief appointed one of his wives as Mariner’s ‘mother’ and teacher, had him indoctrinated in the ways of the tribe, and then adopted him into his own household, giving him the name of his deceased son. Similarly, when Melville jumped ship in the Marquesas in 1842 and wound up in the valley of the Typee, the most powerful chief in the valley, Mehevi, adopted him, and gave him his daughter Pe’ue (Fayaway) as teacher and lover.
Melville’s story, while it charmed readers, was generally seen as romantic fiction, although Melville himself always insisted on its veracity – a century later anthropologists were able to confirm his story, which had been indelibly recorded in the oral history of the remaining Typee. It was easier for O’Connell to obtain credence for his story, for he arrived back in the United States tattooed from top to toe; indeed, he went on to tell his story all over the country, billed as ‘the Tattooed Irishman.’
25
The way in which human populations have met ‘mysterious ends on over a dozen Polynesian islands’ has been investigated by M.I. Weisler, particularly in relation to Pitcairn and Henderson, which are among the world’s most remote and isolated islands. Both of these were colonized from the parent island, Mangareva, around 1000 A.D.
Henderson, a coral atoll with little soil and no permanent fresh water, could not support more than fifty people, but Pitcairn, a volcanic island, was able to support several hundred. At first, when these two populations remained in touch with each other and with the parent colony on Mangareva, and the populations did not exceed their resources, they were able to maintain a social and ecological balance. But expanding populations, hypothesizes Weisler, deforested Mangareva and Pitcairn and drove the seabirds and tortoises on Henderson to near-extinction. Mangareva’s population survived, but ‘descended into an orgy of war and cannibalism,’ in Jared Diamond’s words, and fell out of contact with Henderson and Pitcairn around 1450. Without the physical and cultural contact of Mangareva, these populations were now doomed, shrank into themselves, and finally vanished around 1600. Diamond speculates on what may have occurred in these last, pathetic years:
No potential marriage partners could have remained who did not violate incest taboos…climatic variations in an already marginal environment may have driven the islanders to starvation… The people of Henderson may have [turned to]] murder and cannibalism (like those on Mangareva, and Easter Island)… The islanders may have become insane from social deprivation.
If they managed to avoid all these gruesome fates, Diamond stresses, the islanders ‘would have run up against the problem that fifty people are too few to constitute a viable population.’ Even a society of several hundred ‘is insufficient to propel human culture indefinitely,’ if it is isolated; even if it survives physically, it will become stagnant and un-creative, regressed and culturally ‘inbred.’
When I collected stamps as a boy, I was especially pleased by the stamps of Pitcairn, and the idea that this remote island was populated by only seventy people, all descendants of the Bounty mutineers. But of course, the Pitcairners now have access to the larger world, with modern communications and frequent ship and air traffic.
26
Darwin marvelled at the survival of these fragile atolls:
These low hollow islands bear no proportion to the vast ocean out of which they abruptly rise; and it seems wonderful, that such weak invaders are not overwhelmed, by the all-powerful and never-tiring waves of that great sea, miscalled the Pacific.
27
Cook learned of many instances of accidental migrations, often due to the strong westward trade winds. Landing at Atiu, he found three survivors who had been cast ashore from Tahiti, seven hundred miles away. They had set out in a party of twenty, expecting to make a brief journey from Tahiti to Raiatea, a few miles away, but had been blown off course. Similar unintentional voyages, he thought, might explain ‘how the South Seas, may have been peopled; especially those [Islands] that lie remote from any inhabited continent, or from each other.’
28
I thought of Montaigne’s words in relation to Knut that day:
A man must have experienced all the illnesses he hopes to cure and all the accidents and circumstances he is to diagnose… Such a man I would trust. For the rest guide us like the person who paints seas, rocks and harbours while sitting at his table and sails his model of a ship in perfect safety. Throw him into the real thing, and he does not know where to begin.
29
Like Knut, Frances Futterman has acquired an enormous catalog of information about color, its physical and neurological basis, its meaning and value for other people. She is curious about (and finds that other achromatopes are intrigued by) its meaning and value, and I was especially struck by this when I visited her office in Berkeley, which was filled with bookshelves containing the hundreds of volumes she has collected. Many of these she acquired during her years of special education and rehabilitation teaching with the blind and partially sighted – others deal with scotopic or night vision. Thus on one wall, I saw titles like The World of Night: The Fascinating Drama of Nature as Enacted between Dusk and Dawn; Nature by Night; The Coral Reef by Night; After the Sun Goes Down: The Story of Animals at Night; The Shadow Book (a photographic-esthetic study); Images from the Dark; Night Eyes; Black Is Beautiful (black-and-white landscape photos) – books about the world she loves and knows.
On the other wall there were several shelves of books about color, that strange phenomenon which she can never perceive and never really know, but about which she is endlessly curious. Some of these were scientific studies on the physics of color or the physiology of vision; others dealt with linguistic aspects of color – The 750 Commonest Color Metaphors in Daily Life; Seeing Red and Tickled Pink: Color Terms in Everyday Language. There were books on the esthetics and philosophy of color, ranging from anthropological treatises to Wittgenstein on color. Others, she told me, had been collected simply for their colorful titles [Color Me Beautifuclass="underline" Discover Your Natural Beauty through the Colors That Make You Look Great and Feel Fabulous ). There was a variety of books for younger ages, with titles like Hello Yellow, Ant and Bee and Rainbow: A Story about Colors, and her favorite, Hailstones and Halibut Bones: Adventures in Color. She often recommends these for achroma-topic children, so that they can ‘learn’ the colors of common objects, and the emotional ‘valence’ of different colors – necessary knowledge in a chromatopic world.