How Often We Had Pored Over
The Chart And Centred Always On That Midmost Bight And On The Valley
It Opened - The Valley Of Typee.
"Taipi" the chart spelled it, and
spelled it correctly, but I prefer "Typee," and I shall always spell
it "Typee." When I was a little boy, I read a book spelled in that
manner - Herman Melville's "Typee"; and many long hours I dreamed
over its pages.
Nor was it all dreaming. I resolved there and
then, mightily, come what would, that when I had gained strength and
years, I, too, would voyage to Typee. For the wonder of the world
was penetrating to my tiny consciousness - the wonder that was to
lead me to many lands, and that leads and never pails. The years
passed, but Typee was not forgotten. Returned to San Francisco from
a seven months' cruise in the North Pacific, I decided the time had
come. The brig Galilee was sailing for the Marquesas, but her crew
was complete and I, who was an able-seaman before the mast and young
enough to be overweeningly proud of it, was willing to condescend to
ship as cabin-boy in order to make the pilgrimage to Typee. Of
course, the Galilee would have sailed from the Marquesas without me,
for I was bent on finding another Fayaway and another Kory-Kory. I
doubt that the captain read desertion in my eye. Perhaps even the
berth of cabin-boy was already filled. At any rate, I did not get
it.
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