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London, Jack, 1876-1916

"On the Makaloa Mat"

The wry grimace
he stole to me would not have been made had he felt any uncertainty
of its escaping her.
"And so," Prince Akuli resumed, after the wahine had tottered away
in an ecstasy, "Ahuna and I departed on our grave-robbing
adventure. You know the Iron-bound Coast."
I nodded, knowing full well the spectacle of those lava leagues of
weather coast, truly iron-bound so far as landing-places or
anchorages were concerned, great forbidding cliff-walls thousands
of feet in height, their summits wreathed in cloud and rain squall,
their knees hammered by the trade-wind billows into spouting,
spuming white, the air, from sea to rain-cloud, spanned by a myriad
leaping waterfalls, provocative, in day or night, of countless sun
and lunar rainbows. Valleys, so called, but fissures rather, slit
the cyclopean walls here and there, and led away into a lofty and
madly vertical back country, most of it inaccessible to the foot of
man and trod only by the wild goat.
"Precious little you know of it," Prince Akuli retorted, in reply
to my nod.


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