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THE NATIONAL GEOGRAPHIC MAGAZINE 



Photograph by Junius B. Wood 



THE LARGEST AND MOST PRETENTIOUS CHURCH IN PONAPE : CAROLINE ISLANDS 



This edifice, originally built by Americans, was remodeled by the Spaniards, and services are 

 now conducted in it by native leaders. 



"Uriel Hadley. He's a Ponape boy," 

 he repeated, a touch of pride in his quiet 

 voice. 



There was no Uriel among my memory 

 of many Hadleys, and his face fell in 

 disappointment. He could not under- 

 stand that anybody could live in America 

 and not know the "boy from Ponape." 

 Something was wrong, but he did not 

 know why. 



I walked away from the noisy games 

 through one of the gaps the Germans had 

 made in the thick stone wall, past the 

 silent church, and along a path rapidly 

 growing narrower, as it passed from the 

 little fields which the Japanese were culti- 

 vating into the ever-crowding jungle. 



I stopped to look across the jungle- 

 closed valley to where the late sun was 

 tinting the palms on the mountain top, 

 just as it had done in the dim, forgotten 

 days when Ijokelekel came in his war 

 canoe. The pit-a-pat of bare feet ap- 

 proached along the path. It was the old 

 man, one of the coconuts salvaged from 

 the husking bee in his hand. 



"Are you a Ponape boy?" I asked as 

 he stopped. 



"I'm Ngatik boy; can't go home," he 

 said, uncovering another of the tragic 

 romances of the Carolines. 



AN AMERICAN SAILOR'S COLONY ON 

 NGATIK 



He pattered along down the path, car- 

 rying his day's harvest, his exile and the 

 story of Ngatik forgotten. In the early 

 '6o's an American whaler was wrecked 

 on Ngatik, 75 miles southwest of Ponape. 

 Visioning a choice assortment of white 

 heads to hang from the eaves of their 

 huts, the natives attacked the survivors. 



But the sailormen were well armed, 

 with the result that most of the ambitious 

 warriors were killed, and the new ar- 

 rivals settled down to a life of laziness 

 and a plethora of wives until the next 

 wandering whaler sighted the lonesome 

 island and took them home. That ac- 

 counted for the old man's familiarity 

 with English. 



"You like coconut?" he asked with 

 native hospitality, proffering his entire 

 meal. 



"I live here, men's hotel," he explained, 

 as the gift was declined. He trotted off 



