been toppled. A Tahitian on board partially able to understand native dialect determined that the colossi were not divine images but memorials to deceased persons.
Cook noted in his journal: “We could hardly conceive how these islanders, wholly unacquainted with any mechanical power, could raise such stupendous figures. . . . They must have been a work of immense time, and sufficiently show the ingenuity and perseverance of the islanders in the age in which they were built; for the present inhabitants have most certainly had no hand in them, as they do not even repair the foundations of those going to decay.”
The expedition left with a small supply of sweet potatoes.
1786: Jean-François de Galaup, Comte de La Pérouse (France): Noted approximately two thousand people on the island; Frenchmen were admitted to caves and subterranean passages where women and children had been hiding; it is believed the peaceful conduct of Captain Cook allowed for this access. Attempts to introduce pigs, goats, and sheep unsuccessful.
1864: Brother Eugène Eyraud, a French Catholic missionary, settled on the island; it is believed that the majority of the population converted to Christianity. No statues were in upright position.
1877: Population: 111 (reports of a smallpox epidemic related to raids by Peruvian slavers).
1886: Visitation by George S. Cook, Surgeon, United States Navy, aboard the USS
Mohican.
1888: Annexation by Chile.
The Society wishes these questions pursued by investigators:
How were the colossal statues crafted? Transported? Were they made by ancestors of current inhabitants or an earlier, vanished race?
What caused the uniform collapse of the colossi?
Is the script noted by González related to other known writing? What has been recorded in this script?
Are natives related to other Polynesians or to South Americans?
What is the diet?
What is the family structure? The current ratio of men to women?
Is or has polygamy been practiced?
It is March 1912.
Through the gray Atlantic the White Star liner steams forward. Three thick chimneys crown the boat. Just beyond the compass bridge, past the captain’s quarters, Alice and Elsa share a small wood-paneled cabin. Their new leather vanity cases rest on the dresser; on the butler table sits Pudding’s cage. The room is elegant, tidy. It is in Edward’s cabin, one door down, that they have jammed the crates of tents and saddlery and reference books. “Our equipment is rather important, and we can’t have it walloped around in the cargo bay,” he explains to any passengers who see him emerging, harried, from this maze of gear. Brushing off his jacket, he says, “We are going on an expedition.”
In fact, at any opportunity, Edward speaks of the trip. At breakfast, at tea, as he passes the sugar across the finely laid table, he says, “Did we mention that after this we are making our way to the South Pacific?” Sometimes he asks, “Do you have family in Boston?” or “Is it business that takes you to Massachusetts?” merely to await the same question, so that he can respond, “Boston is a mere starting point for us!” He converses with architects, with American steel magnates, with lonely Cambridge dowagers, displaying with strangers, notes Elsa, an ease he is unable to muster with her.
On the fifth day, when they awake to thunderclouds bruising the horizon, they retreat to the red-carpeted lounge for a game of bezique. There they are approached by an elderly man who announces that he is Andreas Lordet of Belgium, that he is an experienced traveler, that for three years he administered the famous Lemaire copper mine in the Congo, and that he intends, for a brief interval, to join them.
The man sits; he looks wearily at the rain-smeared windows. He is waiting, he says, for his wife to join him. Then slowly, meticulously, he scans them: Edward first, then Elsa, then Alice. His eyes rest a moment on Alice, intrigued by the
Cook noted in his journal: “We could hardly conceive how these islanders, wholly unacquainted with any mechanical power, could raise such stupendous figures. . . . They must have been a work of immense time, and sufficiently show the ingenuity and perseverance of the islanders in the age in which they were built; for the present inhabitants have most certainly had no hand in them, as they do not even repair the foundations of those going to decay.”
The expedition left with a small supply of sweet potatoes.
1786: Jean-François de Galaup, Comte de La Pérouse (France): Noted approximately two thousand people on the island; Frenchmen were admitted to caves and subterranean passages where women and children had been hiding; it is believed the peaceful conduct of Captain Cook allowed for this access. Attempts to introduce pigs, goats, and sheep unsuccessful.
1864: Brother Eugène Eyraud, a French Catholic missionary, settled on the island; it is believed that the majority of the population converted to Christianity. No statues were in upright position.
1877: Population: 111 (reports of a smallpox epidemic related to raids by Peruvian slavers).
1886: Visitation by George S. Cook, Surgeon, United States Navy, aboard the USS
Mohican.
1888: Annexation by Chile.
The Society wishes these questions pursued by investigators:
How were the colossal statues crafted? Transported? Were they made by ancestors of current inhabitants or an earlier, vanished race?
What caused the uniform collapse of the colossi?
Is the script noted by González related to other known writing? What has been recorded in this script?
Are natives related to other Polynesians or to South Americans?
What is the diet?
What is the family structure? The current ratio of men to women?
Is or has polygamy been practiced?
It is March 1912.
Through the gray Atlantic the White Star liner steams forward. Three thick chimneys crown the boat. Just beyond the compass bridge, past the captain’s quarters, Alice and Elsa share a small wood-paneled cabin. Their new leather vanity cases rest on the dresser; on the butler table sits Pudding’s cage. The room is elegant, tidy. It is in Edward’s cabin, one door down, that they have jammed the crates of tents and saddlery and reference books. “Our equipment is rather important, and we can’t have it walloped around in the cargo bay,” he explains to any passengers who see him emerging, harried, from this maze of gear. Brushing off his jacket, he says, “We are going on an expedition.”
In fact, at any opportunity, Edward speaks of the trip. At breakfast, at tea, as he passes the sugar across the finely laid table, he says, “Did we mention that after this we are making our way to the South Pacific?” Sometimes he asks, “Do you have family in Boston?” or “Is it business that takes you to Massachusetts?” merely to await the same question, so that he can respond, “Boston is a mere starting point for us!” He converses with architects, with American steel magnates, with lonely Cambridge dowagers, displaying with strangers, notes Elsa, an ease he is unable to muster with her.
On the fifth day, when they awake to thunderclouds bruising the horizon, they retreat to the red-carpeted lounge for a game of bezique. There they are approached by an elderly man who announces that he is Andreas Lordet of Belgium, that he is an experienced traveler, that for three years he administered the famous Lemaire copper mine in the Congo, and that he intends, for a brief interval, to join them.
The man sits; he looks wearily at the rain-smeared windows. He is waiting, he says, for his wife to join him. Then slowly, meticulously, he scans them: Edward first, then Elsa, then Alice. His eyes rest a moment on Alice, intrigued by the
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