The Great Taboo 
 
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Title: The Great Taboo 
Author: Grant Allen 
Release Date: October 26, 2004 [eBook #13876] 
Language: English 
Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 
***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GREAT 
TABOO*** 
E-text prepared by Mary Meehan and the Project Gutenberg Online 
Distributed Proofreading Team 
 
THE GREAT TABOO 
by 
GRANT ALLEN 
 
PREFACE 
I desire to express my profound indebtedness, for the central 
mythological idea embodied in this tale, to Mr. J.G. Frazer's admirable 
and epoch-making work, "The Golden Bough," whose main contention 
I have endeavored incidentally to popularize in my present story. I wish 
also to express my obligations in other ways to Mr. Andrew Lang's 
"Myth, Ritual, and Religion," Mr. H.O. Forbes's "Naturalist's 
Wanderings," and Mr. Julian Thomas's "Cannibals and Convicts." If I
have omitted to mention any other author to whom I may have owed 
incidental hints, it will be some consolation to me to reflect that I shall 
at least have afforded an opportunity for legitimate sport to the 
amateurs of the new and popular British pastime of badger-baiting or 
plagiary-hunting. It may also save critics some moments' search if I say 
at once that, after careful consideration, I have been unable to discover 
any moral whatsoever in this humble narrative. I venture to believe that 
in so enlightened an age the majority of my readers will never miss it. 
G.A. 
THE NOOK, DORKING, October, 1890. 
 
 
CHAPTER I. 
IN MID PACIFIC. 
"Man overboard!" 
It rang in Felix Thurstan's ears like the sound of a bell. He gazed about 
him in dismay, wondering what had happened. 
The first intimation he received of the accident was that sudden sharp 
cry from the bo'sun's mate. Almost before he had fully taken it in, in all 
its meaning, another voice, farther aft, took up the cry once more in an 
altered form: "A lady! a lady! Somebody overboard! Great heavens, it 
is her! It's Miss Ellis! Miss Ellis!" 
Next instant Felix found himself, he knew not how, struggling in a wild 
grapple with the dark, black water. A woman was clinging to 
him--clinging for dear life. But he couldn't have told you himself that 
minute how it all took place. He was too stunned and dazzled. 
He looked around him on the seething sea in a sudden awakening, as it 
were, to life and consciousness. All about, the great water stretched 
dark and tumultuous. White breakers surged over him. Far ahead the 
steamer's lights gleamed red and green in long lines upon the ocean. At
first they ran fast; then they slackened somewhat. She was surely 
slowing now; they must be reversing engines and trying to stop her. 
They would put out a boat. But what hope, what chance of rescue by 
night, in such a wild waste of waves as that? And Muriel Ellis was 
clinging to him for dear life all the while, with the despairing clutch of 
a half-drowned woman! 
The people on the Australasian, for their part, knew better what had 
occurred. There was bustle and confusion enough on deck and on the 
captain's bridge, to be sure: "Man overboard!"--three sharp rings at the 
engine bell:--"Stop her short!--reverse engines!--lower the gig!--look 
sharp, there, all of you!" Passengers hurried up breathless at the first 
alarm to know what was the matter. Sailors loosened and lowered the 
boat from the davits with extraordinary quickness. Officers stood by, 
giving orders in monosyllables with practised calm. All was hurry and 
turmoil, yet with a marvellous sense of order and prompt obedience as 
well. But, at any rate, the people on deck hadn't the swift swirl of the 
boisterous water, the hampering wet clothes, the pervading 
consciousness of personal danger, to make their brains reel, like Felix 
Thurstan's. They could ask one another with comparative composure 
what had happened on board; they could listen without terror to the 
story of the accident. 
It was the thirteenth day out from Sydney, and the Australasian was 
rapidly nearing the equator. Toward evening the wind had freshened, 
and the sea was running high against her weather side. But it was a fine 
starlit night, though the moon had not yet risen; and as the brief tropical 
twilight faded away by quick degrees in the west, the fringe of 
cocoanut palms on the reef that bounded the little island of Boupari 
showed out for a minute or two in dark relief, some miles to leeward, 
against the pale pink horizon. In spite of the heavy sea, many 
passengers    
    
		
	
	
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