Title: Omoo: Adventures in the South Seas
Author: Melville, Herman
Language: English
As this book started as an ASCII text book there are no pictures available.


*** Start of this LibraryBlog Digital Book "Omoo: Adventures in the South Seas" ***


Omoo

Adventures in the South Seas

by Herman Melville


Contents

 PART I
 CHAPTER I. MY RECEPTION ABOARD
 CHAPTER II. SOME ACCOUNT OF THE SHIP
 CHAPTER III. FURTHER ACCOUNT OF THE JULIA
 CHAPTER IV. A SCENE IN THE FORECASTLE
 CHAPTER V. WHAT HAPPENED AT HYTYHOO
 CHAPTER VI. WE TOUCH AT LA DOMINICA
 CHAPTER VII. WHAT HAPPENED AT HANNAMANOO
 CHAPTER VIII. THE TATTOOERS OF LA DOMINICA
 CHAPTER IX. WE STEER TO THE WESTWARD—STATE OF AFFAIRS
 CHAPTER X. A SEA-PARLOUR DESCRIBED, WITH SOME OF ITS TENANTS
 CHAPTER XI. DOCTOR LONG GHOST A WAG—ONE OF HIS CAPERS
 CHAPTER XII. DEATH AND BURIAL OF TWO OF THE CREW
 CHAPTER XIII. OUR DESTINATION CHANGED
 CHAPTER XIV. ROPE YARN
 CHAPTER XV. CHIPS AND BUNGS
 CHAPTER XVI. WE ENCOUNTER A GALE
 CHAPTER XVII. THE CORAL ISLANDS
 CHAPTER XVIII. TAHITI
 CHAPTER XIX. A SURPRISE—MORE ABOUT BEMBO
 CHAPTER XX. THE ROUND ROBIN—VISITORS FROM SHORE
 CHAPTER XXI. PROCEEDINGS OF THE CONSUL
 CHAPTER XXII. THE CONSUL’S DEPARTURE
 CHAPTER XXIII. THE SECOND NIGHT OFF PAPEETEE
 CHAPTER XXIV. OUTBREAK OF THE CREW
 CHAPTER XXV. JERMIN ENCOUNTERS AN OLD SHIPMATE
 CHAPTER XXVI. WE ENTER THE HARBOUR—JIM THE PILOT
 CHAPTER XXVII. A GLANCE AT PAPEETEE—WE ARE SENT ABOARD THE FRIGATE
 CHAPTER XXVIII. RECEPTION FROM THE FRENCHMAN
 CHAPTER XXIX. THE REINE BLANCHE
 CHAPTER XXX. THEY TAKE US ASHORE—WHAT HAPPENED THERE
 CHAPTER XXXI. THE CALABOOZA BERETANEE
 CHAPTER XXXII. PROCEEDINGS OF THE FRENCH AT TAHITI
 CHAPTER XXXIII. WE RECEIVE CALLS AT THE HOTEL DE CALABOOZA
 CHAPTER XXXIV. LIFE AT THE CALABOOZA
 CHAPTER XXXV. VISIT FROM AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE
 CHAPTER XXXVI. WE ARE CARRIED BEFORE THE CONSUL AND CAPTAIN
 CHAPTER XXXVII. THE FRENCH PRIESTS PAY THEIR RESPECTS
 CHAPTER XXXVIII. LITTLE JULIA SAILS WITHOUT US
 CHAPTER XXXIX. JERMIN SERVES US A GOOD TURN—FRIENDSHIPS IN POLYNESIA

 PART II
 CHAPTER XL. WE TAKE UNTO OURSELVES FRIENDS
 CHAPTER XLI. WE LEVY CONTRIBUTIONS ON THE SHIPPING
 CHAPTER XLII. MOTOO-OTOO A TAHITIAN CASUIST
 CHAPTER XLIII. ONE IS JUDGED BY THE COMPANY HE KEEPS
 CHAPTER XLIV. CATHEDRAL OF PAPOAR—THE CHURCH OP THE COCOA-NUTS
 CHAPTER XLV. MISSIONARY’S SERMON; WITH SOME REFLECTIONS
 CHAPTER XLVI. SOMETHING ABOUT THE KANNAKIPPERS
 CHAPTER XLVII. HOW THEY DRESS IN TAHITI
 CHAPTER XLVIII. TAHITI AS IT IS
 CHAPTER XLIX. SAME SUBJECT CONTINUED
 CHAPTER L. SOMETHING HAPPENS TO LONG GHOST
 CHAPTER LI. WILSON GIVES US THE CUT—DEPARTURE FOR IMEEO
 CHAPTER LII. THE VALLEY OF MARTAIR
 CHAPTER LIII. FARMING IN POLYNESIA
 CHAPTER LIV. SOME ACCOUNT OF THE WILD CATTLE IN POLYNESIA
 CHAPTER LV. A HUNTING RAMBLE WITH ZEKE
 CHAPTER LVI. MOSQUITOES
 CHAPTER LVII. THE SECOND HUNT IN THE MOUNTAINS
 CHAPTER LVIII. THE HUNTING-FEAST; AND A VISIT TO AFREHITOO
 CHAPTER LIX. THE MURPHIES
 CHAPTER LX. WHAT THEY THOUGHT OF US IN MARTAIR
 CHAPTER LXI. PREPARING FOR THE JOURNEY
 CHAPTER LXII. TAMAI
 CHAPTER LXIII. A DANCE IN THE VALLEY
 CHAPTER LXIV. MYSTERIOUS
 CHAPTER LXV. THE HEGIRA, OR FLIGHT
 CHAPTER LXVI. HOW WE WERE TO GET TO TALOO
 CHAPTER LXVII. THE JOURNEY ROUND THE BEACH
 CHAPTER LXVIII. A DINNER-PARTY IN IMEEO
 CHAPTER LXIX. THE COCOA-PALM
 CHAPTER LXX. LIFE AT LOOHOOLOO
 CHAPTER LXXI. WE START FOR TALOO
 CHAPTER LXXII. A DEALER IN THE CONTRABAND
 CHAPTER LXXIII. OUR RECEPTION IN PARTOOWYE
 CHAPTER LXXIV. RETIRING FOR THE NIGHT—THE DOCTOR GROWS DEVOUT
 CHAPTER LXXV. A RAMBLE THROUGH THE SETTLEMENT
 CHAPTER LXXVI. AN ISLAND JILT—WE VISIT THE SHIP
 CHAPTER LXXVII. A PARTY OF ROVERS—LITTLE LOO AND THE DOCTOR
 CHAPTER LXXVIII. MRS. BELL
 CHAPTER LXXIX. TALOO CHAPEL—HOLDING COURT IN POLYNESIA
 CHAPTER LXXX. QUEEN POMAREE
 CHAPTER LXXXI. WE VISIT THE COURT
 CHAPTER LXXXII. WHICH ENDS THE BOOK



PART I



CHAPTER I.
MY RECEPTION ABOARD


It was the middle of a bright tropical afternoon that we made good our
escape from the bay. The vessel we sought lay with her main-topsail
aback about a league from the land, and was the only object that broke
the broad expanse of the ocean.

On approaching, she turned out to be a small, slatternly-looking craft,
her hull and spars a dingy black, rigging all slack and bleached nearly
white, and everything denoting an ill state of affairs aboard. The four
boats hanging from her sides proclaimed her a whaler. Leaning
carelessly over the bulwarks were the sailors, wild, haggard-looking
fellows in Scotch caps and faded blue frocks; some of them with cheeks
of a mottled bronze, to which sickness soon changes the rich
berry-brown of a seaman’s complexion in the tropics.

On the quarter-deck was one whom I took for the chief mate. He wore a
broad-brimmed Panama hat, and his spy-glass was levelled as we
advanced.

When we came alongside, a low cry ran fore and aft the deck, and
everybody gazed at us with inquiring eyes. And well they might. To say
nothing of the savage boat’s crew, panting with excitement, all gesture
and vociferation, my own appearance was calculated to excite curiosity.
A robe of the native cloth was thrown over my shoulders, my hair and
beard were uncut, and I betrayed other evidences of my recent
adventure. Immediately on gaining the deck, they beset me on all sides
with questions, the half of which I could not answer, so incessantly
were they put.

As an instance of the curious coincidences which often befall the
sailor, I must here mention that two countenances before me were
familiar. One was that of an old man-of-war’s-man, whose acquaintance I
had made in Rio de Janeiro, at which place touched the ship in which I
sailed from home. The other was a young man whom, four years previous,
I had frequently met in a sailor boarding-house in Liverpool. I
remembered parting with him at Prince’s Dock Gates, in the midst of a
swarm of police-officers, trackmen, stevedores, beggars, and the like.
And here we were again:—years had rolled by, many a league of ocean had
been traversed, and we were thrown together under circumstances which
almost made me doubt my own existence.

But a few moments passed ere I was sent for into the cabin by the
captain.

He was quite a young man, pale and slender, more like a sickly
counting-house clerk than a bluff sea-captain. Bidding me be seated, he
ordered the steward to hand me a glass of Pisco. In the state I was,
this stimulus almost made me delirious; so that of all I then went on
to relate concerning my residence on the island I can scarcely remember
a word. After this I was asked whether I desired to “ship”; of course I
said yes; that is, if he would allow me to enter for one cruise,
engaging to discharge me, if I so desired, at the next port. In this
way men are frequently shipped on board whalemen in the South Seas. My
stipulation was acceded to, and the ship’s articles handed me to sign.

The mate was now called below, and charged to make a “well man” of me;
not, let it be borne in mind, that the captain felt any great
compassion for me, he only desired to have the benefit of my services
as soon as possible.

Helping me on deck, the mate stretched me out on the windlass and
commenced examining my limb; and then doctoring it after a fashion with
something from the medicine-chest, rolled it up in a piece of an old
sail, making so big a bundle that, with my feet resting on the
windlass, I might have been taken for a sailor with the gout. While
this was going on, someone removing my tappa cloak slipped on a blue
frock in its place, and another, actuated by the same desire to make a
civilized mortal of me, flourished about my head a great pair lie
imminent jeopardy of both ears, and the certain destruction of hair and
beard.

The day was now drawing to a close, and, as the land faded from my
sight, I was all alive to the change in my condition. But how far short
of our expectations is oftentimes the fulfilment of the most ardent
hopes. Safe aboard of a ship—so long my earnest prayer—with home and
friends once more in prospect, I nevertheless felt weighed down by a
melancholy that could not be shaken off. It was the thought of never
more seeing those who, notwithstanding their desire to retain me a
captive, had, upon the whole, treated me so kindly. I was leaving them
for ever.

So unforeseen and sudden had been my escape, so excited had I been
through it all, and so great the contrast between the luxurious repose
of the valley, and the wild noise and motion of a ship at sea, that at
times my recent adventures had all the strangeness of a dream; and I
could scarcely believe that the same sun now setting over a waste of
waters, had that very morning risen above the mountains and peered in
upon me as I lay on my mat in Typee.

Going below into the forecastle just after dark, I was inducted into a
wretched “bunk” or sleeping-box built over another. The rickety bottoms
of both were spread with several pieces of a blanket. A battered tin
can was then handed me, containing about half a pint of “tea”—so called
by courtesy, though whether the juice of such stalks as one finds
floating therein deserves that title, is a matter all shipowners must
settle with their consciences. A cube of salt beef, on a hard round
biscuit by way of platter, was also handed up; and without more ado, I
made a meal, the salt flavour of which, after the Nebuchadnezzar fare
of the valley, was positively delicious.

While thus engaged, an old sailor on a chest just under me was puffing
out volumes of tobacco smoke. My supper finished, he brushed the stem
of his sooty pipe against the sleeve of his frock, and politely waved
it toward me. The attention was sailor-like; as for the nicety of the
thing, no man who has lived in forecastles is at all fastidious; and
so, after a few vigorous whiffs to induce repose, I turned over and
tried my best to forget myself. But in vain. My crib, instead of
extending fore and aft, as it should have done, was placed athwart
ships, that is, at right angles to the keel, and the vessel, going
before the wind, rolled to such a degree, that-every time my heels went
up and my head went down, I thought I was on the point of turning a
somerset. Beside this, there were still more annoying causes of
inquietude; and every once in a while a splash of water came down the
open scuttle, and flung the spray in my face.

At last, after a sleepless night, broken twice by the merciless call of
the watch, a peep of daylight struggled into view from above, and
someone came below. It was my old friend with the pipe.

“Here, shipmate,” said I, “help me out of this place, and let me go on
deck.”

“Halloa, who’s that croaking?” was the rejoinder, as he peered into the
obscurity where I lay. “Ay, Typee, my king of the cannibals, is it you
I But I say, my lad, how’s that spar of your’n? the mate says it’s in a
devil of a way; and last night set the steward to sharpening the
handsaw: hope he won’t have the carving of ye.”

Long before daylight we arrived off the bay of Nukuheva, and making
short tacks until morning, we then ran in and sent a boat ashore with
the natives who had brought me to the ship. Upon its return, we made
sail again, and stood off from the land. There was a fine breeze; and
notwithstanding my bad night’s rest, the cool, fresh air of a morning
at sea was so bracing, mat, as soon as I breathed it, my spirits rose
at once.

Seated upon the windlass the greater portion of the day, and chatting
freely with the men, I learned the history of the voyage thus far, and
everything respecting the ship and its present condition.

These matters I will now throw together in the next chapter.



 CHAPTER II.
SOME ACCOUNT OF THE SHIP


First and foremost, I must give some account of the Julia herself; or
“Little Jule,” as the sailors familiarly styled her.

She was a small barque of a beautiful model, something more than two
hundred tons, Yankee-built and very old. Fitted for a privateer out of
a New England port during the war of 1812, she had been captured at sea
by a British cruiser, and, after seeing all sorts of service, was at
last employed as a government packet in the Australian seas. Being
condemned, however, about two years previous, she was purchased at
auction by a house in Sydney, who, after some slight repairs,
dispatched her on the present voyage.

Notwithstanding the repairs, she was still in a miserable plight. The
lower masts were said to be unsound; the standing rigging was much
worn; and, in some places, even the bulwarks were quite rotten. Still,
she was tolerably tight, and but little more than the ordinary pumping
of a morning served to keep her free.

But all this had nothing to do with her sailing; at that, brave Little
Jule, plump Little Jule, was a witch. Blow high, or blow low, she was
always ready for the breeze; and when she dashed the waves from her
prow, and pranced, and pawed the sea, you never thought of her patched
sails and blistered hull. How the fleet creature would fly before the
wind! rolling, now and then, to be sure, but in very playfulness.
Sailing to windward, no gale could bow her over: with spars erect, she
looked right up into the wind’s eye, and so she went.

But after all, Little Jule was not to be confided in. Lively enough,
and playful she was, but on that very account the more to be
distrusted. Who knew, but that like some vivacious old mortal all at
once sinking into a decline, she might, some dark night, spring a leak
and carry us all to the bottom. However, she played us no such ugly
trick, and therefore, I wrong Little Jule in supposing it.

She had a free roving commission. According to her papers she might go
whither she pleased—whaling, sealing, or anything else. Sperm whaling,
however, was what she relied upon; though, as yet, only two fish had
been brought alongside.

The day they sailed out of Sydney Heads, the ship’s company, all told,
numbered some thirty-two souls; now, they mustered about twenty; the
rest had deserted. Even the three junior mates who had headed the
whaleboats were gone: and of the four harpooners, only one was left, a
wild New Zealander, or “Mowree” as his countrymen are more commonly
called in the Pacific. But this was not all. More than half the seamen
remaining were more or less unwell from a long sojourn in a dissipated
port; some of them wholly unfit for duty, one or two dangerously ill,
and the rest managing to stand their watch though they could do but
little.

The captain was a young cockney, who, a few years before, had emigrated
to Australia, and, by some favouritism or other, had procured the
command of the vessel, though in no wise competent. He was essentially
a landsman, and though a man of education, no more meant for the sea
than a hairdresser. Hence everybody made fun of him. They called him
“The Cabin Boy,” “Paper Jack,” and half a dozen other undignified
names. In truth, the men made no secret of the derision in which they
held him; and as for the slender gentleman himself, he knew it all very
well, and bore himself with becoming meekness. Holding as little
intercourse with them as possible, he left everything to the chief
mate, who, as the story went, had been given his captain in charge.
Yet, despite his apparent unobtrusiveness, the silent captain had more
to do with the men than they thought. In short, although one of your
sheepish-looking fellows, he had a sort of still, timid cunning, which
no one would have suspected, and which, for that very reason, was all
the more active. So the bluff mate, who always thought he did what he
pleased, was occasionally made a fool of; and some obnoxious measures
which he carried out, in spite of all growlings, were little thought to
originate with the dapper little fellow in nankeen jacket and white
canvas pumps. But, to all appearance, at least, the mate had everything
his own way; indeed, in most things this was actually the case; and it
was quite plain that the captain stood in awe of him.

So far as courage, seamanship, and a natural aptitude for keeping
riotous spirits in subjection were concerned, no man was better
qualified for his vocation than John Jermin. He was the very beau-ideal
of the efficient race of short, thick-set men. His hair curled in
little rings of iron gray all over his round bullet head. As for his
countenance, it was strongly marked, deeply pitted with the small-pox.
For the rest, there was a fierce little squint out of one eye; the nose
had a rakish twist to one side; while his large mouth, and great white
teeth, looked absolutely sharkish when he laughed. In a word, no one,
after getting a fair look at him, would ever think of improving the
shape of his nose, wanting in symmetry as it was. Notwithstanding his
pugnacious looks, however, Jermin had a heart as big as a bullock’s;
that you saw at a glance.

Such was our mate; but he had one failing: he abhorred all weak
infusions, and cleaved manfully to strong drink.. At all times he was
more or less under the influence of it. Taken in moderate quantities, I
believe, in my soul, it did a man like him good; brightened his eyes,
swept the cobwebs out of his brain, and regulated his pulse. But the
worst of it was, that sometimes he drank too much, and a more
obstreperous fellow than Jermin in his cups, you seldom came across. He
was always for having a fight; but the very men he flogged loved him as
a brother, for he had such an irresistibly good-natured way of knocking
them down, that no one could find it in his heart to bear malice
against him. So much for stout little Jermin.

All English whalemen are bound by-law to carry a physician, who, of
course, is rated a gentleman, and lives in the cabin, with nothing but
his professional duties to attend to; but incidentally he drinks “flip”
and plays cards with the captain. There was such a worthy aboard of the
Julia; but, curious to tell, he lived in the forecastle with the men.
And this was the way it happened.

In the early part of the voyage the doctor and the captain lived
together as pleasantly as could be. To say nothing of many a can they
drank over the cabin transom, both of them had read books, and one of
them had travelled; so their stories never flagged. But once on a time
they got into a dispute about politics, and the doctor, moreover,
getting into a rage, drove home an argument with his fist, and left the
captain on the floor literally silenced. This was carrying it with a
high hand; so he was shut up in his state-room for ten days, and left
to meditate on bread and water, and the impropriety of flying into a
passion. Smarting under his disgrace, he undertook, a short time after
his liberation, to leave the vessel clandestinely at one of the
islands, but was brought back ignominiously, and again shut up. Being
set at large for the second time, he vowed he would not live any longer
with the captain, and went forward with his chests among the sailors,
where he was received with open arms as a good fellow and an injured
man.

I must give some further account of him, for he figures largely in the
narrative. His early history, like that of many other heroes, was
enveloped in the profoundest obscurity; though he threw out hints of a
patrimonial estate, a nabob uncle, and an unfortunate affair which sent
him a-roving. All that was known, however, was this. He had gone out to
Sydney as assistant-surgeon of an emigrant ship. On his arrival there,
he went back into the country, and after a few months’ wanderings,
returned to Sydney penniless, and entered as doctor aboard of the
Julia.

His personal appearance was remarkable. He was over six feet high—a
tower of bones, with a complexion absolutely colourless, fair hair, and
a light unscrupulous gray eye, twinkling occasionally at the very devil
of mischief. Among the crew, he went by the name of the Long Doctor, or
more frequently still, Doctor Long Ghost. And from whatever high estate
Doctor Long Ghost might have fallen, he had certainly at some time or
other spent money, drunk Burgundy, and associated with gentlemen.

As for his learning, he quoted Virgil, and talked of Hobbs of
Malmsbury, beside repeating poetry by the canto, especially Hudibras.
He was, moreover, a man who had seen the world. In the easiest way
imaginable, he could refer to an amour he had in Palermo, his
lion-hunting before breakfast among the Caffres, and the quality of the
coffee to be drunk in Muscat; and about these places, and a hundred
others, he had more anecdotes than I can tell of. Then such mellow old
songs as he sang, in a voice so round and racy, the real juice of
sound. How such notes came forth from his lank body was a constant
marvel.

Upon the whole, Long Ghost was as entertaining a companion as one could
wish; and to me in the Julia, an absolute godsend.



CHAPTER III.
FURTHER ACCOUNT OF THE JULIA


Owing to the absence of anything like regular discipline, the vessel
was in a state of the greatest uproar. The captain, having for some
time past been more or less confined to the cabin from sickness, was
seldom seen. The mate, however, was as hearty as a young lion, and ran
about the decks making himself heard at all hours. Bembo, the New
Zealand harpooner, held little intercourse with anybody but the mate,
who could talk to him freely in his own lingo. Part of his time he
spent out on the bowsprit, fishing for albicores with a bone hook; and
occasionally he waked all hands up of a dark night dancing some
cannibal fandango all by himself on the forecastle. But, upon the
whole, he was remarkably quiet, though something in his eye showed he
was far from being harmless.

Doctor Long Ghost, having sent in a written resignation as the ship’s
doctor, gave himself out as a passenger for Sydney, and took the world
quite easy. As for the crew, those who were sick seemed marvellously
contented for men in their condition; and the rest, not displeased with
the general licence, gave themselves little thought of the morrow.

The Julia’s provisions were very poor. When opened, the barrels of pork
looked as if preserved in iron rust, and diffused an odour like a stale
ragout. The beef was worse yet; a mahogany-coloured fibrous substance,
so tough and tasteless, that I almost believed the cook’s story of a
horse’s hoof with the shoe on having been fished up out of the pickle
of one of the casks. Nor was the biscuit much better; nearly all of it
was broken into hard, little gunflints, honeycombed through and
through, as if the worms usually infesting this article in long
tropical voyages had, in boring after nutriment, come out at the
antipodes without finding anything.

Of what sailors call “small stores,” we had but little. “Tea,” however,
we had in abundance; though, I dare say, the Hong merchants never had
the shipping of it. Beside this, every other day we had what English
seamen call “shot soup”—great round peas, polishing themselves like
pebbles by rolling about in tepid water.

It was afterward told me, that all our provisions had been purchased by
the owners at an auction sale of condemned navy stores in Sydney.

But notwithstanding the wateriness of the first course of soup, and the
saline flavour of the beef and pork, a sailor might have made a
satisfactory meal aboard of the Julia had there been any side dishes—a
potato or two, a yam, or a plantain. But there was nothing of the kind.
Still, there was something else, which, in the estimation of the men,
made up for all deficiencies; and that was the regular allowance of
Pisco.

It may seem strange that in such a state of affairs the captain should
be willing to keep the sea with his ship. But the truth was, that by
lying in harbour, he ran the risk of losing the remainder of his men by
desertion; and as it was, he still feared that, in some outlandish bay
or other, he might one day find his anchor down, and no crew to weigh
it.

With judicious officers the most unruly seamen can at sea be kept in
some sort of subjection; but once get them within a cable’s length of
the land, and it is hard restraining them. It is for this reason that
many South Sea whalemen do not come to anchor for eighteen or twenty
months on a stretch. When fresh provisions are needed, they run for the
nearest land—heave to eight or ten miles off, and send a boat ashore to
trade. The crews manning vessels like these are for the most part
villains of all nations and dyes; picked up in the lawless ports of the
Spanish Main, and among the savages of the islands. Like galley-slaves,
they are only to be governed by scourges and chains. Their officers go
among them with dirk and pistol—concealed, but ready at a grasp.

Not a few of our own crew were men of this stamp; but, riotous at times
as they were, the bluff drunken energies of Jennin were just the thing
to hold them in some sort of noisy subjection. Upon an emergency, he
flew in among them, showering his kicks and cuffs right and left, and
“creating a sensation” in every direction. And as hinted before, they
bore this knock-down authority with great good-humour. A sober,
discreet, dignified officer could have done nothing with them; such a
set would have thrown him and his dignity overboard.

Matters being thus, there was nothing for the ship but to keep the sea.
Nor was the captain without hope that the invalid portion of his crew,
as well as himself, would soon recover; and then there was no telling
what luck in the fishery might yet be in store for us. At any rate, at
the time of my coming aboard, the report was, that Captain Guy was
resolved upon retrieving the past and filling the vessel with oil in
the shortest space possible.

With this intention, we were now shaping our course for Hytyhoo, a
village on the island of St. Christina—one of the Marquesas, and so
named by Mendanna—for the purpose of obtaining eight seamen, who, some
weeks before, had stepped ashore there from the Julia. It was supposed
that, by this time, they must have recreated themselves sufficiently,
and would be glad to return to their duty.

So to Hytyhoo, with all our canvas spread, and coquetting with the
warm, breezy Trades, we bowled along; gliding up and down the long,
slow swells, the bonettas and albicores frolicking round us.



CHAPTER IV.
A SCENE IN THE FORECASTLE


I had scarcely been aboard of the ship twenty-four hours, when a
circumstance occurred, which, although noways picturesque, is so
significant of the state of affairs that I cannot forbear relating it.

In the first place, however, it must be known, that among the crew was
a man so excessively ugly, that he went by the ironical appellation of
“Beauty.” He was the ship’s carpenter; and for that reason was
sometimes known by his nautical cognomen of “Chips.” There was no
absolute deformity about the man; he was symmetrically ugly. But ill
favoured as he was in person, Beauty was none the less ugly in temper;
but no one could blame him; his countenance had soured his heart. Now
Jermin and Beauty were always at swords’ points. The truth was, the
latter was the only man in the ship whom the mate had never decidedly
got the better of; and hence the grudge he bore him. As for Beauty, he
prided himself upon talking up to the mate, as we shall soon see.

Toward evening there was something to be done on deck, and the
carpenter who belonged to the watch was missing. “Where’s that skulk,
Chips?” shouted Jermin down the forecastle scuttle.

“Taking his ease, d’ye see, down here on a chest, if you want to know,”
replied that worthy himself, quietly withdrawing his pipe from his
mouth. This insolence flung the fiery little mate into a mighty rage;
but Beauty said nothing, puffing away with all the tranquillity
imaginable. Here it must be remembered that, never mind what may be the
provocation, no prudent officer ever dreams of entering a ship’s
forecastle on a hostile visit. If he wants to see anybody who happens
to be there, and refuses to come up, why he must wait patiently until
the sailor is willing. The reason is this. The place is very dark: and
nothing is easier than to knock one descending on the head, before he
knows where he is, and a very long while before he ever finds out who
did it.

Nobody knew this better than Jermin, and so he contented himself with
looking down the scuttle and storming. At last Beauty made some cool
observation which set him half wild.

“Tumble on deck,” he then bellowed—“come, up with you, or I’ll jump
down and make you.” The carpenter begged him to go about it at once.

No sooner said than done: prudence forgotten, Jermin was there; and by
a sort of instinct, had his man by the throat before he could well see
him. One of the men now made a rush at him, but the rest dragged him
off, protesting that they should have fair play.

“Now come on deck,” shouted the mate, struggling like a good fellow to
hold the carpenter fast.

“Take me there,” was the dogged answer, and Beauty wriggled about in
the nervous grasp of the other like a couple of yards of
boa-constrictor.

His assailant now undertook to make him up into a compact bundle, the
more easily to transport him. While thus occupied, Beauty got his arms
loose, and threw him over backward. But Jermin quickly recovered
himself, when for a time they had it every way, dragging each other
about, bumping their heads against the projecting beams, and returning
each other’s blows the first favourable opportunity that offered.
Unfortunately, Jermin at last slipped and fell; his foe seating himself
on his chest, and keeping him down. Now this was one of those
situations in which the voice of counsel, or reproof, comes with
peculiar unction. Nor did Beauty let the opportunity slip. But the mate
said nothing in reply, only foaming at the mouth and struggling to
rise.

Just then a thin tremor of a voice was heard from above. It was the
captain; who, happening to ascend to the quarter-deck at the
commencement of the scuffle, would gladly have returned to the cabin,
but was prevented by the fear of ridicule. As the din increased, and it
became evident that his officer was in serious trouble, he thought it
would never do to stand leaning over the bulwarks, so he made his
appearance on the forecastle, resolved, as his best policy, to treat
the matter lightly.

“Why, why,” he begun, speaking pettishly, and very fast, “what’s all
this about?—Mr. Jermin, Mr. Jermin—carpenter, carpenter; what are you
doing down there? Come on deck; come on deck.”

Whereupon Doctor Long Ghost cries out in a squeak, “Ah! Miss Guy, is
that you? Now, my dear, go right home, or you’ll get hurt.”

“Pooh, pooh! you, sir, whoever you are, I was not speaking to you; none
of your nonsense. Mr. Jermin, I was talking to you; have the kindness
to come on deck, sir; I want to see you.”

“And how, in the devil’s name, am I to get there?” cried the mate,
furiously. “Jump down here, Captain Guy, and show yourself a man. Let
me up, you Chips! unhand me, I say! Oh! I’ll pay you for this, some
day! Come on, Captain Guy!”

At this appeal, the poor man was seized with a perfect spasm of
fidgets. “Pooh, pooh, carpenter; have done with your nonsense! Let him
up, sir; let him up! Do you hear? Let Mr. Jermm come on deck!”

“Go along with you, Paper Jack,” replied Beauty; “this quarrel’s
between the mate and me; so go aft, where you belong!”

As the captain once more dipped his head down the scuttle to make
answer, from an unseen hand he received, full in the face, the contents
of a tin can of soaked biscuit and tea-leaves. The doctor was not far
off just then. Without waiting for anything more, the discomfited
gentleman, with both hands to his streaming face, retreated to the
quarter-deck.

A few moments more, and Jermin, forced to a compromise, followed after,
in his torn frock and scarred face, looking for all the world as if he
had just disentangled himself from some intricate piece of machinery.
For about half an hour both remained in the cabin, where the mate’s
rough tones were heard high above the low, smooth voice of the captain.

Of all his conflicts with the men, this was the first in which Jermin
had been worsted; and he was proportionably enraged. Upon going
below—as the steward afterward told us—he bluntly informed Guy that,
for the future, he might look out for his ship himself; for his part,
he had done with her, if that was the way he allowed his officers to be
treated. After many high words, the captain finally assured him that,
the first fitting opportunity, the carpenter should be cordially
flogged; though, as matters stood, the experiment would be a hazardous
one. Upon this Jermin reluctantly consented to drop the matter for the
present; and he soon drowned all thoughts of it in a can of flip, which
Guy had previously instructed the steward to prepare, as a sop to allay
his wrath.

Nothing more ever came of this.



CHAPTER V.
WHAT HAPPENED AT HYTYHOO


Less than forty-eight hours after leaving Nukuheva, the blue, looming
island of St. Christina greeted us from afar. Drawing near the shore,
the grim, black spars and waspish hull of a small man-of-war craft
crept into view; the masts and yards lined distinctly against the sky.
She was riding to her anchor in the bay, and proved to be a French
corvette.

This pleased our captain exceedingly, and, coming on deck, he examined
her from the mizzen rigging with his glass. His original intention was
not to let go an anchor; but, counting upon the assistance of the
corvette in case of any difficulty, he now changed his mind, and
anchored alongside of her. As soon as a boat could be lowered, he then
went off to pay his respects to the commander, and, moreover, as we
supposed, to concert measures for the apprehension of the runaways.

Returning in the course of twenty minutes, he brought along with him
two officers in undress and whiskers, and three or four drunken
obstreperous old chiefs; one with his legs thrust into the armholes of
a scarlet vest, another with a pair of spurs on his heels, and a third
in a cocked hat and feather. In addition to these articles, they merely
wore the ordinary costume of their race—a slip of native cloth about
the loins. Indecorous as their behaviour was, these worthies turned out
to be a deputation from the reverend the clergy of the island; and the
object of their visit was to put our ship under a rigorous “Taboo,” to
prevent the disorderly scenes and facilities for desertion which would
ensue, were the natives—men and women—allowed to come off to us freely.

There was little ceremony about the matter. The priests went aside for
a moment, laid their shaven old crowns together, and went over a little
mummery. Whereupon, their leader tore a long strip from his girdle of
white tappa, and handed it to one of the French officers, who, after
explaining what was to be done, gave it to Jermin. The mate at once
went out to the end of the flying jib boom, and fastened there the
mystic symbol of the ban. This put to flight a party of girls who had
been observed swimming toward us. Tossing their arms about, and
splashing the water like porpoises, with loud cries of “taboo! taboo!”
they turned about and made for the shore.

The night of our arrival, the mate and the Mowree were to stand “watch
and watch,” relieving each other every four hours; the crew, as is
sometimes customary when lying at an anchor, being allowed to remain
all night below. A distrust of the men, however, was, in the present
instance, the principal reason for this proceeding. Indeed, it was all
but certain, that some kind of attempt would be made at desertion; and
therefore, when Jermin’s first watch came on at eight bells
(midnight)—by which time all was quiet—he mounted to the deck with a
flask of spirits in one hand, and the other in readiness to assail the
first countenance that showed itself above the forecastle scuttle.

Thus prepared, he doubtless meant to stay awake; but for all that, he
before long fell asleep; and slept with such hearty good-will too, that
the men who left us that night might have been waked up by his snoring.
Certain it was, the mate snored most strangely; and no wonder, with
that crooked bugle of his. When he came to himself it was just dawn,
but quite light enough to show two boats gone from the side. In an
instant he knew what had happened.

Dragging the Mowree out of an old sail where he was napping, he ordered
him to clear away another boat, and then darted into the cabin to tell
the captain the news. Springing on deck again, he drove down into the
forecastle for a couple of oarsmen, but hardly got there before there
was a cry, and a loud splash heard over the side. It was the Mowree and
the boat—into which he had just leaped to get ready for
lowering—rolling over and over in the water.

The boat having at nightfall been hoisted up to its place over the
starboard quarter, someone had so cut the tackles which held it there,
that a moderate strain would at once part them. Bembo’s weight had
answered the purpose, showing that the deserters must have ascertained
his specific gravity to a fibre of hemp. There was another boat
remaining; but it was as well to examine it before attempting to lower.
And it was well they did; for there was a hole in the bottom large
enough to drop a barrel through: she had been scuttled most ruthlessly.

Jermin was frantic. Dashing his hat upon deck, he was about to plunge
overboard and swim to the corvette for a cutter, when Captain Guy made
his appearance and begged him to stay where he was. By this time the
officer of the deck aboard the Frenchman had noticed our movements, and
hailed to know what had happened. Guy informed him through his trumpet,
and men to go in pursuit were instantly promised. There was a whistling
of a boatswain’s pipe, an order or two, and then a large cutter pulled
out from the man-of-war’s stern, and in half a dozen strokes was
alongside. The mate leaped into her, and they pulled rapidly ashore.

Another cutter, carrying an armed crew, soon followed.

In an hour’s time the first returned, towing the two whale-boats, which
had been found turned up like tortoises on the beach.

Noon came, and nothing more was heard from the deserters. Meanwhile
Doctor Long Ghost and myself lounged about, cultivating an
acquaintance, and gazing upon the shore scenery. The bay was as calm as
death; the sun high and hot; and occasionally a still gliding canoe
stole out from behind the headlands, and shot across the water.

And all the morning long our sick men limped about the deck, casting
wistful glances inland, where the palm-trees waved and beckoned them
into their reviving shades. Poor invalid rascals! How conducive to the
restoration of their shattered health would have been those delicious
groves! But hard-hearted Jermin assured them, with an oath, that foot
of theirs should never touch the beach.

Toward sunset a crowd was seen coming down to the water. In advance of
all were the fugitives—bareheaded—their frocks and trousers hanging in
tatters, every face covered with blood and dust, and their arms
pinioned behind them with green thongs. Following them up, was a
shouting rabble of islanders, pricking them with the points of their
long spears, the party from the corvette menacing them in flank with
their naked cutlasses.

The bonus of a musket to the King of the Bay, and the promise of a
tumblerful of powder for every man caught, had set the whole population
on their track; and so successful was the hunt, that not only were that
morning’s deserters brought back, but five of those left behind on a
former visit. The natives, however, were the mere hounds of the chase,
raising the game in their coverts, but leaving the securing of it to
the Frenchmen. Here, as elsewhere, the islanders have no idea of taking
part in such a scuffle as ensues upon the capture of a party of
desperate seamen.

The runaways were at once brought aboard, and, though they looked
rather sulky, soon came round, and treated the whole affair as a
frolicsome adventure.



CHAPTER VI.
WE TOUCH AT LA DOMINICA


Fearful of spending another night at Hytyhoo, Captain Guy caused the
ship to be got under way shortly after dark.

The next morning, when all supposed that we were fairly embarked for a
long cruise, our course was suddenly altered for La Dominica, or
Hivarhoo, an island just north of the one we had quitted. The object of
this, as we learned, was to procure, if possible, several English
sailors, who, according to the commander of the corvette, had recently
gone ashore there from an American whaler, and were desirous of
shipping aboard one of their own country vessels.

We made the land in the afternoon, coming abreast of a shady glen
opening from a deep bay, and winding by green denies far out of sight.
“Hands by the weather-main-brace!” roared the mate, jumping up on the
bulwarks; and in a moment the prancing Julia, suddenly arrested in her
course, bridled her head like a steed reined in, while the foam flaked
under her bows.

This was the place where we expected to obtain the men; so a boat was
at once got in readiness to go ashore. Now it was necessary to provide
a picked crew—men the least likely to abscond. After considerable
deliberation on the part of the captain and mate, four of the seamen
were pitched upon as the most trustworthy; or rather they were selected
from a choice assortment of suspicious characters as being of an
inferior order of rascality.

Armed with cutlasses all round—the natives were said to be an ugly
set—they were followed over the side by the invalid captain, who, on
this occasion, it seems, was determined to signalize himself.
Accordingly, in addition to his cutlass, he wore an old boarding belt,
in which was thrust a brace of pistols. They at once shoved off.

My friend Long Ghost had, among other things which looked somewhat
strange in a ship’s forecastle, a capital spy-glass, and on the present
occasion we had it in use.

When the boat neared the head of the inlet, though invisible to the
naked eye, it was plainly revealed by the glass; looking no bigger than
an egg-shell, and the men diminished to pigmies.

At last, borne on what seemed a long flake of foam, the tiny craft shot
up the beach amid a shower of sparkles. Not a soul was there. Leaving
one of their number by the water, the rest of the pigmies stepped
ashore, looking about them very circumspectly, pausing now and then
hand to ear, and peering under a dense grove which swept down within a
few paces of the sea. No one came, and to all appearances everything
was as still as the grave. Presently he with the pistols, followed by
the rest flourishing their bodkins, entered the wood and were soon lost
to view. They did not stay long; probably anticipating some
inhospitable ambush were they to stray any distance up the glen.

In a few moments they embarked again, and were soon riding pertly over
the waves of the bay. All of a sudden the captain started to his
feet—the boat spun round, and again made for the shore. Some twenty or
thirty natives armed with spears which through the glass looked like
reeds, had just come out of the grove, and were apparently shouting to
the strangers not to be in such a hurry, but return and be sociable.
But they were somewhat distrusted, for the boat paused about its length
from the beach, when the captain standing up in its head delivered an
address in pantomime, the object of which seemed to be, that the
islanders should draw near. One of them stepped forward and made
answer, seemingly again urging the strangers not to be diffident, but
beach their boat. The captain declined, tossing his arms about in
another pantomime. In the end he said something which made them shake
their spears; whereupon he fired a pistol among them, which set the
whole party running; while one poor little fellow, dropping his spear
and clapping his hand behind him, limped away in a manner which almost
made me itch to get a shot at his assailant.

Wanton acts of cruelty like this are not unusual on the part of sea
captains landing at islands comparatively unknown. Even at the Pomotu
group, but a day’s sail from Tahiti, the islanders coming down to the
shore have several times been fired at by trading schooners passing
through their narrow channels; and this too as a mere amusement on the
part of the ruffians.

Indeed, it is almost incredible, the light in which many sailors regard
these naked heathens. They hardly consider them human. But it is a
curious fact, that the more ignorant and degraded men are, the more
contemptuously they look upon those whom they deem their inferiors.

All powers of persuasion being thus lost upon these foolish savages,
and no hope left of holding further intercourse, the boat returned to
the ship.



CHAPTER VII.
WHAT HAPPENED AT HANNAMANOO


On the other side of the island was the large and populous bay of
Hannamanoo, where the men sought might yet be found. But as the sun was
setting by the time the boat came alongside, we got our offshore tacks
aboard and stood away for an offing. About daybreak we wore, and ran
in, and by the time the sun was well up, entered the long, narrow
channel dividing the islands of La Dominica and St. Christina.

On one hand was a range of steep green bluffs hundreds of feet high,
the white huts of the natives here and there nestling like birds’ nests
in deep clefts gushing with verdure. Across the water, the land rolled
away in bright hillsides, so warm and undulating that they seemed
almost to palpitate in the sun. On we swept, past bluff and grove,
wooded glen and valley, and dark ravines lighted up far inland with
wild falls of water. A fresh land-breeze filled our sails, the embayed
waters were gentle as a lake, and every wave broke with a tinkle
against our coppered prow.

On gaining the end of the channel we rounded a point, and came full
upon the bay of Hannamanoo. This is the only harbour of any note about
the island, though as far as a safe anchorage is concerned it hardly
deserves the title.

Before we held any communication with the shore, an incident occurred
which may convey some further idea of the character of our crew.

Having approached as near the land as we could prudently, our headway
was stopped, and we awaited the arrival of a canoe which was coming out
of the bay. All at once we got into a strong current, which swept us
rapidly toward a rocky promontory forming one side of the harbour. The
wind had died away; so two boats were at once lowered for the purpose
of pulling the ship’s head round. Before this could be done, the eddies
were whirling upon all sides, and the rock so near that it seemed as if
one might leap upon it from the masthead. Notwithstanding the
speechless fright of the captain, and the hoarse shouts of the
unappalled Jennin, the men handled the ropes as deliberately as
possible, some of them chuckling at the prospect of going ashore, and
others so eager for the vessel to strike, that they could hardly
contain themselves. Unexpectedly a countercurrent befriended us, and
assisted by the boats we were soon out of danger.

What a disappointment for our crew! All their little plans for swimming
ashore from the wreck, and having a fine time of it for the rest of
their days, thus cruelly nipped in the bud.

Soon after, the canoe came alongside. In it were eight or ten natives,
comely, vivacious-looking youths, all gesture and exclamation; the red
feathers in their head-bands perpetually nodding. With them also came a
stranger, a renegade from Christendom and humanity—a white man, in the
South Sea girdle, and tattooed in the face. A broad blue band stretched
across his face from ear to ear, and on his forehead was the taper
figure of a blue shark, nothing but fins from head to tail.

Some of us gazed upon this man with a feeling akin to horror, no ways
abated when informed that he had voluntarily submitted to this
embellishment of his countenance. What an impress! Far worse than
Cain’s—his was perhaps a wrinkle, or a freckle, which some of our
modern cosmetics might have effaced; but the blue shark was a mark
indelible, which all the waters of Abana and Pharpar, rivers of
Damascus, could never wash out. He was an Englishman, Lem Hardy he
called himself, who had deserted from a trading brig touching at the
island for wood and water some ten years previous. He had gone ashore
as a sovereign power armed with a musket and a bag of ammunition, and
ready if need were, to prosecute war on his own account. The country
was divided by the hostile kings of several large valleys. With one of
them, from whom he first received overtures, he formed an alliance, and
became what he now was, the military leader of the tribe, and war-god
of the entire island.

His campaigns beat Napoleon’s. In one night attack, his invincible
musket, backed by the light infantry of spears and javelins, vanquished
two clans, and the next morning brought all the others to the feet of
his royal ally.

Nor was the rise of his domestic fortunes at all behind the Corsican’s:
three days after landing, the exquisitely tattooed hand of a princess
was his; receiving along with the damsel as her portion, one thousand
fathoms of fine tappa, fifty double-braided mats of split grass, four
hundred hogs, ten houses in different parts of her native valley, and
the sacred protection of an express edict of the Taboo, declaring his
person inviolable for ever.

Now, this man was settled for life, perfectly satisfied with his
circumstances, and feeling no desire to return to his friends.

“Friends,” indeed, he had none. He told me his history. Thrown upon the
world a foundling, his paternal origin was as much a mystery to him as
the genealogy of Odin; and, scorned by everybody, he fled the parish
workhouse when a boy, and launched upon the sea. He had followed it for
several years, a dog before the mast, and now he had thrown it up for
ever.

And for the most part, it is just this sort of men—so many of whom are
found among sailors—uncared for by a single soul, without ties,
reckless, and impatient of the restraints of civilization, who are
occasionally found quite at home upon the savage islands of the
Pacific. And, glancing at their hard lot in their own country, what
marvel at their choice?

According to the renegado, there was no other white man on the island;
and as the captain could have no reason to suppose that Hardy intended
to deceive us, he concluded that the Frenchmen were in some way or
other mistaken in what they had told us. However, when our errand was
made known to the rest of our visitors, one of them, a fine, stalwart
fellow, his face all eyes and expression, volunteered for a cruise. All
the wages he asked was a red shirt, a pair of trousers, and a hat,
which were to be put on there and then; besides a plug of tobacco and a
pipe. The bargain was struck directly; but Wymontoo afterward came in
with a codicil, to the effect that a friend of his, who had come along
with him, should be given ten whole sea-biscuits, without crack or
flaw, twenty perfectly new and symmetrically straight nails, and one
jack-knife. This being agreed to, the articles were at once handed
over; the native receiving them with great avidity, and in the absence
of clothing, using his mouth as a pocket to put the nails in. Two of
them, however, were first made to take the place of a pair of
ear-ornaments, curiously fashioned out of bits of whitened wood.

It now began breezing strongly from seaward, and no time was to be lost
in getting away from the land; so after an affecting rubbing of noses
between our new shipmate and his countrymen, we sailed away with him.

To our surprise, the farewell shouts from the canoe, as we dashed along
under bellied royals, were heard unmoved by our islander; but it was
not long thus. That very evening, when the dark blue of his native
hills sunk in the horizon, the poor savage leaned over the bulwarks,
dropped his head upon his chest, and gave way to irrepressible
emotions. The ship was plunging hard, and Wymontoo, sad to tell, in
addition to his other pangs, was terribly sea-sick.



CHAPTER VIII.
THE TATTOOERS OF LA DOMINICA


For a while leaving Little Jule to sail away by herself, I will here
put down some curious information obtained from Hardy.

The renegado had lived so long on the island that its customs were
quite familiar; and I much lamented that, from the shortness of our
stay, he could not tell us more than he did.

From the little intelligence gathered, however, I learned to my
surprise that, in some things, the people of Hivarhoo, though of the
same group of islands, differed considerably from my tropical friends
in the valley of Typee.

As his tattooing attracted so much remark, Hardy had a good deal to say
concerning the manner in which that art was practised upon the island.

Throughout the entire cluster the tattooers of Hivarhoo enjoyed no
small reputation. They had carried their art to the highest perfection,
and the profession was esteemed most honourable. No wonder, then, that
like genteel tailors, they rated their services very high; so much so
that none but those belonging to the higher classes could afford to
employ them. So true was this, that the elegance of one’s tattooing was
in most cases a sure indication of birth and riches.

Professors in large practice lived in spacious houses, divided by
screens of tappa into numerous little apartments, where subjects were
waited upon in private. The arrangement chiefly grew out of a singular
ordinance of the Taboo, which enjoined the strictest privacy upon all
men, high and low, while under the hands of a tattooer. For the time,
the slightest intercourse with others is prohibited, and the small
portion of food allowed is pushed under the curtain by an unseen hand.
The restriction with regard to food, is intended to reduce the blood,
so as to diminish the inflammation consequent upon puncturing the skin.
As it is, this comes on very soon, and takes some time to heal; so that
the period of seclusion generally embraces many days, sometimes several
weeks.

All traces of soreness vanished, the subject goes abroad; but only
again to return; for, on account of the pain, only a small surface can
be operated upon at once; and as the whole body is to be more or less
embellished by a process so slow, the studios alluded to are constantly
filled. Indeed, with a vanity elsewhere unheard of, many spend no small
portion of their days thus sitting to an artist.

To begin the work, the period of adolescence is esteemed the most
suitable. After casting about for some eminent tattooer, the friends of
the youth take him to his house to have the outlines of the general
plan laid out. It behoves the professor to have a nice eye, for a suit
to be worn for life should be well cut.

Some tattooers, yearning after perfection, employ, at large wages, one
or two men of the commonest order—vile fellows, utterly regardless of
appearances, upon whom they first try their patterns and practise
generally. Their backs remorselessly scrawled over, and no more canvas
remaining, they are dismissed and ever after go about, the scorn of
their countrymen.

Hapless wights! thus martyred in the cause of the Fine Arts.

Beside the regular practitioners, there are a parcel of shabby,
itinerant tattooers, who, by virtue of their calling, stroll unmolested
from one hostile bay to another, doing their work dog-cheap for the
multitude. They always repair to the various religious festivals, which
gather great crowds. When these are concluded, and the places where
they are held vacated even by the tattooers, scores of little tents of
coarse tappa are left standing, each with a solitary inmate, who,
forbidden to talk to his unseen neighbours, is obliged to stay there
till completely healed. The itinerants are a reproach to their
profession, mere cobblers, dealing in nothing but jagged lines and
clumsy patches, and utterly incapable of soaring to those heights of
fancy attained by the gentlemen of the faculty.

All professors of the arts love to fraternize; and so, in Hannamanoo,
the tattooers came together in the chapters of their worshipful order.
In this society, duly organized, and conferring degrees, Hardy, from
his influence as a white, was a sort of honorary Grand Master. The blue
shark, and a sort of Urim and Thummim engraven upon his chest, were the
seal of his initiation. All over Hivarhoo are established these orders
of tattooers. The way in which the renegado’s came to be founded is
this. A year or two after his landing there happened to be a season of
scarcity, owing to the partial failure of the breadfruit harvest for
several consecutive seasons. This brought about such a falling off in
the number of subjects for tattooing that the profession became quite
needy. The royal ally of Hardy, however, hit upon a benevolent
expedient to provide for their wants, at the same time conferring a
boon upon many of his subjects.

By sound of conch-shell it was proclaimed before the palace, on the
beach, and at the head of the valley, that Noomai, King of Hannamanoo,
and friend of Hardee-Hardee, the white, kept open heart and table for
all tattooers whatsoever; but to entitle themselves to this
hospitality, they were commanded to practise without fee upon the
meanest native soliciting their services.

Numbers at once flocked to the royal abode, both artists and sitters.
It was a famous time; and the buildings of the palace being “taboo” to
all but the tattooers and chiefs, the sitters bivouacked on the common,
and formed an extensive encampment.

The “Lora Tattoo,” or the Time of Tattooing, will be long remembered.
An enthusiastic sitter celebrated the event in verse. Several lines
were repeated to us by Hardy, some of which, in a sort of colloquial
chant he translated nearly thus:

“Where is that sound?
In Hannamanoo.
And wherefore that sound?
The sound of a hundred hammers,
Tapping, tapping, tapping
The shark teeth.”

“Where is that light?
Round about the king’s house,
And the small laughter?
The small, merry laughter it is
Of the sons and daughters of the tattooed.”



CHAPTER IX.
WE STEER TO THE WESTWARD—STATE OF AFFAIRS


The night we left Hannamanoo was bright and starry, and so warm that,
when the watches were relieved, most of the men, instead of going
below, flung themselves around the foremast.

Toward morning, finding the heat of the forecastle unpleasant, I
ascended to the deck where everything was noiseless. The Trades were
blowing with a mild, steady strain upon the canvas, and the ship
heading right out into the immense blank of the Western Pacific. The
watch were asleep. With one foot resting on the rudder, even the man at
the helm nodded, and the mate himself, with arms folded, was leaning
against the capstan.

On such a night, and all alone, reverie was inevitable. I leaned over
the side, and could not help thinking of the strange objects we might
be sailing over.

But my meditations were soon interrupted by a gray, spectral shadow
cast over the heaving billows. It was the dawn, soon followed by the
first rays of the morning. They flashed into view at one end of the
arched night, like—to compare great things with small—the gleamings of
Guy Fawkes’s lantern in the vaults of the Parliament House. Before
long, what seemed a live ember rested for a moment on the rim of the
ocean, and at last the blood-red sun stood full and round in the level
East, and the long sea-day began.

Breakfast over, the first thing attended to was the formal baptism of
Wymontoo, who, after thinking over his affairs during the night, looked
dismal enough.

There were various opinions as to a suitable appellation. Some
maintained that we ought to call him “Sunday,” that being the day we
caught him; others, “Eighteen Forty-two,” the then year of our Lord;
while Doctor Long Ghost remarked that he ought, by all means, to retain
his original name,—Wymontoo-Hee, meaning (as he maintained), in the
figurative language of the island, something analogous to one who had
got himself into a scrape. The mate put an end to the discussion by
sousing the poor fellow with a bucket of salt water, and bestowing upon
him the nautical appellation of “Luff.”

Though a certain mirthfulness succeeded his first pangs at leaving
home, Wymontoo—we will call him thus—gradually relapsed into his former
mood, and became very melancholy. Often I noticed him crouching apart
in the forecastle, his strange eyes gleaming restlessly, and watching
the slightest movement of the men. Many a time he must have been
thinking of his bamboo hut, when they were talking of Sydney and its
dance-houses.

We were now fairly at sea, though to what particular cruising-ground we
were going, no one knew; and, to all appearances, few cared. The men,
after a fashion of their own, began to settle down into the routine of
sea-life, as if everything was going on prosperously. Blown along over
a smooth sea, there was nothing to do but steer the ship, and relieve
the “look-outs” at the mast-heads. As for the sick, they had two or
three more added to their number—the air of the island having disagreed
with the constitutions of several of the runaways. To crown all, the
captain again relapsed, and became quite ill.

The men fit for duty were divided into two small watches, headed
respectively by the mate and the Mowree; the latter by virtue of his
being a harpooner, succeeding to the place of the second mate, who had
absconded.

In this state of things whaling was out of the question; but in the
face of everything, Jermin maintained that the invalids would soon be
well. However that might be, with the same pale Hue sky overhead, we
kept running steadily to the westward. Forever advancing, we seemed
always in the same place, and every day was the former lived over
again. We saw no ships, expected to see none. No sign of life was
perceptible but the porpoises and other fish sporting under the bows
like pups ashore. But, at intervals, the gray albatross, peculiar to
these seas, came flapping his immense wings over us, and then skimmed
away silently as if from a plague-ship. Or flights of the tropic bird,
known among seamen as the “boatswain,” wheeled round and round us,
whistling shrilly as they flew.

The uncertainty hanging over our destination at this time, and the fact
that we were abroad upon waters comparatively little traversed, lent an
interest to this portion of the cruise which I shall never forget.

From obvious prudential considerations the Pacific has been principally
sailed over in known tracts, and this is the reason why new islands are
still occasionally discovered by exploring ships and adventurous
whalers notwithstanding the great number of vessels of all kinds of
late navigating this vast ocean. Indeed, considerable portions still
remain wholly unexplored; and there is doubt as to the actual existence
of certain shoals, and reefs, and small clusters of islands vaguely
laid down in the charts. The mere circumstance, therefore, of a ship
like ours penetrating into these regions, was sufficient to cause any
reflecting mind to feel at least a little uneasy. For my own part, the
many stories I had heard of ships striking at midnight upon unknown
rocks, with all sail set, and a slumbering crew, often recurred to me,
especially, as from the absence of discipline, and our being so
shorthanded, the watches at night were careless in the extreme.

But no thoughts like these were entertained by my reckless shipmates;
and along we went, the sun every evening setting right ahead of our jib
boom.

For what reason the mate was so reserved with regard to our precise
destination was never made known. The stories he told us, I, for one,
did not believe; deeming them all a mere device to lull the crew.

He said we were bound to a fine cruising ground, scarcely known to
other whalemen, which he had himself discovered when commanding a small
brig upon a former voyage. Here, the sea was alive with large whales,
so tame that all you had to do was to go up and kill them: they were
too frightened to resist. A little to leeward of this was a small
cluster of islands, where we were going to refit, abounding with
delicious fruits, and peopled by a race almost wholly unsophisticated
by intercourse with strangers.

In order, perhaps, to guard against the possibility of anyone finding
out the precise latitude and longitude of the spot we were going to,
Jermin never revealed to us the ship’s place at noon, though such is
the custom aboard of most vessels.

Meanwhile, he was very assiduous in his attention to the invalids.
Doctor Long Ghost having given up the keys of the medicine-chest, they
were handed over to him; and, as physician, he discharged his duties to
the satisfaction of all. Pills and powders, in most cases, were thrown
to the fish, and in place thereof, the contents of a mysterious little
quarter cask were produced, diluted with water from the “butt.” His
draughts were mixed on the capstan, in cocoa-nut shells marked with the
patients’ names. Like shore doctors, he did not eschew his own
medicines, for his professional calls in the forecastle were sometimes
made when he was comfortably tipsy: nor did he omit keeping his
invalids in good-humour, spinning his yarns to them, by the hour,
whenever he went to see them.

Owing to my lameness, from which I soon began to recover, I did no
active duty, except standing an occasional “trick” at the helm. It was
in the forecastle chiefly, that I spent my time, in company with the
Long Doctor, who was at great pains to make himself agreeable. His
books, though sadly torn and tattered, were an invaluable resource. I
read them through again and again, including a learned treatise on the
yellow fever. In addition to these, he had an old file of Sydney
papers, and I soon became intimately acquainted with the localities of
all the advertising tradesmen there. In particular, the rhetorical
flourishes of Stubbs, the real-estate auctioneer, diverted me
exceedingly, and I set him down as no other than a pupil of Robins the
Londoner.

Aside from the pleasure of his society, my intimacy with Long Ghost was
of great service to me in other respects. His disgrace in the cabin
only confirmed the good-will of the democracy in the forecastle; and
they not only treated him in the most friendly manner, but looked up to
him with the utmost deference, besides laughing heartily at all his
jokes. As his chosen associate, this feeling for him extended to me,
and gradually we came to be regarded in the light of distinguished
guests. At meal-times we were always first served, and otherwise were
treated with much respect.

Among other devices to kill time, during the frequent calms, Long Ghost
hit upon the game of chess. With a jack-knife, we carved the pieces
quite tastefully out of bits of wood, and our board was the middle of a
chest-lid, chalked into squares, which, in playing, we straddled at
either end. Having no other suitable way of distinguishing the sets, I
marked mine by tying round them little scarfs of black silk, torn from
an old neck-handkerchief. Putting them in mourning this way, the doctor
said, was quite appropriate, seeing that they had reason to feel sad
three games out of four. Of chess, the men never could make head nor
tail; indeed, their wonder rose to such a pitch that they at last
regarded the mysterious movements of the game with something more than
perplexity; and after puzzling over them through several long
engagements, they came to the conclusion that we must be a couple of
necromancers.



CHAPTER X.
A SEA-PARLOUR DESCRIBED, WITH SOME OF ITS TENANTS


I might as well give some idea of the place in which the doctor and I
lived together so sociably.

Most persons know that a ship’s forecastle embraces the forward part of
the deck about the bowsprit: the same term, however, is generally
bestowed upon the sailors’ sleeping-quarters, which occupy a space
immediately beneath, and are partitioned off by a bulkhead.

Planted right in the bows, or, as sailors say, in the very eyes of the
ship, this delightful apartment is of a triangular shape, and is
generally fitted with two tiers of rude bunks. Those of the Julia were
in a most deplorable condition, mere wrecks, some having been torn down
altogether to patch up others; and on one side there were but two
standing. But with most of the men it made little difference whether
they had a bunk or not, since, having no bedding, they had nothing to
put in it but themselves.

Upon the boards of my own crib I spread all the old canvas and old
clothes I could pick up. For a pillow, I wrapped an old jacket round a
log. This helped a little the wear and tear of one’s bones when the
ship rolled.

Rude hammocks made out of old sails were in many cases used as
substitutes for the demolished bunks; but the space they swung in was
so confined that they were far from being agreeable.

The general aspect of the forecastle was dungeon-like and dingy in the
extreme. In the first place, it was not five feet from deck to deck and
even this space was encroached upon by two outlandish cross-timbers
bracing the vessel, and by the sailors’ chests, over which you must
needs crawl in getting about. At meal-times, and especially when we
indulged in after-dinner chat, we sat about the chests like a parcel of
tailors.

In the middle of all were two square, wooden columns, denominated in
marine architecture “Bowsprit Bitts.” They were about a foot apart, and
between them, by a rusty chain, swung the forecastle lamp, burning day
and night, and forever casting two long black shadows. Lower down,
between the bitts, was a locker, or sailors’ pantry, kept in abominable
disorder, and sometimes requiring a vigorous cleaning and fumigation.

All over, the ship was in a most dilapidated condition; but in the
forecastle it looked like the hollow of an old tree going to decay. In
every direction the wood was damp and discoloured, and here and there
soft and porous. Moreover, it was hacked and hewed without mercy, the
cook frequently helping himself to splinters for kindling-wood from the
bitts and beams. Overhead, every carline was sooty, and here and there
deep holes were burned in them, a freak of some drunken sailors on a
voyage long previous.

From above, you entered by a plank, with two elects, slanting down from
the scuttle, which was a mere hole in the deck. There being no slide to
draw over in case of emergency, the tarpaulin temporarily placed there
was little protection from the spray heaved over the bows; so that in
anything of a breeze the place was miserably wet. In a squall, the
water fairly poured down in sheets like a cascade, swashing about, and
afterward spirting up between the chests like the jets of a fountain.

Such were our accommodations aboard of the Julia; but bad as they were,
we had not the undisputed possession of them. Myriads of cockroaches,
and regiments of rats disputed the place with us. A greater calamity
than this can scarcely befall a vessel in the South Seas.

So warm is the climate that it is almost impossible to get rid of them.
You may seal up every hatchway, and fumigate the hull till the smoke
forces itself out at the seams, and enough will survive to repeople the
ship in an incredibly short period. In some vessels, the crews of which
after a hard fight have given themselves up, as it were, for lost, the
vermin seem to take actual possession, the sailors being mere tenants
by sufferance. With Sperm Whalemen, hanging about the Line, as many of
them do for a couple of years on a stretch, it is infinitely worse than
with other vessels.

As for the Julia, these creatures never had such free and easy times as
they did in her crazy old hull; every chink and cranny swarmed with
them; they did not live among you, but you among them. So true was
this, that the business of eating and drinking was better done in the
dark than in the light of day.

Concerning the cockroaches, there was an extraordinary phenomenon, for
which none of us could ever account.

Every night they had a jubilee. The first symptom was an unusual
clustering and humming among the swarms lining the beams overhead, and
the inside of the sleeping-places. This was succeeded by a prodigious
coming and going on the part of those living out of sight Presently
they all came forth; the larger sort racing over the chests and planks;
winged monsters darting to and fro in the air; and the small fry
buzzing in heaps almost in a state of fusion.

On the first alarm, all who were able darted on deck; while some of the
sick who were too feeble, lay perfectly quiet—the distracted vermin
running over them at pleasure. The performance lasted some ten minutes,
during which no hive ever hummed louder. Often it was lamented by us
that the time of the visitation could never be predicted; it was liable
to come upon us at any hour of the night, and what a relief it was,
when it happened to fall in the early part of the evening.

Nor must I forget the rats: they did not forget me. Tame as Trenck’s
mouse, they stood in their holes peering at you like old grandfathers
in a doorway. Often they darted in upon us at meal-times, and nibbled
our food. The first time they approached Wymontoo, he was actually
frightened; but becoming accustomed to it, he soon got along with them
much better than the rest. With curious dexterity he seized the animals
by their legs, and flung them up the scuttle to find a watery grave.

But I have a story of my own to tell about these rats. One day the
cabin steward made me a present of some molasses, which I was so choice
of that I kept it hid away in a tin can in the farthest corner of my
bunk.. Faring as we did, this molasses dropped upon a biscuit was a
positive luxury, which I shared with none but the doctor, and then only
in private. And sweet as the treacle was, how could bread thus prepared
and eaten in secret be otherwise than pleasant?

One night our precious can ran low, and in canting it over in the dark,
something beside the molasses slipped out. How long it had been there,
kind Providence never revealed; nor were we over anxious to know; for
we hushed up the bare thought as quickly as possible. The creature
certainly died a luscious death, quite equal to Clarence’s in the butt
of Malmsey.



CHAPTER XI.
DOCTOR LONG GHOST A WAG—ONE OF HIS CAPERS


Grave though he was at times, Doctor Long Ghost was a decided wag.

Everyone knows what lovers of fun sailors are ashore—afloat, they are
absolutely mad after it. So his pranks were duly appreciated.

The poor old black cook! Unlashing his hammock for the night, and
finding a wet log fast asleep in it; and then waking in the morning
with his woolly head tarred. Opening his coppers, and finding an old
boot boiling away as saucy as could be, and sometimes cakes of pitch
candying in his oven.

Baltimore’s tribulations were indeed sore; there was no peace for him
day nor night. Poor fellow! he was altogether too good-natured. Say
what they will about easy-tempered people, it is far better, on some
accounts, to have the temper of a wolf. Whoever thought of taking
liberties with gruff Black Dan?

The most curious of the doctor’s jokes, was hoisting the men aloft by
the foot or shoulder, when they fell asleep on deck during the
night-watches.

Ascending from the forecastle on one occasion, he found every soul
napping, and forthwith went about his capers. Fastening a rope’s end to
each sleeper, he rove the lines through a number of blocks, and
conducted them all to the windlass; then, by heaving round cheerily, in
spite of cries and struggles, he soon had them dangling aloft in all
directions by arms and legs. Waked by the uproar, we rushed up from
below, and found the poor fellows swinging in the moonlight from the
tops and lower yard-arms, like a parcel of pirates gibbeted at sea by a
cruiser.

Connected with this sort of diversion was another prank of his. During
the night some of those on deck would come below to light a pipe, or
take a mouthful of beef and biscuit. Sometimes they fell asleep; and
being missed directly that anything was to be done, their shipmates
often amused themselves by running them aloft with a pulley dropped
down the scuttle from the fore-top.

One night, when all was perfectly still, I lay awake in the forecastle;
the lamp was burning low and thick, and swinging from its blackened
beam; and with the uniform motion of the ship, the men in the bunks
rolled slowly from side to side; the hammocks swaying in unison.

Presently I heard a foot upon the ladder, and looking up, saw a wide
trousers’ leg. Immediately, Navy Bob, a stout old Triton, stealthily
descended, and at once went to groping in the locker after something to
eat.

Supper ended, he proceeded to load his pipe. Now, for a good
comfortable smoke at sea, there never was a better place than the
Julia’s forecastle at midnight. To enjoy the luxury, one wants to fall
into a kind of dreamy reverie, only known to the children of the weed.
And the very atmosphere of the place, laden as it was with the snores
of the sleepers, was inducive of this. No wonder, then, that after a
while Bob’s head sunk upon his breast; presently his hat fell off, the
extinguished pipe dropped from his mouth, and the next moment he lay
out on the chest as tranquil as an infant.

Suddenly an order was heard on deck, followed by the trampling of feet
and the hauling of rigging. The yards were being braced, and soon after
the sleeper was missed: for there was a whispered conference over the
scuttle.

Directly a shadow glided across the forecastle and noiselessly
approached the unsuspecting Bob. It was one of the watch with the end
of a rope leading out of sight up the scuttle. Pausing an instant, the
sailor pressed softly the chest of his victim, sounding his slumbers;
and then hitching the cord to his ankle, returned to the deck.

Hardly was his back turned, when a long limb was thrust from a hammock
opposite, and Doctor Long Ghost, leaping forth warily, whipped the rope
from Bob’s ankle, and fastened it like lightning to a great lumbering
chest, the property of the man who had just disappeared.

Scarcely was the thing done, when lo! with a thundering bound, the
clumsy box was torn from its fastenings, and banging from side to side,
flew toward the scuttle. Here it jammed; and thinking that Bob, who was
as strong as a windlass, was grappling a beam and trying to cut the
line, the jokers on deck strained away furiously. On a sudden, the
chest went aloft, and striking against the mast, flew open, raining
down on the heads of a party the merciless shower of things too
numerous to mention.

Of course the uproar roused all hands, and when we hurried on deck,
there was the owner of the box, looking aghast at its scattered
contents, and with one wandering hand taking the altitude of a bump on
his head.



CHAPTER XII.
DEATH AND BURIAL OF TWO OF THE CREW


The mirthfulness which at times reigned among us was in strange and
shocking contrast with the situation of some of the invalids. Thus at
least did it seem to me, though not to others.

But an event occurred about this period, which, in removing by far the
most pitiable cases of suffering, tended to make less grating to my
feelings the subsequent conduct of the crew.

We had been at sea about twenty days, when two of the sick who had
rapidly grown worse, died one night within an hour of each other.

One occupied a bunk right next to mine, and for several days had not
risen from it. During this period he was often delirious, starting up
and glaring around him, and sometimes wildly tossing his arms.

On the night of his decease, I retired shortly after the middle watch
began, and waking from a vague dream of horrors, felt something clammy
resting on me. It was the sick man’s hand. Two or three times during
the evening previous, he had thrust it into my bunk, and I had quietly
removed it; but now I started and flung it from me. The arm fell stark
and stiff, and I knew that he was dead.

Waking the men, the corpse was immediately rolled up in the strips of
blanketing upon which it lay, and carried on deck. The mate was then
called, and preparations made for an instantaneous’ burial. Laying the
body out on the forehatch, it was stitched up in one of the hammocks,
some “kentledge” being placed at the feet instead of shot. This done,
it was borne to the gangway, and placed on a plank laid across the
bulwarks. Two men supported the inside end. By way of solemnity, the
ship’s headway was then stopped by hauling aback the main-top-sail.

The mate, who was far from being sober, then staggered up, and holding
on to a shroud, gave the word. As the plank tipped, the body slid off
slowly, and fell with a splash into the sea. A bubble or two, and
nothing more was seen.

“Brace forward!” The main-yard swung round to its place, and the ship
glided on, whilst the corpse, perhaps, was still sinking.

We had tossed a shipmate to the sharks, but no one would have thought
it, to have gone among the crew immediately after. The dead man had
been a churlish, unsocial fellow, while alive, and no favourite; and
now that he was no more, little thought was bestowed upon him. All that
was said was concerning the disposal of his chest, which, having been
always kept locked, was supposed to contain money. Someone volunteered
to break it open, and distribute its contents, clothing and all, before
the captain should demand it.

While myself and others were endeavouring to dissuade them from this,
all started at a cry from the forecastle. There could be no one there
but two of the sick, unable to crawl on deck. We went below, and found
one of them dying on a chest. He had fallen out of his hammock in a
fit, and was insensible. The eyes were open and fixed, and his breath
coming and going convulsively. The men shrunk from him; but the doctor,
taking his hand, held it a few moments in his, and suddenly letting it
fall, exclaimed, “He’s gone!” The body was instantly borne up the
ladder.

Another hammock was soon prepared, and the dead sailor stitched up as
before. Some additional ceremony, however, was now insisted upon, and a
Bible was called for. But none was to be had, not even a Prayer Book.
When this was made known, Antone, a Portuguese, from the Cape-de-Verd
Islands, stepped up, muttering something over the corpse of his
countryman, and, with his finger, described upon the back of the
hammock the figure of a large cross; whereupon it received the
death-launch.

These two men both perished from the proverbial indiscretions of
seamen, heightened by circumstances apparent; but had either of them
been ashore under proper treatment, he would, in all human probability,
have recovered.

Behold here the fate of a sailor! They give him the last toss, and no
one asks whose child he was.

For the rest of that night there was no more sleep. Many stayed on deck
until broad morning, relating to each other those marvellous tales of
the sea which the occasion was calculated to call forth. Little as I
believed in such things, I could not listen to some of these stories
unaffected. Above all was I struck by one of the carpenter’s.

On a voyage to India, they had a fever aboard, which carried off nearly
half the crew in the space of a few days. After this the men never went
aloft in the night-time, except in couples. When topsails were to be
reefed, phantoms were seen at the yard-arm ends; and in tacking ship,
voices called aloud from the tops. The carpenter himself, going with
another man to furl the main-top-gallant-sail in a squall, was nearly
pushed from the rigging by an unseen hand; and his shipmate swore that
a wet hammock was flirted in his face.

Stories like these were related as gospel truths, by those who declared
themselves eye-witnesses.

It is a circumstance not generally known, perhaps, that among ignorant
seamen, Philanders, or Finns, as they are more commonly called, are
regarded with peculiar superstition. For some reason or other, which I
never could get at, they are supposed to possess the gift of second
sight, and the power to wreak supernatural vengeance upon those who
offend them. On this account they have great influence among sailors,
and two or three with whom I have sailed at different times were
persons well calculated to produce this sort of impression, at least
upon minds disposed to believe in such things.

Now, we had one of these sea-prophets aboard; an old, yellow-haired
fellow, who always wore a rude seal-skin cap of his own make, and
carried his tobacco in a large pouch made of the same stuff. Van, as we
called him, was a quiet, inoffensive man, to look at, and, among such a
set, his occasional peculiarities had hitherto passed for nothing. At
this time, however, he came out with a prediction, which was none the
less remarkable from its absolute fulfilment, though not exactly in the
spirit in which it was given out.

The night of the burial he laid his hand on the old horseshoe nailed as
a charm to the foremast, and solemnly told us that, in less than three
weeks, not one quarter of our number would remain aboard the ship—by
that time they would have left her for ever.

Some laughed; Flash Jack called him an old fool; but among the men
generally it produced a marked effect. For several days a degree of
quiet reigned among us, and allusions of such a kind were made to
recent events, as could be attributed to no other cause than the Finn’s
omen.

For my own part, what had lately come to pass was not without its
influence. It forcibly brought to mind our really critical condition.
Doctor Long Ghost, too, frequently revealed his apprehensions, and once
assured me that he would give much to be safely landed upon any island
around us.

Where we were, exactly, no one but the mate seemed to know, nor whither
we were going. The captain—a mere cipher—was an invalid in his cabin;
to say nothing more of so many of his men languishing in the
forecastle.

Our keeping the sea under these circumstances, a matter strange enough
at first, now seemed wholly unwarranted; and added to all was the
thought that our fate was absolutely in the hand of the reckless
Jermin. Were anything to happen to him, we would be left without a
navigator, for, according to Jermin himself, he had, from the
commencement of the voyage, always kept the ship’s reckoning, the
captain’s nautical knowledge being insufficient.

But considerations like these, strange as it may seem, seldom or never
occurred to the crew. They were alive only to superstitious fears; and
when, in apparent contradiction to the Finn’s prophecy, the sick men
rallied a little, they began to recover their former spirits, and the
recollection of what had occurred insensibly faded from their minds. In
a week’s time, the unworthiness of Little Jule as a sea vessel, always
a subject of jest, now became more so than ever. In the forecastle,
Flash Jack, with his knife, often dug into the dank, rotten planks
ribbed between us and death, and flung away the splinters with some sea
joke.

As to the remaining invalids, they were hardly ill enough to occasion
any serious apprehension, at least for the present, in the breasts of
such thoughtless beings as themselves. And even those who suffered the
most, studiously refrained from any expression of pain.

The truth is, that among sailors as a class, sickness at sea is so
heartily detested, and the sick so little cared for, that the greatest
invalid generally strives to mask his sufferings. He has given no
sympathy to others, and he expects none in return. Their conduct, in
this respect, so opposed to their generous-hearted behaviour ashore,
painfully affects the landsman on his first intercourse with them as a
sailor.

Sometimes, but seldom, our invalids inveighed against their being kept
at sea, where they could be of no service, when they ought to be ashore
and in the way of recovery. But—“Oh! cheer up—cheer up, my
hearties!”—the mate would say. And after this fashion he put a stop to
their murmurings.

But there was one circumstance, to which heretofore I have but barely
alluded, that tended more than anything else to reconcile many to their
situation. This was the receiving regularly, twice every day, a certain
portion of Pisco, which was served out at the capstan, by the steward,
in little tin measures called “tots.”

The lively affection seamen have for strong drink is well known; but in
the South Seas, where it is so seldom to be had, a thoroughbred sailor
deems scarcely any price too dear which will purchase his darling
“tot.” Nowadays, American whalemen in the Pacific never think of
carrying spirits as a ration; and aboard of most of them, it is never
served out even in times of the greatest hardships. All Sydney
whalemen, however, still cling to the old custom, and carry it as a
part of the regular supplies for the voyage.

In port, the allowance of Pisco was suspended; with a view,
undoubtedly, of heightening the attractions of being out of sight of
land.

Now, owing to the absence of proper discipline, our sick, in addition
to what they took medicinally, often came in for their respective
“tots” convivially; and, added to all this, the evening of the last day
of the week was always celebrated by what is styled on board of English
vessels “The Saturday-night bottles.” Two of these were sent down into
the forecastle, just after dark; one for the starboard watch, and the
other for the larboard.

By prescription, the oldest seaman in each claims the treat as his,
and, accordingly, pours out the good cheer and passes it round like a
lord doing the honours of his table. But the Saturday-night bottles
were not all. The carpenter and cooper, in sea parlance, Chips and
Bungs, who were the “Cods,” or leaders of the forecastle, in some way
or other, managed to obtain an extra supply, which perpetually kept
them in fine after-dinner spirits, and, moreover, disposed them to look
favourably upon a state of affairs like the present.

But where were the sperm whales all this time? In good sooth, it made
little matter where they were, since we were in no condition to capture
them. About this time, indeed, the men came down from the mast-heads,
where, until now, they had kept up the form of relieving each other
every two hours. They swore they would go there no more. Upon this, the
mate carelessly observed that they would soon be where look-outs were
entirely unnecessary, the whales he had in his eye (though Flash Jack
said they were all in his) being so tame that they made a practice of
coming round ships, and scratching their backs against them.

Thus went the world of waters with us, some four weeks or more after
leaving Hannamanoo.



CHAPTER XIII.
OUR DESTINATION CHANGED


It was not long after the death of the two men, that Captain Guy was
reported as fast declining, and in a day or two more, as dying. The
doctor, who previously had refused to enter the cabin upon any
consideration, now relented, and paid his old enemy a professional
visit.

He prescribed a warm bath, which was thus prepared. The skylight being
removed, a cask was lowered down into the cabin, and then filled with
buckets of water from the ship’s coppers. The cries of the patient,
when dipped into his rude bath, were most painful to hear. They at last
laid him on the transom, more dead than alive.

That evening, the mate was perfectly sober, and coming forward to the
windlass, where we were lounging, summoned aft the doctor, myself, and
two or three others of his favourites; when, in the presence of Bembo
the Mowree, he spoke to us thus:

“I have something to say to ye, men. There’s none but Bembo here as
belongs aft, so I’ve picked ye out as the best men for’ard to take
counsel with, d’ye see, consarning the ship. The captain’s anchor is
pretty nigh atrip; I shouldn’t wonder if he croaked afore morning. So
what’s to be done? If we have to sew him up, some of those pirates
there for’ard may take it into their heads to run off with the ship,
because there’s no one at the tiller. Now, I’ve detarmined what’s best
to be done; but I don’t want to do it unless I’ve good men to back me,
and make things all fair and square if ever we get home again.”

We all asked what his plan was.

“I’ll tell ye what it is, men. If the skipper dies, all agree to obey
my orders, and in less than three weeks I’ll engage to have five
hundred barrels of sperm oil under hatches: enough to give every
mother’s son of ye a handful of dollars when we get to Sydney. If ye
don’t agree to this, ye won’t have a farthing coming to ye.”

Doctor Long Ghost at once broke in. He said that such a thing was not
to be dreamt of; that if the captain died, the mate was in duty bound
to navigate the ship to the nearest civilized port, and deliver her up
into an English consul’s hands; when, in all probability, after a run
ashore, the crew would be sent home. Everything forbade the mate’s
plan. “Still,” said he, assuming an air of indifference, “if the men
say stick it out, stick it out say I; but in that case, the sooner we
get to those islands of yours the better.”

Something more he went on to say; and from the manner in which the rest
regarded him, it was plain that our fate was in his hands. It was
finally resolved upon, that if Captain Guy was no better in twenty-four
hours, the ship’s head should be pointed for the island of Tahiti.

This announcement produced a strong sensation—the sick rallied—and the
rest speculated as to what was next to befall us; while the doctor,
without alluding to Guy, congratulated me upon the prospect of soon
beholding a place so famous as the island in question.

The night after the holding of the council, I happened to go on deck in
the middle watch, and found the yards braced sharp up on the larboard
tack, with the South East Trades strong on our bow. The captain was no
better; and we were off for Tahiti.



CHAPTER XIV.
ROPE YARN


While gliding along on our way, I cannot well omit some account of a
poor devil we had among us, who went by the name of Rope Yarn, or
Ropey.

He was a nondescript who had joined the ship as a landsman. Being so
excessively timid and awkward, it was thought useless to try and make a
sailor of him; so he was translated into the cabin as steward; the man
previously filling that post, a good seaman, going among the crew and
taking his place. But poor Ropey proved quite as clumsy among the
crockery as in the rigging; and one day when the ship was pitching,
having stumbled into the cabin with a wooden tureen of soup, he scalded
the officers so that they didn’t get over it in a week. Upon which, he
was dismissed, and returned to the forecastle.

Now, nobody is so heartily despised as a pusillanimous, lazy,
good-for-nothing land-lubber; a sailor has no bowels of compassion for
him. Yet, useless as such a character may be in many respects, a ship’s
company is by no means disposed to let him reap any benefit from his
deficiencies. Regarded in the light of a mechanical power, whenever
there is any plain, hard work to be done, he is put to it like a lever;
everyone giving him a pry.

Then, again, he is set about all the vilest work. Is there a heavy job
at tarring to be done, he is pitched neck and shoulders into a
tar-barrel, and set to work at it. Moreover, he is made to fetch and
carry like a dog. Like as not, if the mate sends him after his
quadrant, on the way he is met by the captain, who orders him to pick
some oakum; and while he is hunting up a bit of rope, a sailor comes
along and wants to know what the deuce he’s after, and bids him be off
to the forecastle.

“Obey the last order,” is a precept inviolable at sea. So the
land-lubber, afraid to refuse to do anything, rushes about distracted,
and does nothing: in the end receiving a shower of kicks and cuffs from
all quarters.

Added to his other hardships, he is seldom permitted to open his mouth
unless spoken to; and then, he might better keep silent. Alas for him!
if he should happen to be anything of a droll; for in an evil hour
should he perpetrate a joke, he would never know the last of it.

The witticisms of others, however, upon himself, must be received in
the greatest good-humour.

Woe be unto him, if at meal-times he so much as look sideways at the
beef-kid before the rest are helped.

Then he is obliged to plead guilty to every piece of mischief which the
real perpetrator refuses to acknowledge; thus taking the place of that
sneaking rascal nobody, ashore. In short, there is no end to his
tribulations.

The land-lubber’s spirits often sink, and the first result of his being
moody and miserable is naturally enough an utter neglect of his toilet.

The sailors perhaps ought to make allowances; but heartless as they
are, they do not. No sooner is his cleanliness questioned than they
rise upon him like a mob of the Middle Ages upon a Jew; drag him into
the lee-scuppers, and strip him to the buff. In vain he bawls for
mercy; in vain calls upon the captain to save him.

Alas! I say again, for the land-lubber at sea. He is the veriest wretch
the watery world over. And such was Rope Tarn; of all landlubbers, the
most lubberly and most miserable. A forlorn, stunted, hook-visaged
mortal he was too; one of those whom you know at a glance to have been
tried hard and long in the furnace of affliction. His face was an
absolute puzzle; though sharp and sallow, it had neither the wrinkles
of age nor the smoothness of youth; so that for the soul of me, I could
hardly tell whether he was twenty-five or fifty.

But to his history. In his better days, it seems he had been a
journeyman baker in London, somewhere about Holborn; and on Sundays
wore a Hue coat and metal buttons, and spent his afternoons in a
tavern, smoking his pipe and drinking his ale like a free and easy
journeyman baker that he was. But this did not last long; for an
intermeddling old fool was the ruin of him. He was told that London
might do very well for elderly gentlemen and invalids; but for a lad of
spirit, Australia was the Land of Promise. In a dark day Ropey wound up
his affairs and embarked.

Arriving in Sydney with a small capital, and after a while waxing snug
and comfortable by dint of hard kneading, he took unto himself a wife;
and so far as she was concerned, might then have gone into the country
and retired; for she effectually did his business. In short, the lady
worked him woe in heart and pocket; and in the end, ran off with his
till and his foreman. Ropey went to the sign of the Pipe and Tankard;
got fuddled; and over his fifth pot meditated suicide—an intention
carried out; for the next day he shipped as landsman aboard the Julia,
South Seaman.

The ex-baker would have fared far better, had it not been for his
heart, which was soft and underdone. A kind word made a fool of him;
and hence most of the scrapes he got into. Two or three wags, aware of
his infirmity, used to “draw him out” in conversation whenever the most
crabbed and choleric old seamen were present.

To give an instance. The watch below, just waked from their sleep, are
all at breakfast; and Ropey, in one corner, is disconsolately partaking
of its delicacies. “Now, sailors newly waked are no cherubs; and
therefore not a word is spoken, everybody munching his biscuit, grim
and unshaven. At this juncture an affable-looking scamp—Flash
Jack—crosses the forecastle, tin can in hand, and seats himself beside
the land-lubber.

“Hard fare this, Ropey,” he begins; “hard enough, too, for them that’s
known better and lived in Lun’nun. I say now, Ropey, s’posing you were
back to Holborn this morning, what would you have for breakfast, eh?”

“Have for breakfast!” cried Ropey in a rapture. “Don’t speak of it!”

“What ails that fellow?” here growled an old sea-bear, turning round
savagely.

“Oh, nothing, nothing,” said Jack; and then, leaning over to Rope Yarn,
he bade him go on, but speak lower.

“Well, then,” said he, in a smuggled tone, his eyes lighting up like
two lanterns, “well, then, I’d go to Mother Moll’s that makes the great
muffins: I’d go there, you know, and cock my foot on the ’ob, and call
for a noggin o’ somethink to begin with.”

“What then, Ropey?”

“Why then, Flashy,” continued the poor victim, unconsciously warming
with his theme: “why then, I’d draw my chair up and call for Betty, the
gal wot tends to customers. Betty, my dear, says I, you looks charmin’
this mornin’; give me a nice rasher of bacon and h’eggs, Betty my love;
and I wants a pint of h’ale, and three nice h’ot muffins and butter—and
a slice of Cheshire; and Betty, I wants—”

“A shark-steak, and be hanged to you!” roared Black Dan, with an oath.
Whereupon, dragged over the chests, the ill-starred fellow is pummelled
on deck.

I always made a point of befriending poor Ropey when I could; and, for
this reason, was a great favourite of his.



CHAPTER XV.
CHIPS AND BUNGS


Bound into port, Chips and Bungs increased their devotion to the
bottle; and, to the unspeakable envy of the rest, these jolly
companions—or “the Partners,” as the men called them—rolled about deck,
day after day, in the merriest mood imaginable.

But jolly as they were in the main, two more discreet tipplers it would
be hard to find. No one ever saw them take anything, except when the
regular allowance was served out by the steward; and to make them quite
sober and sensible, you had only to ask them how they contrived to keep
otherwise. Some time after, however, their secret leaked out.

The casks of Pisco were kept down the after-hatchway, which, for this
reason, was secured with bar and padlock. The cooper, nevertheless,
from time to time, effected a burglarious entry, by descending into the
fore-hold; and then, at the risk of being jammed to death, crawling
along over a thousand obstructions, to where the casks were stowed.

On the first expedition, the only one to be got at lay among others,
upon its bilge with the bung-hole well over. With a bit of iron hoop,
suitably bent, and a good deal of prying and punching, the bung was
forced in; and then the cooper’s neck-handkerchief, attached to the end
of the hoop, was drawn in and out—the absorbed liquor being
deliberately squeezed into a small bucket.

Bungs was a man after a barkeeper’s own heart. Drinking steadily, until
just manageably tipsy, he contrived to continue so; getting neither
more nor less inebriated, but, to use his own phrase, remaining “just
about right.” When in this interesting state, he had a free lurch in
his gait, a queer way of hitching up his waistbands, looked
unnecessarily steady at you when speaking, and for the rest, was in
very tolerable spirits. At these times, moreover, he was exceedingly
patriotic; and in a most amusing way, frequently showed his patriotism
whenever he happened to encounter Dunk, a good-natured, square-faced
Dane, aboard.

It must be known here, by the bye, that the cooper had a true sailor
admiration for Lord Nelson. But he entertained a very erroneous idea of
the personal appearance of the hero. Not content with depriving him of
an eye and an arm, he stoutly maintained that he had also lost a leg in
one of his battles. Under this impression, he sometimes hopped up to
Dunk with one leg curiously locked behind him into his right arm, at
the same time closing an eye.

In this attitude he would call upon him to look up, and behold the man
who gave his countrymen such a thrashing at Copenhagen. “Look you,
Dunk,” says he, staggering about, and winking hard with one eye to keep
the other shut, “Look you; one man—hang me, half a man—with one leg,
one arm, one eye—hang me, with only a piece of a carcase, flogged your
whole shabby nation. Do you deny it you lubber?”

The Dane was a mule of a man, and understanding but little English,
seldom made anything of a reply; so the cooper generally dropped his
leg, and marched off, with the air of a man who despised saying
anything further.



CHAPTER XVI.
WE ENCOUNTER A GALE


The mild blue weather we enjoyed after leaving the Marquesas gradually
changed as we ran farther south and approached Tahiti. In these
generally tranquil seas, the wind sometimes blows with great violence;
though, as every sailor knows, a spicy gale in the tropic latitudes of
the Pacific is far different from a tempest in the howling North
Atlantic. We soon found ourselves battling with the waves, while the
before mild Trades, like a woman roused, blew fiercely, but still
warmly, in our face.

For all this, the mate carried sail without stint; and as for brave
little Jule, she stood up to it well; and though once in a while
floored in the trough of a sea, sprang to her keel again and showed
play. Every old timber groaned—every spar buckled—every chafed cord
strained; and yet, spite of all, she plunged on her way like a racer.
Jermin, sea-jockey that he was, sometimes stood in the fore-chains,
with the spray every now and then dashing over him, and shouting out,
“Well done, Jule—dive into it, sweetheart. Hurrah!”

One afternoon there was a mighty queer noise aloft, which set the men
running in every direction. It was the main-t’-gallant-mast. Crash! it
broke off just above the cap, and held there by the rigging, dashed
with every roll from side to side, with all the hamper that belonged to
it. The yard hung by a hair, and at every pitch, thumped against the
cross-trees; while the sail streamed in ribbons, and the loose ropes
coiled, and thrashed the air, like whip-lashes. “Stand from under!” and
down came the rattling blocks, like so many shot. The yard, with a snap
and a plunge, went hissing into the sea, disappeared, and shot its full
length out again. The crest of a great wave then broke over it—the ship
rushed by—and we saw the stick no more.

While this lively breeze continued, Baltimore, our old black cook, was
in great tribulation.

Like most South Seamen, the Julia’s “caboose,” or cook-house, was
planted on the larboard side of the forecastle. Under such a press of
canvas, and with the heavy sea running the barque, diving her bows
under, now and then shipped green glassy waves, which, breaking over
the head-rails, fairly deluged that part of the ship, and washed clean
aft. The caboose-house—thought to be fairly lashed down to its
place—served as a sort of breakwater to the inundation.

About these times, Baltimore always wore what he called his “gale
suit,” among other things comprising a Sou’-wester and a huge pair of
well-anointed sea-boots, reaching almost to his knees. Thus equipped
for a ducking or a drowning, as the case might be, our culinary
high-priest drew to the slides of his temple, and performed his sooty
rites in secret.

So afraid was the old man of being washed overboard that he actually
fastened one end of a small line to his waistbands, and coiling the
rest about him, made use of it as occasion required. When engaged
outside, he unwound the cord, and secured one end to a ringbolt in the
deck; so that if a chance sea washed him off his feet, it could do
nothing more.

One evening just as he was getting supper, the Julia reared up on her
stern like a vicious colt, and when she settled again forward, fairly
dished a tremendous sea. Nothing could withstand it. One side of the
rotten head-bulwarks came in with a crash; it smote the caboose, tore
it from its moorings, and after boxing it about, dashed it against the
windlass, where it stranded. The water then poured along the deck like
a flood rolling over and over, pots, pans, and kettles, and even old
Baltimore himself, who went breaching along like a porpoise.

Striking the taffrail, the wave subsided, and washing from side to
side, left the drowning cook high and dry on the after-hatch: his
extinguished pipe still between his teeth, and almost bitten in two.

The few men on deck having sprung into the main-rigging, sailor-like,
did nothing but roar at his calamity.

The same night, our flying-jib-boom snapped off like a pipe-stem, and
our spanker-gaff came down by the run.

By the following morning, the wind in a great measure had gone down;
the sea with it; and by noon we had repaired our damages as well as we
could, and were sailing along as pleasantly as ever.

But there was no help for the demolished bulwarks; we had nothing to
replace them; and so, whenever it breezed again, our dauntless craft
went along with her splintered prow dripping, but kicking up her fleet
heels just as high as before.



CHAPTER XVII.
THE CORAL ISLANDS


How far we sailed to the westward after leaving the Marquesas, or what
might have been our latitude and longitude at any particular time, or
how many leagues we voyaged on our passage to Tahiti, are matters about
which, I am sorry to say, I cannot with any accuracy enlighten the
reader. Jermin, as navigator, kept our reckoning; and, as hinted
before, kept it all to himself. At noon, he brought out his quadrant, a
rusty old thing, so odd-looking that it might have belonged to an
astrologer.

Sometimes, when rather flustered from his potations, he went staggering
about deck, instrument to eye, looking all over for the sun—a
phenomenon which any sober observer might have seen right overhead. How
upon earth he contrived, on some occasions, to settle his latitude, is
more than I can tell. The longitude he must either have obtained by the
Rule of Three, or else by special revelation. Not that the chronometer
in the cabin was seldom to be relied on, or was any ways fidgety; quite
the contrary; it stood stock-still; and by that means, no doubt, the
true Greenwich time—at the period of stopping, at least—was preserved
to a second.

The mate, however, in addition to his “Dead Reckoning,” pretended to
ascertain his meridian distance from Bow Bells by an occasional lunar
observation. This, I believe, consists in obtaining with the proper
instruments the angular distance between the moon and some one of the
stars. The operation generally requires two observers to take sights,
and at one and the same time.

Now, though the mate alone might have been thought well calculated for
this, inasmuch as he generally saw things double, the doctor was
usually called upon to play a sort of second quadrant to Jermin’s
first; and what with the capers of both, they used to furnish a good
deal of diversion. The mate’s tremulous attempts to level his
instrument at the star he was after, were comical enough. For my own
part, when he did catch sight of it, I hardly knew how he managed to
separate it from the astral host revolving in his own brain.

However, by hook or by crook, he piloted us along; and before many
days, a fellow sent aloft to darn a rent in the fore-top-sail, threw
his hat into the air, and bawled out “Land, ho!”

Land it was; but in what part of the South Seas, Jermin alone knew, and
some doubted whether even he did. But no sooner was the announcement
made, than he came running on deck, spy-glass in hand, and clapping it
to his eye, turned round with the air of a man receiving indubitable
assurance of something he was quite certain of before. The land was
precisely that for which he had been steering; and, with a wind, in
less than twenty-four hours we would sight Tahiti. What he said was
verified.

The island turned out to be one of the Pomotu or Low Group—sometimes
called the Coral Islands—perhaps the most remarkable and interesting in
the Pacific. Lying to the east of Tahiti, the nearest are within a
day’s sail of that place.

They are very numerous; mostly small, low, and level; sometimes wooded,
but always covered with verdure. Many are crescent-shaped; others
resemble a horse-shoe in figure. These last are nothing more than
narrow circles of land surrounding a smooth lagoon, connected by a
single opening with the sea. Some of the lagoons, said to have
subterranean outlets, have no visible ones; the inclosing island, in
such cases, being a complete zone of emerald. Other lagoons still, are
girdled by numbers of small, green islets, very near to each other.

The origin of the entire group is generally ascribed to the coral
insect.

According to some naturalists, this wonderful little creature,
commencing its erections at the bottom of the sea, after the lapse of
centuries, carries them up to the surface, where its labours cease.
Here, the inequalities of the coral collect all floating bodies;
forming, after a time, a soil, in which the seeds carried thither by
birds germinate, and cover the whole with vegetation. Here and there,
all over this archipelago, numberless naked, detached coral formations
are seen, just emerging, as it were from the ocean. These would appear
to be islands in the very process of creation—at any rate, one
involuntarily concludes so, on beholding them.

As far as I know, there are but few bread-fruit trees in any part of
the Pomotu group. In many places the cocoa-nut even does not grow;
though, in others, it largely flourishes. Consequently, some of the
islands are altogether uninhabited; others support but a single family;
and in no place is the population very large. In some respects the
natives resemble the Tahitians: their language, too, is very similar.
The people of the southeasterly clusters—concerning whom, however, but
little is known—have a bad name as cannibals; and for that reason their
hospitality is seldom taxed by the mariner.

Within a few years past, missionaries from the Society group have
settled among the Leeward Islands, where the natives have treated them
kindly. Indeed, nominally, many of these people are now Christians;
and, through the political influence of their instructors, no doubt, a
short time since came tinder the allegiance of Pomaree, the Queen of
Tahiti; with which island they always carried on considerable
intercourse.

The Coral Islands are principally visited by the pearl-shell fishermen,
who arrive in small schooners, carrying not more than five or six men.

For a long while the business was engrossed by Merenhout, the French
Consul at Tahiti, but a Dutchman by birth, who, in one year, is said to
have sent to France fifty thousand dollars’ worth of shells. The
oysters are found in the lagoons, and about the reefs; and, for
half-a-dozen nails a day, or a compensation still less, the natives are
hired to dive after them.

A great deal of cocoa-nut oil is also obtained in various places. Some
of the uninhabited islands are covered with dense groves; and the
ungathered nuts which have fallen year after year, lie upon the ground
in incredible quantities. Two or three men, provided with the necessary
apparatus for trying out the oil, will, in the course of a week or two,
obtain enough to load one of the large sea-canoes.

Cocoa-nut oil is now manufactured in different parts of the South Seas,
and forms no small part of the traffic carried on with trading vessels.
A considerable quantity is annually exported from the Society Islands
to Sydney. It is used in lamps and for machinery, being much cheaper
than the sperm, and, for both purposes, better than the right-whale
oil. They bottle it up in large bamboos, six or eight feet long; and
these form part of the circulating medium of Tahiti.

To return to the ship. The wind dying away, evening came on before we
drew near the island. But we had it in view during the whole afternoon.

It was small and round, presenting one enamelled level, free from
trees, and did not seem four feet above the water. Beyond it was
another and larger island, about which a tropical sunset was throwing
its glories; flushing all that part of the heavens, and making it flame
like a vast dyed oriel illuminated.

The Trades scarce filled our swooning sails; the air was languid with
the aroma of a thousand strange, flowering shrubs. Upon inhaling it,
one of the sick, who had recently shown symptoms of scurvy, cried out
in pain, and was carried below. This is no unusual effect in such
instances.

On we glided, within less than a cable’s length of the shore which was
margined with foam that sparkled all round. Within, nestled the still,
blue lagoon. No living thing was seen, and, for aught we knew, we might
have been the first mortals who had ever beheld the spot. The thought
was quickening to the fancy; nor could I help dreaming of the endless
grottoes and galleries, far below the reach of the mariner’s lead.

And what strange shapes were lurking there! Think of those arch
creatures, the mermaids, chasing each other in and out of the coral
cells, and catching their long hair in the coral twigs!



CHAPTER XVIII.
TAHITI


At early dawn of the following morning we saw the Peaks of Tahiti. In
clear weather they may be seen at the distance of ninety miles.

“Hivarhoo!” shouted Wymontoo, overjoyed, and running out upon the
bowsprit when the land was first faintly descried in the distance. But
when the clouds floated away, and showed the three peaks standing like
obelisks against the sky; and the bold shore undulating along the
horizon, the tears gushed from his eyes. Poor fellow! It was not
Hivarhoo. Green Hivarhoo was many a long league off.

Tahiti is by far the most famous island in the South Seas; indeed, a
variety of causes has made it almost classic. Its natural features
alone distinguish it from the surrounding groups. Two round and lofty
promontories, whose mountains rise nine thousand feet above the level
of the ocean, are connected by a low, narrow isthmus; the whole being
some one hundred miles in circuit. From the great central peaks of the
larger peninsula—Orohena, Aorai, and Pirohitee—the land radiates on all
sides to the sea in sloping green ridges. Between these are broad and
shadowy valleys—in aspect, each a Tempe—watered with fine streams, and
thickly wooded. Unlike many of the other islands, there extends nearly
all round Tahiti a belt of low, alluvial soil, teeming with the richest
vegetation. Here, chiefly, the natives dwell.

Seen from the sea, the prospect is magnificent. It is one mass of
shaded tints of green, from beach to mountain top; endlessly
diversified with valleys, ridges, glens, and cascades. Over the ridges,
here and there, the loftier peaks fling their shadows, and far down the
valleys. At the head of these, the waterfalls flash out into the
sunlight, as if pouring through vertical bowers of verdure. Such
enchantment, too, breathes over the whole, that it seems a fairy world,
all fresh and blooming from the hand of the Creator.

Upon a near approach, the picture loses not its attractions. It is no
exaggeration to say that, to a European of any sensibility, who, for
the first time, wanders back into these valleys—away from the haunts of
the natives—the ineffable repose and beauty of the landscape is such,
that every object strikes him like something seen in a dream; and for a
time he almost refuses to believe that scenes like these should have a
commonplace existence. No wonder that the French bestowed upon the
island the appellation of the New Cytherea. “Often,” says De
Bourgainville, “I thought I was walking in the Garden of Eden.”

Nor, when first discovered, did the inhabitants of this charming
country at all diminish the wonder and admiration of the voyager. Their
physical beauty and amiable dispositions harmonized completely with the
softness of their clime. In truth, everything about them was calculated
to awaken the liveliest interest. Glance at their civil and religious
institutions. To their king, divine rights were paid; while for poetry,
their mythology rivalled that of ancient Greece.

Of Tahiti, earlier and more full accounts were given, than of any other
island in Polynesia; and this is the reason why it still retains so
strong a hold on the sympathies of all readers of South Sea voyages.
The journals of its first visitors, containing, as they did, such
romantic descriptions of a country and people before unheard of,
produced a marked sensation throughout Europe; and when the first
Tahitiana were carried thither, Omai in London, and Aotooroo in Paris,
were caressed by nobles, scholars, and ladies.

In addition to all this, several eventful occurrences, more or less
connected with Tahiti, have tended to increase its celebrity. Over two
centuries ago, Quiros, the Spaniard, is supposed to have touched at the
island; and at intervals, Wallis, Byron, Cook, De Bourgainville,
Vancouver, Le Perouse, and other illustrious navigators refitted their
vessels in its harbours. Here the famous Transit of Venus was observed,
in 1769. Here the memorable mutiny of the Bounty afterwards had its
origin. It was to the pagans of Tahiti that the first regularly
constituted Protestant missionaries were sent; and from their shores
also, have sailed successive missions to the neighbouring islands.

These, with other events which might be mentioned, have united in
keeping up the first interest which the place awakened; and the recent
proceedings of the French have more than ever called forth the
sympathies of the public.



CHAPTER XIX.
A SURPRISE—MORE ABOUT BEMBO


The sight of the island was right welcome. Going into harbour after a
cruise is always joyous enough, and the sailor is apt to indulge in all
sorts of pleasant anticipations. But to us, the occasion was heightened
by many things peculiar to our situation.

Since steering for the land, our prospects had been much talked over.
By many it was supposed that, should the captain leave the ship, the
crew were no longer bound by her articles. This was the opinion of our
forecastle Cokes; though, probably, it would not have been sanctioned
by the Marine Courts of Law. At any rate, such was the state of both
vessel and crew that, whatever might be the event, a long stay, and
many holidays in Tahiti, were confidently predicted.

Everybody was in high spirits. The sick, who had been improving day by
day since the change in our destination, were on deck, and leaning over
the bulwarks; some all animation, and others silently admiring an
object unrivalled for its stately beauty—Tahiti from the sea.

The quarter-deck, however, furnished a marked contrast to what was
going on at the other end of the ship. The Mowree was there, as usual,
scowling by himself; and Jermin walked to and fro in deep thought,
every now and then looking to windward, or darting into the cabin and
quickly returning.

With all our light sails wooingly spread, we held on our way, until,
with the doctor’s glass, Papeetee, the village metropolis of Tahiti,
came into view. Several ships were descried lying in the harbour, and
among them, one which loomed up black and large; her two rows of teeth
proclaiming a frigate. This was the Reine Blanche, last from the
Marquesas, and carrying at the fore the flag of Rear-Admiral Du Petit
Thouars. Hardly had we made her out, when the booming of her guns came
over the water. She was firing a salute, which afterwards turned out to
be in honour of a treaty; or rather—as far as the natives were
concerned—a forced cession of Tahiti to the French, that morning
concluded.

The cannonading had hardly died away, when Jermin’s voice was heard
giving an order so unexpected that everyone started. “Stand by to haul
back the main-yard!”

“What’s that mean?” shouted the men, “are we not going into port?”

“Tumble after here, and no words!” cried the mate; and in a moment the
main-yard swung round, when, with her jib-boom pointing out to sea, the
Julia lay as quiet as a duck. We all looked blank—what was to come
next?

Presently the steward made his appearance, carrying a mattress, which
he spread out in the stern-sheets of the captain’s boat; two or three
chests, and other things belonging to his master, were similarly
disposed of.

This was enough. A slight hint suffices for a sailor.

Still adhering to his resolution to keep the ship at sea in spite of
everything, the captain, doubtless, intended to set himself ashore,
leaving the vessel, under the mate, to resume her voyage at once; but
after a certain period agreed upon, to touch at the island, and take
him off. All this, of course, could easily be done without approaching
any nearer the land with the Julia than we now were. Invalid whaling
captains often adopt a plan like this; but, in the present instance, it
was wholly unwarranted; and, everything considered, at war with the
commonest principles of prudence and humanity. And, although, on Guy’s
part, this resolution showed more hardihood than he had ever been given
credit for, it, at the same time, argued an unaccountable simplicity,
in supposing that such a crew would, in any way, submit to the outrage.

It was soon made plain that we were right in our suspicions; and the
men became furious. The cooper and carpenter volunteered to head a
mutiny forthwith; and while Jermin was below, four or five rushed aft
to fasten down the cabin scuttle; others, throwing down the
main-braces, called out to the rest to lend a hand, and fill away for
the land. All this was done in an instant; and things were looking
critical, when Doctor Long Ghost and myself prevailed upon them to wait
a while, and do nothing hastily; there was plenty of time, and the ship
was completely in our power.

While the preparations were still going on in the cabin, we mustered
the men together, and went into counsel upon the forecastle.

It was with much difficulty that we could bring these rash spirits to a
calm consideration of the case. But the doctor’s influence at last
began to tell; and, with a few exceptions, they agreed to be guided by
him; assured that, if they did so, the ship would eventually be brought
to her anchors without anyone getting into trouble. Still they told us,
up and down, that if peaceable means failed, they would seize Little
Jule, and carry her into Papeetee, if they all swung for it; but, for
the present, the captain should have his own way.

By this time everything was ready; the boat was lowered and brought to
the gangway; and the captain was helped on deck by the mate and
steward. It was the first time we had seen him in more than two weeks,
and he was greatly altered. As if anxious to elude every eye, a
broad-brimmed Payata hat was pulled down over his brow; so that his
face was only visible when the brim flapped aside. By a sling, rigged
from the main-yard, the cook and Bembo now assisted in lowering him
into the boat. As he went moaning over the side, he must have heard the
whispered maledictions of his crew.

While the steward was busy adjusting matters in the boat, the mate,
after a private interview with the Mowree, turned round abruptly, and
told us that he was going ashore with the captain, to return as soon as
possible. In his absence, Bembo, as next in rank, would command; there
being nothing to do but keep the ship at a safe distance from the land.
He then sprang into the boat, and, with only the cook and steward as
oarsmen, steered for the shore.

Guy’s thus leaving the ship in the men’s hands, contrary to the mate’s
advice, was another evidence of his simplicity; for at this particular
juncture, had neither the doctor nor myself been aboard, there is no
telling what they might have done.

For the nonce, Bembo was captain; and, so far as mere seamanship was
concerned, he was as competent to command as anyone. In truth, a better
seaman never swore. This accomplishment, by the bye, together with a
surprising familiarity with most nautical names and phrases, comprised
about all the English he knew.

Being a harpooner, and, as such, having access to the cabin, this man,
though not yet civilized, was, according to sea usages, which know no
exceptions, held superior to the sailors; and therefore nothing was
said against his being left in charge of the ship; nor did it occasion
any surprise.

Some additional account must be given of Bembo. In the first place, he
was far from being liked. A dark, moody savage, everybody but the mate
more or less distrusted or feared him. Nor were these feelings
unreciprocated. Unless duty called, he seldom went among the crew. Hard
stories too were told about him; something, in particular, concerning
an hereditary propensity to kill men and eat them. True, he came from a
race of cannibals; but that was all that was known to a certainty.

Whatever unpleasant ideas were connected with the Mowree, his personal
appearance no way lessened them. Unlike most of his countrymen, he was,
if anything, below the ordinary height; but then, he was all compact,
and under his swart, tattooed skin, the muscles worked like steel rods.
Hair, crisp and coal-black, curled over shaggy brows, and ambushed
small, intense eyes, always on the glare. In short, he was none of your
effeminate barbarians.

Previous to this, he had been two or three voyages in Sydney whalemen;
always, however, as in the present instance, shipping at the Bay of
Islands, and receiving his discharge there on the homeward-bound
passage. In this way, his countrymen frequently enter on board the
colonial whaling vessels.

There was a man among us who had sailed with the Mowree on his first
voyage, and he told me that he had not changed a particle since then.

Some queer things this fellow told me. The following is one of his
stories. I give it for what it is worth; premising, however, that from
what I know of Bembo, and the foolhardy, dare-devil feats sometimes
performed in the sperm-whale fishery, I believe in its substantial
truth.

As may be believed, Bembo was a wild one after a fish; indeed, all New
Zealanders engaged in this business are; it seems to harmonize sweetly
with their blood-thirsty propensities. At sea, the best English they
speak is the South Seaman’s slogan in lowering away, “A dead whale, or
a stove boat!” Game to the marrow, these fellows are generally selected
for harpooners; a post in which a nervous, timid man would be rather
out of his element.

In darting, the harpooner, of course, stands erect in the head of the
boat, one knee braced against a support. But Bembo disdained this; and
was always pulled up to his fish, balancing himself right on the
gunwale.

But to my story. One morning, at daybreak, they brought him up to a
large, long whale. He darted his harpoon, and missed; and the fish
sounded. After a while, the monster rose again, about a mile off, and
they made after him. But he was frightened, or “gallied,” as they call
it; and noon came, and the boat was still chasing him. In whaling, as
long as the fish is in sight, and no matter what may have been
previously undergone, there is no giving up, except when night comes;
and nowadays, when whales are so hard to be got, frequently not even
then. At last, Bembo’s whale was alongside for the second time. He
darted both harpoons; but, as sometimes happens to the best men, by
some unaccountable chance, once more missed. Though it is well known
that such failures will happen at times, they, nevertheless, occasion
the bitterest disappointment to a boat’s crew, generally expressed in
curses both loud and deep. And no wonder. Let any man pull with might
and main for hours and hours together, under a burning sun; and if it
do not make him a little peevish, he is no sailor.

The taunts of the seamen may have maddened the Mowree; however it was,
no sooner was he brought up again, than, harpoon in hand, he bounded
upon the whale’s back, and for one dizzy second was seen there. The
next, all was foam and fury, and both were out of sight. The men
sheered off, flinging overboard the line as fast as they could; while
ahead, nothing was seen but a red whirlpool of blood and brine.

Presently, a dark object swam out; the line began to straighten; then
smoked round the loggerhead, and, quick as thought, the boat sped like
an arrow through the water. They were “fast,” and the whale was
running.

Where was the Mowree? His brown hand was on the boat’s gunwale; and he
was hauled aboard in the very midst of the mad bubbles that burst under
the bows.

Such a man, or devil, if you will, was Bembo.



CHAPTER XX.
THE ROUND ROBIN—VISITORS FROM SHORE


After the captain left, the land-breeze died away; and, as is usual
about these islands, toward noon it fell a dead calm. There was nothing
to do but haul up the courses, run down the jib, and lay and roll upon
the swells. The repose of the elements seemed to communicate itself to
the men; and for a time there was a lull.

Early in the afternoon, the mate, having left the captain at Papeetee,
returned to the ship. According to the steward, they were to go ashore
again right after dinner with the remainder of Guy’s effects.

On gaining the deck, Jermin purposely avoided us and went below without
saying a word. Meanwhile, Long Ghost and I laboured hard to diffuse the
right spirit among the crew; impressing upon them that a little
patience and management would, in the end, accomplish all that their
violence could; and that, too, without making a serious matter of it.

For my own part, I felt that I was under a foreign flag; that an
English consul was close at hand, and that sailors seldom obtain
justice. It was best to be prudent. Still, so much did I sympathize
with the men, so far, at least, as their real grievances were
concerned; and so convinced was I of the cruelty and injustice of what
Captain Guy seemed bent upon, that if need were, I stood ready to raise
a hand.

In spite of all we could do, some of them again became most refractory,
breathing nothing but downright mutiny. When we went below to dinner
these fellows stirred up such a prodigious tumult that the old hull
fairly echoed. Many, and fierce too, were the speeches delivered, and
uproarious the comments of the sailors. Among others Long Jim, or—as
the doctor afterwards called him—Lacedaemonian Jim, rose in his place,
and addressed the forecastle parliament in the following strain:

“Look ye, Britons! if after what’s happened, this here craft goes to
sea with us, we are no men; and that’s the way to say it. Speak the
word, my livelies, and I’ll pilot her in. I’ve been to Tahiti before
and I can do it.” Whereupon, he sat down amid a universal pounding of
chest-lids, and cymbaling of tin pans; the few invalids, who, as yet,
had not been actively engaged with the rest, now taking part in the
applause, creaking their bunk-boards and swinging their hammocks. Cries
also were heard, of “Handspikes and a shindy!” “Out stun-sails!”
“Hurrah!”

Several now ran on deck, and, for the moment, I thought it was all over
with us; but we finally succeeded in restoring some degree of quiet.

At last, by way of diverting their thoughts, I proposed that a “Round
Robin” should be prepared and sent ashore to the consul by Baltimore,
the cook. The idea took mightily, and I was told to set about it at
once. On turning to the doctor for the requisite materials, he told me
he had none; there was not a fly-leaf, even in any of his books. So,
after great search, a damp, musty volume, entitled “A History of the
most Atrocious and Bloody Piracies,” was produced, and its two
remaining blank leaves being torn out, were by help of a little pitch
lengthened into one sheet. For ink, some of the soot over the lamp was
then mixed with water, by a fellow of a literary turn; and an immense
quill, plucked from a distended albatross’ wing, which, nailed against
the bowsprit bitts, had long formed an ornament of the forecastle,
supplied a pen.

Making use of the stationery thus provided, I indited, upon a
chest-lid, a concise statement of our grievances; concluding with the
earnest hope that the consul would at once come off, and see how
matters stood for himself. Eight beneath the note was described the
circle about which the names were to be written; the great object of a
Round Robin being to arrange the signatures in such a way that,
although they are all found in a ring, no man can be picked out as the
leader of it.

Few among them had any regular names; many answering to some familiar
title, expressive of a personal trait; or oftener still, to the name of
the place from which they hailed; and in one or two cases were known by
a handy syllable or two, significant of nothing in particular but the
men who bore them. Some, to be sure, had, for the sake of formality,
shipped under a feigned cognomen, or “Purser’s name”; these, however,
were almost forgotten by themselves; and so, to give the document an
air of genuineness, it was decided that every man’s name should be put
down as it went among the crew.

It is due to the doctor to say that the circumscribed device was his.

Folded, and sealed with a drop of tar, the Round Robin was directed to
“The English Consul, Tahiti”; and, handed to the cook, was by him
delivered into that gentleman’s hands as soon as the mate went ashore.

On the return of the boat, sometime after dark, we learned a good deal
from old Baltimore, who, having been allowed to run about as much as he
pleased, had spent his time gossiping.

Owing to the proceedings of the French, everything in Tahiti was in an
uproar. Pritchard, the missionary consul, was absent in England; but
his place was temporarily filled by one Wilson, an educated white man,
born on the island, and the son of an old missionary of that name still
living.

With natives and foreigners alike, Wilson the younger was exceedingly
unpopular, being held an unprincipled and dissipated man, a character
verified by his subsequent conduct. Pritchard’s selecting a man like
this to attend to the duties of his office, had occasioned general
dissatisfaction ashore.

Though never in Europe or America, the acting consul had been several
voyages to Sydney in a schooner belonging to the mission; and therefore
our surprise was lessened, when Baltimore told us, that he and Captain
Guy were as sociable as could be—old acquaintances, in fact; and that
the latter had taken up his quarters at Wilson’s house. For us this
boded ill.

The mate was now assailed by a hundred questions as to what was going
to be done with us. His only reply was, that in the morning the consul
would pay us a visit, and settle everything.

After holding our ground off the harbour during the night, in the
morning a shore boat, manned by natives, was seen coming off. In it
were Wilson and another white man, who proved to be a Doctor Johnson,
an Englishman, and a resident physician of Papeetee.

Stopping our headway as they approached, Jermin advanced to the gangway
to receive them. No sooner did the consul touch the deck, than he gave
us a specimen of what he was.

“Mr. Jermin,” he cried loftily, and not deigning to notice the
respectful salutation of the person addressed, “Mr. Jermin, tack ship,
and stand off from the land.”

Upon this, the men looked hard at him, anxious to see what sort of a
looking “cove” he was. Upon inspection, he turned out to be an
exceedingly minute “cove,” with a viciously pugged nose, and a
decidedly thin pair of legs. There was nothing else noticeable about
him. Jermin, with ill-assumed suavity, at once obeyed the order, and
the ship’s head soon pointed out to sea.

Now, contempt is as frequently produced at first sight as love; and
thus was it with respect to Wilson. No one could look at him without
conceiving a strong dislike, or a cordial desire to entertain such a
feeling the first favourable opportunity. There was such an intolerable
air of conceit about this man that it was almost as much as one could
do to refrain from running up and affronting him.

“So the counsellor is come,” exclaimed Navy Bob, who, like all the
rest, invariably styled him thus, much to mine and the doctor’s
diversion. “Ay,” said another, “and for no good, I’ll be bound.”

Such were some of the observations made, as Wilson and the mate went
below conversing.

But no one exceeded the cooper in the violence with which he inveighed
against the ship and everything connected with her. Swearing like a
trooper, he called the main-mast to witness that, if he (Bungs) ever
again went out of sight of land in the Julia, he prayed Heaven that a
fate might be his—altogether too remarkable to be here related.

Much had he to say also concerning the vileness of what we had to
eat—not fit for a dog; besides enlarging upon the imprudence of
intrusting the vessel longer to a man of the mate’s intemperate habits.
With so many sick, too, what could we expect to do in the fishery? It
was no use talking; come what come might, the ship must let go her
anchor.

Now, as Bungs, besides being an able seaman, a “Cod” in the forecastle,
and about the oldest man in it, was, moreover, thus deeply imbued with
feelings so warmly responded to by the rest, he was all at once
selected to officiate as spokesman, as soon as the consul should see
fit to address us. The selection was made contrary to mine and the
doctor’s advice; however, all assured us they would keep quiet, and
hear everything Wilson had to say, before doing anything decisive.

We were not kept long in suspense; for very soon he was seen standing
in the cabin gangway, with the tarnished tin case containing the ship’s
papers; and Jennin at once sung out for the ship’s company to muster on
the quarter-deck.



CHAPTER XXI.
PROCEEDINGS OF THE CONSUL


The order was instantly obeyed, and the sailors ranged themselves,
facing the consul.

They were a wild company; men of many climes—not at all precise in
their toilet arrangements, but picturesque in their very tatters. My
friend, the Long Doctor, was there too; and with a view, perhaps, of
enlisting the sympathies of the consul for a gentleman in distress, had
taken more than ordinary pains with his appearance. But among the
sailors, he looked like a land-crane blown off to sea, and consorting
with petrels.

The forlorn Rope Yarn, however, was by far the most remarkable figure.
Land-lubber that he was, his outfit of sea-clothing had long since been
confiscated; and he was now fain to go about in whatever he could pick
up. His upper garment—an unsailor-like article of dress which he
persisted in wearing, though torn from his back twenty times in the
day—was an old “claw-hammer jacket,” or swallow-tail coat, formerly
belonging to Captain Guy, and which had formed one of his perquisites
when steward.

By the side of Wilson was the mate, bareheaded, his gray locks lying in
rings upon his bronzed brow, and his keen eye scanning the crowd as if
he knew their every thought. His frock hung loosely, exposing his round
throat, mossy chest, and short and nervous arm embossed with pugilistic
bruises, and quaint with many a device in India ink.

In the midst of a portentous silence, the consul unrolled his papers,
evidently intending to produce an effect by the exceeding bigness of
his looks.

“Mr. Jermin, call off their names;” and he handed him a list of the
ship’s company.

All answered but the deserters and the two mariners at the bottom of
the sea.

It was now supposed that the Round Robin would be produced, and
something said about it. But not so. Among the consul’s papers that
unique document was thought to be perceived; but, if there, it was too
much despised to be made a subject of comment. Some present, very
justly regarding it as an uncommon literary production, had been
anticipating all sorts of miracles therefrom; and were, therefore, much
touched at this neglect.

“Well, men,” began Wilson again after a short pause, “although you all
look hearty enough, I’m told there are some sick among you. Now then,
Mr. Jermin, call off the names on that sick-list of yours, and let them
go over to the other side of the deck—I should like to see who they
are.”

“So, then,” said he, after we had all passed over, “you are the sick
fellows, are you? Very good: I shall have you seen to. You will go down
into the cabin one by one, to Doctor Johnson, who will report your
respective cases to me. Such as he pronounces in a dying state I shall
have sent ashore; the rest will be provided with everything needful,
and remain aboard.”

At this announcement, we gazed strangely at each other, anxious to see
who it was that looked like dying, and pretty nearly deciding to stay
aboard and get well, rather than go ashore and be buried. There were
some, nevertheless, who saw very plainly what Wilson was at, and they
acted accordingly. For my own part, I resolved to assume as dying an
expression as possible; hoping that, on the strength of it, I might be
sent ashore, and so get rid of the ship without any further trouble.

With this intention, I determined to take no part in anything that
might happen until my case was decided upon. As for the doctor, he had
all along pretended to be more or less unwell; and by a significant
look now given me, it was plain that he was becoming decidedly worse.

The invalids disposed of for the present, and one of them having gone
below to be examined, the consul turned round to the rest, and
addressed them as follows:—

“Men, I’m going to ask you two or three questions—let one of you answer
yes or no, and the rest keep silent. Now then: Have you anything to say
against your mate, Mr. Jermin?” And he looked sharply among the
sailors, and, at last, right into the eye of the cooper, whom everybody
was eyeing.

“Well, sir,” faltered Bungs, “we can’t say anything against Mr.
Jermin’s seamanship, but—”

“I want no buts,” cried the consul, breaking in: “answer me yes or
no—have you anything to say against Mr. Jermin?”

“I was going on to say, sir; Mr. Jermin’s a very good man; but then—”
Here the mate looked marlinespikes at Bungs; and Bungs, after
stammering out something, looked straight down to a seam in the deck,
and stopped short.

A rather assuming fellow heretofore, the cooper had sported many
feathers in his cap; he was now showing the white one.

“So much then for that part of the business,” exclaimed Wilson,
smartly; “you have nothing to say against him, I see.”

Upon this, several seemed to be on the point of saying a good deal; but
disconcerted by the cooper’s conduct, checked themselves, and the
consul proceeded.

“Have you enough to eat, aboard? answer me, you man who spoke before.”

“Well, I don’t know as to that,” said the cooper, looking excessively
uneasy, and trying to edge back, but pushed forward again. “Some of
that salt horse ain’t as sweet as it might be.”

“That’s not what I asked you,” shouted the consul, growing brave quite
fast; “answer my questions as I put them, or I’ll find a way to make
you.”

This was going a little too far. The ferment, into which the cooper’s
poltroonery had thrown the sailors, now brooked no restraint; and one
of them—a young American who went by the name of Salem—dashed out from
among the rest, and fetching the cooper a blow that sent him humming
over toward the consul, flourished a naked sheath-knife in the air, and
burst forth with “I’m the little fellow that can answer your questions;
just put them to me once, counsellor.” But the “counsellor” had no more
questions to ask just then; for at the alarming apparition of Salem’s
knife, and the extraordinary effect produced upon Bungs, he had popped
his head down the companion-way, and was holding it there.

Upon the mate’s assuring him, however, that it was all over, he looked
up, quite flustered, if not frightened, but evidently determined to put
as fierce a face on the matter as practicable. Speaking sharply, he
warned all present to “look out”; and then repeated the question,
whether there was enough to eat aboard. Everyone now turned spokesman;
and he was assailed by a perfect hurricane of yells, in which the oaths
fell like hailstones.

“How’s this! what d’ye mean?” he cried, upon the first lull; “who told
you all to speak at once? Here, you man with the knife, you’ll be
putting someone’s eyes out yet; d’ye hear, you sir? You seem to have a
good deal to say, who are you, pray; where did you ship?”

“I’m nothing more nor a bloody beach-comber,” retorted Salem, stepping
forward piratically and eyeing him; “and if you want to know, I shipped
at the Islands about four months ago.”

“Only four months ago? And here you have more to say than men who have
been aboard the whole voyage;” and the consul made a dash at looking
furious, but failed. “Let me hear no more from you, sir. Where’s that
respectable, gray-headed man, the cooper? he’s the one to answer my
questions.”

“There’s no ’spectable, gray-headed men aboard,” returned Salem; “we’re
all a parcel of mutineers and pirates!”

All this time, the mate was holding his peace; and Wilson, now
completely abashed, and at a loss what to do, took him by the arm, and
walked across the deck. Returning to the cabin-scuttle, after a close
conversation, he abruptly addressed the sailors, without taking any
further notice of what had just happened.

“For reasons you all know, men, this ship has been placed in my hands.
As Captain Guy will remain ashore for the present, your mate, Mr.
Jermin, will command until his recovery. According to my judgment,
there is no reason why the voyage should not be at once resumed;
especially, as I shall see that you have two more harpooners, and
enough good men to man three boats. As for the sick, neither you nor I
have anything to do with them; they will be attended to by Doctor
Johnson; but I’ve explained that matter before. As soon as things can
be arranged—in a day or two, at farthest—you will go to sea for a three
months’ cruise, touching here, at the end of it, for your captain. Let
me hear a good report of you, now, when you come back. At present, you
will continue lying off and on the harbour. I will send you fresh
provisions as soon as I can get them. There: I’ve nothing more to say;
go forward to your stations.”

And, without another word, he wheeled round to descend into the cabin.
But hardly had he concluded before the incensed men were dancing about
him on every side, and calling upon him to lend an ear. Each one for
himself denied the legality of what he proposed to do; insisted upon
the necessity for taking the ship in; and finally gave him to
understand, roughly and roundly, that go to sea in her they would not.

In the midst of this mutinous uproar, the alarmed consul stood fast by
the scuttle. His tactics had been decided upon beforehand; indeed, they
must have been concerted ashore, between him and the captain; for all
he said, as he now hurried below, was, “Go forward, men; I’m through
with you: you should have mentioned these matters before: my
arrangements are concluded: go forward, I say; I’ve nothing more to say
to you.” And, drawing over the slide of the scuttle, he disappeared.
Upon the very point of following him down, the attention of the
exasperated seamen was called off to a party who had just then taken
the recreant Bungs in hand. Amid a shower of kicks and cuffs, the
traitor was borne along to the forecastle, where—I forbear to relate
what followed.



CHAPTER XXII.
THE CONSUL’S DEPARTURE


During the scenes just described, Doctor Johnson was engaged in
examining the sick, of whom, as it turned out, all but two were to
remain in the ship. He had evidently received his cue from Wilson.

One of the last called below into the cabin, just as the quarter-deck
gathering dispersed, I came on deck quite incensed. My lameness, which,
to tell the truth, was now much better, was put down as, in a great
measure, affected; and my name was on the list of those who would be
fit for any duty in a day or two. This was enough. As for Doctor Long
Ghost, the shore physician, instead of extending to him any
professional sympathy, had treated him very cavalierly. To a certain
extent, therefore, we were now both bent on making common cause with
the sailors.

I must explain myself here. All we wanted was to have the ship snugly
anchored in Papeetee Bay; entertaining no doubt that, could this be
done, it would in some way or other peaceably lead to our emancipation.
Without a downright mutiny, there was but one way to accomplish this:
to induce the men to refuse all further duty, unless it were to work
the vessel in. The only difficulty lay in restraining them within
proper bounds. Nor was it without certain misgivings, that I found
myself so situated, that I must necessarily link myself, however
guardedly, with such a desperate company; and in an enterprise, too, of
which it was hard to conjecture what might be the result. But anything
like neutrality was out of the question; and unconditional submission
was equally so.

On going forward, we found them ten times more tumultuous than ever.
After again restoring some degree of tranquillity, we once more urged
our plan of quietly refusing duty, and awaiting the result. At first,
few would hear of it; but in the end, a good number were convinced by
our representations. Others held out. Nor were those who thought with
us in all things to be controlled.

Upon Wilson’s coming on deck to enter his boat, he was beset on all
sides; and, for a moment, I thought the ship would be seized before his
very eyes.

“Nothing more to say to you, men: my arrangements are made. Go forward,
where you belong. I’ll take no insolence;” and, in a tremor, Wilson
hurried over the side in the midst of a volley of execrations.

Shortly after his departure, the mate ordered the cook and steward into
his boat; and saying that he was going to see how the captain did, left
us, as before, under the charge of Bembo.

At this time we were lying becalmed, pretty close in with the land
(having gone about again), our main-topsail flapping against the mast
with every roll.

The departure of the consul and Jermin was followed by a scene
absolutely indescribable. The sailors ran about deck like madmen;
Bembo, all the while leaning against the taff-rail by himself, smoking
his heathenish stone pipe, and never interfering.

The cooper, who that morning had got himself into a fluid of an
exceedingly high temperature, now did his best to regain the favour of
the crew. “Without distinction of party,” he called upon all hands to
step up, and partake of the contents of his bucket.

But it was quite plain that, before offering to intoxicate others, he
had taken the wise precaution of getting well tipsy himself. He was now
once more happy in the affection of his shipmates, who, one and all,
pronounced him sound to the kelson.

The Pisco soon told; and, with great difficulty, we restrained a party
in the very act of breaking into the after-hold in pursuit of more. All
manner of pranks were now played.

“Mast-head, there! what d’ye see?” bawled Beauty, hailing the
main-truck through an enormous copper funnel. “Stand by for stays,”
roared Flash Jack, bawling off with the cook’s axe, at the fastening of
the main-stay. “Looky out for ’quails!” shrieked the Portuguese,
Antone, darting a handspike through the cabin skylight. And “Heave
round cheerly, men,” sung out Navy Bob, dancing a hornpipe on the
forecastle.



CHAPTER XXIII.
THE SECOND NIGHT OFF PAPEETEE


Toward sunset, the mate came off, singing merrily, in the stern of his
boat; and in attempting to climb up the side, succeeded in going plump
into the water. He was rescued by the steward, and carried across the
deck with many moving expressions of love for his bearer. Tumbled into
the quarter-boat, he soon fell asleep, and waking about midnight,
somewhat sobered, went forward among the men. Here, to prepare for what
follows, we must leave him for a moment.

It was now plain enough that Jermin was by no means unwilling to take
the Julia to sea; indeed, there was nothing he so much desired; though
what his reasons were, seeing our situation, we could only conjecture.
Nevertheless, so it was; and having counted much upon his rough
popularity with the men to reconcile them to a short cruise under him,
he had consequently been disappointed in their behaviour. Still,
thinking that they would take a different view of the matter, when they
came to know what fine times he had in store for them, he resolved upon
trying a little persuasion.

So on going forward, he put his head down the forecastle scuttle, and
hailed us quite cordially, inviting us down into the cabin; where, he
said, he had something to make merry withal. Nothing loth, we went; and
throwing ourselves along the transom, waited for the steward to serve
us.

As the can circulated, Jermin, leaning on the table and occupying the
captain’s arm-chair secured to the deck, opened his mind as bluntly and
freely as ever. He was by no means yet sober.

He told us we were acting very foolishly; that if we only stuck to the
ship, he would lead us all a jovial life of it; enumerating the casks
still remaining untapped in the Julia’s wooden cellar. It was even
hinted vaguely that such a thing might happen as our not coming back
for the captain; whom he spoke of but lightly; asserting, what he had
often said before, that he was no sailor.

Moreover, and perhaps with special reference to Doctor Long Ghost and
myself, he assured us generally that, if there were any among us
studiously inclined, he would take great pleasure in teaching such the
whole art and mystery of navigation, including the gratuitous use of
his quadrant.

I should have mentioned that, previous to this, he had taken the doctor
aside, and said something about reinstating him in the cabin with
augmented dignity; beside throwing out a hint that I myself was in some
way or other to be promoted. But it was all to no purpose; bent the men
were upon going ashore, and there was no moving them.

At last he flew into a rage—much increased by the frequency of his
potations—and with many imprecations, concluded by driving everybody
out of the cabin. We tumbled up the gangway in high good-humour.

Upon deck everything looked so quiet that some of the most pugnacious
spirits actually lamented that there was so little prospect of an
exhilarating disturbance before morning. It was not five minutes,
however, ere these fellows were gratified.

Sydney Ben—said to be a runaway Ticket-of-Leave-Man, and for reasons of
his own, one of the few who still remained on duty—had, for the sake of
the fun, gone down with the rest into the cabin; where Bembo, who
meanwhile was left in charge of the deck, had frequently called out for
him. At first, Ben pretended not to hear; but on being sung out for
again and again, bluntly refused; at the same time, casting some
illiberal reflections on the Mowree’s maternal origin, which the latter
had been long enough among the sailors to understand as in the highest
degree offensive. So just after the men came up from below, Bembo
singled him out, and gave him such a cursing in his broken lingo that
it was enough to frighten one. The convict was the worse for liquor;
indeed the Mowree had been tippling also, and before we knew it, a blow
was struck by Ben, and the two men came together like magnets.

The Ticket-of-Leave-Man was a practised bruiser; but the savage knew
nothing of the art pugilistic: and so they were even. It was clear
hugging and wrenching till both came to the deck. Here they rolled over
and over in the middle of a ring which seemed to form of itself. At
last the white man’s head fell back, and his face grew purple. Bembo’s
teeth were at his throat. Rushing in all round, they hauled the savage
off, but not until repeatedly struck on the head would he let go.

His rage was now absolutely demoniac; he lay glaring and writhing on
the deck, without attempting to rise. Cowed, as they supposed he was,
from his attitude, the men, rejoiced at seeing him thus humbled, left
him; after rating him, in sailor style, for a cannibal and a coward.

Ben was attended to, and led below.

Soon after this, the rest also, with but few exceptions, retired into
the forecastle; and having been up nearly all the previous night, they
quickly dropped about the chests and rolled into the hammocks. In an
hour’s time, not a sound could be heard in that part of the ship.

Before Bembo was dragged away, the mate had in vain endeavoured to
separate the combatants, repeatedly striking the Mowree; but the seamen
interposing, at last kept him off.

And intoxicated as he was, when they dispersed, he knew enough to
charge the steward—a steady seaman be it remembered—with the present
safety of the ship; and then went below, when he fell directly into
another drunken sleep.

Having remained upon deck with the doctor some time after the rest had
gone below, I was just on the point of following him down, when I saw
the Mowree rise, draw a bucket of water, and holding it high above his
head, pour its contents right over him. This he repeated several times.
There was nothing very peculiar in the act, but something else about
him struck me. However, I thought no more of it, but descended the
scuttle.

After a restless nap, I found the atmosphere of the forecastle so
close, from nearly all the men being down at the same time, that I
hunted up an old pea-jacket and went on deck; intending to sleep it out
there till morning. Here I found the cook and steward, Wymontoo, Rope
Yarn, and the Dane; who, being all quiet, manageable fellows, and
holding aloof from the rest since the captain’s departure, had been
ordered by the mate not to go below until sunrise. They were lying
under the lee of the bulwarks; two or three fast asleep, and the others
smoking their pipes, and conversing.

To my surprise, Bembo was at the helm; but there being so few to stand
there now, they told me, he had offered to take his turn with the rest,
at the same time heading the watch; and to this, of course, they made
no objection.

It was a fine, bright night; all moon and stars, and white crests of
waves. The breeze was light, but freshening; and close-hauled, poor
little Jule, as if nothing had happened, was heading in for the land,
which rose high and hazy in the distance.

After the day’s uproar, the tranquillity of the scene was soothing, and
I leaned over the side to enjoy it.

More than ever did I now lament my situation—but it was useless to
repine, and I could not upbraid myself. So at last, becoming drowsy, I
made a bed with my jacket under the windlass, and tried to forget
myself.

How long I lay there, I cannot tell; but as I rose, the first object
that met my eye was Bembo at the helm; his dark figure slowly rising
and falling with the ship’s motion against the spangled heavens behind.
He seemed all impatience and expectation; standing at arm’s length from
the spokes, with one foot advanced, and his bare head thrust forward.
Where I was, the watch were out of sight; and no one else was stirring;
the deserted decks and broad white sails were gleaming in the
moonlight.

Presently, a swelling, dashing sound came upon my ear, and I had a sort
of vague consciousness that I had been hearing it before. The next
instant I was broad awake and on my feet. Eight ahead, and so near that
my heart stood still, was a long line of breakers, heaving and
frothing. It was the coral reef girdling the island. Behind it, and
almost casting their shadows upon the deck, were the sleeping
mountains, about whose hazy peaks the gray dawn was just breaking. The
breeze had freshened, and with a steady, gliding motion, we were
running straight for the reef.

All was taken in at a glance; the fell purpose of Bembo was obvious,
and with a frenzied shout to wake the watch, I rushed aft. They sprang
to their feet bewildered; and after a short, but desperate scuffle, we
tore him from the helm. In wrestling with him, the wheel—left for a
moment unguarded—flew to leeward, thus, fortunately, bringing the
ship’s head to the wind, and so retarding her progress. Previous to
this, she had been kept three or four points free, so as to close with
the breakers. Her headway now shortened, I steadied the helm, keeping
the sails just lifting, while we glided obliquely toward the land. To
have run off before the wind—an easy thing—would have been almost
instant destruction, owing to a curve of the reef in that direction. At
this time, the Dane and the steward were still struggling with the
furious Mowree, and the others were running about irresolute and
shouting.

But darting forward the instant I had the helm, the old cook thundered
on the forecastle with a handspike, “Breakers! breakers close
aboard!—’bout ship! ’bout ship!”

Up came the sailors, staring about them in stupid horror.

“Haul back the head-yards!” “Let go the lee fore-brace!” “Ready about!
about!” were now shouted on all sides; while distracted by a thousand
orders, they ran hither and thither, fairly panic-stricken.

It seemed all over with us; and I was just upon the point of throwing
the ship full into the wind (a step, which, saving us for the instant,
would have sealed our fate in the end), when a sharp cry shot by my ear
like the flight of an arrow.

It was Salem: “All ready for’ard; hard down!”

Round and round went the spokes—the Julia, with her short keel,
spinning to windward like a top. Soon, the jib-sheets lashed the stays,
and the men, more self-possessed, flew to the braces.

“Main-sail haul!” was now heard, as the fresh breeze streamed fore and
aft the deck; and directly the after-yards were whirled round.

In a half-a-minute more, we were sailing away from the land on the
other tack, with every sail distended.

Turning on her heel within little more than a biscuit’s toss of the
reef, no earthly power could have saved us, were it not that, up to the
very brink of the coral rampart, there are no soundings.



CHAPTER XXIV.
OUTBREAK OF THE CREW


The purpose of Bembo had been made known to the men generally by the
watch; and now that our salvation was certain, by an instinctive
impulse they raised a cry, and rushed toward him.

Just before liberated by Dunk and the steward, he was standing doggedly
by the mizzen-mast; and, as the infuriated sailors came on, his
bloodshot eye rolled, and his sheath-knife glittered over his head.

“Down with him!” “Strike him down!” “Hang him at the main-yard!” such
were the shouts now raised. But he stood unmoved, and, for a single
instant, they absolutely faltered.

“Cowards!” cried Salem, and he flung himself upon him. The steel
descended like a ray of light; but did no harm; for the sailor’s heart
was beating against the Mowree’s before he was aware.

They both fell to the deck, when the knife was instantly seized, and
Bembo secured.

“For’ard! for’ard with him!” was again the cry; “give him a sea-toss!”
“Overboard with him!” and he was dragged along the deck, struggling and
fighting with tooth and nail.

All this uproar immediately over the mate’s head at last roused him
from his drunken nap, and he came staggering on deck.

“What’s this?” he shouted, running right in among them.

“It’s the Mowree, zur; they are going to murder him, zur,” here sobbed
poor Rope Yarn, crawling close up to him.

“Avast! avast!” roared Jermin, making a spring toward Bembo, and
dashing two or three of the sailors aside. At this moment the wretch
was partly flung over the bulwarks, which shook with his frantic
struggles. In vain the doctor and others tried to save him: the men
listened to nothing.

“Murder and mutiny, by the salt sea!” shouted the mate; and dashing his
arms right and left, he planted his iron hand upon the Mowree’s
shoulder.

“There are two of us now; and as you serve him, you serve me,” he
cried, turning fiercely round.

“Over with them together, then,” exclaimed the carpenter, springing
forward; but the rest fell back before the courageous front of Jermin,
and, with the speed of thought, Bembo, unharmed, stood upon deck.

“Aft with ye!” cried his deliverer; and he pushed him right among the
men, taking care to follow him up close. Giving the sailors no time to
recover, he pushed the Mowree before him, till they came to the cabin
scuttle, when he drew the slide over him, and stood still. Throughout,
Bembo never spoke one word.

“Now for’ard where ye belong!” cried the mate, addressing the seamen,
who by this time, rallying again, had no idea of losing their victim.

“The Mowree! the Mowree!” they shouted.

Here the doctor, in answer to the mate’s repeated questions, stepped
forward, and related what Bembo had been doing; a matter which the mate
but dimly understood from the violent threatenings he had been hearing.

For a moment he seemed to waver; but at last, turning the key of the
padlock of the slide, he breathed through his set teeth—“Ye can’t have
him; I’ll hand him over to the consul; so for’ard with ye, I say: when
there’s any drowning to be done, I’ll pass the word; so away with ye,
ye blood-thirsty pirates.”

It was to no purpose that they begged or threatened: Jermin, although
by no means sober, stood his ground manfully, and before long they
dispersed, soon to forget everything that had happened.

Though we had no opportunity to hear him confess it, Bembo’s intention
to destroy us was beyond all question. His only motive could have been
a desire to revenge the contumely heaped upon him the night previous,
operating upon a heart irreclaimably savage, and at no time fraternally
disposed toward the crew.

During the whole of this scene the doctor did his best to save him. But
well knowing that all I could do would have been equally useless, I
maintained my place at the wheel. Indeed, no one but Jermin could have
prevented this murder.



CHAPTER XXV.
JERMIN ENCOUNTERS AN OLD SHIPMATE


During the morning of the day which dawned upon the events just
recounted, we remained a little to leeward of the harbour, waiting the
appearance of the consul, who had promised the mate to come off in a
shore boat for the purpose of seeing him.

By this time the men had forced his secret from the cooper, and the
consequence was that they kept him continually coming and going from
the after-hold. The mate must have known this; but he said nothing,
notwithstanding all the dancing and singing, and occasional fighting
which announced the flow of the Pisco.

The peaceable influence which the doctor and myself had heretofore been
exerting, was now very nearly at an end.

Confident, from the aspect of matters, that the ship, after all, would
be obliged to go in; and learning, moreover, that the mate had said so,
the sailors, for the present, seemed in no hurry about it; especially
as the bucket of Bungs gave such generous cheer.

As for Bembo, we were told that, after putting him in double irons, the
mate had locked him up in the captain’s state-room, taking the
additional precaution of keeping the cabin scuttle secured. From this
time forward we never saw the Mowree again, a circumstance which will
explain itself as the narrative proceeds.

Noon came, and no consul; and as the afternoon advanced without any
word even from the shore, the mate was justly incensed; more especially
as he had taken great pains to keep perfectly sober against Wilson’s
arrival.

Two or three hours before sundown, a small schooner came out of the
harbour, and headed over for the adjoining island of Imeeo, or Moreea,
in plain sight, about fifteen miles distant. The wind failing, the
current swept her down under our bows, where we had a fair glimpse of
the natives on her decks.

There were a score of them, perhaps, lounging upon spread mats, and
smoking their pipes. On floating so near, and hearing the maudlin cries
of our crew, and beholding their antics, they must have taken us for a
pirate; at any rate, they got out their sweeps, and pulled away as fast
as they could; the sight of our two six-pounders, which, by way of a
joke, were now run out of the side-ports, giving a fresh impetus to
their efforts. But they had not gone far, when a white man, with a red
sash about his waist, made his appearance on deck, the natives
immediately desisting.

Hailing us loudly, he said he was coming aboard; and after some
confusion on the schooner’s decks, a small canoe was launched
over-board, and, in a minute or two, he was with us. He turned out to
be an old shipmate of Jermin’s, one Viner, long supposed dead, but now
resident on the island.

The meeting of these men, under the circumstances, is one of a thousand
occurrences appearing exaggerated in fiction; but, nevertheless,
frequently realized in actual lives of adventure.

Some fifteen years previous, they had sailed together as officers of
the barque Jane, of London, a South Seaman. Somewhere near the New
Hebrides, they struck one night upon an unknown reef; and, in a few
hours, the Jane went to pieces. The boats, however, were saved; some
provisions also, a quadrant, and a few other articles. But several of
the men were lost before they got clear of the wreck.

The three boats, commanded respectively by the captain, Jermin, and the
third mate, then set sail for a small English settlement at the Bay of
Islands in New Zealand. Of course they kept together as much as
possible. After being at sea about a week, a Lascar in the captain’s
boat went crazy; and, it being dangerous to keep him, they tried to
throw him overboard. In the confusion that ensued the boat capsized
from the sail’s “jibing”; and a considerable sea running at the time,
and the other boats being separated more than usual, only one man was
picked up. The very next night it blew a heavy gale; and the remaining
boats taking in all sail, made bundles of their oars, flung them
overboard, and rode to them with plenty of line. When morning broke,
Jermin and his men were alone upon the ocean: the third mate’s boat, in
all probability, having gone down.

After great hardships, the survivors caught sight of a brig, which took
them on board, and eventually landed them at Sydney.

Ever since then our mate had sailed from that port, never once hearing
of his lost shipmates, whom, by this time, of course, he had long given
up. Judge, then, his feelings when Viner, the lost third mate, the
instant he touched the deck, rushed up and wrung him by the hand.

During the gale his line had parted; so that the boat, drifting fast to
leeward, was out of sight by morning. Reduced, after this, to great
extremities, the boat touched, for fruit, at an island of which they
knew nothing. The natives, at first, received them kindly; but one of
the men getting into a quarrel on account of a woman, and the rest
taking his part, they were all massacred but Viner, who, at the time,
was in an adjoining village. After staying on the island more than two
years, he finally escaped in the boat of an American whaler, which
landed him at Valparaiso. From this period he had continued to follow
the seas, as a man before the mast, until about eighteen months
previous, when he went ashore at Tahiti, where he now owned the
schooner we saw, in which he traded among the neighbouring islands.

The breeze springing up again just after nightfall, Viner left us,
promising his old shipmate to see him again, three days hence, in
Papeetee harbour.



CHAPTER XXVI.
WE ENTER THE HARBOUR—JIM THE PILOT


Exhausted by the day’s wassail, most of the men went below at an early
hour, leaving the deck to the steward and two of the men remaining on
duty; the mate, with Baltimore and the Dane, engaging to relieve them
at midnight. At that hour, the ship—now standing off shore, under short
sail—was to be tacked.

It was not long after midnight, when we were wakened in the forecastle
by the lion roar of Jermin’s voice, ordering a pull at the
jib-halyards; and soon afterwards, a handspike struck the scuttle, and
all hands were called to take the ship into port.

This was wholly unexpected; but we learned directly that the mate, no
longer relying upon the consul, and renouncing all thought of inducing
the men to change their minds, had suddenly made up his own. He was
going to beat up to the entrance of the harbour, so as to show a signal
for a pilot before sunrise.

Notwithstanding this, the sailors absolutely refused to assist in
working the ship under any circumstances whatever: to all mine and the
doctor’s entreaties lending a deaf ear. Sink or strike, they swore they
would have nothing more to do with her. This perverseness was to be
attributed, in a great measure, to the effects of their late debauch.

With a strong breeze, all sail set, and the ship in the hands of four
or five men, exhausted by two nights’ watching, our situation was bad
enough; especially as the mate seemed more reckless than ever, and we
were now to tack ship several times close under the land.

Well knowing that if anything untoward happened to the vessel before
morning, it would be imputed to the conduct of the crew, and so lead to
serious results, should they ever be brought to trial; I called
together those on deck to witness my declaration;—that now that the
Julia was destined for the harbour (the only object for which I, at
least, had been struggling), I was willing to do what I could toward
carrying her in safely. In this step I was followed by the doctor.

The hours passed anxiously until morning; when, being well to windward
of the mouth of the harbour, we bore up for it, with the union-jack at
the fore. No sign, however, of boat or pilot was seen; and after
running close in several times, the ensign was set at the mizzen-peak,
union down in distress. But it was of no avail.

Attributing to Wilson this unaccountable remissness on the part of
those ashore, Jermin, quite enraged, now determined to stand boldly in
upon his own responsibility; trusting solely to what he remembered of
the harbour on a visit there many years previous.

This resolution was characteristic. Even with a competent pilot,
Papeetee Bay, is considered a ticklish, one to enter. Formed by a bold
sweep of the shore, it is protected seaward by the coral reef, upon
which the rollers break with great violence. After stretching across
the bay, the barrier extends on toward Point Venus, in the district of
Matavia, eight or nine miles distant. Here there is an opening, by
which ships enter, and glide down the smooth, deep canal, between the
reef and the shore, to the harbour. But, by seamen generally, the
leeward entrance is preferred, as the wind is extremely variable inside
the reef. This latter entrance is a break in the barrier directly
facing the bay and village of Papeetee. It is very narrow; and from the
baffling winds, currents, and sunken rocks, ships now and then grate
their keels against the coral.

But the mate was not to be daunted; so, stationing what men he had at
the braces, he sprang upon the bulwarks, and, bidding everybody keep
wide awake, ordered the helm up. In a few moments, we were running in.
Being toward noon, the wind was fast leaving us, and, by the time the
breakers were roaring on either hand, little more than steerage-way was
left. But on we glided—smoothly and deftly; avoiding the green,
darkling objects here and there strewn in our path; Jermin occasionally
looking down in the water, and then about him, with the utmost
calmness, and not a word spoken. Just fanned along thus, it was not
many minutes ere we were past all danger, and floated into the placid
basin within. This was the cleverest specimen of his seamanship that he
ever gave us.

As we held on toward the frigate and shipping, a canoe, coming out from
among them, approached. In it were a boy and an old man—both islanders;
the former nearly naked, and the latter dressed in an old naval
frock-coat. Both were paddling with might and main; the old man, once
in a while, tearing his paddle out of the water; and, after rapping his
companion over the head, both fell to with fresh vigour. As they came
within hail, the old fellow, springing to his feet and flourishing his
paddle, cut some of the queerest capers; all the while jabbering
something which at first we could not understand.

Presently we made out the following:—“Ah! you pemi, ah!—you come!—What
for you come?—You be fine for come no pilot.—I say, you hear?—I say,
you ita maitui (no good).—You hear?—You no pilot.—Yes, you d—— me, you
no pilot ’t all; I d—— you; you hear?”

This tirade, which showed plainly that, whatever the profane old rascal
was at, he was in right good earnest, produced peals of laughter from
the ship. Upon which, he seemed to get beside himself; and the boy,
who, with suspended paddle, was staring about him, received a sound box
over the head, which set him to work in a twinkling, and brought the
canoe quite near. The orator now opening afresh, it turned out that his
vehement rhetoric was all addressed to the mate, still standing
conspicuously on the bulwarks.

But Jermin was in no humour for nonsense; so, with a sailor’s blessing,
he ordered him off. The old fellow then flew into a regular frenzy,
cursing and swearing worse than any civilized being I ever heard.

“You sabbee me?” he shouted. “You know me, ah? Well; me Jim, me
pilot—been pilot now long time.”

“Ay,” cried Jermin, quite surprised, as indeed we all were, “you are
the pilot, then, you old pagan. Why didn’t you come off before this?”

“Ah! me scibbee,—me know—you piratee (pirate)—see you long time, but no
me come—I sabbee you—you ita maitai nuee (superlatively bad).”

“Paddle away with ye,” roared Jermin, in a rage; “be off! or I’ll dart
a harpoon at ye!”

But, instead of obeying the order, Jim, seizing his paddle, darted the
canoe right up to the gangway, and, in two bounds, stood on deck.

Pulling a greasy silk handkerchief still lower over his brow, and
improving the sit of his frock-coat with a vigorous jerk, he then
strode up to the mate; and, in a more flowery style than ever, gave him
to understand that the redoubtable “Jim,” himself, was before him; that
the ship was his until the anchor was down; and he should like to hear
what anyone had to say to it.

As there now seemed little doubt that he was all he claimed to be, the
Julia was at last surrendered.

Our gentleman now proceeded to bring us to an anchor, jumping up
between the knight-heads, and bawling out “Luff! luff! keepy off!
leeepy off!” and insisting upon each time being respectfully responded
to by the man at the helm. At this time our steerage-way was almost
gone; and yet, in giving his orders, the passionate old man made as
much fuss as a white squall aboard the Flying Dutchman.

Jim turned out to be the regular pilot of the harbour; a post, be it
known, of no small profit; and, in his eyes, at least, invested with
immense importance. Our unceremonious entrance, therefore, was regarded
as highly insulting, and tending to depreciate both the dignity and
lucrativeness of his office.

The old man is something of a wizard. Having an understanding with the
elements, certain phenomena of theirs are exhibited for his particular
benefit. Unusually clear weather, with a fine steady breeze, is a
certain sign that a merchantman is at hand; whale-spouts seen from the
harbour are tokens of a whaling vessel’s approach; and thunder and
lightning, happening so seldom as they do, are proof positive that a
man-of-war is drawing near.

In short, Jim, the pilot, is quite a character in his way; and no one
visits Tahiti without hearing some curious story about him.



CHAPTER XXVII.
A GLANCE AT PAPEETEE—WE ARE SENT ABOARD THE FRIGATE


The village of Papeetee struck us all very pleasantly. Lying in a
semicircle round the bay, the tasteful mansions of the chiefs and
foreign residents impart an air of tropical elegance, heightened by the
palm-trees waving here and there, and the deep-green groves of the
Bread-Fruit in the background. The squalid huts of the common people
are out of sight, and there is nothing to mar the prospect.

All round the water extends a wide, smooth beach of mixed pebbles and
fragments of coral. This forms the thoroughfare of the village; the
handsomest houses all facing it—the fluctuation of the tides being so
inconsiderable that they cause no inconvenience.

The Pritchard residence—a fine large building—occupies a site on one
side of the bay: a green lawn slopes off to the sea: and in front waves
the English flag. Across the water, the tricolour also, and the stars
and stripes, distinguish the residences of the other consuls.

What greatly added to the picturesqueness of the bay at this time was
the condemned hull of a large ship, which, at the farther end of the
harbour, lay bilged upon the beach, its stern settled low in the water,
and the other end high and dry. From where we lay, the trees behind
seemed to lock their leafy boughs over its bowsprit; which, from its
position, looked nearly upright.

She was an American whaler, a very old craft. Having sprung a leak at
sea, she had made all sail for the island, to heave down for repairs.
Found utterly unseaworthy, however, her oil was taken out and sent home
in another vessel; the hull was then stripped and sold for a trifle.

Before leaving Tahiti, I had the curiosity to go over this poor old
ship, thus stranded on a strange shore. What were my emotions, when I
saw upon her stern the name of a small town on the river Hudson! She
was from the noble stream on whose banks I was born; in whose waters I
had a hundred times bathed. In an instant, palm-trees and elms—canoes
and skiffs—church spires and bamboos—all mingled in one vision of the
present and the past.

But we must not leave little Jule.

At last the wishes of many were gratified; and like an aeronaut’s
grapnel, her rusty little anchor was caught in the coral groves at the
bottom of Papeetee Bay. This must have been more than forty days after
leaving the Marquesas.

The sails were yet unfurled, when a boat came alongside with our
esteemed friend Wilson, the consul.

“How’s this, how’s this, Mr. Jermin?” he began, looking very savage as
he touched the deck. “What brings you in without orders?”

“You did not come off to us, as you promised, sir; and there was no
hanging on longer with nobody to work the ship,” was the blunt reply.

“So the infernal scoundrels held out—did they? Very good; I’ll make
them sweat for it,” and he eyed the scowling men with unwonted
intrepidity. The truth was, he felt safer now, than when outside the
reef.

“Muster the mutineers on the quarter-deck,” he continued. “Drive them
aft, sir, sick and well: I have a word to say to them.”

“Now, men,” said he, “you think it’s all well with you, I suppose. You
wished the ship in, and here she is. Captain Guy’s ashore, and you
think you must go too: but we’ll see about that—I’ll miserably
disappoint you.” (These last were his very words.) “Mr. Jermin, call
off the names of those who did not refuse duty, and let them go over to
the starboard side.”

This done, a list was made out of the “mutineers,” as he was pleased to
call the rest. Among these, the doctor and myself were included; though
the former stepped forward, and boldly pleaded the office held by him
when the vessel left Sydney. The mate also—who had always been
friendly—stated the service rendered by myself two nights previous, as
well as my conduct when he announced his intention to enter the
harbour. For myself, I stoutly maintained that, according to the tenor
of the agreement made with Captain Guy, my time aboard the ship had
expired—the cruise being virtually at an end, however it had been
brought about—and I claimed my discharge.

But Wilson would hear nothing. Marking something in my manner,
nevertheless, he asked my name and country; and then observed with a
sneer, “Ah, you are the lad, I see, that wrote the Round Robin; I’ll
take good care of you, my fine fellow—step back, sir.”

As for poor Long Ghost, he denounced him as a “Sydney Flash-Gorger”;
though what under heaven he meant by that euphonious title is more than
I can tell. Upon this, the doctor gave him such a piece of his mind
that the consul furiously commanded him to hold his peace, or he would
instantly have him seized into the rigging and flogged. There was no
help for either of us—we were judged by the company we kept.

All were now sent forward; not a word being said as to what he intended
doing with us.

After a talk with the mate, the consul withdrew, going aboard the
French frigate, which lay within a cable’s length. We now suspected his
object; and since matters had come to this pass, were rejoiced at it.
In a day or two the Frenchman was to sail for Valparaiso, the usual
place of rendezvous for the English squadron in the Pacific; and
doubtless, Wilson meant to put us on board, and send us thither to be
delivered up. Should our conjecture prove correct, all we had to
expect, according to our most experienced shipmates, was the fag end of
a cruise in one of her majesty’s ships, and a discharge before long at
Portsmouth.

We now proceeded to put on all the clothes we could—frock over frock,
and trousers over trousers—so as to be in readiness for removal at a
moment’s warning. Armed ships allow nothing superfluous to litter up
the deck; and therefore, should we go aboard the frigate, our chests
and their contents would have to be left behind.

In an hour’s time, the first cutter of the Reine Blanche came
alongside, manned by eighteen or twenty sailors, armed with cutlasses
and boarding pistols—the officers, of course, wearing their side-arms,
and the consul in an official cocked hat borrowed for the occasion. The
boat was painted a “pirate black,” its crew were a dark, grim-looking
set, and the officers uncommonly fierce-looking little Frenchmen. On
the whole they were calculated to intimidate—the consul’s object,
doubtless, in bringing them.

Summoned aft again, everyone’s name was called separately; and being
solemnly reminded that it was his last chance to escape punishment, was
asked if he still refused duty. The response was instantaneous: “Ay,
sir, I do.” In some cases followed up by divers explanatory
observations, cut short by Wilson’s ordering the delinquent to the
cutter. As a general thing, the order was promptly obeyed—some taking a
sequence of hops, skips, and jumps, by way of showing not only their
unimpaired activity of body, but their alacrity in complying with all
reasonable requests.

Having avowed their resolution not to pull another rope of the
Julia’s—even if at once restored to perfect health—all the invalids,
with the exception of the two to be set ashore, accompanied us into the
cutter: They were in high spirits; so much so that something was
insinuated about their not having been quite as ill as pretended.

The cooper’s name was the last called; we did not hear what he
answered, but he stayed behind. Nothing was done about the Mowree.

Shoving clear from the ship, three loud cheers were raised; Flash Jack
and others receiving a sharp reprimand for it from the consul.

“Good-bye, Little Jule,” cried Navy Bob, as we swept under the bows.
“Don’t fall overboard, Ropey,” said another to the poor landlubber,
who, with Wymontoo, the Dane, and others left behind, was looking over
at us from the forecastle.

“Give her three more!” cried Salem, springing to his feet and whirling
his hat round. “You sacre dam raakeel,” shouted the lieutenant of the
party, bringing the flat of his sabre across his shoulders, “you now
keepy steel.”

The doctor and myself, more discreet, sat quietly in the bow of the
cutter; and for my own part, though I did not repent what I had done,
my reflections were far from being enviable.



CHAPTER XXVIII.
RECEPTION FROM THE FRENCHMAN


In a few moments, we were paraded in the frigate’s gangway; the first
lieutenant—an elderly yellow-faced officer, in an ill-cut coat and
tarnished gold lace—coming up, and frowning upon us.

This gentleman’s head was a mere bald spot; his legs, sticks; in short,
his whole physical vigour seemed exhausted in the production of one
enormous moustache. Old Gamboge, as he was forthwith christened, now
received a paper from the consul; and, opening it, proceeded to compare
the goods delivered with the invoice.

After being thoroughly counted, a meek little midshipman was called,
and we were soon after given in custody to half-a-dozen
sailor-soldiers—fellows with tarpaulins and muskets. Preceded by a
pompous functionary (whom we took for one of the ship’s corporals, from
his ratan and the gold lace on his sleeve), we were now escorted down
the ladders to the berth-deck.

Here we were politely handcuffed, all round; the man with the bamboo
evincing the utmost solicitude in giving us a good fit from a large
basket of the articles of assorted sizes.

Taken by surprise at such an uncivil reception, a few of the party
demurred; but all coyness was, at last, overcome; and finally our feet
were inserted into heavy anklets of iron, running along a great bar
bolted down to the deck. After this, we considered ourselves
permanently established in our new quarters.

“The deuce take their old iron!” exclaimed the doctor; “if I’d known
this, I’d stayed behind.”

“Ha, ha!” cried Flash Jack, “you’re in for it, Doctor Long Ghost.”

“My hands and feet are, any way,” was the reply.

They placed a sentry over us; a great lubber of a fellow, who marched
up and down with a dilapidated old cutlass of most extraordinary
dimensions. From its length, we had some idea that it was expressly
intended to keep a crowd in order—reaching over the heads of
half-a-dozen, say, so as to get a cut at somebody behind.

“Mercy!” ejaculated the doctor with a shudder, “what a sensation it
must be to be killed by such a tool.”

We fasted till night, when one of the boys came along with a couple of
“kids” containing a thin, saffron-coloured fluid, with oily particles
floating on top. The young wag told us this was soup: it turned out to
be nothing more than oleaginous warm water. Such as it was,
nevertheless, we were fain to make a meal of it, our sentry being
attentive enough to undo our bracelets. The “kids” passed from mouth to
mouth, and were soon emptied.

The next morning, when the sentry’s back was turned, someone, whom we
took for an English sailor, tossed over a few oranges, the rinds of
which we afterward used for cups.

On the second day nothing happened worthy of record. On the third, we
were amused by the following scene.

A man, whom we supposed a boatswain’s mate, from the silver whistle
hanging from his neck, came below, driving before him a couple of
blubbering boys, and followed by a whole troop of youngsters in tears.
The pair, it seemed, were sent down to be punished by command of an
officer; the rest had accompanied them out of sympathy.

The boatswain’s mate went to work without delay, seizing the poor
little culprits by their loose frocks, and using a ratan without mercy.
The other boys wept, clasped their hands, and fell on their knees; but
in vain; the boatswain’s mate only hit out at them; once in a while
making them yell ten times louder than ever.

In the midst of the tumult, down comes a midshipman, who, with a great
air, orders the man on deck, and running in among the boys, sets them
to scampering in all directions.

The whole of this proceeding was regarded with infinite scorn by Navy
Bob, who, years before, had been captain of the foretop on board a
line-of-battle ship. In his estimation, it was a lubberly piece of
business throughout: they did things differently in the English navy.



CHAPTER XXIX.
THE REINE BLANCHE


I cannot forbear a brief reflection upon the scene ending the last
chapter.

The ratanning of the young culprits, although significant of the
imperfect discipline of a French man-of-war, may also be considered as
in some measure characteristic of the nation.

In an American or English ship, a boy when flogged is either lashed to
the breech of a gun, or brought right up to the gratings, the same way
the men are. But as a general rule, he is never punished beyond his
strength. You seldom or never draw a cry from the young rogue. He bites
his tongue and stands up to it like a hero. If practicable (which is
not always the case), he makes a point of smiling under the operation.
And so far from his companions taking any compassion on him, they
always make merry over his misfortunes. Should he turn baby and cry,
they are pretty sure to give him afterward a sly pounding in some dark
corner.

This tough training produces its legitimate results. The boy becomes,
in time, a thoroughbred tar, equally ready to strip and take a dozen on
board his own ship, or, cutlass in hand, dash pell-mell on board the
enemy’s. Whereas the young Frenchman, as all the world knows, makes but
an indifferent seaman; and though, for the most part, he fights well
enough, somehow or other he seldom fights well enough to beat.

How few sea-battles have the French ever won! But more: how few ships
have they ever carried by the board—that true criterion of naval
courage! But not a word against French bravery—there is plenty of it;
but not of the right sort. A Yankee’s, or an Englishman’s, is the
downright Waterloo “game.” The French fight better on land; and not
being essentially a maritime people, they ought to stay there. The best
of shipwrights, they are no sailors.

And this carries me back to the Reine Blanche, as noble a specimen of
what wood and iron can make as ever floated.

She was a new ship: the present her maiden cruise. The greatest pains
having been taken in her construction, she was accounted the “crack”
craft in the French navy. She is one of the heavy sixty-gun frigates
now in vogue all over the world, and which we Yankees were the first to
introduce. In action these are the most murderous vessels ever
launched.

The model of the Reine Blanche has all that warlike comeliness only to
be seen in a fine fighting ship. Still, there is a good deal of French
flummery about her—brass plates and other gewgaws stuck on all over,
like baubles on a handsome woman.

Among other things, she carries a stern gallery resting on the uplifted
hands of two Caryatides, larger than life. You step out upon this from
the commodore’s cabin. To behold the rich hangings, and mirrors, and
mahogany within, one is almost prepared to see a bevy of ladies trip
forth on the balcony for an airing.

But come to tread the gun-deck, and all thoughts like these are put to
flight. Such batteries of thunderbolt hurlers! with a
sixty-eight-pounder or two thrown in as make-weights. On the spar-deck,
also, are carronades of enormous calibre.

Recently built, this vessel, of course, had the benefit of the latest
improvements. I was quite amazed to see on what high principles of art
some exceedingly simple things were done. But your Gaul is scientific
about everything; what other people accomplish by a few hard knocks, he
delights in achieving by a complex arrangement of the pulley, lever,
and screw.

What demi-semi-quavers in a French air! In exchanging naval courtesies,
I have known a French band play “Yankee Doodle” with such a string of
variations that no one but a “pretty ’cute” Yankee could tell what they
were at.

In the French navy they have no marines; their men, taking turns at
carrying the musket, are sailors one moment, and soldiers the next; a
fellow running aloft in his line frock to-day, to-morrow stands sentry
at the admiral’s cabin door. This is fatal to anything like proper
sailor pride. To make a man a seaman, he should be put to no other
duty. Indeed, a thorough tar is unfit for anything else; and what is
more, this fact is the best evidence of his being a true sailor.

On board the Reine Blanche, they did not have enough to eat; and what
they did have was not of the right sort. Instead of letting the sailors
file their teeth against the rim of a hard sea-biscuit, they baked
their bread daily in pitiful little rolls. Then they had no “grog”; as
a substitute, they drugged the poor fellows with a thin, sour wine—the
juice of a few grapes, perhaps, to a pint of the juice of
water-faucets. Moreover, the sailors asked for meat, and they gave them
soup; a rascally substitute, as they well knew.

Ever since leaving home, they had been on “short allowance.” At the
present time, those belonging to the boats—and thus getting an
occasional opportunity to run ashore—frequently sold their rations of
bread to some less fortunate shipmate for sixfold its real value.

Another thing tending to promote dissatisfaction among the crew was
their having such a devil of a fellow for a captain. He was one of
those horrid naval bores—a great disciplinarian. In port, he kept them
constantly exercising yards and sails, and maneuvering with the boats;
and at sea, they were forever at quarters; running in and out the
enormous guns, as if their arms were made for nothing else. Then there
was the admiral aboard, also; and, no doubt, he too had a paternal eye
over them.

In the ordinary routine of duty, we could not but be struck with the
listless, slovenly behaviour of these men; there was nothing of the
national vivacity in their movements; nothing of the quick precision
perceptible on the deck of a thoroughly-disciplined armed vessel.

All this, however, when we came to know the reason, was no matter of
surprise; three-fourths of them were pressed men. Some old merchant
sailors had been seized the very day they landed from distant voyages;
while the landsmen, of whom there were many, had been driven down from
the country in herds, and so sent to sea.

At the time, I was quite amazed to hear of press-gangs in a day of
comparative peace; but the anomaly is accounted for by the fact that,
of late, the French have been building up a great military marine, to
take the place of that which Nelson gave to the waves of the sea at
Trafalgar. But it is to be hoped that they are not building their ships
for the people across the channel to take. In case of a war, what a
fluttering of French ensigns there would be!

Though I say the French are no sailors, I am far from seeking to
underrate them as a people. They are an ingenious and right gallant
nation. And, as an American, I take pride in asserting it.



CHAPTER XXX.
THEY TAKE US ASHORE—WHAT HAPPENED THERE


Five days and nights, if I remember right, we were aboard the frigate.
On the afternoon of the fifth, we were told that the next morning she
sailed for Valparaiso. Rejoiced at this, we prayed for a speedy
passage. But, as it turned out, the consul had no idea of letting us
off so easily. To our no small surprise, an officer came along toward
night, and ordered us out of irons. Being then mustered in the gangway,
we were escorted into a cutter alongside, and pulled ashore.

Accosted by Wilson as we struck the beach, he delivered us up to a
numerous guard of natives, who at once conducted us to a house near by.
Here we were made to sit down under a shade without; and the consul and
two elderly European residents passed by us, and entered.

After some delay, during which we were much diverted by the hilarious
good-nature of our guard—one of our number was called out for, followed
by an order for him to enter the house alone.

On returning a moment after, he told us we had little to encounter. It
had simply been asked whether he still continued of the same mind; on
replying yes, something was put down upon a piece of paper, and he was
waved outside. All being summoned in rotation, my own turn came at
last.

Within, Wilson and his two friends were seated magisterially at a
table—an inkstand, a pen, and a sheet of paper lending quite a
business-like air to the apartment. These three gentlemen, being
arrayed in coats and pantaloons, looked respectable, at least in a
country where complete suits of garments are so seldom met with. One
present essayed a solemn aspect; but having a short neck and full face,
only made out to look stupid.

It was this individual who condescended to take a paternal interest in
myself. After declaring my resolution with respect to the ship
unalterable, I was proceeding to withdraw, in compliance with a sign
from the consul, when the stranger turned round to him, saying, “Wait a
minute, if you please, Mr. Wilson; let me talk to that youth. Come
here, my young friend: I’m extremely sorry to see you associated with
these bad men; do you know what it will end in?”

“Oh, that’s the lad that wrote the Round Robin,” interposed the consul.
“He and that rascally doctor are at the bottom of the whole affair—go
outside, sir.”

I retired as from the presence of royalty; backing out with many bows.

The evident prejudice of Wilson against both the doctor and myself was
by no means inexplicable. A man of any education before the mast is
always looked upon with dislike by his captain; and, never mind how
peaceable he may be, should any disturbance arise, from his
intellectual superiority, he is deemed to exert an underhand influence
against the officers.

Little as I had seen of Captain Guy, the few glances cast upon me after
being on board a week or so were sufficient to reveal his enmity—a
feeling quickened by my undisguised companionship with Long Ghost, whom
he both feared and cordially hated. Guy’s relations with the consul
readily explains the latter’s hostility.

The examination over, Wilson and his friends advanced to the doorway;
when the former, assuming a severe expression, pronounced our
perverseness infatuation in the extreme. Nor was there any hope left:
our last chance for pardon was gone. Even were we to become contrite
and crave permission to return to duty, it would not now be permitted.

“Oh! get along with your gammon, counsellor,” exclaimed Black Dan,
absolutely indignant that his understanding should be thus insulted.

Quite enraged, Wilson bade him hold his peace; and then, summoning a
fat old native to his side, addressed him in Tahitian, giving
directions for leading us away to a place of safe keeping.

Hereupon, being marshalled in order, with the old man at our head, we
were put in motion, with loud shouts, along a fine pathway, running far
on through wide groves of the cocoa-nut and bread-fruit.

The rest of our escort trotted on beside us in high good-humour;
jabbering broken English, and in a hundred ways giving us to understand
that Wilson was no favourite of theirs, and that we were prime, good
fellows for holding out as we did. They seemed to know our whole
history.

The scenery around was delightful. The tropical day was fast drawing to
a close; and from where we were, the sun looked like a vast red fire
burning in the woodlands—its rays falling aslant through the endless
ranks of trees, and every leaf fringed with flame. Escaped from the
confined decks of the frigate, the air breathed spices to us; streams
were heard flowing; green boughs were rocking; and far inland, all
sunset flushed, rose the still, steep peaks of the island.

As we proceeded, I was more and more struck by the picturesqueness of
the wide, shaded road. In several places, durable bridges of wood were
thrown over large water-courses; others were spanned by a single arch
of stone. In any part of the road, three horsemen might have ridden
abreast.

This beautiful avenue—by far the best thing which civilization has done
for the island—is called by foreigners “the Broom Road,” though for
what reason I do not know. Originally planned for the convenience of
the missionaries journeying from one station to another, it almost
completely encompasses the larger peninsula; skirting for a distance of
at least sixty miles along the low, fertile lands bordering the sea.
But on the side next Taiarboo, or the lesser peninsula, it sweeps
through a narrow, secluded valley, and thus crosses the island in that
direction.

The uninhabited interior, being almost impenetrable from the
densely-wooded glens, frightful precipices, and sharp mountain ridges
absolutely inaccessible, is but little known, even to the natives
themselves; and so, instead of striking directly across from one
village to another, they follow the Broom Road round and round.

It is by no means, however, altogether travelled on foot; horses being
now quite plentiful. They were introduced from Chili; and possessing
all the gaiety, fleetness, and docility of the Spanish breed, are
admirably adapted to the tastes of the higher classes, who as
equestrians have become very expert. The missionaries and chiefs never
think of journeying except in the saddle; and at all hours of the day
you see the latter galloping along at full speed. Like the Sandwich
Islanders, they ride like Pawnee-Loups.

For miles and miles I have travelled the Broom Road, and never wearied
of the continual change of scenery. But wherever it leads you—whether
through level woods, across grassy glens, or over hills waving with
palms—the bright blue sea on one side, and the green mountain pinnacles
on the other, are always in sight.



CHAPTER XXXI.
THE CALABOOZA BERETANEE


About a mile from the village we came to a halt.

It was a beautiful spot. A mountain stream here flowed at the foot of a
verdant slope; on one hand, it murmured along until the waters,
spreading themselves upon a beach of small, sparkling shells, trickled
into the sea; on the other was a long defile, where the eye pursued a
gleaming, sinuous thread, lost in shade and verdure.

The ground next the road was walled in by a low, rude parapet of
stones; and, upon the summit of the slope beyond, was a large, native
house, the thatch dazzling white, and in shape an oval.

“Calabooza! Calabooza Beretanee!” (the English Jail), cried our
conductor, pointing to the building.

For a few months past, having been used by the consul as a house of
confinement for his refractory sailors, it was thus styled to
distinguish it from similar places in and about Papeetee.

Though extremely romantic in appearance, on a near approach it proved
hut ill adapted to domestic comfort. In short, it was a mere shell,
recently built, and still unfinished. It was open all round, and tufts
of grass were growing here and there under the very roof. The only
piece of furniture was the “stocks,” a clumsy machine for keeping
people in one place, which, I believe, is pretty much out of date in
most countries. It is still in use, however, among the Spaniards in
South America; from whom, it seems, the Tahitians have borrowed the
contrivance, as well as the name by which all places of confinement are
known among them.

The stocks were nothing more than two stout timbers, about twenty feet
in length, and precisely alike. One was placed edgeways on the ground,
and the other, resting on top, left, at regular intervals along the
seam, several round holes, the object of which was evident at a glance.

By this time, our guide had informed us that he went by the name of
“Capin Bob” (Captain Bob); and a hearty old Bob he proved. It was just
the name for him. From the first, so pleased were we with the old man
that we cheerfully acquiesced in his authority.

Entering the building, he set us about fetching heaps of dry leaves to
spread behind the stocks for a couch. A trunk of a small cocoa-nut tree
was then placed for a bolster—rather a hard one, but the natives are
used to it. For a pillow, they use a little billet of wood, scooped
out, and standing on four short legs—a sort of head-stool.

These arrangements completed, Captain Bob proceeded to “hanna-par,” or
secure us, for the night. The upper timber of the machine being lifted
at one end, and our ankles placed in the semicircular spaces of the
lower one, the other beam was then, dropped; both being finally secured
together by an old iron hoop at either extremity. This initiation was
performed to the boisterous mirth of the natives, and diverted
ourselves not a little.

Captain Bob now bustled about, like an old woman seeing the children to
bed. A basket of baked “taro,” or Indian turnip, was brought in, and we
were given a piece all round. Then a great counterpane of coarse, brown
“tappa,” was stretched over the whole party; and, after sundry
injunctions to “moee-moee,” and be “maitai”—in other words, to go to
sleep, and be good boys—we were left to ourselves, fairly put to bed
and tucked in.

Much talk was now had concerning our prospects in life; but the doctor
and I, who lay side by side, thinking the occasion better adapted to
meditation, kept pretty silent; and, before long, the rest ceased
conversing, and, wearied with loss of rest on board the frigate, were
soon sound asleep.

After sliding from one reverie into another, I started, and gave the
doctor a pinch. He was dreaming, however; and, resolved to follow his
example, I troubled him no more.

How the rest managed, I know not; but for my own part, I found it very
hard to get to sleep. The consciousness of having one’s foot pinned;
and the impossibility of getting it anywhere else than just where it
was, was most distressing.

But this was not all: there was no way of lying but straight on your
back; unless, to be sure, one’s limb went round and round in the ankle,
like a swivel. Upon getting into a sort of doze, it was no wonder this
uneasy posture gave me the nightmare. Under the delusion that I was
about some gymnastics or other, I gave my unfortunate member such a
twitch that I started up with the idea that someone was dragging the
stocks away.

Captain Bob and his friends lived in a little hamlet hard by; and when
morning showed in the East, the old gentleman came forth from that
direction likewise, emerging from a grove, and saluting us loudly as he
approached.

Finding everybody awake, he set us at liberty; and, leading us down to
the stream, ordered every man to strip and bathe.

“All han’s, my boy, hanna-hanna, wash!” he cried. Bob was a linguist,
and had been to sea in his day, as he many a time afterwards told us.

At this moment, we were all alone with him; and it would have been the
easiest thing in the world to have given him the slip; but he seemed to
have no idea of such a thing; treating us so frankly and cordially,
indeed, that even had we thought of running, we should have been
ashamed of attempting it. He very well knew, nevertheless (as we
ourselves were not slow in finding out), that, for various reasons, any
attempt of the kind, without some previously arranged plan for leaving
the island, would be certain to fail.

As Bob was a rare one every way, I must give some account of him. There
was a good deal of “personal appearance” about him; in short, he was a
corpulent giant, over six feet in height, and literally as big round as
a hogshead. The enormous bulk of some of the Tahitians has been
frequently spoken of by voyagers.

Beside being the English consul’s jailer, as it were, he carried on a
little Tahitian farming; that is to say, he owned several groves of the
bread-fruit and palm, and never hindered their growing. Close by was a
“taro” patch of his which he occasionally visited.

Bob seldom disposed of the produce of his lands; it was all needed for
domestic consumption. Indeed, for gormandizing, I would have matched
him against any three common-council men at a civic feast.

A friend of Bob’s told me that, owing to his voraciousness, his visits
to other parts of the island were much dreaded; for, according to
Tahitian customs, hospitality without charge is enjoined upon everyone;
and though it is reciprocal in most cases, in Bob’s it was almost out
of the question. The damage done to a native larder in one of his
morning calls was more than could be made good by his entertainer’s
spending the holidays with them.

The old man, as I have hinted, had, once upon a time, been a cruise or
two in a whaling-vessel; and, therefore, he prided himself upon his
English. Having acquired what he knew of it in the forecastle, he
talked little else than sailor phrases, which sounded whimsically
enough.

I asked him one day how old he was. “Olee?” he exclaimed, looking very
profound in consequence of thoroughly understanding so subtile a
question—“Oh! very olee—’tousand ’ear—more—big man when Capin Tootee
(Captain Cook) heavey in sight.” (In sea parlance, came into view.)

This was a thing impossible; but adapting my discourse to the man, I
rejoined—“Ah! you see Capin Tootee—well, how you like him?”

“Oh! he maitai: (good) friend of me, and know my wife.”

On my assuring him strongly that he could not have been born at the
time, he explained himself by saying that he was speaking of his
father, all the while. This, indeed, might very well have been.

It is a curious fact that all these people, young and old, will tell
you that they have enjoyed the honour of a personal acquaintance with
the great navigator; and if you listen to them, they will go on and
tell anecdotes without end. This springs from nothing but their great
desire to please; well knowing that a more agreeable topic for a white
man could not be selected. As for the anachronism of the thing, they
seem to have no idea of it: days and years are all the same to them.

After our sunrise bath, Bob once more placed us in the stocks, almost
moved to tears at subjecting us to so great a hardship; but he could
not treat us otherwise, he said, on pain of the consul’s displeasure.
How long we were to be confined, he did not know; nor what was to be
done with us in the end.

As noon advanced, and no signs of a meal were visible, someone inquired
whether we were to be boarded, as well as lodged, at the Hotel de
Calabooza?

“Vast heavey” (avast heaving, or wait a bit)—said Bob—“kow-kow” (food)
“come ship by by.”

And, sure enough, along comes Rope Tarn with a wooden bucket of the
Julia’s villainous biscuit. With a grin, he said it was a present from
Wilson: it was all we were to get that day. A great cry was now raised;
and well was it for the land-lubber that lie had a pair of legs, and
the men could not use theirs. One and all, we resolved not to touch the
bread, come what come might; and so we told the natives.

Being extravagantly fond of ship-biscuit—the harder the better—they
were quite overjoyed; and offered to give us, every day, a small
quantity of baked bread-fruit and Indian turnip in exchange for the
bread. This we agreed to; and every morning afterward, when the bucket
came, its contents were at once handed over to Bob and his friends, who
never ceased munching until nightfall.

Our exceedingly frugal meal of bread-fruit over, Captain Bob waddled up
to us with a couple of long poles hooked at one end, and several large
baskets of woven cocoa-nut branches.

Not far off was an extensive grove of orange-trees in full bearing; and
myself and another were selected to go with him, and gather a supply
for the party. When we went in among the trees, the sumptuousness of
the orchard was unlike anything I had ever seen; while the fragrance
shaken from the gently waving boughs regaled our senses most
delightfully.

In many places the trees formed a dense shade, spreading overhead a
dark, rustling vault, groined with boughs, and studded here and there
with the ripened spheres, like gilded balls. In several places, the
overladen branches were borne to the earth, hiding the trunk in a tent
of foliage. Once fairly in the grove, we could see nothing else; it was
oranges all round.

To preserve the fruit from bruising, Bob, hooking the twigs with his
pole, let them fall into his basket. But this would not do for us.
Seizing hold of a bough, we brought such a shower to the ground that
our old friend was fain to run from under. Heedless of remonstrance, we
then reclined in the shade, and feasted to our heart’s content. Heaping
up the baskets afterwards, we returned to our comrades, by whom our
arrival was hailed with loud plaudits; and in a marvellously short
time, nothing was left of the oranges we brought but the rinds.

While inmates of the Calabooza, we had as much of the fruit as we
wanted; and to this cause, and others that might be mentioned, may be
ascribed the speedy restoration of our sick to comparative health.

The orange of Tahiti is delicious—small and sweet, with a thin, dry
rind. Though now abounding, it was unknown before Cook’s time, to whom
the natives are indebted for so great a blessing. He likewise
introduced several other kinds of fruit; among these were the fig,
pineapple, and lemon, now seldom met with. The lime still grows, and
some of the poorer natives express the juice to sell to the shipping.
It is highly valued as an anti-scorbutic. Nor was the variety of
foreign fruits and vegetables which were introduced the only benefit
conferred by the first visitors to the Society group. Cattle and sheep
were left at various places. More of them anon.

Thus, after all that of late years has been done for these islanders,
Cook and Vancouver may, in one sense at least, be considered their
greatest benefactors.



CHAPTER XXXII.
PROCEEDINGS OF THE FRENCH AT TAHITI


As I happened to arrive at the island at a very interesting period in
its political affairs, it may be well to give some little account here
of the proceedings of the French, by way of episode to the narrative.
My information was obtained at the time from the general reports then
rife among the natives, as well as from what I learned upon a
subsequent visit, and reliable accounts which I have seen since
reaching home.

It seems that for some time back the French had been making repeated
ineffectual attempts to plant a Roman Catholic mission here. But,
invariably treated with contumely, they sometimes met with open
violence; and, in every case, those directly concerned in the
enterprise were ultimately forced to depart. In one instance, two
priests, Laval and Caset, after enduring a series of persecutions, were
set upon by the natives, maltreated, and finally carried aboard a small
trading schooner, which eventually put them ashore at Wallis’ island—a
savage place—some two thousand miles to the westward.

Now, that the resident English missionaries authorized the banishment
of these priests is a fact undenied by themselves. I was also
repeatedly informed that by their inflammatory harangues they
instigated the riots which preceded the sailing of the schooner. At all
events, it is certain that their unbounded influence with the natives
would easily have enabled them to prevent everything that took place on
this occasion, had they felt so inclined.

Melancholy as such an example of intolerance on the part of Protestant
missionaries must appear, it is not the only one, and by no means the
most flagrant, which might be presented. But I forbear to mention any
others; since they have been more than hinted at by recent voyagers,
and their repetition here would perhaps be attended with no good
effect. Besides, the conduct of the Sandwich Island missionaries in
particular has latterly much amended in this respect.

The treatment of the two priests formed the principal ground (and the
only justifiable one) upon which Du Petit Thouars demanded
satisfaction; and which subsequently led to his seizure of the island.
In addition to other things, he also charged that the flag of
Merenhout, the consul, had been repeatedly insulted, and the property
of a certain French resident violently appropriated by the government.
In the latter instance, the natives were perfectly in the right. At
that time, the law against the traffic in ardent spirits (every now and
then suspended and revived) happened to be in force; and finding a
large quantity on the premises of Victor, a low, knavish adventurer
from Marseilles, the Tahitians pronounced it forfeit.

For these, and similar alleged outrages, a large pecuniary restitution
was demanded (10,000 dollars), which there being no exchequer to
supply, the island was forthwith seized, under cover of a mock treaty,
dictated to the chiefs on the gun-deck of Du Petit Thouars’ frigate.

But, notwithstanding this formality, there seems now little doubt that
the downfall of the Pomarees was decided upon at the Tuilleries.

After establishing the Protectorate, so called, the rear-admiral
sailed; leaving M. Bruat governor, assisted by Reine and Carpegne,
civilians, named members of the Council of Government, and Merenhout,
the consul, now made Commissioner Royal. No soldiers, however, were
landed until several months afterward. As men, Reine and Carpegne were
not disliked by the natives; but Bruat and Merenhout they bitterly
detested. In several interviews with the poor queen, the unfeeling
governor sought to terrify her into compliance with his demands;
clapping his hand upon his sword, shaking his fist in her face, and
swearing violently. “Oh, king of a great nation,” said Pomaree, in her
letter to Louis Philippe, “fetch away this man; I and my people cannot
endure his evil doings. He is a shameless man.”

Although the excitement among the natives did not wholly subside upon
the rear-admiral’s departure, no overt act of violence immediately
followed. The queen had fled to Imeeo; and the dissensions among the
chiefs, together with the ill-advised conduct of the missionaries,
prevented a union upon some common plan of resistance. But the great
body of the people, as well as their queen, confidently relied upon the
speedy interposition of England—a nation bound to them by many ties,
and which, more than once, had solemnly guaranteed their independence.

As for the missionaries, they openly defied the French governor,
childishly predicting fleets and armies from Britain. But what is the
welfare of a spot like Tahiti to the mighty interests of France and
England! There was a remonstrance on one side, and a reply on the
other; and there the matter rested. For once in their brawling lives,
St. George and St. Denis were hand and glove; and they were not going
to cross sabres about Tahiti.

During my stay upon the island, so far as I could see, there was little
to denote that any change had taken place in the government.

Such laws as they had were administered the same as ever; the
missionaries went about unmolested, and comparative tranquillity
everywhere prevailed. Nevertheless, I sometimes heard the natives
inveighing against the French (no favourites, by the bye, throughout
Polynesia), and bitterly regretting that the queen had not, at the
outset, made a stand.

In the house of the chief Adeea, frequent discussions took place
concerning the ability of the island to cope with the French: the
number of fighting men and muskets among the natives were talked of, as
well as the propriety of fortifying several heights overlooking
Papeetee. Imputing these symptoms to the mere resentment of a recent
outrage, and not to any determined spirit of resistance, I little
anticipated the gallant, though useless warfare, so soon to follow my
departure.

At a period subsequent to my first visit, the island, which before was
divided into nineteen districts, with a native chief over each, in
capacity of governor and judge, was, by Bruat, divided into four. Over
these he set as many recreant chiefs, Kitoti, Tati, Utamai, and
Paraita; to whom he paid 1000 dollars each, to secure their assistance
in carrying out his evil designs.

The first blood shed, in any regular conflict, was at Mahanar, upon the
peninsula of Taraiboo. The fight originated in the seizure of a number
of women from the shore by men belonging to one of the French vessels
of war. In this affair, the islanders fought desperately, killing about
fifty of the enemy, and losing ninety of their own number. The French
sailors and marines, who, at the time, were reported to be infuriated
with liquor, gave no quarter; and the survivors only saved themselves
by fleeing to the mountains. Subsequently, the battles of Hararparpi
and Fararar were fought, in which the invaders met with indifferent
success.

Shortly after the engagement at Hararparpi, three Frenchmen were
waylaid in a pass of the valleys, and murdered by the incensed natives.
One was Lefevre, a notorious scoundrel, and a spy, whom Bruat had sent
to conduct a certain Major Fergus (said to be a Pole) to the
hiding-place of four chiefs, whom the governor wished to seize and
execute. This circumstance violently inflamed the hostility of both
parties.

About this time, Kitoti, a depraved chief, and the pliant tool of
Bruat, was induced by him to give a great feast in the Vale of Paree,
to which all his countrymen were invited. The governor’s object was to
gain over all he could to his interests; he supplied an abundance of
wine and brandy, and a scene of bestial intoxication was the natural
consequence. Before it came to this, however, several speeches were
made by the islanders. One of these, delivered by an aged warrior, who
had formerly been at the head of the celebrated Aeorai Society, was
characteristic. “This is a very good feast,” said the reeling old man,
“and the wine also is very good; but you evil-minded Wee-Wees (French),
and you false-hearted men of Tahiti, are all very bad.”

By the latest accounts, most of the islanders still refuse to submit to
the French; and what turn events may hereafter take, it is hard to
predict. At any rate, these disorders must accelerate the final
extinction of their race.

Along with the few officers left by Du Petit Thouars were several
French priests, for whose unobstructed exertions in the dissemination
of their faith, the strongest guarantees were provided by an article of
the treaty. But no one was bound to offer them facilities; much less a
luncheon, the first day they went ashore. True, they had plenty of
gold; but to the natives it was anathema—taboo—and, for several hours
and some odd minutes, they would not touch it. Emissaries of the Pope
and the devil, as the strangers were considered—the smell of sulphur
hardly yet shaken out of their canonicals—what islander would venture
to jeopardize his soul, and call down a blight on his breadfruit, by
holding any intercourse with them! That morning the priests actually
picknicked in grove of cocoa-nut trees; but, before night, Christian
hospitality—in exchange for a commercial equivalent of hard dollars—was
given them in an adjoining house.

Wanting in civility, as the conduct of the English missionaries may be
thought, in withholding a decent reception to these persons, the latter
were certainly to blame in needlessly placing themselves in so
unpleasant a predicament. Under far better auspices, they might have
settled upon some one of the thousand unconverted isles of the Pacific,
rather than have forced themselves thus upon a people already
professedly Christians.



CHAPTER XXXIII.
WE RECEIVE CALLS AT THE HOTEL DE CALABOOZA


Our place of confinement being open all round, and so near the Broom
Road, of course we were in plain sight of everybody passing; and,
therefore, we had no lack of visitors among such an idle, inquisitive
set as the Tahitians. For a few days, they were coming and going
continually; while, thus ignobly fast by the foot, we were fain to give
passive audience.

During this period, we were the lions of the neighbourhood; and, no
doubt, strangers from the distant villages were taken to see the
“Karhowrees” (white men), in the same way that countrymen, in a city,
are gallanted to the Zoological Gardens.

All this gave us a fine opportunity of making observations. I was
painfully struck by the considerable number of sickly or deformed
persons; undoubtedly made so by a virulent complaint, which, under
native treatment, almost invariably affects, in the end, the muscles
and bones of the body. In particular, there is a distortion of the
back, most unsightly to behold, originating in a horrible form of the
malady.

Although this, and other bodily afflictions, were unknown before the
discovery of the islands by the whites, there are several cases found
of the Fa-Fa, or Elephantiasis—a native disease, which seems to have
prevailed among them from the earliest antiquity. Affecting the legs
and feet alone, it swells them, in some instances, to the girth of a
man’s body, covering the skin with scales. It might be supposed that
one, thus afflicted, would be incapable of walking; but, to all
appearance, they seem to be nearly as active as anybody; apparently
suffering no pain, and bearing the calamity with a degree of
cheerfulness truly marvellous.

The Fa-Fa is very gradual in its approaches, and years elapse before
the limb is fully swollen. Its origin is ascribed by the natives to
various causes; but the general impression seems to be that it arises,
in most cases, from the eating of unripe bread-fruit and Indian turnip.
So far as I could find out, it is not hereditary. In no stage do they
attempt a cure; the complaint being held incurable.

Speaking of the Fa-Fa reminds me of a poor fellow, a sailor, whom I
afterward saw at Roorootoo, a lone island, some two days’ sail from
Tahiti.

The island is very small, and its inhabitants nearly extinct. We sent a
boat off to see whether any yams were to be had, as, formerly, the yams
of Roorootoo were as famous among the islands round about, as Sicily
oranges in the Mediterranean. Going ashore, to my surprise, I was
accosted, near a little shanty of a church, by a white man, who limped
forth from a wretched hut. His hair and beard were unshorn, his face
deadly pale and haggard, and one limb swelled with the Fa-Fa to an
incredible bigness. This was the first instance of a foreigner
suffering from it that I had ever seen, or heard of; and the spectacle
shocked me accordingly.

He had been there for years. From the first symptoms, he could not
believe his complaint to be what it really was, and trusted it would
soon disappear. But when it became plain that his only chance for
recovery was a speedy change of climate, no ship would receive him as a
sailor: to think of being taken as a passenger was idle. This speaks
little for the humanity of sea captains; but the truth is that those in
the Pacific have little enough of the virtue; and, nowadays, when so
many charitable appeals are made to them, they have become callous.

I pitied the poor fellow from the bottom of my heart; but nothing could
I do, as our captain was inexorable. “Why,” said he, “here we
are—started on a six months’ cruise—I can’t put back; and he is better
off on the island than at sea. So on Roorootoo he must die.” And
probably he did.

I afterwards heard of this melancholy object, from two seamen. His
attempts to leave were still unavailing, and his hard fate was fast
closing in.

Notwithstanding the physical degeneracy of the Tahitians as a people,
among the chiefs, individuals of personable figures are still
frequently met with; and, occasionally, majestic-looking men, and
diminutive women as lovely as the nymphs who, nearly a century ago,
swam round the ships of Wallis. In these instances, Tahitian beauty is
quite as seducing as it proved to the crew of the Bounty; the young
girls being just such creatures as a poet would picture in the
tropics—soft, plump, and dreamy-eyed.

The natural complexion of both sexes is quite light; but the males
appear much darker, from their exposure to the sun. A dark complexion,
however, in a man, is highly esteemed, as indicating strength of both
body and soul. Hence there is a saying, of great antiquity among them.

“If dark the cheek of the mother, The son will sound the war-conch; If
strong her frame, he will give laws.”

With this idea of manliness, no wonder the Tahitians regarded all pale
and tepid-looking Europeans as weak and feminine; whereas, a sailor,
with a cheek like the breast of a roast turkey, is held a lad of brawn:
to use their own phrase, a “taata tona,” or man of bones.

Speaking of bones recalls an ugly custom of theirs, now obsolete—that
of making fish-hooks and gimlets out of those of their enemies. This
beats the Scandinavians turning people’s skulls into cups and saucers.

But to return to the Calabooza Beretanee. Immense was the interest we
excited among the throngs that called there; they would stand talking
about us by the hour, growing most unnecessarily excited too, and
dancing up and down with all the vivacity of their race. They
invariably sided with us; flying out against the consul, and denouncing
him as “Ita maitai nuee,” or very bad exceedingly. They must have borne
him some grudge or other.

Nor were the women, sweet souls, at all backward in visiting. Indeed,
they manifested even more interest than the men; gazing at us with eyes
full of a thousand meanings, and conversing with marvellous rapidity.
But, alas! inquisitive though they were, and, doubtless, taking some
passing compassion on us, there was little real feeling in them after
all, and still less sentimental sympathy. Many of them laughed outright
at us, noting only what was ridiculous in our plight.

I think it was the second day of our confinement that a wild, beautiful
girl burst into the Calabooza, and, throwing herself into an arch
attitude, stood afar off, and gazed at us. She was a heartless
one:—tickled to death with Black Dan’s nursing his chafed ankle, and
indulging in certain moral reflections on the consul and Captain Guy.
After laughing her fill at him, she condescended to notice the rest;
glancing from one to another in the most methodical and provoking
manner imaginable. Whenever anything struck her comically, you saw it
like a flash—her finger levelled instantaneously, and, flinging herself
back, she gave loose to strange, hollow little notes of laughter, that
sounded like the bass of a music-box, playing a lively air with the lid
down.

Now, I knew not that there was anything in my own appearance calculated
to disarm ridicule; and indeed, to have looked at all heroic, under the
circumstances, would have been rather difficult. Still, I could not but
feel exceedingly annoyed at the prospect of being screamed at, in turn,
by this mischievous young witch, even though she were but an islander.
And, to tell a secret, her beauty had something to do with this sort of
feeling; and, pinioned as I was to a log, and clad most unbecomingly, I
began to grow sentimental.

Ere her glance fell upon me, I had, unconsciously, thrown myself into
the most graceful attitude I could assume, leaned my head upon my hand,
and summoned up as abstracted an expression as possible. Though my face
was averted, I soon felt it flush, and knew that the glance was on me;
deeper and deeper grew the flush, and not a sound of laughter.

Delicious thought! she was moved at the sight of me. I could stand it
no longer, but started up. Lo! there she was; her great hazel eyes
rounding and rounding in her head, like two stars, her whole frame in a
merry quiver, and an expression about the mouth that was sudden and
violent death to anything like sentiment.

The next moment she spun round, and, bursting from peal to peal of
laughter, went racing out of the Calabooza; and, in mercy to me, never
returned.



CHAPTER XXXIV.
LIFE AT THE CALABOOZA


A few days passed; and, at last, our docility was rewarded by some
indulgence on the part of Captain Bob.

He allowed the entire party to be at large during the day; only
enjoining upon us always to keep within hail. This, to be sure, was in
positive disobedience to Wilson’s orders; and so, care had to be taken
that he should not hear of it. There was little fear of the natives
telling him; but strangers travelling the Broom Road might. By way of
precaution, boys were stationed as scouts along the road. At sight of a
white man, they sounded the alarm! when we all made for our respective
holes (the stocks being purposely left open): the beam then descended,
and we were prisoners. As soon as the traveller was out of sight, of
course, we were liberated.

Notwithstanding the regular supply of food which we obtained from
Captain Bob and his friends, it was so small that we often felt most
intolerably hungry. We could not blame them for not bringing us more,
for we soon became aware that they had to pinch themselves in order to
give us what they did; besides, they received nothing for their
kindness but the daily bucket of bread.

Among a people like the Tahitians, what we call “hard times” can only
be experienced in the scarcity of edibles; yet, so destitute are many
of the common people that this most distressing consequence of
civilization may be said, with them, to be ever present. To be sure,
the natives about the Calabooza had abundance of limes and oranges; but
what were these good for, except to impart a still keener edge to
appetites which there was so little else to gratify? During the height
of the bread-fruit season, they fare better; but, at other times, the
demands of the shipping exhaust the uncultivated resources of the
island; and the lands being mostly owned by the chiefs, the inferior
orders have to suffer for their cupidity. Deprived of their nets, many
of them would starve.

As Captain Bob insensibly remitted his watchfulness, and we began to
stroll farther and farther from the Calabooza, we managed, by a
systematic foraging upon the country round about, to make up some of
our deficiencies. And fortunate it was that the houses of the wealthier
natives were just as open to us as those of the most destitute; we were
treated as kindly in one as the other.

Once in a while, we came in at the death of a chiefs pig; the noise of
whose slaughtering was generally to be heard at a great distance. An
occasion like this gathers the neighbours together, and they have a bit
of a feast, where a stranger is always welcome. A good loud squeal,
therefore, was music in our ears. It showed something going on in that
direction.

Breaking in upon the party tumultuously, as we did, we always created a
sensation. Sometimes, we found the animal still alive and struggling;
in which case, it was generally dropped at our approach.

To provide for these emergencies, Flash Jack generally repaired to the
scene of operations with a sheath-knife between his teeth, and a club
in his hand. Others were exceedingly officious in singeing off the
bristles, and disembowelling. Doctor Long Ghost and myself, however,
never meddled with these preliminaries, but came to the feast itself
with unimpaired energies.

Like all lank men, my long friend had an appetite of his own. Others
occasionally went about seeking what they might devour, but he was
always on the alert.

He had an ingenious way of obviating an inconvenience which we all
experienced at times. The islanders seldom use salt with their food; so
he begged Rope Yarn to bring him some from the ship; also a little
pepper, if he could; which, accordingly, was done. This he placed in a
small leather wallet—a “monkey bag” (so called by sailors)—usually worn
as a purse about the neck.

“In my opinion,” said Long Ghost, as he tucked the wallet out of sight,
“it behooves a stranger, in Tahiti, to have his knife in readiness, and
his castor slung.”



CHAPTER XXXV.
VISIT FROM AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE


We had not been many days ashore, when Doctor Johnson was espied coming
along the Broom Road.

We had heard that he meditated a visit, and suspected what he was
after. Being upon the consul’s hands, all our expenses were of course
payable by him in his official capacity; and, therefore, as a friend of
Wilson, and sure of good pay, the shore doctor had some idea of
allowing us to run up a bill with him. True, it was rather awkward to
ask us to take medicines which, on board the ship, he told us were not
needed. However, he resolved to put a bold face on the matter, and give
us a call.

His approach was announced by one of the scouts, upon which someone
suggested that we should let him enter, and then put him in the stocks.
But Long Ghost proposed better sport. What it was, we shall presently
see.

Very bland and amiable, Doctor Johnson advanced, and, resting his cane
on the stocks, glanced to right and left, as we lay before him. “Well,
my lads”—he began—“how do you find yourselves to-day?”

Looking very demure, the men made some rejoinder; and he went on.

“Those poor fellows I saw the other day—the sick, I mean—how are they?”
and he scrutinized the company. At last, he singled out one who was
assuming a most unearthly appearance, and remarked that he looked as if
he were extremely ill. “Yes,” said the sailor dolefully, “I’m afeard,
doctor, I’ll soon be losing the number of my mess!” (a sea phrase, for
departing this life) and he closed his eyes, and moaned.

“What does he say?” said Johnson, turning round eagerly.

“Why,” exclaimed Flash Jack, who volunteered as interpreter, “he means
he’s going to croak” (die).

“Croak! and what does that mean, applied to a patient?”

“Oh! I understand,” said he, when the word was explained; and he
stepped over the stocks, and felt the man’s pulse.

“What’s his name?” he asked, turning this time to old Navy Bob.

“We calls him Jingling Joe,” replied that worthy.

“Well then, men, you must take good care of poor Joseph; and I will
send him a powder, which must be taken according to the directions.
Some of you know how to read, I presume?”

“That ere young cove does,” replied Bob, pointing toward the place
where I lay, as if he were directing attention to a sail at sea.

After examining the rest—some of whom were really invalids, but
convalescent, and others only pretending to be labouring under divers
maladies, Johnson turned round, and addressed the party.

“Men,” said he, “if any more of you are ailing, speak up, and let me
know. By order of the consul, I’m to call every day; so if any of you
are at all sick, it’s my duty to prescribe for you. This sudden change
from ship fare to shore living plays the deuce with you sailors, so be
cautious about eating fruit. Good-day! I’ll send you the medicines the
first thing in the morning.”

Now, I am inclined to suspect that with all his want of understanding,
Johnson must have had some idea that we were quizzing him. Still, that
was nothing, so long as it answered his purpose; and therefore, if he
did see through us, he never showed it.

Sure enough, at the time appointed, along came a native lad with a
small basket of cocoa-nut stalks, filled with powders, pill-boxes,
and-vials, each with names and directions written in a large, round
hand. The sailors, one and all, made a snatch at the collection, under
the strange impression that some of the vials were seasoned with
spirits. But, asserting his privilege as physician to the first reading
of the labels, Doctor Long Ghost was at last permitted to take
possession of the basket.

The first thing lighted upon was a large vial, labelled—“For
William—rub well in.”

This vial certainly had a spirituous smell; and upon handing it to the
patient, he made a summary internal application of its contents. The
doctor looked aghast.

There was now a mighty commotion. Powders and pills were voted mere
drugs in the market, and the holders of vials were pronounced lucky
dogs. Johnson must have known enough of sailors to make some of his
medicines palatable—this, at least, Long Ghost suspected. Certain it
was, everyone took to the vials; if at all spicy, directions were
unheeded, their contents all going one road.

The largest one of all, quite a bottle indeed, and having a sort of
burnt brandy odour, was labelled—“For Daniel, drink freely, and until
relieved.” This Black Dan proceeded to do; and would have made an end
of it at once, had not the bottle, after a hard struggle, been snatched
from his hands, and passed round, like a jovial decanter. The old tar
had complained of the effects of an immoderate eating of fruit.

Upon calling the following morning, our physician found his precious
row of patients reclining behind the stocks, and doing “as well as
could be expected.”

But the pills and powders were found to have been perfectly inactive:
probably because none had been taken. To make them efficacious, it was
suggested that, for the future, a bottle of Pisco should be sent along
with them. According to Flash Jack’s notions, unmitigated medical
compounds were but dry stuff at the best, and needed something good to
wash them down.

Thus far, our own M.D., Doctor Long Ghost, after starting the frolic,
had taken no further part in it; but on the physician’s third visit, he
took him to one side, and had a private confabulation. What it was,
exactly, we could not tell; but from certain illustrative signs and
gestures, I fancied that he was describing the symptoms of some
mysterious disorganization of the vitals, which must have come on
within the hour. Assisted by his familiarity with medical terms, he
seemed to produce a marked impression. At last, Johnson went his way,
promising aloud that he would send Long Ghost what he desired.

When the medicine boy came along the following morning, the doctor was
the first to accost him, walking off with a small purple vial. This
time, there was little else in the basket but a case-bottle of the
burnt brandy cordial, which, after much debate, was finally disposed of
by someone pouring the contents, little by little, into the half of a
cocoa-nut shell, and so giving all who desired a glass. No further
medicinal cheer remaining, the men dispersed.

An hour or two passed, when Flash Jack directed attention to my long
friend, who, since the medicine boy left, had not been noticed till
now. With eyes closed, he was lying behind the stocks, and Jack was
lifting his arm and letting it fall as if life were extinct. On running
up with the rest, I at once connected the phenomenon with the
mysterious vial. Searching his pocket, I found it, and holding it up,
it proved to be laudanum. Flash Jack, snatching it from my hand in a
rapture, quickly informed all present what it was; and with much glee,
proposed a nap for the company. Some of them not comprehending him
exactly, the apparently defunct Long Ghost—who lay so still that I a
little suspected the genuineness of his sleep—was rolled about as an
illustration of the virtues of the vial’s contents. The idea tickled
everybody mightily; and throwing themselves down, the magic draught was
passed from hand to hand. Thinking that, as a matter of course, they
must at once become insensible, each man, upon taking his sip, fell
back, and closed his eyes.

There was little fear of the result, since the narcotic was equally
distributed. But, curious to see how it would operate, I raised myself
gently after a while, and looked around. It was about noon, and
perfectly still; and as we all daily took the siesta, I was not much
surprised to find everyone quiet. Still, in one or two instances, I
thought I detected a little peeping.

Presently, I heard a footstep, and saw Doctor Johnson approaching.

And perplexed enough did he look at the sight of his prostrate file of
patients, plunged, apparently, in such unaccountable slumbers.

“Daniel,” he cried, at last, punching in the side with his cane the
individual thus designated—“Daniel, my good fellow, get up! do you
hear?”

But Black Dan was immovable; and he poked the next sleeper.

“Joseph, Joseph! come, wake up! it’s me, Doctor Johnson.”

But Jingling Joe, with mouth open, and eyes shut, was not to be
started.

“Bless my soul!” he exclaimed, with uplifted hands and cane, “what’s
got into ’em? I say, men”—he shouted, running up and down—“come to
life, men! what under the sun’s the matter with you?” and he struck the
stocks, and bawled with increased vigour.

At last he paused, folded his hands over the head of his cane, and
steadfastly gazed upon us. The notes of the nasal orchestra were rising
and falling upon his ear, and a new idea suggested itself.

“Yes, yes; the rascals must have been getting boozy. Well, it’s none of
my business—I’ll be off;” and off he went.

No sooner was he out of sight, than nearly all started to their feet,
and a hearty laugh ensued.

Like myself, most of them had been watching the event from under a sly
eyelid. By this time, too, Doctor Long Ghost was as wide awake as
anybody. What were his reasons for taking laudanum,—if, indeed, he took
any whatever,—is best known to himself; and, as it is neither mine nor
the reader’s business, we will say no more about it.



CHAPTER XXXVI.
WE ARE CARRIED BEFORE THE CONSUL AND CAPTAIN


We had been inmates of the Calabooza Beretanee about two weeks, when,
one morning, Captain Bob, coming from the bath, in a state of utter
nudity, brought into the building an armful of old tappa, and began to
dress to go out.

The operation was quite simple. The tappa—of the coarsest kind—was in
one long, heavy piece; and, fastening one end to a column of Habiscus
wood supporting the Calabooza, he went off a few paces, and putting the
other about his waist, wound himself right up to the post. This unique
costume, in rotundity something like a farthingale, added immensely to
his large hulk; so much so that he fairly waddled in his gait. But he
was only adhering to the fashion of his fathers; for, in the olden
time, the “Kihee,” or big girdle, was quite the mode for both sexes.
Bob, despising recent innovations, still clung to it. He was a
gentleman of the old school—one of the last of the Kihees.

He now told us that he had orders to take us before the consul. Nothing
loth, we formed in procession; and, with the old man at our head,
sighing and labouring like an engine, and flanked by a guard of some
twenty natives, we started for the village.

Arrived at the consular office, we found Wilson there, and four or five
Europeans, seated in a row facing us; probably with the view of
presenting as judicial an appearance as possible.

On one side was a couch, where Captain Guy reclined. He looked
convalescent; and, as we found out, intended soon to go aboard his
ship. He said nothing, but left everything to the consul.

The latter now rose, and, drawing forth a paper from a large roll tied
with red tape, commenced reading aloud.

It purported to be, “the affidavit of John Jennin, first officer of the
British Colonial Barque Julia; Guy, Master;” and proved to be a long
statement of matters, from the time of leaving Sydney, down to our
arrival in the harbour. Though artfully drawn up so as to bear hard
against every one of us, it was pretty correct in the details;
excepting that it was wholly silent as to the manifold derelictions of
the mate himself—a fact which imparted unusual significance to the
concluding sentence, “And furthermore, this deponent sayeth not.”

No comments were made, although we all looked round for the mate to see
whether it was possible that he could have authorized this use of his
name. But he was not present.

The next document produced was the deposition of the captain himself.
As on all other occasions, however, he had very little to say for
himself, and it was soon set aside.

The third affidavit was that of the seamen remaining aboard the vessel,
including the traitor Bungs, who, it seemed, had turned ship’s
evidence. It was an atrocious piece of exaggeration, from beginning to
end; and those who signed it could not have known what they were about.
Certainly Wymontoo did not, though his mark was there. In vain the
consul commanded silence during the reading of this paper; comments
were shouted out upon every paragraph.

The affidavits read, Wilson, who, all the while, looked as stiff as a
poker, solemnly drew forth the ship’s articles from their tin case.
This document was a discoloured, musty, bilious-looking affair, and
hard to read. When finished, the consul held it up; and, pointing to
the marks of the ship’s company, at the bottom, asked us, one by one,
whether we acknowledged the same for our own.

“What’s the use of asking that?” said Black Dan; “Captain Guy there
knows as well as we they are.”

“Silence, sir!” said Wilson, who, intending to produce a suitable
impression by this ridiculous parade, was not a little mortified by the
old sailor’s bluntness.

A pause of a few moments now ensued; during which the bench of judges
communed with Captain Guy, in a low tone, and the sailors canvassed the
motives of the consul in having the affidavits taken.

The general idea seemed to be that it was done with a view of
“bouncing,” or frightening us into submission. Such proved to be the
case; for Wilson, rising to his feet again, addressed us as follows:—

“You see, men, that every preparation has been made to send you to
Sydney for trial. The Rosa (a small Australian schooner, lying in the
harbour) will sail for that place in the course of ten days, at
farthest. The Julia sails on a cruise this day week. Do you still
refuse duty?”

We did.

Hereupon the consul and captain exchanged glances; and the latter
looked bitterly disappointed.

Presently I noticed Guy’s eye upon me; and, for the first time, he
spoke, and told me to come near. I stepped forward.

“Was it not you that was taken off the island?”

“It was.”

“It was you then who owe your life to my humanity. Yet this is the
gratitude of a sailor, Mr. Wilson!”

“Not so, sir.” And I at once gave him to understand that I was
perfectly acquainted with his motives in sending a boat into the bay;
his crew was reduced, and he merely wished to procure the sailor whom
he expected to find there. The ship was the means of my deliverance,
and no thanks to the benevolence of its captain.

Doctor Long Ghost also had a word to say. In two masterly sentences he
summed up Captain Guy’s character, to the complete satisfaction of
every seaman present.

Matters were now growing serious; especially as the sailors became
riotous, and talked about taking the consul and the captain back to the
Calabooza with them.

The other judges fidgeted, and loudly commanded silence. It was at
length restored; when Wilson, for the last time addressing us, said
something more about the Rose and Sydney, and concluded by reminding us
that a week would elapse ere the Julia sailed.

Leaving these hints to operate for themselves, he dismissed the party,
ordering Captain Bob and his friends to escort us back whence we came.



CHAPTER XXXVII.
THE FRENCH PRIESTS PAY THEIR RESPECTS


A day or two after the events just related, we were lounging in the
Calabooza Beretanee, when we were honoured by a visit from three of the
French Priests; and as about the only notice ever taken of us by the
English missionaries was their leaving their cards for us, in the shape
of a package of tracts, we could not help thinking that the Frenchmen,
in making a personal call, were at least much better bred.

By this time they had settled themselves down quite near our
habitation. A pleasant little stroll down the Broom Road, and a rustic
cross peeped through the trees; and soon you came to as charming a
place as one would wish to see: a soft knoll, planted with old
breadfruit trees; in front, a savannah, sloping to a grove of palms,
and, between these, glimpses of blue, sunny waves.

On the summit of the knoll was a rude chapel, of bamboos; quite small,
and surmounted by the cross. Between the canes, at nightfall, the
natives stole peeps at a small portable altar; a crucifix to
correspond, and gilded candlesticks and censers. Their curiosity
carried them no further; nothing could induce them to worship there.
Such queer ideas as they entertained of the hated strangers. Masses and
chants were nothing more than evil spells. As for the priests
themselves, they were no better than diabolical sorcerers; like those
who, in old times, terrified their fathers.

Close by the chapel was a range of native houses; rented from a chief,
and handsomely furnished. Here lived the priests; and very comfortably,
too. They looked sanctimonious enough abroad; but that went for
nothing; since, at home, in their retreat, they were a club of Friar
Tucks; holding priestly wassail over many a good cup of red brandy, and
rising late in the morning.

Pity it was they couldn’t marry—pity for the ladies of the island, I
mean, and the cause of morality; for what business had the
ecclesiastical old bachelors with such a set of trim little native
handmaidens? These damsels were their first converts; and devoted ones
they were.

The priests, as I have said before, were accounted necromancers: the
appearance of two of our three visitors might have justified the
conceit.

They were little, dried-up Frenchmen, in long, straight gowns of black
cloth, and unsightly three-cornered hats—so preposterously big that, in
putting them on, the reverend fathers seemed to extinguish themselves.

Their companion was dressed differently. He wore a sort of yellow,
flannel morning gown, and a broad-brimmed Manilla hat. Large and
portly, he was also hale and fifty; with a complexion like an autumnal
leaf—handsome blue eyes—fine teeth, and a racy Milesian brogue. In
short, he was an Irishman; Father Murphy, by name; and, as such, pretty
well known, and very thoroughly disliked, throughout all the Protestant
missionary settlements in Polynesia. In early youth, he had been sent
to a religious seminary in France; and, taking orders there, had but
once or twice afterwards revisited his native land.

Father Murphy marched up to us briskly; and the first words he uttered
were, to ask whether there were any of his countrymen among us. There
were two of them; one, a lad of sixteen—a bright, curly-headed
rascal—and, being a young Irishman, of course, his name was Pat. The
other was an ugly, and rather melancholy-looking scamp; one M’Gee,
whose prospects in life had been blasted by a premature transportation
to Sydney. This was the report, at least, though it might have been
scandal.

In most of my shipmates were some redeeming qualities; but about M’Gee,
there was nothing of the kind; and forced to consort with him, I could
not help regretting, a thousand times, that the gallows had been so
tardy. As if impelled, against her will, to send him into the world,
Nature had done all she could to insure his being taken for what he
was. About the eyes there was no mistaking him; with a villainous cast
in one, they seemed suspicious of each other.

Glancing away from him at once, the bluff priest rested his gaze on the
good-humoured face of Pat, who, with a pleasant roguishness, was
“twigging” the enormous hats (or “Hytee Belteezers,” as land beavers
are called by sailors), from under which, like a couple of snails,
peeped the two little Frenchmen.

Pat and the priest were both from the same town in Meath; and, when
this was found out, there was no end to the questions of the latter. To
him, Pat seemed a letter from home, and said a hundred times as much.

After a long talk between these two, and a little broken English from
the Frenchmen, our visitors took leave; but Father Murphy had hardly
gone a dozen rods when back he came, inquiring whether we were in want
of anything.

“Yes,” cried one, “something to eat.” Upon this he promised to send us
some fresh wheat bread, of his own baking; a great luxury in Tahiti.

We all felicitated Pat upon picking up such a friend, and told him his
fortune was made.

The next morning, a French servant of the priest’s made his appearance
with a small bundle of clothing for our young Hibernian; and the
promised bread for the party. Pat being out at the knees and elbows,
and, like the rest of us, not full inside, the present was acceptable
all round.

In the afternoon, Father Murphy himself came along; and, in addition to
his previous gifts, gave Pat a good deal of advice: said he was sorry
to see him in limbo, and that he would have a talk with the consul
about having him set free.

We saw nothing more of him for two or three days; at the end of which
time he paid us another call, telling Pat that Wilson was inexorable,
having refused to set him at liberty, unless to go aboard the ship.
This, the priest now besought him to do forthwith; and so escape the
punishment which, it seems, Wilson had been hinting at to his
intercessor. Pat, however, was staunch against entreaties; and, with
all the ardour of a sophomorean sailor, protested his intention to hold
out to the last. With none of the meekness of a good little boy about
him, the blunt youngster stormed away at such a rate that it was hard
to pacify him; and the priest said no more.

How it came to pass—whether from Murphy’s speaking to the consul, or
otherwise, we could not tell—but the next day, Pat was sent for by
Wilson, and being escorted to the village by our good old keeper, three
days elapsed before he returned.

Bent upon reclaiming him, they had taken him on board the ship; feasted
him in the cabin; and, finding that of no avail, down they thrust him
into the hold, in double irons, and on bread and water. All would not
do; and so he was sent back to the Calabooza. Boy that he was, they
must have counted upon his being more susceptible to discipline than
the rest.

The interest felt in Pat’s welfare, by his benevolent countryman, was
very serviceable to the rest of us; especially as we all turned
Catholics, and went to mass every morning, much to Captain Bob’s
consternation. Upon finding it out, he threatened to keep us in the
stocks if we did not desist. He went no farther than this, though; and
so, every few days, we strolled down to the priest’s residence, and had
a mouthful to eat, and something generous to drink. In particular, Dr.
Long Ghost and myself became huge favourites with Pat’s friend; and
many a time he regaled us from a quaint-looking travelling case for
spirits, stowed away in one corner of his dwelling. It held four square
flasks, which, somehow or other, always contained just enough to need
emptying. In truth, the fine old Irishman was a rosy fellow in
canonicals. His countenance and his soul were always in a glow. It may
be ungenerous to reveal his failings, but he often talked thick, and
sometimes was perceptibly eccentric in his gait.

I never drink French brandy but I pledge Father Murphy. His health
again! And many jolly proselytes may he make in Polynesia!



CHAPTER XXXVIII.
LITTLE JULIA SAILS WITHOUT US


To make good the hint thrown out by the consul upon the conclusion of
the Farce of the Affidavits, we were again brought before him within
the time specified.

It was the same thing over again: he got nothing out of us, and we were
remanded; our resolute behaviour annoying him prodigiously.

What we observed led us to form the idea that, on first learning the
state of affairs on board the Julia, Wilson must have addressed his
invalid friend, the captain, something in the following style:

“Guy, my poor fellow, don’t worry yourself now about those rascally
sailors of yours. I’ll dress them out for you—just leave it all to me,
and set your mind at rest.”

But handcuffs and stocks, big looks, threats, dark hints, and
depositions, had all gone for nought.

Conscious that, as matters now stood, nothing serious could grow out of
what had happened; and never dreaming that our being sent home for
trial had ever been really thought of, we thoroughly understood Wilson,
and laughed at him accordingly.

Since leaving the Julia, we had caught no glimpse of the mate; but we
often heard of him.

It seemed that he remained on board, keeping house in the cabin for
himself and Viner; who, going to see him according to promise, was
induced to remain a guest. These two cronies now had fine times;
tapping the captain’s quarter-casks, playing cards on the transom, and
giving balls of an evening to the ladies ashore. In short, they cut up
so many queer capers that the missionaries complained of them to the
consul; and Jermin received a sharp reprimand.

This so affected him that he still drank more freely than before; and
one afternoon, when mellow as a grape, he took umbrage at a canoe full
of natives, who, on being hailed from the deck to come aboard and show
their papers, got frightened, and paddled for the shore.

Lowering a boat instantly, he equipped Wymontoo and the Dane with a
cutlass apiece, and seizing another himself, off they started in
pursuit, the ship’s ensign flying in the boat’s stern. The alarmed
islanders, beaching their canoe, with loud cries fled through the
village, the mate after them, slashing his naked weapon to right and
left. A crowd soon collected; and the “Karhowree toonee,” or crazy
stranger, was quickly taken before Wilson.

Now, it so chanced that, in a native house hard by, the consul and
Captain Guy were having a quiet game at cribbage by themselves, a
decanter on the table standing sentry. The obstreperous Jermin was
brought in; and finding the two thus pleasantly occupied, it had a
soothing effect upon him; and he insisted upon taking a hand at the
cards, and a drink of the brandy. As the consul was nearly as tipsy as
himself, and the captain dared not object for fear of giving offence,
at it they went—all three of them—and made a night of it; the mate’s
delinquencies being summarily passed over, and his captors sent away.

An incident worth relating grew out of this freak.

There wandered about Papeetee, at this time, a shrivelled little fright
of an Englishwoman, known among sailors as “Old Mother Tot.” From New
Zealand to the Sandwich Islands, she had been all over the South Seas;
keeping a rude hut of entertainment for mariners, and supplying them
with rum and dice. Upon the missionary islands, of course, such conduct
was severely punishable; and at various places, Mother Tot’s
establishment had been shut up, and its proprietor made to quit in the
first vessel that could be hired to land her elsewhere. But, with a
perseverance invincible, wherever she went she always started afresh;
and so became notorious everywhere.

By some wicked spell of hers, a patient, one-eyed little cobbler
followed her about, mending shoes for white men, doing the old woman’s
cooking, and bearing all her abuse without grumbling. Strange to
relate, a battered Bible was seldom out of his sight; and whenever he
had leisure, and his mistress’ back was turned, he was forever poring
over it. This pious propensity used to enrage the old crone past
belief; and oftentimes she boxed his ears with the book, and tried to
burn it. Mother Tot and her man Josy were, indeed, a curious pair.

But to my story.

A week or so after our arrival in the harbour, the old lady had once
again been hunted down, and forced for the time to abandon her
nefarious calling. This was brought about chiefly by Wilson, who, for
some reason unknown, had contracted the most violent hatred for her;
which, on her part, was more than reciprocated.

Well: passing, in the evening, where the consul and his party were
making merry, she peeped through the bamboos of the house; and
straightway resolved to gratify her spite.

The night was very dark; and providing herself with a huge ship’s
lantern, which usually swung in her hut, she waited till they came
forth. This happened about midnight; Wilson making his appearance,
supported by two natives, holding him up by the arms. These three went
first; and just as they got under a deep shade, a bright light was
thrust within an inch of Wilson’s nose. The old hag was kneeling before
him, holding the lantern with uplifted hands.

“Ha, ha! my fine counsellor,” she shrieked; “ye persecute a lone old
body like me for selling rum—do ye? And here ye are, carried home
drunk—Hoot! ye villain, I scorn ye!” And she spat upon him.

Terrified at the apparition, the poor natives—arrant believers in
ghosts—dropped the trembling consul, and fled in all directions. After
giving full vent to her rage, Mother Tot hobbled away, and left the
three revellers to stagger home the best way they could.

The day following our last interview with Wilson, we learned that
Captain Guy had gone on board his vessel for the purpose of shipping a
new crew. There was a round bounty offered; and a heavy bag of Spanish
dollars, with the Julia’s articles ready for signing, were laid on the
capstan-head.

Now, there was no lack of idle sailors ashore, mostly “Beachcombers,”
who had formed themselves into an organized gang, headed by one Mack, a
Scotchman, whom they styled the Commodore. By the laws of the
fraternity, no member was allowed to ship on board a vessel unless
granted permission by the rest. In this way the gang controlled the
port, all discharged seamen being forced to join them.

To Mack and his men our story was well known; indeed, they had several
times called to see us; and of course, as sailors and congenial
spirits, they were hard against Captain Guy.

Deeming the matter important, they came in a body to the Calabooza, and
wished to know whether, all things considered, we thought it best for
any of them to join the Julia.

Anxious to pack the ship off as soon as possible, we answered, by all
means. Some went so far as to laud the Julia to the skies as the best
and fastest of ships. Jermin too, as a good fellow, and a sailor every
inch, came in for his share of praise; and as for the captain—quiet
man, he would never trouble anyone. In short, every inducement we could
think of was presented; and Flash Jack ended by assuring the
beachcombers solemnly that, now we were all well and hearty, nothing
but a regard to principle prevented us from returning on board
ourselves.

The result was that a new crew was finally obtained, together with a
steady New Englander for second mate, and three good whalemen for
harpooners. In part, what was wanting for the ship’s larder was also
supplied; and as far as could be done in a place like Tahiti, the
damages the vessel had sustained were repaired. As for the Mowree, the
authorities refusing to let him be put ashore, he was carried to sea in
irons, down in the hold. What eventually became of him we never heard.

Ropey, poor poor Ropey, who a few days previous had fallen sick, was
left ashore at the sailor hospital at Townor, a small place upon the
beach between Papeetee and Matavai. Here, some time after, he breathed
his last. No one knew his complaint: he must have died of hard times.
Several of us saw him interred in the sand, and I planted a rude post
to mark his resting-place.

The cooper, and the rest who had remained aboard from the first, of
course, composed part of the Julia’s new crew.

To account for the conduct, all along, of the consul and captain, in
trying so hard to alter our purpose with respect to the ship, the
following statement is all that is requisite. Beside an advance of from
fifteen to twenty-five dollars demanded by every sailor shipping at
Tahiti, an additional sum for each man so shipped has to be paid into
the hands of the government, as a charge of the port. Beside this, the
men—with here and there an exception—will only ship for one cruise,
thus becoming entitled to a discharge before the vessel reaches home;
which, in time, creates the necessity of obtaining other men, at a
similar cost. Now, the Julia’s exchequer was at low-water mark, or
rather, it was quite empty; and to meet these expenses, a good part of
what little oil there was aboard had to be sold for a song to a
merchant of Papeetee.

It was Sunday in Tahiti and a glorious morning, when Captain Bob,
waddling into the Calabooza, startled us by announcing “Ah—my
boy—shippy you, harre—maky sail!” In other words, the Julia was off.

The beach was quite near, and in this quarter altogether uninhabited;
so down we ran, and, at cable’s length, saw little Jule gliding
past—top-gallant-sails hoisting, and a boy aloft with one leg thrown
over the yard, loosing the fore-royal. The decks were all life and
commotion; the sailors on the forecastle singing “Ho, cheerly men!” as
they catted the anchor; and the gallant Jennin, bare-headed as his
wont, standing up on the bowsprit, and issuing his orders. By the man
at the helm stood Captain Guy, very quiet and gentlemanly, and smoking
a cigar.

Soon the ship drew near the reef, and, altering her course, glided out
through the break, and went on her way.

Thus disappeared little Jule, about three weeks after entering the
harbour: and nothing more have I ever heard of her.



CHAPTER XXXIX.
JERMIN SERVES US A GOOD TURN—FRIENDSHIPS IN POLYNESIA


The ship out of the way, we were quite anxious to know what was going
to be done with us. On this head, Captain Bob could tell us nothing; no
further, at least, than that he still considered himself responsible
for our safe-keeping. However, he never put us to bed any more; and we
had everything our own way.

The day after the Julia left, the old man came up to us in great
tribulation, saying that the bucket of bread was no longer forthcoming,
and that Wilson had refused to send anything in its place. One and all,
we took this for a hint to disperse quietly, and go about our business.
Nevertheless, we were not to be shaken off so easily; and taking a
malicious pleasure in annoying our old enemy, we resolved, for the
present, to stay where we were. For the part he had been acting, we
learned that the consul was the laughing-stock of all the foreigners
ashore, who frequently twitted him upon his hopeful proteges of the
Calabooza Beretanee.

As we were wholly without resources, so long as we remained on the
island no better place than Captain Bob’s could be selected for an
abiding-place. Beside, we heartily loved the old gentleman, and could
not think of leaving him; so, telling him to give no thought as to
wherewithal we should be clothed and fed, we resolved, by extending and
systematizing our foraging operations, to provide for ourselves.

We were greatly assisted by a parting legacy of Jermin’s. To him we
were indebted for having all our chests sent ashore, and everything
left therein. They were placed in the custody of a petty chief living
near by, who was instructed by the consul not to allow them to be taken
away; but we might call and make our toilets whenever we pleased.

We went to see Mahinee, the old chief; Captain Bob going along, and
stoutly insisting upon having the chattels delivered up. At last this
was done; and in solemn procession the chests were borne by the natives
to the Calabooza. Here, we disposed them about quite tastefully; and
made such a figure that, in the eyes of old Bob and his friends, the
Calabooza Beretanee was by far the most sumptuously furnished saloon in
Tahiti.

Indeed, so long as it remained thus furnished, the native courts of the
district were held there; the judge, Mahinee, and his associates,
sitting upon one of the chests, and the culprits and spectators thrown
at full length upon the ground, both inside of the building and under
the shade of the trees without; while, leaning over the stocks as from
a gallery, the worshipful crew of the Julia looked on, and canvassed
the proceedings.

I should have mentioned before that, previous to the vessel’s
departure, the men had bartered away all the clothing they could
possibly spare; but now, it was resolved to be more provident.

The contents of the chests were of the most miscellaneous
description:—sewing utensils, marling-spikes, strips of calico, bits of
rope, jack-knives; nearly everything, in short, that a seaman could
think of. But of wearing apparel, there was little but old frocks,
remnants of jackets, and legs of trousers, with now and then the foot
of a stocking.

These, however, were far from being valueless; for, among the poorer
Tahitians, everything European is highly esteemed. They come from
“Beretanee, Fenooa Pararee” (Britain, Land of Wonders), and that is
enough.

The chests themselves were deemed exceedingly precious, especially
those with unfractured looks, which would absolutely click, and enable
the owner to walk off with the key. Scars, however, and bruises, were
considered great blemishes. One old fellow, smitten with the doctor’s
large mahogany chest (a well-filled one, by the bye), and finding
infinite satisfaction in merely sitting thereon, was detected in the
act of applying a healing ointment to a shocking scratch which impaired
the beauty of the lid.

There is no telling the love of a Tahitian for a sailor’s trunk. So
ornamental is it held as an article of furniture in the hut, that the
women are incessantly tormenting their husbands to bestir themselves
and make them a present of one. When obtained, no pier-table just
placed in a drawing-room is regarded with half the delight. For these
reasons, then, our coming into possession of our estate at this time
was an important event.

The islanders are much like the rest of the world; and the news of our
good fortune brought us troops of “tayos,” or friends, eager to form an
alliance after the national custom, and do our slightest bidding.

The really curious way in which all the Polynesians are in the habit of
making bosom friends at the shortest possible notice is deserving of
remark. Although, among a people like the Tahitians, vitiated as they
are by sophisticating influences, this custom has in most cases
degenerated into a mere mercenary relation, it nevertheless had its
origin in a fine, and in some instances, heroic sentiment, formerly
entertained by their fathers.

In the annals of the island are examples of extravagant friendships,
unsurpassed by the story of Damon and Pythias: in truth, much more
wonderful; for, notwithstanding the devotion—even of life in some
cases—to which they led, they were frequently entertained at first
sight for some stranger from another island.

Filled with love and admiration for the first whites who came among
them, the Polynesians could not testify the warmth of their emotions
more strongly than by instantaneously making their abrupt proffer of
friendship. Hence, in old voyages we read of chiefs coming off from the
shore in their canoes, and going through with strange antics,
expressive of the desire. In the same way, their inferiors accosted the
seamen; and thus the practice has continued in some islands down to the
present day.

There is a small place, not many days’ sail from Tahiti, and seldom
visited by shipping, where the vessel touched to which I then happened
to belong.

Of course, among the simple-hearted natives, We had a friend all round.
Mine was Poky, a handsome youth, who never could do enough for me.
Every morning at sunrise, his canoe came alongside loaded with fruits
of all kinds; upon being emptied, it was secured by a line to the
bowsprit, under which it lay all day long, ready at any time to carry
its owner ashore on an errand.

Seeing him so indefatigable, I told Poky one day that I was a virtuoso
in shells and curiosities of all kinds. That was enough; away he
paddled for the head of the bay, and I never saw him again for
twenty-four hours. The next morning, his canoe came gliding slowly
along the shore with the full-leaved bough of a tree for a sail. For
the purpose of keeping the things dry, he had also built a sort of
platform just behind the prow, railed in with green wicker-work; and
here was a heap of yellow bananas and cowree shells; young cocoa-nuts
and antlers of red coral; two or three pieces of carved wood; a little
pocket-idol, black as jet, and rolls of printed tappa.

We were given a holiday; and upon going ashore, Poky, of course, was my
companion and guide. For this, no mortal could be better qualified; his
native country was not large, and he knew every inch of it. Gallanting
me about, everyone was stopped and ceremoniously introduced to Poky’s
“tayo karhowree nuee” or his particular white friend.

He showed me all the lions; but more than all, he took me to see a
charming lioness—a young damsel—the daughter of a chief—the reputation
of whose charms had spread to the neighbouring islands, and even
brought suitors therefrom. Among these was Tooboi, the heir of
Tamatory, King of Eaiatair, one of the Society Isles. The girl was
certainly fair to look upon. Many heavens were in her sunny eyes; and
the outline of that arm of hers, peeping forth from a capricious tappa
robe, was the very curve of beauty.

Though there was no end to Poky’s attentions, not a syllable did he
ever breathe of reward; but sometimes he looked very knowing. At last
the day came for sailing, and with it, also, his canoe, loaded down to
the gunwale with a sea stock of fruits. Giving him all I could spare
from my chest, I went on deck to take my place at the windlass; for the
anchor was weighing. Poky followed, and heaved with me at the same
handspike.

The anchor was soon up; and away we went out of the bay with more than
twenty shallops towing astern. At last they left us; but long as I
could see him at all, there was Poky, standing alone and motionless in
the bow of his canoe.



PART II



CHAPTER XL.
WE TAKE UNTO OURSELVES FRIENDS


The arrival of the chests made my friend, the doctor, by far the
wealthiest man of the party. So much the better for me, seeing that I
had little or nothing myself; though, from our intimacy, the natives
courted my favour almost as much as his.

Among others, Kooloo was a candidate for my friendship; and being a
comely youth, quite a buck in his way, I accepted his overtures. By
this, I escaped the importunities of the rest; for be it known that,
though little inclined to jealousy in love matters, the Tahitian will
hear of no rivals in his friendship.

Kooloo, running over his qualifications as a friend, first of all
informed me that he was a “Mickonaree,” thus declaring his communion
with the church.

The way this “tayo” of mine expressed his regard was by assuring me
over and over again that the love he bore me was “nuee, nuee, nuee,” or
infinitesimally extensive. All over these seas, the word “nuee” is
significant of quantity. Its repetition is like placing ciphers at the
right hand of a numeral; the more places you carry it out to, the
greater the sum. Judge, then, of Kooloo’s esteem. Nor is the allusion
to the ciphers at all inappropriate, seeing that, in themselves,
Kooloo’s profession turned out to be worthless. He was, alas! as
sounding brass and a tinkling cymbal; one of those who make no music
unless the clapper be silver.

In the course of a few days, the sailors, like the doctor and myself,
were cajoled out of everything, and our “tayos,” all round, began to
cool off quite sensibly. So remiss did they become in their attentions
that we could no longer rely upon their bringing us the daily supply of
food, which all of them had faithfully promised.

As for Kooloo, after sponging me well, he one morning played the part
of a retrograde lover; informing me that his affections had undergone a
change; he had fallen in love at first sight with a smart sailor, who
had just stepped ashore quite flush from a lucky whaling-cruise.

It was a touching interview, and with it, our connection dissolved. But
the sadness which ensued would soon have been dissipated, had not my
sensibilities been wounded by his indelicately sporting some of my
gifts very soon after this transfer of his affections. Hardly a day
passed that I did not meet him on the Broom Road, airing himself in a
regatta shirt which I had given him in happier hours.

He went by with such an easy saunter too, looking me pleasantly in the
eye, and merely exchanging the cold salute of the road:—“Yar onor,
boyoee,” a mere sidewalk how d’ye do. After several experiences like
this, I began to entertain a sort of respect for Kooloo, as quite a man
of the world. In good sooth, he turned out to be one; in one week’s
time giving me the cut direct, and lounging by without even nodding. He
must have taken me for part of the landscape.

Before the chests were quite empty, we had a grand washing in the
stream of our best raiment, for the purpose of looking tidy, and
visiting the European chapel in the village. Every Sunday morning it is
open for divine service, some member of the mission officiating. This
was the first time we ever entered Papeetee unattended by an escort.

In the chapel there were about forty people present, including the
officers of several ships in harbour. It was an energetic discourse,
and the pulpit cushion was well pounded. Occupying a high seat in the
synagogue, and stiff as a flagstaff, was our beloved guardian, Wilson.
I shall never forget his look of wonder when his interesting wards
filed in at the doorway, and took up a seat directly facing him.

Service over, we waited outside in hopes of seeing more of him; but
sorely annoyed at the sight of us, he reconnoitred from the window, and
never came forth until we had started for home.



CHAPTER XLI.
WE LEVY CONTRIBUTIONS ON THE SHIPPING


Scarcely a week went by after the Julia’s sailing, when, with the
proverbial restlessness of sailors, some of the men began to grow weary
of the Calabooza Beretanee, and resolved to go boldly among the vessels
in the bay, and offer to ship.

The thing was tried; but though strongly recommended by the commodore
of the beachcombers, in the end they were invariably told by the
captains to whom they applied that they bore an equivocal character
ashore, and would not answer. So often were they repulsed that we
pretty nearly gave up all thoughts of leaving the island in this way;
and growing domestic again, settled down quietly at Captain Bob’s.

It was about this time that the whaling-ships, which have their regular
seasons for cruising, began to arrive at Papeetee; and of course their
crews frequently visited us. This is customary all over the Pacific. No
sailor steps ashore, but he straightway goes to the “Calabooza,” where
he is almost sure to find some poor fellow or other in confinement for
desertion, or alleged mutiny, or something of that sort. Sympathy is
proffered, and if need be, tobacco. The latter, however, is most in
request; as a solace to the captive, it is invaluable.

Having fairly carried the day against both consul and captain, we were
objects of even more than ordinary interest to these philanthropists;
and they always cordially applauded our conduct. Besides, they
invariably brought along something in the way of refreshments;
occasionally smuggling in a little Pisco. Upon one occasion, when there
was quite a number present, a calabash was passed round, and a
pecuniary collection taken up for our benefit.

One day a newcomer proposed that two or three of us should pay him a
sly, nocturnal visit aboard his ship; engaging to send us away well
freighted with provisions. This was not a bad idea; nor were we at all
backward in acting upon it. Right after night every vessel in the
harbour was visited in rotation, the foragers borrowing Captain Bob’s
canoe for the purpose. As we all took turns at this—two by two—in due
course it came to Long Ghost and myself, for the sailors invariably
linked us together. In such an enterprise, I somewhat distrusted the
doctor, for he was no sailor, and very tall; and a canoe is the most
ticklish of navigable things. However, it could not be helped; and so
we went.

But a word about the canoes before we go any further. Among the Society
Islands, the art of building them, like all native accomplishments, has
greatly deteriorated; and they are now the most inelegant, as well as
the most insecure of any in the South Seas. In Cook’s time, according
to his account, there was at Tahiti a royal fleet of seventeen hundred
and twenty large war canoes, handsomely carved, and otherwise adorned.
At present, those used are quite small; nothing more than logs hollowed
out, sharpened at one end, and then launched into the water.

To obviate a certain rolling propensity, the Tahitians, like all
Polynesians, attach to them what sailors call an “outrigger.” It
consists of a pole floating alongside, parallel to the canoe, and
connected with it by a couple of cross sticks, a yard or more in
length. Thus equipped, the canoe cannot be overturned, unless you
overcome the buoyancy of the pole, or lift it entirely out of the
water.

Now, Captain Bob’s “gig” was exceedingly small; so small, and of such a
grotesque shape, that the sailors christened it the Pill Box; and by
this appellation it always went. In fact, it was a sort of “sulky,”
meant for a solitary paddler, but, on an emergency, capable of floating
two or three. The outrigger was a mere switch, alternately rising in
air, and then depressed in the water.

Assuming the command of the expedition, upon the strength of my being a
sailor, I packed the Long Doctor with a paddle in the bow, and then
shoving off, leaped into the stern; thus leaving him to do all the
work, and reserving to myself the dignified sinecure of steering. All
would have gone on well, were it not that my paddler made such clumsy
work that the water spattered, and showered down upon us without
ceasing. Continuing to ply his tool, however, quite energetically, I
thought he would improve after a while, and so let him alone. But by
and bye, getting wet through with this little storm we were raising,
and seeing no signs of its clearing off, I conjured him, in mercy’s
name, to stop short, and let me wring myself out. Upon this, he
suddenly turned round, when the canoe gave a roll, the outrigger flew
overhead, and the next moment came rap on the doctor’s skull, and we
were both in the water.

Fortunately, we were just over a ledge of coral, not half-a-fathom
under the surface. Depressing one end of the filled canoe, and letting
go of it quickly, it bounced up, and discharged a great part of its
contents; so that we easily baled out the remainder, and again
embarked. This time, my comrade coiled himself away in a very small
space; and enjoining upon him not to draw a single unnecessary breath,
I proceeded to urge the canoe along by myself. I was astonished at his
docility, never speaking a word, and stirring neither hand nor foot;
but the secret was, he was unable to swim, and in case we met with a
second mishap, there were no more ledges beneath to stand upon.
“Crowning’s but a shabby way of going out of the world,” he exclaimed,
upon my rallying him; “and I’m not going to be guilty of it.”

At last, the ship was at hand, and we approached with much caution,
wishing to avoid being hailed by anyone from the quarter-deck. Dropping
silently under her bows, we heard a low whistle—the signal agreed
upon—and presently a goodly-sized bag was lowered over to us.

We cut the line, and then paddled away as fast as we could, and made
the best of our way home. Here, we found the rest waiting impatiently.

The bag turned out to be well filled with sweet potatoes boiled, cubes
of salt beef and pork, and a famous sailors’ pudding, what they call
“duff,” made of flour and water, and of about the consistence of an
underdone brick. With these delicacies, and keen appetites, we went out
into the moonlight, and had a nocturnal picnic.



CHAPTER XLII.
MOTOO-OTOO A TAHITIAN CASUIST


The Pill Box was sometimes employed for other purposes than that
described in the last chapter. We sometimes went a-pleasuring in it.

Right in the middle of Papeetee harbour is a bright, green island, one
circular grove of waving palms, and scarcely a hundred yards across. It
is of coral formation; and all round, for many rods out, the bay is so
shallow that you might wade anywhere. Down in these waters, as
transparent as air, you see coral plants of every hue and shape
imaginable:—antlers, tufts of azure, waving reeds like stalks of grain,
and pale green buds and mosses. In some places, you look through
prickly branches down to a snow-white floor of sand, sprouting with
flinty bulbs; and crawling among these are strange shapes:—some
bristling with spikes, others clad in shining coats of mail, and here
and there, round forms all spangled with eyes.

The island is called Hotoo-Otoo; and around Hotoo-Otoo have I often
paddled of a white moonlight night, pausing now and then to admire the
marine gardens beneath.

The place is the private property of the queen, who has a residence
there—a melancholy-looking range of bamboo houses—neglected and falling
to decay among the trees.

Commanding the harbour as it does, her majesty has done all she could
to make a fortress of the island. The margin has been raised and
levelled, and built up with a low parapet of hewn Hocks of coral.
Behind the parapet are ranged, at wide intervals, a number of rusty old
cannon, of all fashions and calibres. They are mounted upon lame,
decrepit-looking carriages, ready to sink under the useless burden of
bearing them up. Indeed, two or three have given up the ghost
altogether, and the pieces they sustained lie half buried among their
bleaching bones. Several of the cannon are spiked; probably with a view
of making them more formidable; as they certainly must be to anyone
undertaking to fire them off.

Presented to Pomaree at various times by captains of British armed
ships, these poor old “dogs of war,” thus toothless and turned out to
die, formerly bayed in full pack as the battle-hounds of Old England.

There was something about Hotoo-Otoo that struck my fancy; and I
registered a vow to plant my foot upon its soil, notwithstanding an old
bareheaded sentry menaced me in the moonlight with an unsightly musket.
As my canoe drew scarcely three inches of water, I could paddle close
up to the parapet without grounding; but every time I came near, the
old man ran toward me, pushing his piece forward, but never clapping it
to his shoulder. Thinking he only meant to frighten me, I at last
dashed the canoe right up to the wall, purposing a leap. It was the
rashest act of my life; for never did cocoa-nut come nearer getting
demolished than mine did then. With the stock of his gun, the old
warder fetched a tremendous blow, which I managed to dodge; and then
falling back, succeeded in paddling out of harm’s reach.

He must have been dumb; for never a word did he utter; but grinning
from ear to ear, and with his white cotton robe streaming in the
moonlight, he looked more like the spook of the island than anything
mortal.

I tried to effect my object by attacking him in the rear—but he was all
front; running about the place as I paddled, and presenting his
confounded musket wherever I went. At last I was obliged to retreat;
and to this day my vow remains unfulfilled.

It was a few days after my repulse from before the walls of Hotoo-Otoo
that I heard a curious case of casuistry argued between one of the most
clever and intelligent natives I ever saw in Tahiti, a man by the name
of Arheetoo, and our learned Theban of a doctor.

It was this:—whether it was right and lawful for anyone, being a
native, to keep the European Sabbath, in preference to the day set
apart as such by the missionaries, and so considered by the islanders
in general.

It must be known that the missionaries of the good ship Duff, who more
than half-a-century ago established the Tahitian reckoning, came hither
by the way of the Cape of Good Hope; and by thus sailing to the
eastward, lost one precious day of their lives all round, getting about
that much in advance of Greenwich time. For this reason, vessels coming
round Cape Horn—as they most all do nowadays—find it Sunday in Tahiti,
when, according to their own view of the matter, it ought to be
Saturday. But as it won’t do to alter the log, the sailors keep their
Sabbath, and the islanders theirs.

This confusion perplexes the poor natives mightily; and it is to no
purpose that you endeavour to explain so incomprehensible a phenomenon.
I once saw a worthy old missionary essay to shed some light on the
subject; and though I understood but a few of the words employed, I
could easily get at the meaning of his illustrations. They were
something like the following:

“Here,” says he, “you see this circle” (describing a large one on the
ground with a stick); “very good; now you see this spot here” (marking
a point in the perimeter): “well; this is Beretanee (England), and I’m
going to sail round to Tahiti. Here I go, then (following the circle
round), and there goes the sun (snatching up another stick, and
commissioning a bandy-legged native to travel round with it in a
contrary direction). Now then, we are both off, and both going away
from each other; and here you see I have arrived at Tahiti (making a
sudden stop); and look now where Bandy Legs is!”

But the crowd strenuously maintained that Bandy Legs ought to be
somewhere above them in the atmosphere; for it was a traditionary fact
that the people from the Duff came ashore when the sun was high
overhead. And here the old gentleman, being a very good sort of man,
doubtless, but no astronomer, was obliged to give up.

Arheetoo, the casuist alluded to, though a member of the church, and
extremely conscientious about what Sabbath he kept, was more liberal in
other matters. Learning that I was something of a “mick-onaree” (in
this sense, a man able to read, and cunning in the use of the pen), he
desired the slight favour of my forging for him a set of papers; for
which, he said, he would be much obliged, and give me a good dinner of
roast pig and Indian turnip in the bargain.

Now, Arheetoo was one of those who board the shipping for their
washing; and the competition being very great (the proudest chiefs not
disdaining to solicit custom in person, though the work is done by
their dependants), he had decided upon a course suggested by a knowing
sailor, a friend of his. He wished to have manufactured a set of
certificates, purporting to come from certain man-of-war and merchant
captains, known to have visited the island; recommending him as one of
the best getters up of fine linen in all Polynesia.

At this time, Arheetoo had known me but two hours; and, as he made the
proposition very coolly, I thought it rather presumptuous, and told him
so. But as it was quite impossible to convey a hint, and there was a
slight impropriety in the thing, I did not resent the insult, but
simply declined.



CHAPTER XLIII.
ONE IS JUDGED BY THE COMPANY HE KEEPS


Altough, from its novelty, life at Captain Bob’s was pleasant enough,
for the time; there were some few annoyances connected with it anything
but agreeable to a “soul of sensibility.”

Prejudiced against us by the malevolent representations of the consul
and others, many worthy foreigners ashore regarded us as a set of
lawless vagabonds; though, truth to speak, better behaved sailors never
stepped on the island, nor any who gave less trouble to the natives.
But, for all this, whenever we met a respectably-dressed European, ten
to one he shunned us by going over to the other side of the road. This
was very unpleasant, at least to myself; though, certes, it did not
prey upon the minds of the others.

To give an instance.

Of a fine evening in Tahiti—but they are all fine evenings there—you
may see a bevy of silk bonnets and parasols passing along the Broom
Road: perhaps a band of pale, little white urchins—sickly exotics—and,
oftener still, sedate, elderly gentlemen, with canes; at whose
appearance the natives, here and there, slink into their huts. These
are the missionaries, their wives, and children, taking a family
airing. Sometimes, by the bye, they take horse, and ride down to Point
Venus and back; a distance of several miles. At this place is settled
the only survivor of the first missionaries that landed—an old,
white-headed, saint-like man, by the name of Wilson, the father of our
friend, the consul.

The little parties on foot were frequently encountered; and, recalling,
as they did, so many pleasant recollections of home and the ladies, I
really longed for a dress coat and beaver that I might step up and pay
my respects. But, situated as I was, this was out of the question. On
one occasion, however, I received a kind, inquisitive glance from a
matron in gingham. Sweet lady! I have not forgotten her: her gown was a
plaid.

But a glance, like hers, was not always bestowed.

One evening, passing the verandah of a missionary’s dwelling, the dame,
his wife, and a pretty, blonde young girl, with ringlets, were sitting
there, enjoying the sea-breeze, then coming in, all cool and
refreshing, from the spray of the reef. As I approached, the old lady
peered hard at me; and her very cap seemed to convey a prim rebuke. The
blue, English eyes, by her side, were also bent on me. But, oh Heavens!
what a glance to receive from such a beautiful creature! As for the mob
cap, not a fig did I care for it; but, to be taken for anything but a
cavalier, by the ringleted one, was absolutely unendurable.

I resolved on a courteous salute, to show my good-breeding, if nothing
more. But, happening to wear a sort of turban—hereafter to be
particularly alluded to—there was no taking it off and putting it on
again with anything like dignity. At any rate, then, here goes a how.
But, another difficulty presented itself; my loose frock was so
voluminous that I doubted whether any spinal curvature would be
perceptible.

“Good evening, ladies,” exclaimed I, at last, advancing winningly; “a
delightful air from the sea, ladies.”

Hysterics and hartshorn! who would have thought it? The young lady
screamed, and the old one came near fainting. As for myself, I
retreated in double-quick time; and scarcely drew breath until safely
housed in the Calabooza.



CHAPTER XLIV.
CATHEDRAL OF PAPOAR—THE CHURCH OF THE COCOA-NUTS


On Sundays I always attended the principal native church, on the
outskirts of the village of Papeetee, and not far from the Calabooza
Beretanee. It was esteemed the best specimen of architecture in Tahiti.

Of late, they have built their places of worship with more reference to
durability than formerly. At one time, there were no less than
thirty-six on the island—mere barns, tied together with thongs, which
went to destruction in a very few years.

One, built many years ago in this style, was a most remarkable
structure. It was erected by Pomaree II., who, on this occasion, showed
all the zeal of a royal proselyte. The building was over seven hundred
feet in length, and of a proportionate width; the vast ridge-pole was
at intervals supported by a row of thirty-six cylindrical trunks of the
bread-fruit tree; and, all round, the wall-plates rested on shafts of
the palm. The roof—steeply inclining to within a man’s height of the
ground—was thatched with leaves, and the sides of the edifice were
open. Thus spacious was the Royal Mission Chapel of Papoar.

At its dedication, three distinct sermons were, from different pulpits,
preached to an immense concourse gathered from all parts of the island.

As the chapel was built by the king’s command, nearly as great a
multitude was employed in its construction as swarmed over the
scaffolding of the great temple of the Jews. Much less time, however,
was expended. In less than three weeks from planting the first post,
the last tier of palmetto-leaves drooped from the eaves, and the work
was done.

Apportioned to the several chiefs and their dependants, the labour,
though immense, was greatly facilitated by everyone’s bringing his
post, or his rafter, or his pole strung with thatching, ready for
instant use. The materials thus prepared being afterwards secured
together by thongs, there was literally “neither hammer, nor axe, nor
any tool of iron heard in the house while it was building.”

But the most singular circumstance connected with this South Sea
cathedral remains to be related. As well for the beauty as the
advantages of such a site, the islanders love to dwell near the
mountain streams; and so, a considerable brook, after descending from
the hills and watering the valley, was bridged over in three places,
and swept clean through the chapel.

Flowing waters! what an accompaniment to the songs of the sanctuary;
mingling with them the praises and thanksgivings of the green solitudes
inland.

But the chapel of the Polynesian Solomon has long since been deserted.
Its thousand rafters of habiscus have decayed, and fallen to the
ground; and now, the stream murmurs over them in its bed.

The present metropolitan church of Tahiti is very unlike the one just
described. It is of moderate dimensions, boarded over, and painted
white. It is furnished also with blinds, but no sashes; indeed, were it
not for the rustic thatch, it would remind one of a plain chapel at
home.

The woodwork was all done by foreign carpenters, of whom there are
always several about Papeetee.

Within, its aspect is unique, and cannot fail to interest a stranger.
The rafters overhead are bound round with fine matting of variegated
dyes; and all along the ridge-pole these trappings hang pendent, in
alternate bunches of tassels and deep fringes of stained grass. The
floor is composed of rude planks. Regular aisles run between ranges of
native settees, bottomed with crossed braids of the cocoa-nut fibre,
and furnished with backs.

But the pulpit, made of a dark, lustrous wood, and standing at one end,
is by far the most striking object. It is preposterously lofty; indeed,
a capital bird’s-eye view of the congregation ought to be had from its
summit.

Nor does the church lack a gallery, which runs round on three sides,
and is supported by columns of the cocoa-nut tree.

Its facings are here and there daubed over with a tawdry blue; and in
other places (without the slightest regard to uniformity), patches of
the same colour may be seen. In their ardour to decorate the sanctuary,
the converts must have borrowed each a brush full of paint, and
zealously daubed away at the first surface that offered.

As hinted, the general impression is extremely curious. Little light
being admitted, and everything being of a dark colour, there is an
indefinable Indian aspect of duskiness throughout. A strange, woody
smell, also—more or less pervading every considerable edifice in
Polynesia—is at once perceptible. It suggests the idea of worm-eaten
idols packed away in some old lumber-room at hand.

For the most part, the congregation attending this church is composed
of the better and wealthier orders—the chiefs and their retainers; in
short, the rank and fashion of the island. This class is infinitely
superior in personal beauty and general healthfulness to the
“marenhoar,” or common people; the latter having been more exposed to
the worst and most debasing evils of foreign intercourse. On Sundays,
the former are invariably arrayed in their finery; and thus appear to
the best advantage. Nor are they driven to the chapel, as some of their
inferiors are to other places of worship; on the contrary, capable of
maintaining a handsome exterior, and possessing greater intelligence,
they go voluntarily.

In respect of the woodland colonnade supporting its galleries, I called
this chapel the Church of the Cocoa-nuts.

It was the first place for Christian worship in Polynesia that I had
seen; and the impression upon entering during service was all the
stronger. Majestic-looking chiefs whose fathers had hurled the
battle-club, and old men who had seen sacrifices smoking upon the
altars of Oro, were there. And hark! hanging from the bough of a
bread-fruit tree without, a bell is being struck with a bar of iron by
a native lad. In the same spot, the blast of the war-conch had often
resounded. But to the proceedings within.

The place is well filled. Everywhere meets the eye the gay calico
draperies worn on great occasions by the higher classes, and forming a
strange contrast of patterns and colours. In some instances, these are
so fashioned as to resemble as much as possible European garments. This
is in excessively bad taste. Coats and pantaloons, too, are here and
there seen; but they look awkwardly enough, and take away from the
general effect.

But it is the array of countenances that most strikes you. Each is
suffused with the peculiar animation of the Polynesians, when thus
collected in large numbers. Every robe is rustling, every limb in
motion, and an incessant buzzing going on throughout the assembly. The
tumult is so great that the voice of the placid old missionary, who now
rises, is almost inaudible. Some degree of silence is at length
obtained through the exertions of half-a-dozen strapping fellows, in
white shirts and no pantaloons. Running in among the settees, they are
at great pains to inculcate the impropriety of making a noise by
creating a most unnecessary racket themselves. This part of the service
was quite comical.

There is a most interesting Sabbath School connected with the church;
and the scholars, a vivacious, mischievous set, were in one part of the
gallery. I was amused by a party in a corner. The teacher sat at one
end of the bench, with a meek little fellow by his side. When the
others were disorderly, this young martyr received a rap; intended,
probably, as a sample of what the rest might expect, if they didn’t
amend.

Standing in the body of the church, and leaning against a pillar, was
an old man, in appearance very different from others of his countrymen.
He wore nothing but a coarse, scant mantle of faded tappa; and from his
staring, bewildered manner, I set him down as an aged bumpkin from the
interior, unaccustomed to the strange sights and sounds of the
metropolis. This old worthy was sharply reprimanded for standing up,
and thus intercepting the view of those behind; but not comprehending
exactly what was said to him, one of the white-liveried gentry made no
ceremony of grasping him by the shoulders, and fairly crushing him down
into a seat.

During all this, the old missionary in the pulpit—as well as his
associates beneath, never ventured to interfere—leaving everything to
native management. With South Sea islanders, assembled in any numbers,
there is no other way of getting along.



CHAPTER XLV.
MISSIONARY’S SERMON; WITH SOME REFLECTIONS


Some degree of order at length restored, the service was continued, by
singing. The choir was composed of twelve or fifteen ladies of the
mission, occupying a long bench to the left of the pulpit. Almost the
entire congregation joined in.

The first air fairly startled me; it was the brave tune of Old Hundred,
adapted to a Tahitian psalm. After the graceless scenes I had recently
passed through, this circumstance, with all its accessories, moved me
forcibly.

Many voices around were of great sweetness and compass. The singers,
also, seemed to enjoy themselves mightily; some of them pausing, now
and then, and looking round, as if to realize the scene more fully. In
truth, they sang right joyously, despite the solemnity of the tune.

The Tahitians have much natural talent for singing; and, on all
occasions, are exceedingly fond of it. I have often heard a stave or
two of psalmody, hummed over by rakish young fellows, like a snatch
from an opera.

With respect to singing, as in most other matters, the Tahitians widely
differ from the people of the Sandwich Islands; where the parochial
flocks may be said rather to Heat than sing.

The psalm concluded, a prayer followed. Very considerately, the good
old missionary made it short; for the congregation became fidgety and
inattentive as soon as it commenced.

A chapter of the Tahitian Bible was now read; a text selected; and the
sermon began. It was listened to with more attention than I had
anticipated.

Having been informed, from various sources, that the discourses of the
missionaries, being calculated to engage the attention of their simple
auditors, were, naturally enough, of a rather amusing description to
strangers; in short, that they had much to say about steamboats, lord
mayor’s coaches, and the way fires are put out in London, I had taken
care to provide myself with a good interpreter, in the person of an
intelligent Hawaiian sailor, whose acquaintance I had made.

“Now, Jack,” said I, before entering, “hear every word, and tell me
what you can as the missionary goes on.”

Jack’s was not, perhaps, a critical version of the discourse; and at
the time, I took no notes of what he said. Nevertheless, I will here
venture to give what I remember of it; and, as far as possible, in
Jack’s phraseology, so as to lose nothing by a double translation.

“Good friends, I glad to see you; and I very well like to have some
talk with you to-day. Good friends, very bad times in Tahiti; it make
me weep. Pomaree is gone—the island no more yours, but the Wee-wees’
(French). Wicked priests here, too; and wicked idols in woman’s
clothes, and brass chains.

“Good friends, no you speak, or look at them—but I know you won’t—they
belong to a set of robbers—the wicked Wee-wees. Soon these bad men be
made to go very quick. Beretanee ships of thunder come and away they
go. But no more ’bout this now. I speak more by by.

“Good friends, many whale-ships here now; and many bad men come in ’em.
No good sailors living—that you know very well. They come here, ’cause
so bad they no keep ’em home.

“My good little girls, no run after sailors—no go where they go; they
harm you. Where they come from, no good people talk to ’em—just like
dogs. Here, they talk to Pomaree, and drink arva with great Poofai.

“Good friends, this very small island, but very wicked, and very poor;
these two go together. Why Beretanee so great? Because that island good
island, and send mickonaree to poor kannaka In Beretanee, every man
rich: plenty things to buy; and plenty things to sell. Houses bigger
than Pomaree’s, and more grand. Everybody, too, ride about in coaches,
bigger than hers; and wear fine tappa every day. (Several luxurious
appliances of civilization were here enumerated, and described.)

“Good friends, little to eat left at my house. Schooner from Sydney no
bring bag of flour: and kannaka no bring pig and fruit enough.
Mickonaree do great deal for kannaka; kannaka do little for mickonaree.
So, good friends, weave plenty of cocoa-nut baskets, fill ’em, and
bring ’em to-morrow.”

Such was the substance of great part of this discourse; and, whatever
may be thought of it, it was specially adapted to the minds of the
islanders: who are susceptible to no impressions, except from things
palpable, or novel and striking. To them, a dry sermon would be dry
indeed.

The Tahitians can hardly ever be said to reflect: they are all impulse;
and so, instead of expounding dogmas, the missionaries give them the
large type, pleasing cuts, and short and easy lessons of the primer.
Hence, anything like a permanent religious impression is seldom or
never produced.

In fact, there is, perhaps, no race upon earth, less disposed, by
nature, to the monitions of Christianity, than the people of the South
Seas. And this assertion is made with full knowledge of what is called
the “Great Revival at the Sandwich Islands,” about the year 1836; when
several thousands were, in the course of a few weeks, admitted into the
bosom of the Church. But this result was brought about by no sober
moral convictions; as an almost instantaneous relapse into every kind
of licentiousness soon after testified. It was the legitimate effect of
a morbid feeling, engendered by the sense of severe physical wants,
preying upon minds excessively prone to superstition; and, by fanatical
preaching, inflamed into the belief that the gods of the missionaries
were taking vengeance upon the wickedness of the land.

It is a noteworthy fact that those very traits in the Tahitians, which
induced the London Missionary Society to regard them as the most
promising subjects for conversion, and which led, moreover, to the
selection of their island as the very first field for missionary
labour, eventually proved the most serious obstruction. An air of
softness in their manners, great apparent ingenuousness and docility,
at first misled; but these were the mere accompaniments of an
indolence, bodily and mental; a constitutional voluptuousness; and an
aversion to the least restraint; which, however fitted for the
luxurious state of nature, in the tropics, are the greatest possible
hindrances to the strict moralities of Christianity.

Added to all this is a quality inherent in Polynesians; and more akin
to hypocrisy than anything else. It leads them to assume the most
passionate interest in matters for which they really feel little or
none whatever; but in which, those whose power they dread, or whose
favour they court, they believe to be at all affected. Thus, in their
heathen state, the Sandwich Islanders actually knocked out their teeth,
tore their hair, and mangled their bodies with shells, to testify their
inconsolable grief at the demise of a high chief, or member of the
royal family. And yet, Vancouver relates that, on such an occasion,
upon which he happened to be present, those apparently the most
abandoned to their feelings, immediately assumed the utmost
light-heartedness on receiving the present of a penny whistle, or a
Dutch looking-glass. Similar instances, also, have come under my own
observation.

The following is an illustration of the trait alluded to, as
occasionally manifested among the converted Polynesians.

At one of the Society Islands—Baiatair, I believe—the natives, for
special reasons, desired to commend themselves particularly to the
favour of the missionaries. Accordingly, during divine service, many of
them behaved in a manner, otherwise unaccountable, and precisely
similar to their behaviour as heathens. They pretended to be wrought up
to madness by the preaching which they heard. They rolled their eyes;
foamed at the mouth; fell down in fits; and so were carried home. Yet,
strange to relate, all this was deemed the evidence of the power of the
Most High; and, as such, was heralded abroad.

But, to return to the Church of the Cocoa-nuts. The blessing
pronounced, the congregation disperse; enlivening the Broom Road with
their waving mantles. On either hand, they disappear down the shaded
pathways, which lead off from the main route, conducting to hamlets in
the groves, or to the little marine villas upon the beach. There is
considerable hilarity; and you would suppose them just from an
old-fashioned “hevar,” or jolly heathen dance. Those who carry Bibles
swing them carelessly from their arms by cords of sinnate.

The Sabbath is no ordinary day with the Tahitians. So far as doing any
work is concerned, it is scrupulously observed. The canoes are hauled
up on the beach; the nets are spread to dry. Passing by the hen-coop
huts on the roadside, you find their occupants idle, as usual; but less
disposed to gossip. After service, repose broods over the whole island;
the valleys reaching inland look stiller than ever.

In short, it is Sunday—their “Taboo Day”; the very word formerly
expressing the sacredness of their pagan observances now proclaiming
the sanctity of the Christian Sabbath.



CHAPTER XLVI.
SOMETHING ABOUT THE KANNAKIPPERS


A worthy young man, formerly a friend of mine (I speak of Kooloo with
all possible courtesy, since after our intimacy there would be an
impropriety in doing otherwise)—this worthy youth, having some genteel
notions of retirement, dwelt in a “maroo boro,” or bread-fruit shade, a
pretty nook in a wood, midway between the Calabooza Beretanee and the
Church of Cocoa-nuts. Hence, at the latter place, he was one of the
most regular worshippers.

Kooloo was a blade. Standing up in the congregation in all the bravery
of a striped calico shirt, with the skirts rakishly adjusted over a
pair of white sailor trousers, and hair well anointed with cocoa-nut
oil, he ogled the ladies with an air of supreme satisfaction. Nor were
his glances unreturned.

But such looks as the Tahitian belles cast at each other: frequently
turning up their noses at the advent of a new cotton mantle recently
imported in the chest of some amorous sailor. Upon one occasion, I
observed a group of young girls, in tunics of course, soiled sheeting,
disdainfully pointing at a damsel in a flaming red one. “Oee tootai
owree!” said they with ineffable scorn, “itai maitai!” (You are a
good-for-nothing huzzy, no better than you should be).

Now, Kooloo communed with the church; so did all these censorious young
ladies. Yet after eating bread-fruit at the Eucharist, I knew several
of them, the same night, to be guilty of some sad derelictions.

Puzzled by these things, I resolved to find out, if possible, what
ideas, if any, they entertained of religion; but as one’s spiritual
concerns are rather delicate for a stranger to meddle with, I went to
work as adroitly as I could.

Farnow, an old native who had recently retired from active pursuits,
having thrown up the business of being a sort of running footman to the
queen, had settled down in a snug little retreat, not fifty rods from
Captain Bob’s. His selecting our vicinity for his residence may have
been with some view to the advantages it afforded for introducing his
three daughters into polite circles. At any rate, not averse to
receiving the attentions of so devoted a gallant as the doctor, the
sisters (communicants, be it remembered) kindly extended to him free
permission to visit them sociably whenever he pleased.

We dropped in one evening, and found the ladies at home. My long friend
engaged his favourites, the two younger girls, at the game of “Now,” or
hunting a stone under three piles of tappa. For myself, I lounged on a
mat with Ideea the eldest, dallying with her grass fan, and improving
my knowledge of Tahitian.

The occasion was well adapted to my purpose, and I began.

“Ah, Ideea, mickonaree oee?” the same as drawling out—“By the bye, Miss
Ideea, do you belong to the church?”

“Yes, me mickonaree,” was the reply.

But the assertion was at once qualified by certain, reservations; so
curious that I cannot forbear their relation.

“Mickonaree ena” (church member here), exclaimed she, laying her hand
upon her mouth, and a strong emphasis on the adverb. In the same way,
and with similar exclamations, she touched her eyes and hands. This
done, her whole air changed in an instant; and she gave me to
understand, by unmistakable gestures, that in certain other respects
she was not exactly a “mickonaree.” In short, Ideea was

“A sad good Christian at the heart—A very heathen in the carnal part.”

The explanation terminated in a burst of laughter, in which all three
sisters joined; and for fear of looking silly, the doctor and myself.
As soon as good-breeding would permit, we took leave.

The hypocrisy in matters of religion, so apparent in all Polynesian
converts, is most injudiciously nourished in Tahiti by a zealous and in
many cases, a coercive superintendence over their spiritual well-being.
But it is only manifested with respect to the common people, their
superiors being exempted.

On Sunday mornings, when the prospect is rather small for a full house
in the minor churches, a parcel of fellows are actually sent out with
ratans into the highways and byways as whippers-in of the congregation.
This is a sober fact.

These worthies constitute a religious police; and you always know them
by the great white diapers they wear. On week days they are quite as
busy as on Sundays; to the great terror of the inhabitants, going all
over the island, and spying out the wickedness thereof.

Moreover, they are the collectors of fines—levied generally in grass
mats—for obstinate non-attendance upon divine worship, and other
offences amenable to the ecclesiastical judicature of the missionaries.

Old Bob called these fellows “kannakippers” a corruption, I fancy, of
our word constable.

He bore them a bitter grudge; and one day, drawing near home, and
learning that two of them were just then making a domiciliary visit at
his house, he ran behind a bush; and as they came forth, two green
bread-fruit from a hand unseen took them each between the shoulders.
The sailors in the Calabooza were witnesses to this, as well as several
natives; who, when the intruders were out of sight, applauded Captain
Bob’s spirit in no measured terms; the ladies present vehemently
joining in. Indeed, the kannakippers have no greater enemies than the
latter. And no wonder: the impertinent varlets, popping into their
houses at all hours, are forever prying into their peccadilloes.

Kooloo, who at times was patriotic and pensive, and mourned the evils
under which his country was groaning, frequently inveighed against the
statute which thus authorized an utter stranger to interfere with
domestic arrangements. He himself—quite a ladies’ man—had often been
annoyed thereby. He considered the kannakippers a bore.

Beside their confounded inquisitiveness, they add insult to injury, by
making a point of dining out every day at some hut within the limits of
their jurisdiction. As for the gentleman of the house, his meek
endurance of these things is amazing. But “good easy man,” there is
nothing for him but to be as hospitable as possible.

These gentry are indefatigable. At the dead of night prowling round the
houses, and in the daytime hunting amorous couples in the groves. Yet
in one instance the chase completely baffled them.

It was thus.

Several weeks previous to our arrival at the island, someone’s husband
and another person’s wife, having taken a mutual fancy for each other,
went out for a walk. The alarm was raised, and with hue and cry they
were pursued; but nothing was seen of them again until the lapse of
some ninety days; when we were called out from the Calabooza to behold
a great mob inclosing the lovers, and escorting them for trial to the
village.

Their appearance was most singular. The girdle excepted, they were
quite naked; their hair was long, burned yellow at the ends, and
entangled with burrs; and their bodies scratched and scarred in all
directions. It seems that, acting upon the “love in a cottage”
principle, they had gone right into the interior; and throwing up a hut
in an uninhabited valley, had lived there, until in an unlucky stroll
they were observed and captured.

They were subsequently condemned to make one hundred fathoms of Broom
Road—a six months’ work, if not more.

Often, when seated in a house, conversing quietly with its inmates, I
have known them betray the greatest confusion at the sudden
announcement of a kannakipper’s being in sight. To be reported by one
of these officials as a “Tootai Owree” (in general, signifying a bad
person or disbeliever in Christianity), is as much dreaded as the
forefinger of Titus Gates was, levelled at an alleged papist.

But the islanders take a sly revenge upon them. Upon entering a
dwelling, the kannakippers oftentimes volunteer a pharisaical
prayer-meeting: hence, they go in secret by the name of “Boora-Artuas,”
literally, “Pray-to-Gods.”



CHAPTER XLVII.
HOW THEY DRESS IN TAHITI


Except where the employment of making “tappa” is inflicted as a
punishment, the echoes of the cloth-mallet have long since died away in
the listless valleys of Tahiti. Formerly, the girls spent their
mornings like ladies at their tambour frames; now, they are lounged
away in almost utter indolence. True, most of them make their own
garments; but this comprises but a stitch or two; the ladies of the
mission, by the bye, being entitled to the credit of teaching them to
sew.

The “kihee whihenee,” or petticoat, is a mere breadth of white cotton,
or calico; loosely enveloping the person, from the waist to the feet.
Fastened simply by a single tuck, or by twisting the upper corners
together, this garment frequently becomes disordered; thus affording an
opportunity of being coquettishly adjusted. Over the “kihee,” they wear
a sort of gown, open in front, very loose, and as negligent as you
please. The ladies here never dress for dinner.

But what shall be said of those horrid hats! Fancy a bunch of straw,
plaited into the shape of a coal-scuttle, and stuck, bolt upright, on
the crown; with a yard or two of red ribbon flying about like
kite-strings. Milliners of Paris, what would ye say to them! Though
made by the natives, they are said to have been first contrived and
recommended by the missionaries’ wives; a report which, I really trust,
is nothing but scandal.

Curious to relate, these things for the head are esteemed exceedingly
becoming. The braiding of the straw is one of the few employments of
the higher classes; all of which but minister to the silliest vanity.

The young girls, however, wholly eschew the hats; leaving those dowdy
old souls, their mothers, to make frights of themselves.

As for the men, those who aspire to European garments seem to have no
perception of the relation subsisting between the various parts of a
gentleman’s costume. To the wearer of a coat, for instance, pantaloons
are by no means indispensable; and a bell-crowned hat and a girdle are
full dress. The young sailor, for whom Kooloo deserted me, presented
him with a shaggy old pea-jacket; and with this buttoned up to his
chin, under a tropical sun, he promenaded the Broom Road, quite elated.
Doctor Long Ghost, who saw him thus, ran away with the idea that he was
under medical treatment at the time—in the act of taking, what the
quacks call, a “sweat.”

A bachelor friend of Captain Bob rejoiced in the possession of a full
European suit; in which he often stormed the ladies’ hearts. Having a
military leaning, he ornamented the coat with a great scarlet patch on
the breast; and mounted it also, here and there, with several
regimental buttons, slyly cut from the uniform of a parcel of drunken
marines sent ashore on a holiday from a man-of-war. But, in spite of
the ornaments, the dress was not exactly the thing. From the tightness
of the cloth across the shoulders, his elbows projected from his sides,
like an ungainly rider’s; and his ponderous legs were jammed so hard
into his slim, nether garments that the threads of every seam showed;
and, at every step, you looked for a catastrophe.

In general, there seems to be no settled style of dressing among the
males; they wear anything they can get; in some cases, awkwardly
modifying the fashions of their fathers so as to accord with their own
altered views of what is becoming.

But ridiculous as many of them now appear, in foreign habiliments, the
Tahitians presented a far different appearance in the original national
costume; which was graceful in the extreme, modest to all but the
prudish, and peculiarly adapted to the climate. But the short kilts of
dyed tappa, the tasselled maroes, and other articles formerly worn,
are, at the present day, prohibited by law as indecorous. For what
reason necklaces and garlands of flowers, among the women, are also
forbidden, I never could learn; but, it is said, that they were
associated, in some way, with a forgotten heathen observance.

Many pleasant, and, seemingly, innocent sports and pastimes, are
likewise interdicted. In old times, there were several athletic games
practised, such as wrestling, foot-racing, throwing the javelin, and
archery. In all these they greatly excelled; and, for some, splendid
festivals were instituted. Among their everyday amusements were
dancing, tossing the football, kite-flying, flute-playing, and singing
traditional ballads; now, all punishable offences; though most of them
have been so long in disuse that they are nearly forgotten.

In the same way, the “Opio,” or festive harvest-home of the breadfruit,
has been suppressed; though, as described to me by Captain Bob, it
seemed wholly free from any immoral tendency. Against tattooing, of any
kind, there is a severe law.

That this abolition of their national amusements and customs was not
willingly acquiesced in, is shown in the frequent violation of many of
the statutes inhibiting them; and, especially, in the frequency with
which their “hevars,” or dances, are practised in secret.

Doubtless, in thus denationalizing the Tahitians, as it were, the
missionaries were prompted by a sincere desire for good; but the effect
has been lamentable. Supplied with no amusements in place of those
forbidden, the Tahitians, who require more recreation than other
people, have sunk into a listlessness, or indulge in sensualities, a
hundred times more pernicious than all the games ever celebrated in the
Temple of Tanee.



CHAPTER XLVIII.
TAHITI AS IT IS


As in the last few chapters, several matters connected with the general
condition of the natives have been incidentally touched upon, it may be
well not to leave so important a subject in a state calculated to
convey erroneous impressions. Let us bestow upon it, therefore,
something more than a mere cursory glance.

But in the first place, let it be distinctly understood that, in all I
have to say upon this subject, both here and elsewhere, I mean no harm
to the missionaries nor their cause; I merely desire to set forth
things as they actually exist.

Of the results which have flowed from the intercourse of foreigners
with the Polynesians, including the attempts to civilize and
Christianize them by the missionaries, Tahiti, on many accounts, is
obviously the fairest practical example. Indeed, it may now be asserted
that the experiment of Christianizing the Tahitians, and improving
their social condition by the introduction of foreign customs, has been
fully tried. The present generation have grown up under the auspices of
their religious instructors. And although it may be urged that the
labours of the latter have at times been more or less obstructed by
unprincipled foreigners, still, this in no wise renders Tahiti any the
less a fair illustration; for, with obstacles like these, the
missionaries in Polynesia must always, and everywhere struggle.

Nearly sixty years have elapsed since the Tahitian mission was started;
and, during this period, it has received the unceasing prayers and
contributions of its friends abroad. Nor has any enterprise of the kind
called forth more devotion on the part of those directly employed in
it.

It matters not that the earlier labourers in the work, although
strictly conscientious, were, as a class, ignorant, and, in many cases,
deplorably bigoted: such traits have, in some degree, characterized the
pioneers of all faiths. And although in zeal and disinterestedness the
missionaries now on the island are, perhaps, inferior to their
predecessors, they have, nevertheless, in their own way at least,
laboured hard to make a Christian people of their charge.

Let us now glance at the most obvious changes wrought in their
condition.

The entire system of idolatry has been done away; together with several
barbarous practices engrafted thereon. But this result is not so much
to be ascribed to the missionaries, as to the civilizing effects of a
long and constant intercourse with whites of all nations; to whom, for
many years, Tahiti has been one of the principal places of resort in
the South Seas. At the Sandwich Islands, the potent institution of the
Taboo, together with the entire paganism of the land, was utterly
abolished by a voluntary act of the natives some time previous to the
arrival of the first missionaries among them.

The next most striking change in the Tahitians is this. From the
permanent residence among them of influential and respectable
foreigners, as well as from the frequent visits of ships-of-war,
recognizing the nationality of the island, its inhabitants are no
longer deemed fit subjects for the atrocities practised upon mere
savages; and hence, secure from retaliation, vessels of all kinds now
enter their harbours with perfect safety.

But let us consider what results are directly ascribable to the
missionaries alone.

In all cases, they have striven hard to mitigate the evils resulting
from the commerce with the whites in general. Such attempts, however,
have been rather injudicious, and often ineffectual: in truth, a
barrier almost insurmountable is presented in the dispositions of the
people themselves. Still, in this respect, the morality of the
islanders is, upon the whole, improved by the presence of the
missionaries.

But the greatest achievement of the latter, and one which in itself is
most hopeful and gratifying, is that they have translated the entire
Bible into the language of the island; and I have myself known several
who were able to read it with facility. They have also established
churches, and schools for both children and adults; the latter, I
regret to say, are now much neglected: which must be ascribed, in a
great measure, to the disorders growing out of the proceedings of the
French.

It were unnecessary here to enter diffusely into matters connected with
the internal government of the Tahitian churches and schools. Nor, upon
this head, is my information copious enough to warrant me in presenting
details. But we do not need them. We are merely considering general
results, as made apparent in the moral and religious condition of the
island at large.

Upon a subject like this, however, it would be altogether too assuming
for a single individual to decide; and so, in place of my own random
observations, which may be found elsewhere, I will here present those
of several known authors, made under various circumstances, at
different periods, and down to a comparative late date. A few very
brief extracts will enable the reader to mark for himself what
progressive improvement, if any, has taken place.

Nor must it be overlooked that, of these authorities, the two first in
order are largely quoted by the Right Reverend M. Kussell, in a work
composed for the express purpose of imparting information on the
subject of Christian missions in Polynesia. And he frankly
acknowledges, moreover, that they are such as “cannot fail to have
great weight with the public.”

After alluding to the manifold evils entailed upon the natives by
foreigners, and their singularly inert condition; and after somewhat
too severely denouncing the undeniable errors of the mission, Kotzebue,
the Russian navigator, says, “A religion like this, which forbids every
innocent pleasure, and cramps or annihilates every mental power, is a
libel on the divine founder of Christianity. It is true that the
religion of the missionaries has, with a great deal of evil, effected
some good. It has restrained the vices of theft and incontinence; but
it has given birth to ignorance, hypocrisy, and a hatred of all other
modes of faith, which was once foreign to the open and benevolent
character of the Tahitian.”

Captain Beechy says that, while at Tahiti, he saw scenes “which must
have convinced the great sceptic of the thoroughly immoral condition of
the people, and which would force him to conclude, as Turnbull did,
many years previous, that their intercourse with the Europeans had
tended to debase, rather than exalt their condition.”

About the year 1834, Daniel Wheeler, an honest-hearted Quaker, prompted
by motives of the purest philanthropy, visited, in a vessel of his own,
most of the missionary settlements in the South Seas. He remained some
time at Tahiti; receiving the hospitalities of the missionaries there,
and, from time to time, exhorting the natives.

After bewailing their social condition, he frankly says of their
religious state, “Certainly, appearances are unpromising; and however
unwilling to adopt such a conclusion, there is reason to apprehend that
Christian principle is a great rarity.”

Such, then, is the testimony of good and unbiassed men, who have been
upon the spot; but, how comes it to differ so widely from impressions
of others at home? Simply thus: instead of estimating the result of
missionary labours by the number of heathens who have actually been
made to understand and practise (in some measure at least) the precepts
of Christianity, this result has been unwarrantably inferred from the
number of those who, without any understanding of these things, have in
any way been induced to abandon idolatry and conform to certain outward
observances.

By authority of some kind or other, exerted upon the natives through
their chiefs, and prompted by the hope of some worldly benefit to the
latter, and not by appeals to the reason, have conversions in Polynesia
been in most cases brought about.

Even in one or two instances—so often held up as wonderful examples of
divine power—where the natives have impulsively burned their idols, and
rushed to the waters of baptism, the very suddenness of the change has
but indicated its unsoundness. Williams, the martyr of Erromanga,
relates an instance where the inhabitants of an island professing
Christianity voluntarily assembled, and solemnly revived all their
heathen customs.

All the world over, facts are more eloquent than words; the following
will show in what estimation the missionaries themselves hold the
present state of Christianity and morals among the converted
Polynesians.

On the island of Imeeo (attached to the Tahitian mission) is a seminary
under the charge of the Rev. Mr. Simpson and wife, for the education of
the children of the missionaries, exclusively. Sent home—in many cases,
at a very early age—to finish their education, the pupils here are
taught nothing but the rudiments of knowledge; nothing more than may be
learned in the native schools. Notwithstanding this, the two races are
kept as far as possible from associating; the avowed reason being to
preserve the young whites from moral contamination. The better to
insure this end, every effort is made to prevent them from acquiring
the native language.

They went even further at the Sandwich Islands; where, a few years ago,
a playground for the children of the missionaries was inclosed with a
fence many feet high, the more effectually to exclude the wicked little
Hawaiians.

And yet, strange as it may seem, the depravity among the Polynesians,
which renders precautions like these necessary, was in a measure
unknown before their intercourse with the whites. The excellent Captain
Wilson, who took the first missionaries out to Tahiti, affirms that the
people of that island had, in many things, “more refined ideas of
decency than ourselves.” Vancouver, also, has some noteworthy ideas on
this subject, respecting the Sandwich Islanders.

That the immorality alluded to is continually increasing is plainly
shown in the numerous, severe, and perpetually violated laws against
licentiousness of all kinds in both groups of islands.

It is hardly to be expected that the missionaries would send home
accounts of this state of things. Hence, Captain Beechy, in alluding to
the “Polynesian Researches” of Ellis, says that the author has
impressed his readers with a far more elevated idea of the moral
condition of the Tahitians, and the degree of civilization to which
they have attained, than they deserve; or, at least, than the facts
which came under his observation authorized. He then goes on to say
that, in his intercourse with the islanders, “they had no fear of him,
and consequently acted from the impulse of their natural feeling; so
that he was the better enabled to obtain a correct knowledge of their
real disposition and habits.”

Prom my own familiar intercourse with the natives, this last reflection
still more forcibly applies to myself.



CHAPTER XLIX.
SAME SUBJECT CONTINUED


We have glanced at their moral and religious condition; let us see how
it is with them socially, and in other respects.

It has been said that the only way to civilize a people is to form in
them habits of industry. Judged by this principle, the Tahitians are
less civilized now than formerly. True, their constitutional indolence
is excessive; but surely, if the spirit of Christianity is among them,
so unchristian a vice ought to be, at least, partially remedied. But
the reverse is the fact. Instead of acquiring new occupations, old ones
have been discontinued.

As previously remarked, the manufacture of tappa is nearly obsolete in
many parts of the island. So, too, with that of the native tools and
domestic utensils; very few of which are now fabricated, since the
superiority of European wares has been made so evident.

This, however, would be all very well were the natives to apply
themselves to such occupations as would enable them to supply the few
articles they need. But they are far from doing so; and the majority
being unable to obtain European substitutes for many things before made
by themselves, the inevitable consequence is seen in the present
wretched and destitute mode of life among the common people. To me so
recently from a primitive valley of the Marquesas, the aspect of most
of the dwellings of the poorer Tahitians, and their general habits,
seemed anything but tidy; nor could I avoid a comparison, immeasurably
to the disadvantage of these partially civilized islanders.

In Tahiti, the people have nothing to do; and idleness, everywhere, is
the parent of vice. “There is scarcely anything,” says the good old
Quaker Wheeler, “so striking, or pitiable, as their aimless, nerveless
mode of spending life.”

Attempts have repeatedly been made to rouse them from their
sluggishness; but in vain. Several years ago, the cultivation of cotton
was introduced; and, with their usual love of novelty, they went to
work with great alacrity; but the interest excited quickly subsided,
and now, not a pound of the article is raised.

About the same time, machinery for weaving was sent out from London;
and a factory was started at Afrehitoo, in Imeeo. The whiz of the
wheels and spindles brought in volunteers from all quarters, who deemed
it a privilege to be admitted to work: yet, in six months, not a boy
could be hired; and the machinery was knocked down, and packed off to
Sydney.

It was the same way with the cultivation of the sugar-cane, a plant
indigenous to the island; peculiarly fitted to the soil and climate,
and of so excellent a quality that Bligh took slips of it to the West
Indies. All the plantations went on famously for a while; the natives
swarming in the fields like ants, and making a prodigious stir. What
few plantations now remain are owned and worked by whites; who would
rather pay a drunken sailor eighteen or twenty Spanish dollars a month,
than hire a sober native for his “fish and tarro.”

It is well worthy remark here, that every evidence of civilization
among the South Sea Islands directly pertains to foreigners; though the
fact of such evidence existing at all is usually urged as a proof of
the elevated condition of the natives. Thus, at Honolulu, the capital
of the Sandwich Islands, there are fine dwelling-houses, several
hotels, and barber-shops, ay, even billiard-rooms; but all these are
owned and used, be it observed, by whites. There are tailors, and
blacksmiths, and carpenters also; but not one of them is a native.

The fact is, that the mechanical and agricultural employment of
civilized life require a kind of exertion altogether too steady and
sustained to agree with an indolent people like the Polynesians.
Calculated for a state of nature, in a climate providentially adapted
to it, they are unfit for any other. Nay, as a race, they cannot
otherwise long exist.

The following statement speaks for itself.

About the year 1777, Captain Cook estimated the population of Tahiti at
about two hundred thousand. By a regular census, taken some four or
five years ago, it was found to be only nine thousand. This amazing
decrease not only shows the malignancy of the evils necessary to
produce it; but, from the fact, the inference unavoidably follows that
all the wars, child murders, and other depopulating causes, alleged to
have existed in former times, were nothing in comparison to them.

These evils, of course, are solely of foreign origin. To say nothing of
the effects of drunkenness, the occasional inroads of the small-pox,
and other things which might be mentioned, it is sufficient to allude
to a virulent disease which now taints the blood of at least two-thirds
of the common people of the island; and, in some form or other, is
transmitted from father to son.

Their first horror and consternation at the earlier ravages of this
scourge were pitiable in the extreme. The very name bestowed upon it is
a combination of all that is horrid and unmentionable to a civilized
being.

Distracted with their sufferings, they brought forth their sick before
the missionaries, when they were preaching, and cried out, “Lies, lies!
you tell us of salvation; and, behold, we are dying. We want no other
salvation than to live in this world. Where are there any saved through
your speech? Pomaree is dead; and we are all dying with your cursed
diseases. When will you give over?”

At present, the virulence of the disorder, in individual cases, has
somewhat abated; but the poison is only the more widely diffused.

“How dreadful and appalling,” breaks forth old Wheeler, “the
consideration that the intercourse of distant nations should have
entailed upon these poor, untutored islanders a curse unprecedented,
and unheard of, in the annals of history.”

In view of these things, who can remain blind to the fact that, so far
as mere temporal felicity is concerned, the Tahitians are far worse off
now, than formerly; and although their circumstances, upon the whole,
are bettered by the presence of the missionaries, the benefits
conferred by the latter become utterly insignificant when confronted
with the vast preponderance of evil brought about by other means.

Their prospects are hopeless. Nor can the most devoted efforts now
exempt them from furnishing a marked illustration of a principle which
history has always exemplified. Years ago brought to a stand, where all
that is corrupt in barbarism and civilization unite, to the exclusion
of the virtues of either state; like other uncivilized beings, brought
into contact with Europeans, they must here remain stationary until
utterly extinct.

The islanders themselves are mournfully watching their doom.

Several years since, Pomaree II. said to Tyreman and Bennet, the
deputies of the London Missionary Society, “You have come to see me at
a very bad time. Your ancestors came in the time of men, when Tahiti
was inhabited: you are come to behold just the remnant of my people.”

Of like import was the prediction of Teearmoar, the high-priest of
Paree; who lived over a hundred years ago. I have frequently heard it
chanted, in a low, sad tone, by aged Tahitiana:—

“A harree ta fow,
A toro ta farraro,
A now ta tararta.”

“The palm-tree shall grow,
The coral shall spread,
But man shall cease.”



CHAPTER L.
SOMETHING HAPPENS TO LONG GHOST


We will now return to the narrative.

The day before the Julia sailed, Dr. Johnson paid his last call. He was
not quite so bland as usual. All he wanted was the men’s names to a
paper, certifying to their having received from him sundry medicaments
therein mentioned. This voucher, endorsed by Captain Guy, secured his
pay. But he would not have obtained for it the sailors’ signs manual,
had either the doctor or myself been present at the time.

Now, my long friend wasted no love upon Johnson; but, for reasons of
his own, hated him heartily: all the same thing in one sense; for
either passion argues an object deserving thereof. And so, to be hated
cordially, is only a left-handed compliment; which shows how foolish it
is to be bitter against anyone.

For my own part, I merely felt a cool, purely incidental, and passive
contempt for Johnson, as a selfish, mercenary apothecary, and hence, I
often remonstrated with Long Ghost when he flew out against him, and
heaped upon him all manner of scurrilous epithets. In his professional
brother’s presence, however, he never acted thus; maintaining an
amiable exterior, to help along the jokes which were played.

I am now going to tell another story in which my long friend figures
with the physician: I do not wish to bring one or the other of them too
often upon the stage; but as the thing actually happened, I must relate
it.

A few days after Johnson presented his bill, as above mentioned, the
doctor expressed to me his regret that, although he (Johnson) had
apparently been played off for our entertainment, yet, nevertheless, he
had made money out of the transaction. And I wonder, added the doctor,
if that now he cannot expect to receive any further pay, he could be
induced to call again.

By a curious coincidence, not five minutes after making this
observation, Doctor Long Ghost himself fell down in an unaccountable
fit; and without asking anybody’s leave, Captain Bob, who was by, at
once dispatched a boy, hot foot, for Johnson.

Meanwhile, we carried him into the Calabooza; and the natives, who
assembled in numbers, suggested various modes of treatment. One rather
energetic practitioner was for holding the patient by the shoulders,
while somebody tugged at his feet. This resuscitatory operation was
called the “Potata”; but thinking our long comrade sufficiently lengthy
without additional stretching, we declined potataing him.

Presently the physician was spied coming along the Broom Road at a
great rate, and so absorbed in the business of locomotion, that he
heeded not the imprudence of being in a hurry in a tropical climate. He
was in a profuse perspiration; which must have been owing to the warmth
of his feelings, notwithstanding we had supposed him a man of no heart.
But his benevolent haste upon this occasion was subsequently accounted
for: it merely arose from professional curiosity to behold a case most
unusual in his Polynesian practice. Now, under certain circumstances,
sailors, generally so frolicsome, are exceedingly particular in having
everything conducted with the strictest propriety. Accordingly, they
deputed me, as his intimate friend, to sit at Long Ghost’s head, so as
to be ready to officiate as “spokesman” and answer all questions
propounded, the rest to keep silent.

“What’s the matter?” exclaimed Johnson, out of breath, and bursting
into the Calabooza: “how did it happen?—speak quick!” and he looked at
Long Ghost.

I told him how the fit came on.

“Singular”—he observed—“very: good enough pulse;” and he let go of it,
and placed his hand upon the heart.

“But what’s all that frothing at the mouth?” he continued; “and bless
me! look at the abdomen!”

The region thus denominated exhibited the most unaccountable symptoms.
A low, rumbling sound was heard; and a sort of undulation was
discernible beneath the thin cotton frock.

“Colic, sir?” suggested a bystander.

“Colic be hanged!” shouted the physician; “who ever heard of anybody in
a trance of the colic?”

During this, the patient lay upon his back, stark and straight, giving
no signs of life except those above mentioned.

“I’ll bleed him!” cried Johnson at last—“run for a calabash, one of
you!”

“Life ho!” here sung out Navy Bob, as if he had just spied a sail.

“What under the sun’s the matter with him!” cried the physician,
starting at the appearance of the mouth, which had jerked to one side,
and there remained fixed.

“Pr’aps it’s St. Witus’s hornpipe,” suggested Bob.

“Hold the calabash!”—and the lancet was out in a moment.

But before the deed could be done, the face became natural;—a sigh was
heaved;—the eyelids quivered, opened, closed; and Long Ghost, twitching
all over, rolled on his side, and breathed audibly. By degrees, he
became sufficiently recovered to speak.

After trying to get something coherent out of him, Johnson withdrew;
evidently disappointed in the scientific interest of the case. Soon
after his departure, the doctor sat up; and upon being asked what upon
earth ailed him, shook his head mysteriously. He then deplored the
hardship of being an invalid in such a place, where there was not the
slightest provision for his comfort. This awakened the compassion of
our good old keeper, who offered to send him to a place where he would
be better cared for. Long Ghost acquiesced; and being at once mounted
upon the shoulders of four of Captain Bob’s men, was marched off in
state, like the Grand Lama of Thibet.

Now, I do not pretend to account for his remarkable swoon; but his
reason for suffering himself to be thus removed from the Calabooza was
strongly suspected to be nothing more than a desire to insure more
regularity in his dinner-hour; hoping that the benevolent native to
whom he was going would set a good table.

The next morning, we were all envying his fortune; when, of a sudden,
he bolted in upon us, looking decidedly out of humour.

“Hang it!” he cried; “I’m worse off than ever; let me have some
breakfast!” We lowered our slender bag of ship-stores from a rafter,
and handed him a biscuit. While this was being munched, he went on and
told us his story.

“After leaving here, they trotted me back into a valley, and left me in
a hut, where an old woman lived by herself. This must be the nurse,
thought I; and so I asked her to kill a pig, and bake it; for I felt my
appetite returning. ‘Ha! Hal—oee mattee—mattee nuee’—(no, no; you too
sick). ‘The devil mattee ye,’ said I—‘give me something to eat!’ But
nothing could be had. Night coming on, I had to stay. Creeping into a
corner, I tried to sleep; but it was to no purpose;—the old crone must
have had the quinsy, or something else; and she kept up such a wheezing
and choking that at last I sprang up, and groped after her; but she
hobbled away like a goblin; and that was the last of her. As soon as
the sun rose, I made the best of my way back; and here I am.” He never
left us more, nor ever had a second fit.



CHAPTER LI.
WILSON GIVES US THE CUT—DEPARTURE FOR IMEEO


About three weeks after the Julia’s sailing, our conditions began to be
a little precarious. We were without any regular supply of food; the
arrival of ships was growing less frequent; and, what was worse yet,
all the natives but good old Captain Bob began to tire of us. Nor was
this to be wondered at; we were obliged to live upon their benevolence,
when they had little enough for themselves. Besides, we were sometimes
driven to acts of marauding; such as kidnapping pigs, and cooking them
in the groves; at which their proprietors were by no means pleased.

In this state of affairs, we determined to march off to the consul in a
body; and, as he had brought us to these straits, demand an adequate
maintenance.

On the point of starting, Captain Bob’s men raised the most outrageous
cries, and tried to prevent us. Though hitherto we had strolled about
wherever we pleased, this grand conjunction of our whole force, upon
one particular expedition, seemed to alarm them. But we assured them
that we were not going to assault the village; and so, after a good
deal of gibberish, they permitted us to leave.

We went straight to the Pritchard residence, where the consul dwelt.
This house—to which I have before referred—is quite commodious. It has
a wide verandah, glazed windows, and other appurtenances of a civilized
mansion. Upon the lawn in front are palm-trees standing erect here and
there, like sentinels. The Consular Office, a small building by itself,
is inclosed by the same picket which fences in the lawn.

We found the office closed; but, in the verandah of the dwelling-house,
was a lady performing a tonsorial operation on the head of a
prim-looking, elderly European, in a low, white cravat;—the most
domestic little scene I had witnessed since leaving home. Bent upon an
interview with Wilson, the sailors now deputed the doctor to step
forward as a polite inquirer after his health.

The pair stared very hard as he advanced; but no ways disconcerted, he
saluted them gravely, and inquired for the consul.

Upon being informed that he had gone down to the beach, we proceeded in
that direction; and soon met a native, who told us that, apprised of
our vicinity, Wilson was keeping out of the way. We resolved to meet
him; and passing through the village, he suddenly came walking toward
us; having apparently made up his mind that any attempt to elude us
would be useless.

“What do you want of me, you rascals?” he cried—a greeting which
provoked a retort in no measured terms. At this juncture, the natives
began to crowd round, and several foreigners strolled along. Caught in
the very act of speaking to such disreputable acquaintances, Wilson now
fidgeted, and moved rapidly toward his office; the men following.
Turning upon them incensed, he bade them be off—he would have nothing
more to say to us; and then, hurriedly addressing Captain Bob in
Tahitian, he hastened on, and never stopped till the postern of
Pritchard’s wicket was closed behind him.

Our good old keeper was now highly excited, bustling about in his huge
petticoats, and conjuring us to return to the Calabooza. After a little
debate, we acquiesced.

This interview was decisive. Sensible that none of the charges brought
against us would stand, yet unwilling formally to withdraw them, the
consul now wished to get rid of us altogether; but without being
suspected of encouraging our escape. Thus only could we account for his
conduct.

Some of the party, however, with a devotion to principle truly heroic,
swore they would never leave him, happen what might. For my own part, I
began to long for a change; and as there seemed to be no getting away
in a ship, I resolved to hit upon some other expedient. But first, I
cast about for a comrade; and of course the long doctor was chosen. We
at once laid our heads together; and for the present, resolved to
disclose nothing to the rest.

A few days previous, I had fallen in with a couple of Yankee lads,
twins, who, originally deserting their ship at Tanning’s Island (an
uninhabited spot, but exceedingly prolific in fruit of all kinds), had,
after a long residence there, roved about among the Society group. They
were last from Imeeo—the island immediately adjoining—where they had
been in the employ of two foreigners who had recently started a
plantation there. These persons, they said, had charged them to send
over from Papeetee, if they could, two white men for field-labourers.

Now, all but the prospect of digging and delving suited us exactly; but
the opportunity for leaving the island was not to be slighted; and so
we held ourselves in readiness to return with the planters; who, in a
day or two, were expected to visit Papeetee in their boat.

At the interview which ensued, we were introduced to them as Peter and
Paul; and they agreed to give Peter and Paul fifteen silver dollars a
month, promising something more should we remain with them permanently.
What they wanted was men who would stay. To elude the natives—many of
whom, not exactly understanding our relations with the consul, might
arrest us, were they to see us departing—the coming midnight was
appointed for that purpose.

When the hour drew nigh, we disclosed our intention to the rest. Some
upbraided us for deserting them; others applauded, and said that, on
the first opportunity, they would follow our example. At last, we bade
them farewell. And there would now be a serene sadness in thinking over
the scene—since we never saw them again—had not all been dashed by
M’Gee’s picking the doctor’s pocket of a jack-knife, in the very act of
embracing him.

We stole down to the beach, where, under the shadow of a grove, the
boat was waiting. After some delay, we shipped the oars, and pulling
outside of the reef, set the sail; and with a fair wind, glided away
for Imeeo.

It was a pleasant trip. The moon was up—the air, warm—the waves,
musical—and all above was the tropical night, one purple vault hung
round with soft, trembling stars.

The channel is some five leagues wide. On one hand, you have the three
great peaks of Tahiti lording it over ranges of mountains and valleys;
and on the other, the equally romantic elevations of Imeeo, high above
which a lone peak, called by our companions, “the Marling-pike,” shot
up its verdant spire.

The planters were quite sociable. They had been sea-faring men, and
this, of course, was a bond between us. To strengthen it, a flask of
wine was produced, one of several which had been procured in person
from the French admiral’s steward; for whom the planters, when on a
former visit to Papeetee, had done a good turn, by introducing the
amorous Frenchman to the ladies ashore. Besides this, they had a
calabash filled with wild boar’s meat, baked yams, bread-fruit, and
Tombez potatoes. Pipes and tobacco also were produced; and while
regaling ourselves, plenty of stories were told about the neighbouring
islands.

At last we heard the roar of the Imeeo reef; and gliding through a
break, floated over the expanse within, which was smooth as a young
girl’s brow, and beached the boat.



CHAPTER LII.
THE VALLEY OF MARTAIR


We went up through groves to an open space, where we heard voices, and
a light was seen glimmering from out a bamboo dwelling. It was the
planters’ retreat; and in their absence, several girls were keeping
house, assisted by an old native, who, wrapped up in tappa, lay in the
corner, smoking.

A hasty meal was prepared, and after it we essayed a nap; but, alas! a
plague, little anticipated, prevented. Unknown in Tahiti, the
mosquitoes here fairly eddied round us. But more of them anon.

We were up betimes, and strolled out to view the country. We were in
the valley of Martair; shut in, on both sides, by lofty hills. Here and
there were steep cliffs, gay with flowering shrubs, or hung with
pendulous vines, swinging blossoms in the air. Of considerable width at
the sea, the vale contracts as it runs inland; terminating, at the
distance of several miles, in a range of the most grotesque elevations,
which seem embattled with turrets and towers, grown over with verdure,
and waving with trees. The valley itself is a wilderness of woodland;
with links of streams flashing through, and narrow pathways fairly
tunnelled through masses of foliage.

All alone, in this wild place, was the abode of the planters; the only
one back from the beach—their sole neighbours, the few fishermen and
their families, dwelling in a small grove of cocoa-nut trees whose
roots were washed by the sea.

The cleared tract which they occupied comprised some thirty acres,
level as a prairie, part of which was under cultivation; the whole
being fenced in by a stout palisade of trunks and boughs of trees
staked firmly in the ground. This was necessary as a defence against
the wild cattle and hogs overrunning the island.

Thus far, Tombez potatoes were the principal crop raised; a ready sale
for them being obtained among the shipping touching at Papeetee. There
was a small patch of the taro, or Indian turnip, also; another of yams;
and in one corner, a thrifty growth of the sugar-cane, just ripening.

On the side of the inclosure next the sea was the house; newly built of
bamboos, in the native style. The furniture consisted of a couple of
sea-chests, an old box, a few cooking utensils, and agricultural tools;
together with three fowling-pieces, hanging from a rafter; and two
enormous hammocks swinging in opposite corners, and composed of dried
bullocks’ hides, stretched out with poles.

The whole plantation was shut in by a dense forest; and, close by the
house, a dwarfed “Aoa,” or species of banian-tree, had purposely been
left twisting over the palisade, in the most grotesque manner, and thus
made a pleasant shade. The branches of this curious tree afforded low
perches, upon which the natives frequently squatted, after the fashion
of their race, and smoked and gossiped by the hour.

We had a good breakfast of fish—speared by the natives, before sunrise,
on the reef—pudding of Indian turnip, fried bananas, and roasted
bread-fruit.

During the repast, our new friends were quite sociable and
communicative. It seems that, like nearly all uneducated foreigners,
residing in Polynesia, they had, some time previous, deserted from a
ship; and, having heard a good deal about the money to be made by
raising supplies for whaling-vessels, they determined upon embarking in
the business. Strolling about, with this intention, they, at last, came
to Martair; and, thinking the soil would suit, set themselves to work.
They began by finding out the owner of the particular spot coveted, and
then making a “tayo” of him.

He turned out to be Tonoi, the chief of the fishermen: who, one day,
when exhilarated with brandy, tore his meagre tappa from his loins, and
gave me to know that he was allied by blood with Pomaree herself; and
that his mother came from the illustrious race of pontiffs, who, in old
times, swayed their bamboo crosier over all the pagans of Imeeo. A
regal, and right reverend lineage! But, at the time I speak of, the
dusky noble was in decayed circumstances, and, therefore, by no means
unwilling to alienate a few useless acres. As an equivalent, he
received from the strangers two or three rheumatic old muskets, several
red woollen shirts, and a promise to be provided for in his old age: he
was always to find a home with the planters.

Desirous of living on the cosy footing of a father-in-law, he frankly
offered his two daughters for wives; but as such, they were politely
declined; the adventurers, though not averse to courting, being
unwilling to entangle themselves in a matrimonial alliance, however
splendid in point of family.

Tonoi’s men, the fishermen of the grove, were a sad set. Secluded, in a
great measure, from the ministrations of the missionaries, they gave
themselves up to all manner of lazy wickedness. Strolling among the
trees of a morning, you came upon them napping on the shady side of a
canoe hauled up among the bushes; lying on a tree smoking; or, more
frequently still, gambling with pebbles; though, a little tobacco
excepted, what they gambled for at their outlandish games, it would be
hard to tell. Other idle diversions they had also, in which they seemed
to take great delight. As for fishing, it employed but a small part of
their time. Upon the whole, they were a merry, indigent, godless race.

Tonoi, the old sinner, leaning against the fallen trunk of a cocoa-nut
tree, invariably squandered his mornings at pebbles; a gray-headed rook
of a native regularly plucking him of every other stick of tobacco
obtained from his friends, the planters. Toward afternoon, he strolled
back to their abode; where he tarried till the next morning, smoking
and snoozing, and, at times, prating about the hapless fortunes of the
House of Tonoi. But like any other easy-going old dotard, he seemed for
the most part perfectly content with cheerful board and lodging.

On the whole, the valley of Martair was the quietest place imaginable.
Could the mosquitoes be induced to emigrate, one might spend the month
of August there quite pleasantly. But this was not the case with the
luckless Long Ghost and myself; as will presently be seen.



CHAPTER LIII.
FARMING IN POLYNESIA


The planters were both whole-souled fellows; but, in other respects, as
unlike as possible.

One was a tall, robust Yankee, born in the backwoods of Maine, sallow,
and with a long face;—the other was a short little Cockney, who had
first clapped his eyes on the Monument.

The voice of Zeke, the Yankee, had a twang like a cracked viol; and
Shorty (as his comrade called him), clipped the aspirate from every
word beginning with one. The latter, though not the tallest man in the
world, was a good-looking young fellow of twenty-five. His cheeks were
dyed with the fine Saxon red, burned deeper from his roving life: his
blue eye opened well, and a profusion of fair hair curled over a
well-shaped head.

But Zeke was no beauty. A strong, ugly man, he was well adapted for
manual labour; and that was all. His eyes were made to see with, and
not for ogling. Compared with the Cockney, he was grave, and rather
taciturn; but there was a deal of good old humour bottled up in him,
after all. For the rest, he was frank, good-hearted, shrewd, and
resolute; and like Shorty, quite illiterate.

Though a curious conjunction, the pair got along together famously.
But, as no two men were ever united in any enterprise without one
getting the upper hand of the other, so in most matters Zeke had his
own way. Shorty, too, had imbibed from him a spirit of invincible
industry; and Heaven only knows what ideas of making a fortune on their
plantation.

We were much concerned at this; for the prospect of their setting us,
in their own persons, an example of downright hard labour, was anything
but agreeable. But it was now too late to repent what we had done.

The first day—thank fortune—we did nothing. Having treated us as guests
thus far, they no doubt thought it would be wanting in delicacy to set
us to work before the compliments of the occasion were well over. The
next morning, however, they both looked business-like, and we were put
to.

“Wall, b’ys” (boys), said Zeke, knocking the ashes out of his pipe,
after breakfast—“we must get at it. Shorty, give Peter there (the
doctor), the big hoe, and Paul the other, and let’s be off.” Going to a
corner, Shorty brought forth three of the implements; and distributing
them impartially, trudged on after his partner, who took the lead with
something in the shape of an axe.

For a moment left alone in the house, we looked at each other, quaking.
We were each equipped with a great, clumsy piece of a tree, armed at
one end with a heavy, flat mass of iron.

The cutlery part—especially adapted to a primitive soil—was an
importation from Sydney; the handles must have been of domestic
manufacture. “Hoes”—so called—we had heard of, and seen; but they were
harmless in comparison with the tools in our hands.

“What’s to be done with them?” inquired I of Peter.

“Lift them up and down,” he replied; “or put them in motion some way or
other. Paul, we are in a scrape—but hark! they are calling;” and
shouldering the hoes, off we marched.

Our destination was the farther side of the plantation, where the
ground, cleared in part, had not yet been broken up; but they were now
setting about it. Upon halting, I asked why a plough was not used; some
of the young wild steers might be caught and trained for draught.

Zeke replied that, for such a purpose, no cattle, to his knowledge, had
ever been used in any part of Polynesia. As for the soil of Martair, so
obstructed was it with roots, crossing and recrossing each other at all
points, that no kind of a plough could be used to advantage. The heavy
Sydney hoes were the only thing for such land.

Our work was now before us; but, previous to commencing operations, I
endeavoured to engage the Yankee in a little further friendly chat
concerning the nature of virgin soils in general, and that of the
valley of Martair in particular. So masterly a stratagem made Long
Ghost brighten up; and he stood by ready to join in. But what our
friend had to say about agriculture all referred to the particular part
of his plantation upon which we stood; and having communicated enough
on this head to enable us to set to work to the best advantage, he fell
to, himself; and Shorty, who had been looking on, followed suit.

The surface, here and there, presented closely amputated branches of
what had once been a dense thicket. They seemed purposely left
projecting, as if to furnish a handle whereby to drag out the roots
beneath. After loosening the hard soil, by dint of much thumping and
pounding, the Yankee jerked one of the roots this way and that,
twisting it round and round, and then tugging at it horizontally.

“Come! lend us a hand!” he cried, at last; and running up, we all four
strained away in concert. The tough obstacle convulsed the surface with
throes and spasms; but stuck fast, notwithstanding.

“Dumn it!” cried Zeke, “we’ll have to get a rope; run to the house,
Shorty, and fetch one.”

The end of this being attached, we took plenty of room, and strained
away once more.

“Give us a song, Shorty,” said the doctor; who was rather sociable, on
a short acquaintance. Where the work to be accomplished is any way
difficult, this mode of enlivening toil is quite efficacious among
sailors. So willing to make everything as cheerful as possible, Shorty
struck up, “Were you ever in Dumbarton?” a marvellously inspiring, but
somewhat indecorous windlass chorus.

At last, the Yankee cast a damper on his enthusiasm by exclaiming, in a
pet, “Oh! dumn your singing! keep quiet, and pull away!” This we now
did, in the most uninteresting silence; until, with a jerk that made
every elbow hum, the root dragged out; and most inelegantly, we all
landed upon the ground. The doctor, quite exhausted, stayed there; and,
deluded into believing that, after so doughty a performance, we would
be allowed a cessation of toil, took off his hat, and fanned himself.

“Rayther a hard customer, that, Peter,” observed the Yankee, going up
to him: “but it’s no use for any on ’em to hang back; for I’m dumned if
they hain’t got to come out, whether or no. Hurrah! let’s get at it
agin!”

“Mercy!” ejaculated the doctor, rising slowly, and turning round.
“He’ll be the death of us!”

Falling to with our hoes again, we worked singly, or together, as
occasion required, until “Nooning Time” came.

The period, so called by the planters, embraced about three hours in
the middle of the day; during which it was so excessively hot, in this
still, brooding valley, shut out from the Trades, and only open toward
the leeward side of the island, that labour in the sun was out of the
question. To use a hyperbolical phrase of Shorty’s, “It was ’ot enough
to melt the nose h’off a brass monkey.”

Returning to the house, Shorty, assisted by old Tonoi, cooked the
dinner; and, after we had all partaken thereof, both the Cockney and
Zeke threw themselves into one of the hammocks, inviting us to occupy
the other. Thinking it no bad idea, we did so; and, after skirmishing
with the mosquitoes, managed to fall into a doze. As for the planters,
more accustomed to “Nooning,” they, at once, presented a nuptial back
to each other; and were soon snoring away at a great rate. Tonoi
snoozed on a mat, in one corner.

At last, we were roused by Zeke’s crying out, “Up b’ys; up! rise, and
shine; time to get at it agin!”

Looking at the doctor, I perceived, very plainly, that he had decided
upon something.

In a languid voice, he told Zeke that he was not very well: indeed,
that he had not been himself for some time past; though a little rest,
no doubt, would recruit him. The Yankee thinking, from this, that our
valuable services might be lost to him altogether, were he too hard
upon us at the outset, at once begged us both to consult our own
feelings, and not exert ourselves for the present, unless we felt like
it. Then—without recognizing the fact that my comrade claimed to be
actually unwell—he simply suggested that, since he was so tired, he had
better, perhaps, swing in his hammock for the rest of the day. If
agreeable, however, I myself might accompany him upon a little
bullock-hunting excursion in the neighbouring hills. In this
proposition, I gladly acquiesced; though Peter, who was a great
sportsman, put on a long face. The muskets and ammunition were
forthwith got from overhead; and, everything being then ready, Zeke
cried out, “Tonoi! come; aramai! (get up) we want you for pilot.
Shorty, my lad, look arter things, you know; and if you likes, why,
there’s them roots in the field yonder.”

Having thus arranged his domestic affairs to please himself, though
little to Shorty’s satisfaction, I thought, he slung his powder-horn
over his shoulder, and we started. Tonoi was, at once, sent on in
advance; and leaving the plantation, he struck into a path which led
toward the mountains.

After hurrying through the thickets for some time, we came out into the
sunlight, in an open glade, just under the shadow of the hills. Here,
Zeke pointed aloft to a beetling crag far distant, where a bullock,
with horns thrown back, stood like a statue.



CHAPTER LIV.
SOME ACCOUNT OF THE WILD CATTLE IN POLYNESIA


Before we proceed further, a word or two concerning these wild cattle,
and the way they came on the island.

Some fifty years ago, Vancouver left several bullocks, sheep and goats,
at various places in the Society group. He instructed the natives to
look after the animals carefully; and by no means to slaughter any
until a considerable stock had accumulated.

The sheep must have died off: for I never saw a solitary fleece in any
part of Polynesia. The pair left were an ill-assorted couple, perhaps;
separated in disgust, and died without issue.

As for the goats, occasionally you come across a black, misanthropic
ram, nibbling the scant herbage of some height inaccessible to man, in
preference to the sweet grasses of the valley below. The goats are not
very numerous.

The bullocks, coming of a prolific ancestry, are a hearty set, racing
over the island of Imeeo in considerable numbers, though in Tahiti but
few of them are seen. At the former place, the original pair must have
scampered off to the interior since it is now so thickly populated by
their wild progeny. The herds are the private property of Queen
Pomaree; from whom the planters had obtained permission to shoot for
their own use as many as they pleased.

The natives stand in great awe of these cattle; and for this reason are
excessively timid in crossing the island, preferring rather to sail
round to an opposite village in their canoes.

Tonoi abounded in bullock stories; most of which, by the bye, had a
spice of the marvellous. The following is one of these.

Once upon a time, he was going over the hills with a brother—now no
more—when a great bull came bellowing out of a wood, and both took to
their heels. The old chief sprang into a tree; his companion, flying in
an opposite direction, was pursued, and, in the very act of reaching up
to a bough, trampled underfoot. The unhappy man was then gored—tossed
in the air—and finally run away with on the bull’s horns. More dead
than alive, Tonoi waited till all was over, and then made the best of
his way home. The neighbours, armed with two or three muskets, at once
started to recover, if possible, his unfortunate brother’s remains. At
nightfall, they returned without discovering any trace of him; but the
next morning, Tonoi himself caught a glimpse of the bullock, marching
across the mountain’s brow, with a long dark object borne aloft on his
horns.

Having referred to Vancouver’s attempts to colonize the islands with
useful quadrupeds, we may as well say something concerning his success
upon Hawaii, one of the largest islands in the whole Polynesian
Archipelago; and which gives the native name to the well-known cluster
named by Cook in honour of Lord Sandwich.

Hawaii is some one hundred leagues in circuit, and covers an area of
over four thousand miles. Until within a few years past, its interior
was almost unknown, even to the inhabitants themselves, who, for ages,
had been prevented from wandering thither by certain strange
superstitions. Pelee, the terrific goddess of the volcanoes Mount Eoa
and Mount Kea, was supposed to guard all the passes to the extensive
valleys lying round their base. There are legends of her having chased
with streams of fire several impious adventurers. Near Hilo, a
jet-black cliff is shown, with the vitreous torrent apparently pouring
over into the sea: just as it cooled after one of these supernatural
eruptions.

To these inland valleys, and the adjoining hillsides, which are clothed
in the most luxuriant vegetation, Vancouver’s bullocks soon wandered;
and unmolested for a long period, multiplied in vast herds.

Some twelve or fifteen years ago, the natives lost sight of their
superstitions, and learning the value of the hides in commerce, began
hunting the creatures that wore them; but being very fearful and
awkward in a business so novel, their success was small; and it was not
until the arrival of a party of Spanish hunters, men regularly trained
to their calling upon the plains of California, that the work of
slaughter was fairly begun.

The Spaniards were showy fellows, tricked out in gay blankets, leggings
worked with porcupine quills, and jingling spurs. Mounted upon trained
Indian mares, these heroes pursued their prey up to the very base of
the burning mountains; making the profoundest solitudes ring with their
shouts, and flinging the lasso under the very nose of the vixen goddess
Pelee. Hilo, a village upon the coast, was their place of resort; and
thither flocked roving whites from all the islands of the group. As
pupils of the dashing Spaniards, many of these dissipated fellows,
quaffing too freely of the stirrup-cup, and riding headlong after the
herds, when they reeled in the saddle, were unhorsed and killed.

This was about the year 1835, when the present king, Tammahamaha III.,
was a lad. With royal impudence laying claim to the sole property of
the cattle, he was delighted with the idea of receiving one of every
two silver dollars paid down for their hides; so, with no thought for
the future, the work of extermination went madly on. In three years’
time, eighteen thousand bullocks were slain, almost entirely upon the
single island of Hawaii.

The herds being thus nearly destroyed, the sagacious young prince
imposed a rigorous “taboo” upon the few surviving cattle, which was to
remain in force for ten years. During this period—not yet expired—all
hunting is forbidden, unless directly authorized by the king.

The massacre of the cattle extended to the hapless goats. In one year,
three thousand of their skins were sold to the merchants of Honolulu,
fetching a quartila, or a shilling sterling apiece.

After this digression, it is time to run on after Tonoi and the Yankee.



CHAPTER LV.
A HUNTING RAMBLE WITH ZEKE


At the foot of the mountain, a steep path went up among rocks and
clefts mantled with verdure. Here and there were green gulfs, down
which it made one giddy to peep. At last we gained an overhanging,
wooded shelf of land which crowned the heights; and along this, the
path, well shaded, ran like a gallery.

In every direction the scenery was enchanting. There was a low,
rustling breeze; and below, in the vale, the leaves were quivering; the
sea lay, blue and serene, in the distance; and inland the surface
swelled up, ridge after ridge, and peak upon peak, all bathed in the
Indian haze of the Tropics, and dreamy to look upon. Still valleys,
leagues away, reposed in the deep shadows of the mountains; and here
and there, waterfalls lifted up their voices in the solitude. High
above all, and central, the “Marling-spike” lifted its finger. Upon the
hillsides, small groups of bullocks were seen; some quietly browsing;
others slowly winding into the valleys.

We went on, directing our course for a slope of these hills, a mile or
two further, where the nearest bullocks were seen.

We were cautious in keeping to the windward of them; their sense of
smell and hearing being, like those of all wild creatures, exceedingly
acute.

As there was no knowing that we might not surprise some other kind of
game in the coverts through which we were passing, we crept along
warily.

The wild hogs of the island are uncommonly fierce; and as they often
attack the natives, I could not help following Tonoi’s example of once
in a while peeping in under the foliage. Frequent retrospective glances
also served to assure me that our retreat was not cut off.

As we rounded a clump of bushes, a noise behind them, like the
crackling of dry branches, broke the stillness. In an instant, Tonoi’s
hand was on a bough, ready for a spring, and Zeke’s finger touched the
trigger of his piece. Again the stillness was broken; and thinking it
high time to get ready, I brought my musket to my shoulder.

“Look sharp!” cried the Yankee; and dropping on one knee, he brushed
the twigs aside. Presently, off went his piece; and with a wild snort,
a black, bristling boar—his cherry red lip curled up by two glittering
tusks—dashed, unharmed, across the path, and crashed through the
opposite thicket. I saluted him with a charge as he disappeared; but
not the slightest notice was taken of the civility.

By this time, Tonoi, the illustrious descendant of the Bishops of
Imeeo, was twenty feet from the ground. “Aramai! come down, you old
fool!” cried the Yankee; “the pesky critter’s on t’other side of the
island afore this.”

“I rayther guess,” he continued, as we began reloading, “that we’ve
spoiled sport by firing at that ’ere tarnal hog. Them bullocks heard
the racket, and are flinging their tails about now on the keen jump.
Quick, Paul, and let’s climb that rock yonder, and see if so be there’s
any in sight.”

But none were to be seen, except at such a distance that they looked
like ants.

As evening was now at hand, my companion proposed our returning home
forthwith; and then, after a sound night’s rest, starting in the
morning upon a good day’s hunt with the whole force of the plantation.

Following another pass in descending into the valley, we passed through
some nobly wooded land on the face of the mountain.

One variety of tree particularly attracted my attention. The dark mossy
stem, over seventy feet high, was perfectly branchless for many feet
above the ground, when it shot out in broad boughs laden with lustrous
leaves of the deepest green. And all round the lower part of the trunk,
thin, slab-like buttresses of bark, perfectly smooth, and radiating
from a common centre, projected along the ground for at least two
yards. From below, these natural props tapered upward until gradually
blended with the trunk itself. There were signs of the wild cattle
having sheltered themselves behind them. Zeke called this the canoe
tree; as in old times it supplied the navies of the Kings of Tahiti.
For canoe building, the woods is still used. Being extremely dense, and
impervious to worms, it is very durable.

Emerging from the forest, when half-way down the hillside, we came upon
an open space, covered with ferns and grass, over which a few lonely
trees were casting long shadows in the setting sun. Here, a piece of
ground some hundred feet square, covered with weeds and brambles, and
sounding hollow to the tread, was inclosed by a ruinous wall of stones.
Tonoi said it was an almost forgotten burial-place, of great antiquity,
where no one had been interred since the islanders had been Christians.
Sealed up in dry, deep vaults, many a dead heathen was lying here.

Curious to prove the old man’s statement, I was anxious to get a peep
at the catacombs; but hermetically overgrown with vegetation as they
were, no aperture was visible.

Before gaining the level of the valley, we passed by the site of a
village, near a watercourse, long since deserted. There was nothing but
stone walls, and rude dismantled foundations of houses, constructed of
the same material. Large trees and brushwood were growing rankly among
them.

I asked Tonoi how long it was since anyone had lived here. “Me,
tammaree (boy)—plenty kannaker (men) Martair,” he replied. “Now, only
poor pehe kannaka (fishermen) left—me born here.”

Going down the valley, vegetation of every kind presented a different
aspect from that of the high land.

Chief among the trees of the plain on this island is the “Ati,” large
and lofty, with a massive trunk, and broad, laurel-shaped leaves. The
wood is splendid. In Tahiti, I was shown a narrow, polished plank fit
to make a cabinet for a king. Taken from the heart of the tree, it was
of a deep, rich scarlet, traced with yellow veins, and in some places
clouded with hazel.

In the same grove with the regal “AH” you may see the beautiful
flowering “Hotoo”; its pyramid of shining leaves diversified with
numberless small, white blossoms.

Planted with trees as the valley is almost throughout its entire
length, I was astonished to observe so very few which were useful to
the natives: not one in a hundred was a cocoa-nut or bread-fruit tree.

But here Tonoi again enlightened me. In the sanguinary religious
hostilities which ensued upon the conversion of Christianity of the
first Pomaree, a war-party from Tahiti destroyed (by “girdling” the
bark) entire groves of these invaluable trees. For some time afterwards
they stood stark and leafless in the sun; sad monuments of the fate
which befell the inhabitants of the valley.



CHAPTER LVI.
MOSQUITOES


The night following the hunting trip, Long Ghost and myself, after a
valiant defence, had to fly the house on account of the mosquitoes.

And here I cannot avoid relating a story, rife among the natives,
concerning the manner in which these insects were introduced upon the
island.

Some years previous, a whaling captain, touching at an adjoining bay,
got into difficulty with its inhabitants, and at last carried his
complaint before one of the native tribunals; but receiving no
satisfaction, and deeming himself aggrieved, he resolved upon taking
signal revenge. One night, he towed a rotten old water-cask ashore, and
left it in a neglected Taro patch where the ground was warm and moist.
Hence the mosquitoes.

I tried my best to learn the name of this man; and hereby do what I can
to hand it down to posterity. It was Coleman—Nathan Cole-man. The ship
belonged to Nantucket.

When tormented by the mosquitoes, I found much relief in coupling the
word “Coleman” with another of one syllable, and pronouncing them
together energetically.

The doctor suggested a walk to the beach, where there was a long, low
shed tumbling to pieces, but open lengthwise to a current of air which
he thought might keep off the mosquitoes. So thither we went.

The ruin partially sheltered a relic of times gone by, which, a few
days after, we examined with much curiosity. It was an old war-canoe,
crumbling to dust. Being supported by the same rude blocks upon which,
apparently, it had years before been hollowed out, in all probability
it had never been afloat.

Outside, it seemed originally stained of a green colour, which, here
and there, was now changed into a dingy purple. The prow terminated in
a high, blunt beak; both sides were covered with carving; and upon the
stern, was something which Long Ghost maintained to be the arms of the
royal House of Pomaree. The device had an heraldic look,
certainly—being two sharks with the talons of hawks clawing a knot left
projecting from the wood.

The canoe was at least forty feet long, about two wide, and four deep.
The upper part—consisting of narrow planks laced together with cords of
sinnate—had in many places fallen off, and lay decaying upon the
ground. Still, there were ample accommodations left for sleeping; and
in we sprang—the doctor into the bow, and I into the stern. I soon fell
asleep; but waking suddenly, cramped in every joint from my constrained
posture, I thought, for an instant, that I must have been prematurely
screwed down in my coffin.

Presenting my compliments to Long Ghost, I asked how it fared with him.

“Bad enough,” he replied, as he tossed about in the outlandish rubbish
lying in the bottom of our couch. “Pah! how these old mats smell!”

As he continued talking in this exciting strain for some time, I at
last made no reply, having resumed certain mathematical reveries to
induce repose. But finding the multiplication table of no avail, I
summoned up a grayish image of chaos in a sort of sliding fluidity, and
was just falling into a nap on the strength of it, when I heard a
solitary and distinct buzz. The hour of my calamity was at hand. One
blended hum, the creature darted into the canoe like a small swordfish;
and I out of it.

Upon getting into the open air, to my surprise, there was Long Ghost,
fanning himself wildly with an old paddle. He had just made a noiseless
escape from a swarm which had attacked his own end of the canoe.

It was now proposed to try the water; so a small fishing canoe, hauled
up near by, was quickly launched; and paddling a good distance off, we
dropped overboard the native contrivance for an anchor—a heavy stone,
attached to a cable of braided bark. At this part of the island the
encircling reef was close to the shore, leaving the water within
smooth, and extremely shallow.

It was a blessed thought! We knew nothing till sunrise, when the motion
of our aquatic cot awakened us. I looked up, and beheld Zeke wading
toward the shore, and towing us after him by the bark cable. Pointing
to the reef, he told us we had had a narrow escape.

It was true enough; the water-sprites had rolled our stone out of its
noose, and we had floated away.



CHAPTER LVII.
THE SECOND HUNT IN THE MOUNTAINS


Fair dawned, over the hills of Martair, the jocund morning of our hunt.

Everything had been prepared for it overnight; and, when we arrived at
the house, a good breakfast was spread by Shorty: and old Tonoi was
bustling about like an innkeeper. Several of his men, also, were in
attendance to accompany us with calabashes of food; and, in case we met
with any success, to officiate as bearers of burdens on our return.

Apprised, the evening previous, of the meditated sport, the doctor had
announced his willingness to take part therein.

Now, subsequent events made us regard this expedition as a shrewd
device of the Yankee’s. Once get us off on a pleasure trip, and with
what face could we afterward refuse to work? Beside, he enjoyed all the
credit of giving us a holiday. Nor did he omit assuring us that, work
or play, our wages were all the while running on.

A dilapidated old musket of Tonoi’s was borrowed for the doctor. It was
exceedingly short and heavy, with a clumsy lock, which required a
strong finger to pull the trigger. On trying the piece by firing at a
mark, Long Ghost was satisfied that it could not fail of doing
execution: the charge went one way, and he the other.

Upon this, he endeavoured to negotiate an exchange of muskets with
Shorty; but the Cockney was proof against his blandishments; at last,
he intrusted his weapon to one of the natives to carry for him.

Marshalling our forces, we started for the head of the valley; near
which a path ascended to a range of high land, said to be a favourite
resort of the cattle.

Shortly after gaining the heights, a small herd, some way off, was
perceived entering a wood. We hurried on; and, dividing our party, went
in after them at four different points; each white man followed by
several natives.

I soon found myself in a dense covert; and, after looking round, was
just emerging into a clear space, when I heard a report, and a bullet
knocked the bark from a tree near by. The same instant there was a
trampling and crashing; and five bullocks, nearly abreast, broke into
View across the opening, and plunged right toward the spot where myself
and three of the islanders were standing.

They were small, black, vicious-looking creatures; with short, sharp
horns, red nostrils, and eyes like coals of fire. On they came—their
dark woolly heads hanging down.

By this time my island backers were roosting among the trees. Glancing
round, for an instant, to discover a retreat in case of emergency, I
raised my piece, when a voice cried out, from the wood, “Right between
the ’orns, Paul! right between the ’orns!” Down went my barrel in range
with a small white tuft on the forehead of the headmost one; and,
letting him have it, I darted to one side. As I turned again, the five
bullocks shot by like a blast, making the air eddy in their wake.

The Yankee now burst into view, and saluted them in flank. Whereupon,
the fierce little bull with the tufted forehead flirted his long tail
over his buttocks; kicked out with his hind feet, and shot forward a
full length. It was nothing but a graze; and, in an instant, they were
out of sight, the thicket into which they broke rocking overhead, and
marking their progress.

The action over, the heavy artillery came up, in the person of the Long
Doctor with the blunderbuss.

“Where are they?” he cried, out of breath.

“A mile or two h’off, by this time,” replied the Cockney. “Lord, Paul I
you ought to’ve sent an ’ailstone into that little black ’un.”

While excusing my want of skill, as well as I could, Zeke, rushing
forward, suddenly exclaimed, “Creation! what are you ’bout there,
Peter?”

Peter, incensed at our ill luck, and ignorantly imputing it to the
cowardice of our native auxiliaries, was bringing his piece to bear
upon his trembling squire—the musket-carrier—now descending a tree.

Pulling trigger, the bullet went high over his head; and, hopping to
the ground, bellowing like a calf, the fellow ran away as fast as his
heels could carry him. The rest followed us, after this, with fear and
trembling.

After forming our line of march anew, we went on for several hours
without catching a glimpse of the game; the reports of the muskets
having been heard at a great distance. At last, we mounted a craggy
height, to obtain a wide view of the country. Prom this place, we
beheld three cattle quietly browsing in a green opening of a wood
below; the trees shutting them in all round.

A general re-examination of the muskets now took place, followed by a
hasty lunch from the calabashes: we then started. As we descended the
mountainside the cattle were in plain sight until we entered the
forest, when we lost sight of them for a moment; but only to see them
again, as we crept close up to the spot where they grazed.

They were a bull, a cow, and a calf. The cow was lying down in the
shade, by the edge of the wood; the calf, sprawling out before her in
the grass, licking her lips; while old Taurus himself stood close by,
casting a paternal glance at this domestic little scene, and conjugally
elevating his nose in the air.

“Now then,” said Zeke, in a whisper, “let’s take the poor creeturs
while they are huddled together. Crawl along, b’ys; crawl along. Fire
together, mind; and not till I say the word.”

We crept up to the very edge of the open ground, and knelt behind a
clump of bushes; resting our levelled barrels among the branches. The
slight rustling was heard. Taurus turned round, dropped his head to the
ground, and sent forth a low, sullen bellow; then snuffed the air. The
cow rose on her foreknees, pitched forward alarmedly, and stood upon
her legs; while the calf, with ears pricked, got right underneath her.
All three were now grouped, and in an instant would be off.

“I take the bull,” cried our leader; “fire!”

The calf fell like a clod; its dam uttered a cry, and thrust her head
into the thicket; but she turned, and came moaning up to the lifeless
calf, going round and round it, snuffing fiercely with her bleeding
nostrils. A crashing in the wood, and a loud roar, announced the flying
bull.

Soon, another shot was fired, and the cow fell. Leaving some of the
natives to look after the dead cattle, the rest of us hurried on after
the bull; his dreadful bellowing guiding us to the spot where he lay.
Wounded in the shoulder, in his fright and agony he had bounded into
the wood; but when we came up to him, he had sunk to the earth in a
green hollow, thrusting his black muzzle into a pool of his own blood,
and tossing it over his hide in clots.

The Yankee brought his piece to a rest; and, the next instant, the wild
brute sprang into the air, and with his forelegs crouching under him,
fell dead.

Our island friends were now in high spirits; all courage and alacrity.
Old Tonoi thought nothing of taking poor Taurus himself by the horns,
and peering into his glazed eyes.

Our ship knives were at once in request; and, skinning the cattle, we
hung them high up by cords of bark from the boughs of a tree.
Withdrawing into a covert, we there waited for the wild hogs; which,
according to Zeke, would soon make their appearance, lured by the smell
of blood. Presently we heard them coming, in two or three different
directions; and, in a moment, they were tearing the offal to pieces.

As only one shot at these creatures could be relied on, we intended
firing simultaneously; but, somehow or other, the doctor’s piece went
off by itself, and one of the hogs dropped. The others then breaking
into the thicket, the rest of us sprang after them; resolved to have
another shot at all hazards.

The Cockney darted among some bushes; and, a few moments after, we
heard the report of his musket, followed by a quick cry. On running up,
we saw our comrade doing battle with a young devil of a boar, as black
as night, whose snout had been partly torn away. Firing when the game
was in full career, and coming directly toward him, Shorty had been
assailed by the enraged brute; it was now crunching the breech of the
musket, with which he had tried to club it; Shorty holding fast to the
barrel, and fingering his waist for a knife. Being in advance of the
others, I clapped my gun to the boar’s head, and so put an end to the
contest.

Evening now coming on, we set to work loading our carriers. The cattle
were so small that a stout native could walk off with an entire
quarter; brushing through thickets, and descending rocks without an
apparent effort; though, to tell the truth, no white man present could
have done the thing with any ease. As for the wild hogs, none of the
islanders could be induced to carry Shorty’s; some invincible
superstition being connected with its black colour. We were, therefore,
obliged to leave it. The other, a spotted one, being slung by green
thongs to a pole, was marched off with by two young natives.

With our bearers of burdens ahead, we then commenced our return down
the valley. Half-way home, darkness overtook us in the woods; and
torches became necessary. We stopped, and made them of dry palm
branches; and then, sending two lads on in advance for the purpose of
gathering fuel to feed the flambeaux, we continued our journey.

It was a wild sight. The torches, waved aloft, flashed through the
forest; and, where the ground admitted, the islanders went along on a
brisk trot, notwithstanding they bent forward under their loads. Their
naked backs were stained with blood; and occasionally, running by each
other, they raised wild cries which startled the hillsides.



CHAPTER LVIII.
THE HUNTING-FEAST; AND A VISIT TO AFREHITOO


Two bullocks and a boar! No bad trophies of our day’s sport. So by
torchlight we marched into the plantation, the wild hog rocking from
its pole, and the doctor singing an old hunting-song—Tally-ho! the
chorus of which swelled high above the yells of the natives.

We resolved to make a night of it. Kindling a great fire just outside
the dwelling, and hanging one of the heifer’s quarters from a limb of
the banian-tree, everyone was at liberty to cut and broil for himself.
Baskets of roasted bread-fruit, and plenty of taro pudding; bunches of
bananas, and young cocoa-nuts, had also been provided by the natives
against our return.

The fire burned bravely, keeping off the mosquitoes, and making every
man’s face glow like a beaker of Port. The meat had the true wild-game
flavour, not at all impaired by our famous appetites, and a couple of
flasks of white brandy, which Zeke, producing from his secret store,
circulated freely.

There was no end to my long comrade’s spirits. After telling his
stories, and singing his songs, he sprang to his feet, clasped a young
damsel of the grove round the waist, and waltzed over the grass with
her. But there’s no telling all the pranks he played that night. The
natives, who delight in a wag, emphatically pronounced him “maitai.”

It was long after midnight ere we broke up; but when the rest had
retired, Zeke, with the true thrift of a Yankee, salted down what was
left of the meat.

The next day was Sunday; and at my request, Shorty accompanied me to
Afrehitoo—a neighbouring bay, and the seat of a mission, almost
directly opposite Papeetee. In Afrehitoo is a large church and
school-house, both quite dilapidated; and planted amid shrubbery on a
fine knoll, stands a very tasteful cottage, commanding a view across
the channel. In passing, I caught sight of a graceful calico skirt
disappearing from the piazza through a doorway. The place was the
residence of the missionary.

A trim little sail-boat was dancing out at her moorings, a few yards
from the beach.

Straggling over the low lands in the vicinity were several native
huts—untidy enough—but much better every way than most of those in
Tahiti.

We attended service at the church, where we found but a small
congregation; and after what I had seen in Papeetee, nothing very
interesting took place. But the audience had a curious, fidgety look,
which I knew not how to account for until we ascertained that a sermon
with the eighth commandment for a text was being preached.

It seemed that there lived an Englishman in the district, who, like our
friends, the planters, was cultivating Tombez potatoes for the Papeetee
market.

In spite of all his precautions, the natives were in the habit of
making nocturnal forays into his inclosure, and carrying off the
potatoes. One night he fired a fowling-piece, charged with pepper and
salt, at several shadows which he discovered stealing across his
premises. They fled. But it was like seasoning anything else; the
knaves stole again with a greater relish than ever; and the very next
night, he caught a party in the act of roasting a basketful of potatoes
under his own cooking-shed. At last, he stated his grievances to the
missionary; who, for the benefit of his congregation, preached the
sermon we heard.

Now, there were no thieves in Martair; but then, the people of the
valley were bribed to be honest. It was a regular business transaction
between them and the planters. In consideration of so many potatoes “to
them in hand, duly paid,” they were to abstain from all depredations
upon the plantation. Another security against roguery was the permanent
residence upon the premises of their chief, Tonoi.

On our return to Martair in the afternoon, we found the doctor and Zeke
making themselves comfortable. The latter was reclining on the ground,
pipe in mouth, watching the doctor, who, sitting like a Turk, before a
large iron kettle, was slicing potatoes and Indian turnip, and now and
then shattering splinters from a bone; all of which, by turns, were
thrown into the pot. He was making what he called “Bullock broth.”

In gastronomic affairs, my friend was something of an artist; and by
way of improving his knowledge, did nothing the rest of the day but
practise in what might be called Experimental Cookery: broiling and
grilling, and deviling slices of meat, and subjecting them to all sorts
of igneous operations. It was the first fresh beef that either of us
had tasted in more than a year.

“Oh, ye’ll pick up arter a while, Peter,” observed Zeke toward night,
as Long Ghost was turning a great rib over the coals—“what d’ye think,
Paul?”

“He’ll get along, I dare say,” replied I; “he only wants to get those
cheeks of his tanned.” To tell the truth, I was not a little pleased to
see the doctor’s reputation as an invalid fading away so fast;
especially as, on the strength of his being one, he had promised to
have such easy times of it, and very likely, too, at my expense.



CHAPTER LIX.
THE MURPHIES


Dozing in our canoe the next morning about daybreak, we were awakened
by Zeke’s hailing us loudly from the beach.

Upon paddling up, he told us that a canoe had arrived overnight, from
Papeetee, with an order from a ship lying there for a supply of his
potatoes; and as they must be on board the vessel by noon, he wanted us
to assist in bringing them down to his sail-boat.

My long comrade was one of those who, from always thrusting forth the
wrong foot foremost when they rise, or committing some other
indiscretion of the limbs, are more or less crabbed or sullen before
breakfast. It was in vain, therefore, that the Yankee deplored the
urgency of the case which obliged him to call us up thus early:—the
doctor only looked the more glum, and said nothing in reply.

At last, by way of getting up a little enthusiasm for the occasion, the
Yankee exclaimed quite spiritedly, “What d’ye say, then, b’ys, shall we
get at it?”

“Yes, in the devil’s name!” replied the doctor, like a snapping turtle;
and we moved on to the house. Notwithstanding his ungracious answer, he
probably thought that, after the gastronomic performance of the day
previous, it would hardly do to hang back. At the house, we found
Shorty ready with the hoes; and we at once repaired to the farther side
of the inclosure, where the potatoes had yet to be taken out of the
ground.

The rich, tawny soil seemed specially adapted to the crop; the great
yellow murphies rolling out of the hills like eggs from a nest.

My comrade really surprised me by the zeal with which he applied
himself to his hoe. For my own part, exhilarated by the cool breath of
the morning, I worked away like a good fellow. As for Zeke and the
Cockney, they seemed mightily pleased at this evidence of our
willingness to exert ourselves.

It was not long ere all the potatoes were turned out; and then came the
worst of it: they were to be lugged down to the beach, a distance of at
least a quarter of a mile. And there being no such thing as a barrow,
or cart, on the island, there was nothing for it but spinal-marrows and
broad shoulders. Well knowing that this part of the business would be
anything but agreeable, Zeke did his best to put as encouraging a face
upon it as possible; and giving us no time to indulge in desponding
thoughts, gleefully directed our attention to a pile of rude
baskets—made of stout stalks—which had been provided for the occasion.
So, without more ado, we helped ourselves from the heap: and soon we
were all four staggering along under our loads.

The first trip down, we arrived at the beach together: Zeke’s
enthusiastic cries proving irresistible. A trip or two more, however,
and my shoulders began to grate in their sockets; while the doctor’s
tall figure acquired an obvious stoop. Presently, we both threw down
our baskets, protesting we could stand it no longer. But our employers,
bent, as it were, upon getting the work out of us by a silent appeal to
our moral sense, toiled away without pretending to notice us. It was as
much as to say, “There, men, we’ve been boarding and lodging ye for the
last three days; and yesterday ye did nothing earthly but eat; so stand
by now, and look at us working, if ye dare.” Thus driven to it, then,
we resumed our employment. Yet, in spite of all we could do, we lagged
behind Zeke and Shorty, who, breathing hard, and perspiring at every
pore, toiled away without pause or cessation. I almost wickedly wished
that they would load themselves down with one potato too many.

Gasping as I was with my own hamper, I could not, for the life of me,
help laughing at Long Ghost. There he went:—his long neck thrust
forward, his arms twisted behind him to form a shelf for his basket to
rest on; and his stilts of legs every once in a while giving way under
him, as if his knee-joints slipped either way.

“There! I carry no more!” he exclaimed all at once, flinging his
potatoes into the boat, where the Yankee was just then stowing them
away.

“Oh, then,” said Zeke, quite briskly, “I guess you and Paul had better
try the ‘barrel-machine’—come along, I’ll fix ye out in no time”; and,
so saying, he waded ashore, and hurried back to the house, bidding us
follow.

Wondering what upon earth the “barrel-machine” could be, and rather
suspicious of it, we limped after. On arriving at the house, we found
him getting ready a sort of sedan-chair. It was nothing more than an
old barrel suspended by a rope from the middle of a stout oar. Quite an
ingenious contrivance of the Yankee’s; and his proposed arrangement
with regard to mine and the doctor’s shoulders was equally so.

“There now!” said he, when everything was ready, “there’s no
back-breaking about this; you can stand right up under it, you see:
jist try it once”; and he politely rested the blade of the oar on my
comrade’s right shoulder, and the other end on mine, leaving the barrel
between us.

“Jist the thing!” he added, standing off admiringly, while we remained
in this interesting attitude.

There was no help for us; with broken hearts and backs we trudged back
to the field; the doctor all the while saying masses.

Upon starting with the loaded barrel, for a few paces we got along
pretty well, and were constrained to think the idea not a bad one. But
we did not long think so. In less than five minutes we came to a dead
halt, the springing and buckling of the clumsy oar being almost
unendurable.

“Let’s shift ends,” cried the doctor, who did not relish the blade of
the stick, which was cutting into the blade of his shoulder.

At last, by stages short and frequent, we managed to shamble down the
beach, where we again dumped our cargo, in something of a pet.

“Why not make the natives help?” asked Long Ghost, rubbing his
shoulder.

“Natives be dumned!” said the Yankee, “twenty on ’em ain’t worth one
white man. They never was meant to work any, them chaps; and they knows
it, too, for dumned little work any on ’em ever does.”

But, notwithstanding this abuse, Zeke was at last obliged to press a
few of the bipeds into service. “Aramai!” (come here) he shouted to
several, who, reclining on a bank, had hitherto been critical observers
of our proceedings; and, among other things, had been particularly
amused by the performance with the sedan-chair.

After making these fellows load their baskets together, the Yankee
filled his own, and then drove them before him down to the beach.
Probably he had seen the herds of panniered mules driven in this way by
mounted Indians along the great Callao to Lima. The boat at last
loaded, the Yankee, taking with him a couple of natives, at once
hoisted sail, and stood across the channel for Papeetee.

The next morning at breakfast, old Tonoi ran in, and told us that the
voyagers were returning. We hurried down to the beach, and saw the boat
gliding toward us, with a dozing islander at the helm, and Zeke
standing up in the bows, jingling a small bag of silver, the proceeds
of his cargo.



CHAPTER LX.
WHAT THEY THOUGHT OF US IN MARTAIR


Several quiet days now passed away, during which we just worked
sufficiently to sharpen our appetites; the planters leniently exempting
us from any severe toil.

Their desire to retain us became more and more evident; which was not
to be wondered at; for, beside esteeming us from the beginning a couple
of civil, good-natured fellows, who would soon become quite at-home
with them, they were not slow in perceiving that we were far different
from the common run of rovers; and that our society was both
entertaining and instructive to a couple of solitary, illiterate men
like themselves.

In a literary point of view, indeed, they soon regarded us with
emotions of envy and wonder; and the doctor was considered nothing
short of a prodigy. The Cockney found out that he (the doctor) could
read a book upside down, without even so much as spelling the big words
beforehand; and the Yankee, in the twinkling of an eye, received from
him the sum total of several arithmetical items, stated aloud, with the
view of testing the extent of his mathematical lore.

Then, frequently, in discoursing upon men and things, my long comrade
employed such imposing phrases that, upon one occasion, they actually
remained uncovered while he talked.

In short, their favourable opinion of Long Ghost in particular rose
higher and higher every day; and they began to indulge in all manner of
dreams concerning the advantages to be derived from employing so
learned a labourer. Among other projects revealed was that of building
a small craft of some forty tons for the purpose of trading among the
neighbouring islands. With a native crew, we would then take turns
cruising over the tranquil Pacific; touching here and there, as caprice
suggested, and collecting romantic articles of commerce;—beach-de-mer,
the pearl-oyster, arrow-root, ambergris, sandal-wood, cocoa-nut oil,
and edible birdnests.

This South Sea yachting was delightful to think of; and straightway,
the doctor announced his willingness to navigate the future schooner
clear of all shoals and reefs whatsoever. His impudence was audacious.
He enlarged upon the science of navigation; treated us to a
dissertation on Mercator’s Sailing and the Azimuth compass; and went
into an inexplicable explanation of the Lord only knows what plan of
his for infallibly settling the longitude.

Whenever my comrade thus gave the reins to his fine fancy, it was a
treat to listen, and therefore I never interfered; but, with the
planters, sat in mute admiration before him. This apparent
self-abasement on my part must have been considered as truly indicative
of our respective merits; for, to my no small concern, I quickly
perceived that, in the estimate formed of us, Long Ghost began to be
rated far above myself. For aught I knew, indeed, he might have
privately thrown out a hint concerning the difference in our respective
stations aboard the Julia; or else the planters must have considered
him some illustrious individual, for certain inscrutable reasons, going
incog. With this idea of him, his undisguised disinclination for work
became venial; and entertaining such views of extending their business,
they counted more upon his ultimate value to them as a man of science
than as a mere ditcher.

Nor did the humorous doctor forbear to foster an opinion every way so
advantageous to himself; at times, for the sake of the joke, assuming
airs of superiority over myself, which, though laughable enough, were
sometimes annoying.

To tell the plain truth, things at last came to such a pass that I told
him, up and down, that I had no notion to put up with his pretensions;
if he were going to play the gentleman, I was going to follow suit; and
then there would quickly be an explosion.

At this he laughed heartily; and after some mirthful chat, we resolved
upon leaving the valley as soon as we could do so with a proper regard
to politeness.

At supper, therefore, the same evening, the doctor hinted at our
intention.

Though much surprised, and vexed, Zeke moved not a muscle. “Peter,”
said he at last—very gravely—and after mature deliberation, “would you
like to do the cooking? It’s easy work; and you needn’t do anything
else. Paul’s heartier; he can work in the field when it suits him; and
before long, we’ll have ye at something more agreeable:—won’t we,
Shorty?”

Shorty assented.

Doubtless, the proposed arrangement was a snug one; especially the
sinecure for the doctor; but I by no means relished the functions
allotted to myself—they were too indefinite. Nothing final, however,
was agreed upon;—our intention to leave was revealed, and that was
enough for the present. But, as we said nothing further about going,
the Yankee must have concluded that we might yet be induced to remain.
He redoubled his endeavours to make us contented.

It was during this state of affairs that, one morning, before
breakfast, we were set to weeding in a potato-patch; and the planters
being engaged at the house, we were left to ourselves.

Now, though the pulling of weeds was considered by our employers an
easy occupation (for which reason they had assigned it to us), and
although as a garden recreation it may be pleasant enough, for those
who like it—still, long persisted in, the business becomes excessively
irksome.

Nevertheless, we toiled away for some time, until the doctor, who, from
his height, was obliged to stoop at a very acute angle, suddenly sprang
upright; and with one hand propping his spinal column, exclaimed, “Oh,
that one’s joints were but provided with holes to drop a little oil
through!”

Vain as the aspiration was for this proposed improvement upon our
species, I cordially responded thereto; for every vertebra in my spine
was articulating in sympathy.

Presently, the sun rose over the mountains, inducing that deadly
morning languor so fatal to early exertion in a warm climate. We could
stand it no longer; but, shouldering our hoes, moved on to the house,
resolved to impose no more upon the good-nature of the planters by
continuing one moment longer in an occupation so extremely uncongenial.

We freely told them so. Zeke was exceedingly hurt, and said everything
he could think of to alter our determination; but, finding all
unavailing, he very hospitably urged us not to be in any hurry about
leaving; for we might stay with him as guests until we had time to
decide upon our future movements.

We thanked him sincerely; but replied that, the following morning, we
must turn our backs upon the hills of Martair.



CHAPTER LXI.
PREPARING FOR THE JOURNEY


During the remainder of the day we loitered about, talking over our
plans.

The doctor was all eagerness to visit Tamai, a solitary inland village,
standing upon the banks of a considerable lake of the same name, and
embosomed among groves. From Afrehitoo you went to this place by a
lonely pathway leading through the wildest scenery in the world. Much,
too, we had heard concerning the lake itself, which abounded in such
delicious fish that, in former times, angling parties occasionally came
over to it from Papeetee.

Upon its banks, moreover, grew the finest fruit of the islands, and in
their greatest perfection. The “Ve,” or Brazilian plum, here attained
the size of an orange; and the gorgeous “Arheea,” or red apple of
Tahiti, blushed with deeper dyes than in any of the seaward valleys.

Beside all this, in Tamai dwelt the most beautiful and unsophisticated
women in the entire Society group. In short, the village was so remote
from the coast, and had been so much less affected by recent changes
than other places that, in most things, Tahitian life was here seen as
formerly existing in the days of young Otoo, the boy-king, in Cook’s
time.

After obtaining from the planters all the information which was needed,
we decided upon penetrating to the village; and after a temporary
sojourn there, to strike the beach again, and journey round to Taloo, a
harbour on the opposite side of the island.

We at once put ourselves in travelling trim. Just previous to leaving
Tahiti, having found my wardrobe reduced to two suits (frock and
trousers, both much the worse for wear), I had quilted them together
for mutual preservation (after a fashion peculiar to sailors);
engrafting a red frock upon a blue one, and producing thereby a choice
variety in the way of clothing. This was the extent of my wardrobe. Nor
was the doctor by any means better off. His improvidence had at last
driven him to don the nautical garb; but by this time his frock—a light
cotton one—had almost given out, and he had nothing to replace it.
Shorty very generously offered him one which was a little less ragged;
but the alms were proudly refused; Long Ghost preferring to assume the
ancient costume of Tahiti—the “Roora.”

This garment, once worn as a festival dress, is now seldom met with;
but Captain Bob had often shown us one which he kept as an heirloom. It
was a cloak, or mantle, of yellow tappa, precisely similar to the
“poncho” worn by the South-American Spaniards. The head being slipped
through a slit in the middle, the robe hangs about the person in ample
drapery. Tonoi obtained sufficient coarse brown tappa to make a short
mantle of this description; and in five minutes the doctor was
equipped. Zeke, eyeing his toga critically, reminded its proprietor
that there were many streams to ford, and precipices to scale, between
Martair and Tamai; and if he travelled in petticoats, he had better
hold them up.

Besides other deficiencies, we were utterly shoeless. In the free and
easy Pacific, sailors seldom wear shoes; mine had been tossed overboard
the day we met the Trades; and except in one or two tramps ashore, I
had never worn any since. In Martair, they would have been desirable:
but none were to be had. For the expedition we meditated, however, they
were indispensable. Zeke, being the owner of a pair of huge,
dilapidated boots, hanging from a rafter like saddlebags, the doctor
succeeded in exchanging for them a case-knife, the last valuable
article in his possession. For myself, I made sandals from a bullock’s
hide, such as are worn by the Indians in California. They are made in a
minute; the sole, rudely fashioned to the foot, being confined across
the instep by three straps of leather.

Our headgear deserves a passing word. My comrade’s was a brave old
Panama hat, made of grass, almost as fine as threads of silk; and so
elastic that, upon rolling it up, it sprang into perfect shape again.
Set off by the jaunty slouch of this Spanish sombrero, Doctor Long
Ghost, in this and his Eoora, looked like a mendicant grandee.

Nor was my own appearance in an Eastern turban less distinguished. The
way I came to wear it was this. My hat having been knocked overboard a
few days before reaching Papeetee, I was obliged to mount an abominable
wad of parti-coloured worsted—what sailors call a Scotch cap. Everyone
knows the elasticity of knit wool; and this Caledonian head-dress
crowned my temples so effectually that the confined atmosphere
engendered was prejudicial to my curls. In vain I tried to ventilate
the cap: every gash made seemed to heal whole in no time. Then such a
continual chafing as it kept up in a hot sun.

Seeing my dislike to the thing, Kooloo, my worthy friend, prevailed
upon me to bestow it upon him. I did so; hinting that a good boiling
might restore the original brilliancy of the colours.

It was then that I mounted the turban. Taking a new Regatta frock of
the doctor’s, which was of a gay calico, and winding it round my head
in folds, I allowed the sleeves to droop behind—thus forming a good
defence against the sun, though in a shower it was best off. The
pendent sleeves adding much to the effect, the doctor called me the
Bashaw with Two Tails.

Thus arrayed, we were ready for Tamai; in whose green saloons we
counted upon creating no small sensation.



CHAPTER LXII.
TAMAI


Long before sunrise the next morning my sandals were laced on, and the
doctor had vaulted into Zeke’s boots.

Expecting to see us again before we went to Taloo, the planters wished
us a pleasant journey; and, on parting, very generously presented us
with a pound or two of what sailors call “plug” tobacco; telling us to
cut it up into small change; the Virginian weed being the principal
circulating medium on the island.

Tamai, we were told, was not more than three or four leagues distant;
so making allowances for a wild road, a few hours to rest at noon, and
our determination to take the journey leisurely, we counted upon
reaching the shores of the lake some time in the flush of the evening.

For several hours we went on slowly through wood and ravine, and over
hill and precipice, seeing nothing but occasional herds of wild cattle,
and often resting; until we found ourselves, about noon, in the very
heart of the island.

It was a green, cool hollow among the mountains, into which we at last
descended with a bound. The place was gushing with a hundred springs,
and shaded over with great solemn trees, on whose mossy boles the
moisture stood in beads. Strange to say, no traces of the bullocks ever
having been here were revealed. Nor was there a sound to be heard, nor
a bird to be seen, nor any breath of wind stirring the leaves. The
utter solitude and silence were oppressive; and after peering about
under the shades, and seeing nothing but ranks of dark, motionless
trunks, we hurried across the hollow, and ascended a steep mountain
opposite.

Midway up, we rested where the earth had gathered about the roots of
three palms, and thus formed a pleasant lounge, from which we looked
down upon the hollow, now one dark green tuft of woodland at our feet.
Here we brought forth a small calabash of “poee” a parting present from
Tonoi. After eating heartily, we obtained fire by two sticks, and
throwing ourselves back, puffed forth our fatigue in wreaths of smoke.
At last we fell asleep; nor did we waken till the sun had sunk so low
that its rays darted in upon us under the foliage.

Starting up, we then continued our journey; and as we gained the
mountain top—there, to our surprise, lay the lake and village of Tamai.
We had thought it a good league off. Where we stood, the yellow sunset
was still lingering; but over the valley below long shadows were
stealing—the rippling green lake reflecting the houses and trees just
as they stood along its banks. Several small canoes, moored here and
there to posts in the water, were dancing upon the waves; and one
solitary fisherman was paddling over to a grassy point. In front of the
houses, groups of natives were seen; some thrown at full length upon
the ground, and others indolently leaning against the bamboos.

With whoop and halloo, we ran down the hills, the villagers soon
hurrying forth to see who were coming. As we drew near, they gathered
round, all curiosity to know what brought the “karhowrees” into their
quiet country. The doctor contriving to make them understand the purely
social object of our visit, they gave us a true Tahitian welcome;
pointing into their dwellings, and saying they were ours as long as we
chose to remain.

We were struck by the appearance of these people, both men and women;
so much more healthful than the inhabitants of the bays. As for the
young girls, they were more retiring and modest, more tidy in their
dress, and far fresher and more beautiful than the damsels of the
coast. A thousand pities, thought I, that they should bury their charms
in this nook of a valley.

That night we abode in the house of Rartoo, a hospitable old chief. It
was right on the shore of the lake; and at supper we looked out through
a rustling screen of foliage upon the surface of the starlit water.

The next day we rambled about, and found a happy little community,
comparatively free from many deplorable evils to which the rest of
their countrymen are subject. Their time, too, was more occupied. To my
surprise, the manufacture of tappa was going on in several buildings.
European calicoes were seldom seen, and not many articles of foreign
origin of any description.

The people of Tamai were nominally Christians; but being so remote from
ecclesiastical jurisdiction, their religion sat lightly upon them. We
had been told, even, that many heathenish games and dances still
secretly lingered in their valley.

Now the prospect of seeing an old-fashioned “hevar,” or Tahitian reel,
was one of the inducements which brought us here; and so, finding
Rartoo rather liberal in his religious ideas, we disclosed our desire.
At first he demurred; and shrugging his shoulders like a Frenchman,
declared it could not be brought about—was a dangerous matter to
attempt, and might bring all concerned into trouble. But we overcame
all this, convinced him that the thing could be done, and a “hevar,” a
genuine pagan fandango, was arranged for that very night.



CHAPTER LXIII.
A DANCE IN THE VALLEY


There were some ill-natured people—tell-tales—it seemed, in Tamai; and
hence there was a deal of mystery about getting up the dance.

An hour or two before midnight, Rartoo entered the house, and, throwing
robes of tappa over us, bade us follow at a distance behind him; and,
until out of the village, hood our faces. Keenly alive to the
adventure, we obeyed. At last, after taking a wide circuit, we came out
upon the farthest shore of the lake. It was a wide, dewy, space;
lighted up by a full moon, and carpeted with a minute species of fern
growing closely together. It swept right down to the water, showing the
village opposite, glistening among the groves.

Near the trees, on one side of the clear space, was a ruinous pile of
stones many rods in extent; upon which had formerly stood a temple of
Oro. At present, there was nothing but a rude hut, planted on the
lowermost terrace. It seemed to have been used as a “tappa herree,” or
house for making the native cloth.

Here we saw lights gleaming from between the bamboos, and casting long,
rod-like shadows upon the ground without. Voices also were heard. We
went up, and had a peep at the dancers who were getting ready for the
ballet. They were some twenty in number;-waited upon by hideous old
crones, who might have been duennas. Long Ghost proposed to send the
latter packing; but Rartoo said it would never do, and so they were
permitted to remain.

We tried to effect an entrance at the door, which was fastened; but,
after a noisy discussion with one of the old witches within, our guide
became fidgety, and, at last, told us to desist, or we would spoil all.
He then led us off to a distance to await the performance; as the
girls, he said, did not wish to be recognized. He, furthermore, made us
promise to remain where we were until all was over, and the dancers had
retired.

We waited impatiently; and, at last, they came forth. They were arrayed
in short tunics of white tappa; with garlands of flowers on their
heads. Following them were the duennas, who remained clustering about
the house, while the girls advanced a few paces; and, in an instant,
two of them, taller than their companions, were standing, side by side,
in the middle of a ring formed by the clasped hands of the rest. This
movement was made in perfect silence.

Presently the two girls join hands overhead; and, crying out, “Ahloo!
ahloo!” wave them to and fro. Upon which the ring begins to circle
slowly; the dancers moving sideways, with their arms a little drooping.
Soon they quicken their pace; and, at last, fly round and round: bosoms
heaving, hair streaming, flowers dropping, and every sparkling eye
circling in what seemed a line of light.

Meanwhile, the pair within are passing and repassing each other
incessantly. Inclining sideways, so that their long hair falls far
over, they glide this way and that; one foot continually in the air,
and their fingers thrown forth, and twirling in the moonbeams.

“Ahloo! ahloo!” again cry the dance queens; and coming together in the
middle of the ring, they once more lift up the arch, and stand
motionless.

“Ahloo! ahloo!” Every link of the circle is broken; and the girls,
deeply breathing, stand perfectly still. They pant hard and fast a
moment or two; and then, just as the deep flush is dying away from
their faces, slowly recede, all round; thus enlarging the ring.

Again the two leaders wave their hands, when the rest pause; and now,
far apart, stand in the still moonlight like a circle of fairies.
Presently, raising a strange chant, they softly sway themselves,
gradually quickening the movement, until, at length, for a few
passionate moments, with throbbing bosoms and glowing cheeks, they
abandon themselves to all the spirit of the dance, apparently lost to
everything around. But soon subsiding again into the same languid
measure as before, they become motionless; and then, reeling forward on
all sides, their eyes swimming in their heads, join in one wild chorus,
and sink into each other’s arms.

Such is the Lory-Lory, I think they call it; the dance of the
backsliding girls of Tamai.

While it was going on, we had as much as we could do to keep the doctor
from rushing forward and seizing a partner.

They would give us no more “hevars” that night; and Rartoo fairly
dragged us away to a canoe, hauled up on the lake shore; when we
reluctantly embarked, and paddling over to the village, arrived there
in time for a good nap before sunrise.

The next day, the doctor went about trying to hunt up the overnight
dancers. He thought to detect them by their late rising; but never was
man more mistaken; for, on first sallying out, the whole village was
asleep, waking up in concert about an hour after. But, in the course of
the day, he came across several whom he at once charged with taking
part in the “hevar.” There were some prim-looking fellows standing by
(visiting elders from Afrehitoo, perhaps), and the girls looked
embarrassed; but parried the charge most skilfully.

Though soft as doves, in general, the ladies of Tamai are,
nevertheless, flavoured with a slight tincture of what we queerly
enough call the “devil”; and they showed it on the present occasion.
For when the doctor pressed one rather hard, she all at once turned
round upon him, and, giving him a box on the ear, told him to “hanree
perrar!” (be off with himself.)



CHAPTER LXIV.
MYSTERIOUS


There was a little old man of a most hideous aspect living in Tamai,
who, in a coarse mantle of tappa, went about the village, dancing, and
singing, and making faces. He followed us about wherever we went; and,
when unobserved by others, plucked at our garments, making frightful
signs for us to go along with him somewhere, and see something.

It was in vain that we tried to get rid of him. Kicks and cuffs, even,
were at last resorted to; but, though he howled like one possessed, he
would not go away, but still haunted us. At last, we conjured the
natives to rid us of him; but they only laughed; so we were forced to
endure the dispensation as well as we could.

On the fourth night of our visit, returning home late from paying a few
calls through the village, we turned a dark corner of trees, and came
full upon our goblin friend: as usual, chattering, and motioning with
his hands. The doctor, venting a curse, hurried forward; but, from some
impulse or other, I stood my ground, resolved to find out what this
unaccountable object wanted of us. Seeing me pause, he crept close up
to me, peered into my face, and then retreated, beckoning me to follow;
which I did.

In a few moments the village was behind us; and with my guide in
advance, I found myself in the shadow of the heights overlooking the
farther side of the valley. Here my guide paused until I came up with
him; when, side by side, and without speaking, we ascended the hill.

Presently, we came to a wretched hut, barely distinguishable in the
shade cast by the neighbouring trees. Pushing aside a rude sliding
door, held together with thongs, the goblin signed me to enter. Within,
it looked dark as pitch; so I gave him to understand that he must
strike a light, and go in before me. Without replying, he disappeared
in the darkness; and, after groping about, I heard two sticks rubbing
together, and directly saw a spark. A native taper was then lighted,
and I stooped, and entered.

It was a mere kennel. Foul old mats, and broken cocoa-nut shells, and
calabashes were strewn about the floor of earth; and overhead I caught
glimpses of the stars through chinks in the roof. Here and there the
thatch had fallen through, and hung down in wisps.

I now told him to set about what he was going to do, or produce
whatever he had to show without delay. Looking round fearfully, as if
dreading a surprise, he commenced turning over and over the rubbish in
one corner. At last, he clutched a calabash, stained black, and with
the neck broken off; on one side of it was a large hole. Something
seemed to be stuffed away in the vessel; and after a deal of poking at
the aperture, a musty old pair of sailor trousers was drawn forth; and,
holding them up eagerly, he inquired how many pieces of tobacco I would
give for them.

Without replying, I hurried away; the old man chasing me, and shouting
as I ran, until I gained the village. Here I dodged him, and made my
way home, resolved never to disclose so inglorious an adventure.

To no purpose, the next morning, my comrade besought me to enlighten
him; I preserved a mysterious silence.

The occurrence served me a good turn, however, so long as we abode in
Tamai; for the old clothesman never afterwards troubled me; but forever
haunted the doctor, who, in vain, supplicated Heaven to be delivered
from him.



CHAPTER LXV.
THE HEGIRA, OR FLIGHT


“I say, doctor,” cried I, a few days after my adventure with the
goblin, as, in the absence of our host, we were one morning lounging
upon the matting in his dwelling, smoking our reed pipes, “Tamai’s a
thriving place; why not settle down?”

“Faith!” said he, “not a bad idea, Paul. But do you fancy they’ll let
us stay, though?”

“Why, certainly; they would be overjoyed to have a couple of Karhowrees
for townsmen.”

“Gad! you’re right, my pleasant fellow. Ha! ha! I’ll put up a
banana-leaf as a physician from London—deliver lectures on Polynesian
antiquities—teach English in five lessons, of one hour each—establish
power-looms for the manufacture of tappa—lay out a public park in the
middle of the village, and found a festival in honour of Captain Cook!”

“But, surely, not without stopping to take breath,” observed I.

The doctor’s projects, to be sure, were of a rather visionary cast; but
we seriously thought, nevertheless, of prolonging our stay in the
valley for an indefinite period; and, with this understanding, we were
turning over various plans for spending our time pleasantly, when
several women came running into the house, and hurriedly besought us to
heree! heree! (make our escape), crying out something about the
Mickonarees.

Thinking that we were about to be taken up under the act for the
suppression of vagrancy, we flew out of the house, sprang into a canoe
before the door, and paddled with might and main over to the opposite
side of the lake.

Approaching Rartoo’s dwelling was a great crowd, among which we
perceived several natives, who, from their partly European dress, we
were certain did not reside in Tamai.

Plunging into the groves, we thanked our stars that we had thus
narrowly escaped being apprehended as runaway seamen, and marched off
to the beach. This, at least, was what we thought we had escaped.

Having fled the village, we could not think of prowling about its
vicinity, and then returning; in doing so we might be risking our
liberty again. We therefore determined upon journeying back to Martair;
and setting our faces thitherward, we reached the planters’ house about
nightfall. They gave us a cordial reception, and a hearty supper; and
we sat up talking until a late hour.

We now prepared to go round to Taloo, a place from which we were not
far off when at Tamai; but wishing to see as much of the island as we
could, we preferred returning to Martair, and then going round by way
of the beach.

Taloo, the only frequented harbour of Imeeo, lies on the western side
of the island, almost directly over against Martair. Upon one shore of
the bay stands the village of Partoowye, a missionary station. In its
vicinity is an extensive sugar plantation—the best in the South Seas,
perhaps—worked by a person from Sydney.

The patrimonial property of the husband of Pomaree, and every way a
delightful retreat, Partoowye was one of the occasional residences of
the court. But at the time I write of it was permanently fixed there,
the queen having fled thither from Tahiti.

Partoowye, they told us, was by no means the place Papeetee was. Ships
seldom touched, and very few foreigners were living ashore. A solitary
whaler, however, was reported to be lying in the harbour, wooding and
watering, and to be in want of men.

All things considered, I could not help looking upon Taloo as offering
“a splendid opening” for us adventurers. To say nothing of the
facilities presented for going to sea in the whaler, or hiring
ourselves out as day labourers in the sugar plantation, there were
hopes to be entertained of being promoted to some office of high trust
and emolument about the person of her majesty, the queen.

Nor was this expectation altogether Quixotic. In the train of many
Polynesian princes roving whites are frequently found: gentleman
pensioners of state, basking in the tropical sunshine of the court, and
leading the pleasantest lives in the world. Upon islands little visited
by foreigners the first seaman that settles down is generally
domesticated in the family of the head chief or king; where he
frequently discharges the functions of various offices, elsewhere
filled by as many different individuals. As historiographer, for
instance, he gives the natives some account of distant countries; as
commissioner of the arts and sciences, he instructs them in the use of
the jack-knife, and the best way of shaping bits of iron hoop into
spear-heads; and as interpreter to his majesty, he facilitates
intercourse with strangers; besides instructing the people generally in
the uses of the most common English phrases, civil and profane; but
oftener the latter.

These men generally marry well; often—like Hardy of Hannamanoo—into the
Wood royal.

Sometimes they officiate as personal attendant, or First Lord in
Waiting, to the king. At Amboi, one of the Tonga Islands, a vagabond
Welshman bends his knee as cupbearer to his cannibal majesty. He mixes
his morning cup of “arva,” and, with profound genuflections, presents
it in a cocoa-nut bowl, richly carved. Upon another island of the same
group, where it is customary to bestow no small pains in dressing the
hair—frizzing it out by a curious process into an enormous Pope’s
head—an old man-of-war’s-man fills the post of barber to the king. And
as his majesty is not very neat, his mop is exceedingly populous; so
that, when Jack is not engaged in dressing the head intrusted to his
charge, he busies himself in gently titillating it—a sort of skewer
being actually worn about in the patient’s hair for that special
purpose.

Even upon the Sandwich Islands a low rabble of foreigners is kept about
the person of Tammahammaha for the purpose of ministering to his ease
or enjoyment.

Billy Loon, a jolly little negro, tricked out in a soiled blue jacket,
studded all over with rusty bell buttons, and garnished with shabby
gold lace, is the royal drummer and pounder of the tambourine. Joe, a
wooden-legged Portuguese who lost his leg by a whale, is violinist; and
Mordecai, as he is called, a villainous-looking scamp, going about with
his cups and balls in a side pocket, diverts the court with his
jugglery. These idle rascals receive no fixed salary, being altogether
dependent upon the casual bounty of their master. Now and then they run
up a score at the Dance Houses in Honolulu, where the illustrious
Tammahammaha III afterwards calls and settles the bill.

A few years since an auctioneer to his majesty came near being added to
the retinue of state. It seems that he was the first man who had
practised his vocation in the Sandwich Islands; and delighted with the
sport of bidding upon his wares, the king was one of his best
customers. At last he besought the man to leave all and follow him, and
he should be handsomely provided for at court. But the auctioneer
refused; and so the ivory hammer lost the chance of being borne before
him on a velvet cushion when the next king went to be crowned.

But it was not as strolling players, nor as footmen out of employ, that
the doctor and myself looked forward to our approaching introduction to
the court of the Queen of Tahiti. On the contrary, as before hinted, we
expected to swell the appropriations of bread-fruit and cocoa-nuts on
the Civil List by filling some honourable office in her gift.

We were told that, to resist the usurpation of the French, the queen
was rallying about her person all the foreigners she could. Her
partiality for the English and Americans was well known; and this was
an additional ground for our anticipating a favourable reception. Zeke
had informed us, moreover, that by the queen’s counsellors at
Partoowye, a war of aggression against the invaders of Papeetee had
been seriously thought of. Should this prove true, a surgeon’s
commission for the doctor, and a lieutenancy for myself, were certainly
counted upon in our sanguine expectations.

Such, then, were our views, and such our hopes in projecting a trip to
Taloo. But in our most lofty aspirations we by no means lost sight of
any minor matters which might help us to promotion. The doctor had
informed me that he excelled in playing the fiddle. I now suggested
that, as soon as we arrived at Partoowye, we should endeavour to borrow
a violin for him; or if this could not be done, that he should
manufacture some kind of a substitute, and, thus equipped, apply for an
audience of the queen. Her well-known passion for music would at once
secure his admittance; and so, under the most favourable auspices,
bring about our introduction to her notice.

“And who knows,” said my waggish comrade, throwing his head back and
performing an imaginary air by briskly drawing one arm across the
other, “who knows that I may not fiddle myself into her majesty’s good
graces so as to became a sort of Rizzio to the Tahitian princess.”



CHAPTER LXVI.
HOW WE WERE TO GET TO TALOO


The inglorious circumstances of our somewhat premature departure from
Tamai filled the sagacious doctor, and myself, with sundry misgivings
for the future.

Under Zeke’s protection, we were secure from all impertinent
interference in our concerns on the part of the natives. But as
friendless wanderers over the island, we ran the risk of being
apprehended as runaways, and, as such, sent back to Tahiti. The truth
is that the rewards constantly offered for the apprehension of
deserters from ships induce some of the natives to eye all strangers
suspiciously.

A passport was therefore desirable; but such a thing had never been
heard of in Imeeo. At last, Long Ghost suggested that, as the Yankee
was well known and much respected all over the island, we should
endeavour to obtain from him some sort of paper, not only certifying to
our having been in his employ, but also to our not being highwaymen,
kidnappers, nor yet runaway seamen. Even written in English, a paper
like this would answer every purpose; for the unlettered natives,
standing in great awe of the document, would not dare to molest us
until acquainted with its purport. Then, if it came to the worst, we
might repair to the nearest missionary, and have the passport
explained.

Upon informing Zeke of these matters, he seemed highly flattered with
the opinion we entertained of his reputation abroad; and he agreed to
oblige us. The doctor at once offered to furnish him with a draught of
the paper; but he refused, saying he would write it himself. With a
rooster’s quill, therefore, a bit of soiled paper, and a stout heart,
he set to work. Evidently he was not accustomed to composition; for his
literary throes were so violent that the doctor suggested that some
sort of a Caesarian operation might be necessary.

The precious paper was at last finished; and a great curiosity it was.
We were much diverted with his reasons for not dating it.

“In this here dummed eliminate,” he observed, “a feller can’t keep the
run of the months, nohow; cause there’s no seasons; no summer and
winter, to go by. One’s etarnally thinkin’ it’s always July, it’s so
pesky hot.”

A passport provided, we cast about for some means of getting to Taloo.

The island of Imeeo is very nearly surrounded by a regular breakwater
of coral extending within a mile or less of the shore. The smooth canal
within furnishes the best means of communication with the different
settlements; all of which, with the exception of Tamai, are right upon
the water. And so indolent are the Imeeose that they think nothing of
going twenty or thirty miles round the island in a canoe in order to
reach a place not a quarter of that distance by land. But as hinted
before, the fear of the bullocks has something to do with this.

The idea of journeying in a canoe struck our fancy quite pleasantly;
and we at once set about chartering one, if possible. But none could we
obtain. For not only did we have nothing to pay for hiring one, but we
could not expect to have it loaned; inasmuch as the good-natured owner
would, in all probability, have to walk along the beach as we paddled
in order to bring back his property when we had no further use for it.

At last, it was decided to commence our journey on foot; trusting that
we would soon fall in with a canoe going our way, in which we might
take passage.

The planters said we would find no beaten path: all we had to do was to
follow the beach; and however inviting it might look inland, on no
account must we stray from it. In short, the longest way round was the
nearest way to Taloo. At intervals, there were little hamlets along the
shore, besides lonely fishermen’s huts here and there, where we could
get plenty to eat without pay; so there was no necessity to lay in any
store.

Intending to be off before sunrise the next morning, so as to have the
benefit of the coolest part of the day, we bade our kind hosts farewell
overnight; and then, repairing to the beach, we launched our floating
pallet, and slept away merrily till dawn.



CHAPTER LXVII.
THE JOURNEY ROUND THE BEACH


It was on the fourth day of the first month of the Hegira, or flight
from Tamai (we now reckoned our time thus), that, rising bright and
early, we were up and away out of the valley of Martair before the
fishermen even were stirring.

It was the earliest dawn. The morning only showed itself along the
lower edge of a bank of purple clouds pierced by the misty peaks of
Tahiti. The tropical day seemed too languid to rise. Sometimes,
starting fitfully, it decked the clouds with faint edgings of pink and
gray, which, fading away, left all dim again. Anon, it threw out thin,
pale rays, growing lighter and lighter, until at last, the golden
morning sprang out of the East with a bound—darting its bright beams
hither and thither, higher and higher, and sending them, broadcast,
over the face of the heavens.

All balmy from the groves of Tahiti came an indolent air, cooled by its
transit over the waters; and grateful underfoot was the damp and
slightly yielding beach, from which the waves seemed just retired.

The doctor was in famous spirits; removing his Koora, he went splashing
into the sea; and, after swimming a few yards, waded ashore, hopping,
skipping, and jumping along the beach; but very careful to cut all his
capers in the direction of our journey.

Say what they will of the glowing independence one feels in the saddle,
give me the first morning flush of your cheery pedestrian!

Thus exhilarated, we went on, as light-hearted and care-free as we
could wish.

And here I cannot refrain from lauding the very superior inducements
which most intertropical countries afford, not only to mere rovers like
ourselves, but to penniless people generally. In these genial regions
one’s wants are naturally diminished; and those which remain are easily
gratified; fuel, house-shelter, and, if you please, clothing, may be
entirely dispensed with.

How different our hard northern latitudes! Alas! the lot of a “poor
devil,” twenty degrees north of the tropic of Cancer, is indeed
pitiable.

At last, the beach contracted to hardly a yard’s width, and the dense
thicket almost dipped into the sea. In place of the smooth sand, too,
we had sharp fragments of broken coral, which made travelling
exceedingly unpleasant. “Lord! my foot!” roared the doctor, fetching it
up for inspection, with a galvanic fling of the limb. A sharp splinter
had thrust itself into the flesh through a hole in his boot. My sandals
were worse yet; their soles taking a sort of fossil impression of
everything trod upon.

Turning round a bold sweep of the beach, we came upon a piece of fine,
open ground, with a fisherman’s dwelling in the distance, crowning a
knoll which rolled off into the water.

The hut proved to be a low, rude erection, very recently thrown up; for
the bamboos were still green as grass, and the thatching fresh and
fragrant as meadow hay. It was open upon three sides; so that, upon
drawing near, the domestic arrangements within were in plain sight. No
one was stirring; and nothing was to be seen but a clumsy old chest of
native workmanship, a few calabashes, and bundles of tappa hanging
against a post; and a heap of something, we knew not what, in a dark
corner. Upon close inspection, the doctor discovered it to be a loving
old couple, locked in each other’s arms, and rolled together in a tappa
mantle.

“Halloa! Darby!” he cried, shaking the one with a beard. But Darby
heeded him not; though Joan, a wrinkled old body, started up in
affright, and yelled aloud. Neither of us attempting to gag her, she
presently became quiet; and, after staring hard and asking some
unintelligible questions, she proceeded to rouse her still slumbering
mate.

What ailed him we could not tell; but there was no waking him. Equally
in vain were all his dear spouse’s cuffs, pinches, and other
endearments; he lay like a log, face up, snoring away like a cavalry
trumpeter.

“Here, my good woman,” said Long Ghost, “just let me try”; and, taking
the patient right by his nose, he so lifted him bodily into a sitting
position, and held him there until his eyes opened. When this event
came to pass, Darby looked round like one stupefied; and then,
springing to his feet, backed away into a corner, from which place we
became the objects of his earnest and respectful attention.

“Permit me, my dear Darby, to introduce to you my esteemed friend and
comrade, Paul,” said the doctor, gallanting me up with all the grimace
and flourish imaginable. Upon this, Darby began to recover his
faculties, and surprised us not a little by talking a few words of
English. So far as could be understood, they were expressive of his
having been aware that there were two “karhowrees” in the
neighbourhood; that he was glad to see us, and would have something for
us to eat in no time.

How he came by his English was explained to us before we left. Some
time previous, he had been a denizen of Papeetee, where the native
language is broidered over with the most classic sailor phrases. He
seemed to be quite proud of his residence there; and alluded to it in
the same significant way in which a provincial informs you that in his
time he has resided in the capital. The old fellow was disposed to be
garrulous; but being sharp-set, we told him to get breakfast; after
which we would hear his anecdotes. While employed among the calabashes,
the strange, antiquated fondness between these old semi-savages was
really amusing. I made no doubt that they were saying to each other,
“yes, my love”—“no, my life,” just in the same way that some young
couples do, at home.

They gave us a hearty meal; and while we were discussing its merits,
they assured us, over and over again, that they expected nothing in
return for their attentions; more: we were at liberty to stay as long
as we pleased; and as long as we did stay, their house and everything
they had was no longer theirs, but ours; still more: they themselves
were our slaves—the old lady, to a degree that was altogether
superfluous. This, now, is Tahitian hospitality! Self-immolation upon
one’s own hearthstone for the benefit of the guest.

The Polynesians carry their hospitality to an amazing extent. Let a
native of Waiurar, the westernmost part of Tahiti, make his appearance
as a traveller at Partoowye, the most easterly village of Imeeo; though
a perfect stranger, the inhabitants on all sides accost him at their
doorways, inviting him to enter, and make himself at home. But the
traveller passes on, examining every house attentively; until, at last,
he pauses before one which suits him, and then exclaiming, “ah, eda
maitai” (this one will do, I think), he steps in, and makes himself
perfectly at ease; flinging himself upon the mats, and very probably
calling for a nice young cocoa-nut, and a piece of toasted breadfruit,
sliced thin, and done brown.

Curious to relate, however, should a stranger carrying it thus bravely
be afterwards discovered to be without a house of his own, why, he may
thenceforth go a-begging for his lodgings. The “karhowrees,” or white
men, are exceptions to this rule. Thus it is precisely as in civilized
countries, where those who have houses and lands are incessantly bored
to death with invitations to come and live in other people’s houses;
while many a poor gentleman who inks the seams of his coat, and to whom
the like invitation would be really acceptable, may go and sue for it.
But to the credit of the ancient Tahitians, it should here be observed
that this blemish upon their hospitality is only of recent origin, and
was wholly unknown in old times. So told me, Captain Bob.

In Polynesia it is esteemed “a great hit” if a man succeed in marrying
into a family to which the best part of the community is related
(Heaven knows it is otherwise with us). The reason is that, when he
goes a-travelling, the greater number of houses are the more completely
at his service.

Receiving a paternal benediction from old Darby and Joan, we continued
our journey; resolved to stop at the very next place of attraction
which offered.

Nor did we long stroll for it. A fine walk along a beach of shells, and
we came to a spot where, trees here and there, the land was all meadow,
sloping away to the water, which stirred a sedgy growth of reeds
bordering its margin. Close by was a little cove, walled in with coral,
where a fleet of canoes was dancing up and down. A few paces distant,
on a natural terrace overlooking the sea, were several native
dwellings, newly thatched, and peeping into view out of the foliage
like summer-houses.

As we drew near, forth came a burst of voices, and, presently, three
gay girls, overflowing with life, health, and youth, and full of
spirits and mischief. One was arrayed in a flaunting robe of calico;
and her long black hair was braided behind in two immense tresses,
joined together at the ends, and wreathed with the green tendrils of a
vine. From her self-possessed and forward air, I fancied she might be
some young lady from Papeetee on a visit to her country relations. Her
companions wore mere slips of cotton cloth; their hair was dishevelled;
and though very pretty, they betrayed the reserve and embarrassment
characteristic of the provinces.

The little gipsy first mentioned ran up to me with great cordiality;
and, giving the Tahitian salutation, opened upon me such a fire of
questions that there was no understanding, much less answering them.
But our hearty welcome to Loohooloo, as she called the hamlet, was made
plain enough. Meanwhile, Doctor Long Ghost gallantly presented an arm
to each of the other young ladies; which, at first, they knew not what
to make of; but at last, taking it for some kind of joke, accepted the
civility.

The names of these three damsels were at once made known by themselves:
and being so exceedingly romantic, I cannot forbear particularizing
them. Upon my comrade’s arms, then, were hanging Night and Morning, in
the persons of Farnowar, or the Day-Born, and Earnoopoo, or the
Night-Born. She with the tresses was very appropriately styled
Marhar-Rarrar, the Wakeful, or Bright-Eyed.

By this time, the houses were emptied of the rest of their inmates—a
few old men and women, and several strapping young fellows rubbing
their eyes and yawning. All crowded round, putting questions as to
whence we came. Upon being informed of our acquaintance with Zeke, they
were delighted; and one of them recognized the boots worn by the
doctor. “Keekee (Zeke) maitai,” they cried, “nuee nuee hanna hanna
portarto”—(makes plenty of potatoes).

There was now a little friendly altercation as to who should have the
honour of entertaining the strangers. At last, a tall old gentleman, by
name Marharvai, with a bald head and white beard, took us each by the
hand, and led us into his dwelling. Once inside, Marharvai, pointing
about with his staff, was so obsequious in assuring us that his house
was ours that Long Ghost suggested he might as well hand over the deed.

It was drawing near noon; so after a light lunch of roasted breadfruit,
a few whiffs of a pipe, and some lively chatting, our host admonished
the company to lie down, and take the everlasting siesta. We complied;
and had a social nap all round.



CHAPTER LXVIII.
A DINNER-PARTY IN IMEEO


It was just in the middle of the merry, mellow afternoon that they
ushered us to dinner, underneath a green shelter of palm boughs; open
all round, and so low at the eaves that we stooped to enter.

Within, the ground was strewn over with aromatic ferns—called
“nahee”—freshly gathered; which, stirred underfoot, diffused the
sweetest odour. On one side was a row of yellow mats, inwrought with
fibres of bark stained a bright red. Here, seated after the fashion of
the Turk, we looked out, over a verdant bank, upon the mild, blue,
endless Pacific. So far round had we skirted the island that the view
of Tahiti was now intercepted.

Upon the ferns before us were laid several layers of broad, thick
“pooroo” leaves; lapping over, one upon the other. And upon these were
placed, side by side, newly-plucked banana leaves, at least two yards
in length, and very wide; the stalks were withdrawn so as to make them
lie flat. This green cloth was set out and garnished in the manner
following:—

First, a number of “pooroo” leaves, by way of plates, were ranged along
on one side; and by each was a rustic nut-bowl, half-filled with
sea-water, and a Tahitian roll, or small bread-fruit, roasted brown. An
immense flat calabash, placed in the centre, was heaped up with
numberless small packages of moist, steaming leaves: in each was a
small fish, baked in the earth, and done to a turn. This pyramid of a
dish was flanked on either side by an ornamental calabash. One was
brimming with the golden-hued “poee,” or pudding, made from the red
plantain of the mountains: the other was stacked up with cakes of the
Indian turnip, previously macerated in a mortar, kneaded with the milk
of the cocoa-nut, and then baked. In the spaces between the three
dishes were piled young cocoa-nuts, stripped of their husks. Their eyes
had been opened and enlarged; so that each was a ready-charged goblet.

There was a sort of side-cloth in one corner, upon which, in bright,
buff jackets, lay the fattest of bananas; “avees,” red-ripe: guavas
with the shadows of their crimson pulp flushing through a transparent
skin, and almost coming and going there like blushes; oranges, tinged,
here and there, berry-brown; and great, jolly melons, which rolled
about in very portliness. Such a heap! All ruddy, ripe, and
round—bursting with the good cheer of the tropical soil from which they
sprang!

“A land of orchards!” cried the doctor, in a rapture; and he snatched a
morsel from a sort of fruit of which gentlemen of the sanguine
temperament are remarkably fond; namely, the ripe cherry lips of Misa
Day-Born, who stood looking on.

Marharvai allotted seats to his guests; and the meal began. Thinking
that his hospitality needed some acknowledgment, I rose, and pledged
him in the vegetable wine of the cocoa-nut; merely repeating the
ordinary salutation, “Yar onor boyoee.” Sensible that some compliment,
after the fashion of white men, was paid him, with a smile, and a
courteous flourish of the hand, he bade me be seated. No people,
however refined, are more easy and graceful in their manners than the
Imeeose.

The doctor, sitting next our host, now came under his special
protection. Laying before his guest one of the packages of fish,
Marharvai opened it; and commended its contents to his particular
regards. But my comrade was one of those who, on convivial occasions,
can always take care of themselves. He ate an indefinite number of
“Pee-hee Lee Lees” (small fish), his own and next neighbour’s
bread-fruit; and helped himself, to right and left, with all the ease
of an accomplished diner-out.

“Paul,” said he, at last, “you don’t seem to be getting along; why
don’t you try the pepper sauce?” and, by way of example, he steeped a
morsel of food into his nutful of sea-water. On following suit, I found
it quite piquant, though rather bitter; but, on the whole, a capital
substitute for salt. The Imeeose invariably use sea-water in this way,
deeming it quite a treat; and considering that their country is
surrounded by an ocean of catsup, the luxury cannot be deemed an
expensive one.

The fish were delicious; the manner of cooking them in the ground
preserving all the juices, and rendering them exceedingly sweet and
tender. The plantain pudding was almost cloying; the cakes of Indian
turnip, quite palatable; and the roasted bread-fruit, crisp as toast.

During the meal, a native lad walked round and round the party,
carrying a long staff of bamboo. This he occasionally tapped upon the
cloth, before each guest; when a white clotted substance dropped forth,
with a savour not unlike that of a curd. This proved to be “Lownee,” an
excellent relish, prepared from the grated meat of ripe cocoa-nuts,
moistened with cocoa-nut milk and salt water, and kept perfectly tight
until a little past the saccharine stage of fermentation.

Throughout the repast there was much lively chatting among the
islanders, in which their conversational powers quite exceeded ours.
The young ladies, too, showed themselves very expert in the use of
their tongues, and contributed much to the gaiety which prevailed.

Nor did these lively nymphs suffer the meal to languish; for upon the
doctor’s throwing himself back, with an air of much satisfaction, they
sprang to their feet, and pelted him with oranges and guavas. This, at
last, put an end to the entertainment.

By a hundred whimsical oddities, my long friend became a great
favourite with these people; and they bestowed upon him a long, comical
title, expressive of his lank figure and Koora combined. The latter, by
the bye, never failed to excite the remark of everybody we encountered.

The giving of nicknames is quite a passion with the people of Tahiti
and Imeeo. No one with any peculiarity, whether of person or temper, is
exempt; not even strangers.

A pompous captain of a man-of-war, visiting Tahiti for the second time,
discovered that, among the natives, he went by the dignified title of
“Atee Poee”—literally, Poee Head, or Pudding Head. Nor is the highest
rank among themselves any protection. The first husband of the present
queen was commonly known in the court circles as “Pot Belly.” He
carried the greater part of his person before him, to be sure; and so
did the gentlemanly George IV.—but what a title for a king consort!

Even “Pomaree” itself, the royal patronymic, was, originally, a mere
nickname; and literally signifies, one talking through his nose. The
first monarch of that name, being on a war party, and sleeping
overnight among the mountains, awoke one morning with a cold in his
head; and some wag of a courtier had no more manners than to vulgarize
him thus.

How different from the volatile Polynesian in this, as in all other
respects, is our grave and decorous North American Indian. While the
former bestows a name in accordance with some humorous or ignoble
trait, the latter seizes upon what is deemed the most exalted or
warlike: and hence, among the red tribes, we have the truly patrician
appellations of “White Eagles,” “Young Oaks,” “Fiery Eyes,” and “Bended
Bows.”



CHAPTER LXIX.
THE COCOA-PALM


While the doctor and the natives were taking a digestive nap after
dinner, I strolled forth to have a peep at the country which could
produce so generous a meal.

To my surprise, a fine strip of land in the vicinity of the hamlet, and
protected seaward by a grove of cocoa-nut and bread-fruit trees, was
under high cultivation. Sweet potatoes, Indian turnips, and yams were
growing; also melons, a few pine-apples, and other fruits. Still more
pleasing was the sight of young bread-fruit and cocoa-nut trees set out
with great care, as if, for once, the improvident Polynesian had
thought of his posterity. But this was the only instance of native
thrift which ever came under my observation. For, in all my rambles
over Tahiti and Imeeo, nothing so much struck me as the comparative
scarcity of these trees in many places where they ought to abound.
Entire valleys, like Martair, of inexhaustible fertility are abandoned
to all the rankness of untamed vegetation. Alluvial flats bordering the
sea, and watered by streams from the mountains, are over-grown with a
wild, scrub guava-bush, introduced by foreigners, and which spreads
with such fatal rapidity that the natives, standing still while it
grows, anticipate its covering the entire island. Even tracts of clear
land, which, with so little pains, might be made to wave with orchards,
lie wholly neglected.

When I considered their unequalled soil and climate, thus unaccountably
slighted, I often turned in amazement upon the natives about Papeetee;
some of whom all but starve in their gardens run to waste. Upon other
islands which I have visited, of similar fertility, and wholly
unreclaimed from their first-discovered condition, no spectacle of this
sort was presented.

The high estimation in which many of their fruit-trees are held by the
Tahitians and Imeeose—their beauty in the landscape—their manifold
uses, and the facility with which they are propagated, are
considerations which render the remissness alluded to still more
unaccountable. The cocoa-palm is as an example; a tree by far the most
important production of Nature in the Tropics. To the Polynesians it is
emphatically the Tree of Life; transcending even the bread-fruit in the
multifarious uses to which it is applied.

Its very aspect is imposing. Asserting its supremacy by an erect and
lofty bearing, it may be said to compare with other trees as man with
inferior creatures.

The blessings it confers are incalculable. Year after year, the
islander reposes beneath its shade, both eating and drinking of its
fruit; he thatches his hut with its boughs, and weaves them into
baskets to carry his food; he cools himself with a fan platted from the
young leaflets, and shields his head from the sun by a bonnet of the
leaves; sometimes he clothes himself with the cloth-like substance
which wraps round the base of the stalks, whose elastic rods, strung
with filberts, are used as a taper; the larger nuts, thinned and
polished, furnish him with a beautiful goblet: the smaller ones, with
bowls for his pipes; the dry husks kindle his fires; their fibres are
twisted into fishing-lines and cords for his canoes; he heals his
wounds with a balsam compounded from the juice of the nut; and with the
oil extracted from its meat embalms the bodies of the dead.

The noble trunk itself is far from being valueless. Sawn into posts, it
upholds the islander’s dwelling; converted into charcoal, it cooks his
food; and supported on blocks of stone, rails in his lands. He impels
his canoe through the water with a paddle of the wood, and goes to
battle with clubs and spears of the same hard material.

In pagan Tahiti a cocoa-nut branch was the symbol of regal authority.
Laid upon the sacrifice in the temple, it made the offering sacred; and
with it the priests chastised and put to flight the evil spirits which
assailed them. The supreme majesty of Oro, the great god of their
mythology, was declared in the cocoa-nut log from which his image was
rudely carved. Upon one of the Tonga Islands, there stands a living
tree revered itself as a deity. Even upon the Sandwich Islands, the
cocoa-palm retains all its ancient reputation; the people there having
thought of adopting it as the national emblem.

The cocoa-nut is planted as follows: Selecting a suitable place, you
drop into the ground a fully ripe nut, and leave it. In a few days, a
thin, lance-like shoot forces itself through a minute hole in the
shell, pierces the husk, and soon unfolds three pale-green leaves in
the air; while originating, in the same soft white sponge which now
completely fills the nut, a pair of fibrous roots, pushing away the
stoppers which close two holes in an opposite direction, penetrate the
shell, and strike vertically into the ground. A day or two more, and
the shell and husk, which, in the last and germinating stage of the
nut, are so hard that a knife will scarcely make any impression,
spontaneously burst by some force within; and, henceforth, the hardy
young plant thrives apace; and needing no culture, pruning, or
attention of any sort, rapidly advances to maturity. In four or five
years it bears; in twice as many more, it begins to lift its head among
the groves, where, waxing strong, it flourishes for near a century.

Thus, as some voyager has said, the man who but drops one of these nuts
into the ground may be said to confer a greater and more certain
benefit upon himself and posterity than many a life’s toil in less
genial climes.

The fruitfulness of the tree is remarkable. As long as it lives it
bears, and without intermission. Two hundred nuts, besides innumerable
white blossoms of others, may be seen upon it at one time; and though a
whole year is required to bring any one of them to the germinating
point, no two, perhaps, are at one time in precisely the same stage of
growth.

The tree delights in a maritime situation. In its greatest perfection,
it is perhaps found right on the seashore, where its roots are actually
washed. But such instances are only met with upon islands where the
swell of the sea is prevented from breaking on the beach by an
encircling reef. No saline flavour is perceptible in the nut produced
in such a place. Although it bears in any soil, whether upland or
bottom, it does not flourish vigorously inland; and I have frequently
observed that, when met with far up the valley, its tall stem inclines
seaward, as if pining after a more genial region.

It is a curious fact that if you deprive the cocoa-nut tree of the
verdant tuft at its head, it dies at once; and if allowed to stand
thus, the trunk, which, when alive, is encased in so hard a bark as to
be almost impervious to a bullet, moulders away, and, in an incredibly
short period, becomes dust. This is, perhaps, partly owing to the
peculiar constitution of the trunk, a mere cylinder of minute hollow
reeds, closely packed, and very hard; but, when exposed at top,
peculiarly fitted to convey moisture and decay through the entire stem.

The finest orchard of cocoa-palms I know, and the only plantation of
them I ever saw at the islands, is one that stands right upon the
southern shore of Papeetee Bay. They were set out by the first Pomaree,
almost half a century ago; and the soil being especially adapted to
their growth, the noble trees now form a magnificent grove, nearly a
mile in extent. No other plant, scarcely a bush, is to be seen within
its precincts. The Broom Road passes through its entire length.

At noonday, this grove is one of the most beautiful, serene, witching
places that ever was seen. High overhead are ranges of green rustling
arches; through which the sun’s rays come down to you in sparkles. You
seem to be wandering through illimitable halls of pillars; everywhere
you catch glimpses of stately aisles, intersecting each other at all
points. A strange silence, too, reigns far and near; the air flushed
with the mellow stillness of a sunset.

But after the long morning calms, the sea-breeze comes in; and creeping
over the tops of these thousand trees, they nod their plumes. Soon the
breeze freshens; and you hear the branches brushing against each other;
and the flexible trunks begin to sway. Toward evening the whole grove
is rocking to and fro; and the traveller on the Broom Road is startled
by the frequent falling of the nuts, snapped from their brittle stems.
They come flying through the air, ringing like jugglers’ balls; and
often bound along the ground for many rods.



CHAPTER LXX.
LIFE AT LOOHOOLOO


Finding the society at Loohooloo very pleasant, the young ladies, in
particular, being extremely sociable; and, moreover, in love with the
famous good cheer of old Marharvai, we acquiesced in an invitation of
his to tarry a few days longer. We might then, he said, join a small
canoe party which was going to a place a league or two distant. So
averse to all exertion are these people that they really thought the
prospect of thus getting rid of a few miles’ walking would prevail with
us, even if there were no other inducement.

The people of the hamlet, as we soon discovered, formed a snug little
community of cousins; of which our host seemed the head. Marharvai, in
truth, was a petty chief who owned the neighbouring lands. And as the
wealthy, in most cases, rejoice in a numerous kindred, the family
footing upon which everybody visited him was, perhaps, ascribable to
the fact of his being the lord of the manor. Like Captain Bob, he was,
in some things, a gentleman of the old school—a stickler for the
customs of a past and pagan age.

Nowhere else, except in Tamai, did we find the manners of the natives
less vitiated by recent changes. The old-fashioned Tahitian dinner they
gave us on the day of our arrival was a fair sample of their general
mode of living.

Our time passed delightfully. The doctor went his way, and I mine. With
a pleasant companion, he was forever strolling inland, ostensibly to
collect botanical specimens; while I, for the most part, kept near the
sea; sometimes taking the girls on an aquatic excursion in a canoe.

Often we went fishing; not dozing over stupid hooks and lines, but
leaping right into the water, and chasing our prey over the coral
rocks, spear in hand.

Spearing fish is glorious sport. The Imeeose, all round the island,
catch them in no other way. The smooth shallows between the reef and
the shore, and, at low water, the reef itself, being admirably adapted
to this mode of capturing them. At almost any time of the day—save ever
the sacred hour of noon—you may see the fish-hunters pursuing their
sport; with loud halloos, brandishing their spears, and splashing
through the water in all directions. Sometimes a solitary native is
seen, far out upon a lonely shallow, wading slowly along, with eye
intent and poised spear.

But the best sport of all is going out upon the great reef itself by
torch-light. The natives follow this recreation with as much spirit as
a gentleman of England does the chase; and take full as much delight in
it.

The torch is nothing more than a bunch of dry reeds, bound firmly
together: the spear, a long, light pole, with an iron head, on one side
barbed.

I shall never forget the night that old Marharvai and the rest of us,
paddling off to the reef, leaped at midnight upon the coral ledges with
waving torches and spears. We were more than a mile from the land; the
sullen ocean, thundering upon the outside of the rocks, dashed the
spray in our faces, almost extinguishing the flambeaux; and, far as the
eye could reach, the darkness of sky and water was streaked with a
long, misty line of foam, marking the course of the coral barrier. The
wild fishermen, flourishing their weapons, and yelling like so many
demons to scare their prey, sprang from ledge to ledge, and sometimes
darted their spears in the very midst of the breakers.

But fish-spearing was not the only sport we had at Loohooloo. Right on
the beach was a mighty old cocoa-nut tree, the roots of which had been
underwashed by the waves so that the trunk inclined far over its base.
From the tuft of the tree a stout cord of bark depended, the end of
which swept the water several yards from the shore. This was a Tahitian
swing. A native lad seizes hold of the cord, and, after swinging to and
fro quite leisurely, all at once sends himself fifty or sixty feet from
the water, rushing through the air like a rocket. I doubt whether any
of our rope-dancers would attempt the feat. For my own part, I had
neither head nor heart for it; so, after sending a lad aloft with an
additional cord, by way of security, I constructed a large basket of
green boughs, in which I and some particular friends of mine used to
swing over sea and land by the hour.



CHAPTER LXXI.
WE START FOR TALOO


Bright was the morning, and brighter still the smiles of the young
ladies who accompanied us, when we sprang into a sort of family
canoe—wide and roomy—and bade adieu to the hospitable Marharvai and his
tenantry. As we paddled away, they stood upon the beach, waving their
hands, and crying out, “aroha! aroha!” (farewell! farewell!) as long as
we were within hearing.

Very sad at parting with them, we endeavoured, nevertheless, to console
ourselves in the society of our fellow-passengers. Among these were two
old ladies; but as they said nothing to us, we will say nothing about
them; nor anything about the old men who managed the canoe. But of the
three mischievous, dark-eyed young witches who lounged in the stern of
that comfortable old island gondola, I have a great deal to say.

In the first place, one of them was Marhar-Rarrar, the Bright-Eyed;
and, in the second place, neither she nor the romps, her companions,
ever dreamed of taking the voyage until the doctor and myself announced
our intention; their going along was nothing more than a madcap frolic;
in short, they were a parcel of wicked hoydens, bent on mischief, who
laughed in your face when you looked sentimental, and only tolerated
your company when making merry at your expense.

Something or other about us was perpetually awaking their mirth.
Attributing this to his own remarkable figure, the doctor increased
their enjoyment by assuming the part of a Merry Andrew. Yet his cap and
bells never jingled but to some tune; and while playing the Tom-fool, I
more than suspected that he was trying to play the rake. At home, it is
deemed auspicious to go a-wooing in epaulets; but among the
Polynesians, your best dress in courting is motley.

A fresh breeze springing up, we set our sail of matting, and glided
along as tranquilly as if floating upon an inland stream; the white
reef on one hand, and the green shore on the other.

Soon, as we turned a headland, we encountered another canoe, paddling
with might and main in an opposite direction; the strangers shouting to
each other, and a tall fellow in the bow dancing up and down like a
crazy man. They shot by us like an arrow, though our fellow-voyagers
shouted again and again for them to cease paddling.

According to the natives, this was a kind of royal mail-canoe, carrying
a message from the queen to her friends in a distant part of the
island.

Passing several shady bowers which looked quite inviting, we proposed
touching, and diversifying the monotony of a sea-voyage by a stroll
ashore. So, forcing our canoe among the bushes, behind a decayed palm
lying partly in the water, we left the old folks to take a nap in the
shade, and gallanted the others among the trees, which were here
trellised with vines and creeping shrubs.

In the early part of the afternoon, we drew near the place to which the
party were going. It was a solitary house inhabited by four or five old
women, who, when we entered, were gathered in a circle about the mats,
eating poee from a cracked calabash. They seemed delighted at seeing
our companions, but rather drew up when introduced to ourselves. Eyeing
us distrustfully, they whispered to know who we were. The answers they
received were not satisfactory; for they treated us with marked
coolness and reserve, and seemed desirous of breaking off our
acquaintance with the girls. Unwilling, therefore, to stay where our
company was disagreeable, we resolved to depart without even eating a
meal.

Informed of this, Marhar-Rarrar and her companions evinced the most
lively concern; and equally unmindful of their former spirits, and the
remonstrances of the old ladies, broke forth into sobs and lamentations
which were not to be withstood. We agreed, therefore, to tarry until
they left for home; which would be at the “Aheharar,” or Falling of the
Sun; in other words, at sunset.

When the hour arrived, after much leave-taking, we saw them safely
embarked. As the canoe turned a bluff, they seized the paddles from the
hands of the old men, and waved them silently in the air. This was
meant for a touching farewell, as the paddle is only waved thus when
the parties separating never more expect to meet.

We now continued our journey; and, following the beach, soon came to a
level and lofty overhanging bank, which, planted here and there with
trees, took a broad sweep round a considerable part of the island.

A fine pathway skirted the edge of the bank; and often we paused to
admire the scenery. The evening was still and fair, even for so
heavenly a climate; and all round, as far as the eye could reach, was
the blending blue sky and ocean.

As we went on, the reef-belt still accompanied us; turning as we
turned, and thundering its distant bass upon the ear, like the unbroken
roar of a cataract. Dashing forever against their coral rampart, the
breakers looked, in the distance, like a line of rearing white
chargers, reined in, tossing their white manes, and bridling with foam.

These great natural breakwaters are admirably designed for the
protection of the land. Nearly all the Society Islands are defended by
them. Were the vast swells of the Pacific to break against the soft
alluvial bottoms which in many places border the sea, the soil would
soon be washed away, and the natives be thus deprived of their most
productive lands. As it is, the banks of no rivulet are firmer.

But the coral barriers answer another purpose. They form all the
harbours of this group, including the twenty-four round about the
shores of Tahiti. Curiously enough, the openings in the reefs, by which
alone vessels enter to their anchorage, are invariably opposite the
mouths of running streams: an advantage fully appreciated by the
mariner who touches for the purpose of watering his ship.

It is said that the fresh water of the land, mixing with the salts held
in solution by the sea, so acts upon the latter as to resist the
formation of the coral; and hence the breaks. Here and there, these
openings are sentinelled, as it were, by little fairy islets, green as
emerald, and waving with palms. Strangely and beautifully diversifying
the long line of breakers, no objects can strike the fancy more
vividly. Pomaree II., with a taste in watering-places truly Tahitian,
selected one of them as a royal retreat. We passed it on our journey.

Omitting several further adventures which befell us after leaving the
party from Loohooloo, we must now hurry on to relate what happened just
before reaching the place of our destination.



CHAPTER LXXII.
A DEALER IN THE CONTRABAND


It must have been at least the tenth day, reckoning from the Hegira,
that we found ourselves the guests of Varvy, an old hermit of an
islander who kept house by himself perhaps a couple of leagues from
Taloo.

A stone’s-cast from the beach there was a fantastic rock, moss-grown
and deep in a dell. It was insulated by a shallow brook, which,
dividing its waters, flowed on both sides until united below. Twisting
its roots round the rock, a gnarled “Aoa” spread itself overhead in a
wilderness of foliage; the elastic branch-roots depending from the
larger boughs insinuating themselves into every cleft, thus forming
supports to the parent stem. In some places these pendulous branches,
half-grown, had not yet reached the rock; swinging their loose fibrous
ends in the air like whiplashes.

Varvy’s hut, a mere coop of bamboos, was perched upon a level part of
the rock, the ridge-pole resting at one end in a crotch of the “Aoa,”
and the other propped by a forked bough planted in a fissure.

Notwithstanding our cries as we drew near, the first hint the old
hermit received of our approach was the doctor’s stepping up and
touching his shoulder, as he was kneeling over on a stone cleaning fish
in the brook. He leaped up, and stared at us. But with a variety of
uncouth gestures, he soon made us welcome; informing us, by the same
means, that he was both deaf and dumb; he then motioned us into his
dwelling.

Going in, we threw ourselves upon an old mat, and peered round. The
soiled bamboos and calabashes looked so uninviting that the doctor was
for pushing on to Taloo that night, notwithstanding it was near sunset.
But at length we concluded to stay where we were.

After a good deal of bustling outside under a decrepit shed, the old
man made his appearance with our supper. In one hand he held a
flickering taper, and in the other, a huge, flat calabash, scantily
filled with viands. His eyes were dancing in his head, and he looked
from the calabash to us, and from us to the calabash, as much as to
say, “Ah, my lads, what do ye think of this, eh? Pretty good cheer,
eh?” But the fish and Indian turnip being none of the best, we made but
a sorry meal. While discussing it, the old man tried hard to make
himself understood by signs; most of which were so excessively
ludicrous that we made no doubt he was perpetrating a series of
pantomimic jokes.

The remnants of the feast removed, our host left us for a moment,
returning with a calabash of portly dimensions and furnished with a
long, hooked neck, the mouth of which was stopped with a wooden plug.
It was covered with particles of earth, and looked as if just taken
from some place underground.

With sundry winks and horrible giggles peculiar to the dumb, the
vegetable demijohn was now tapped; the old fellow looking round
cautiously, and pointing at it; as much as to intimate that it
contained something which was “taboo,” or forbidden.

Aware that intoxicating liquors were strictly prohibited to the
natives, we now watched our entertainer with much interest. Charging a
cocoa-nut shell, he tossed it off, and then filling up again, presented
the goblet to me. Disliking the smell, I made faces at it; upon which
he became highly excited; so much so that a miracle was wrought upon
the spot. Snatching the cup from my hands, he shouted out, “Ah,
karhowree sabbee lee-lee ena arva tee maitai!” in other words, what a
blockhead of a white man! this is the real stuff!

We could not have been more startled had a frog leaped from his mouth.
For an instant, he looked confused enough himself; and then placing a
finger mysteriously upon his mouth, he contrived to make us understand
that at times he was subject to a suspension of the powers of speech.

Deeming the phenomenon a remarkable one, every way, the doctor desired
him to open his mouth so that he might have a look down. But he
refused.

This occurrence made us rather suspicious of our host; nor could we
afterward account for his conduct, except by supposing that his
feigning dumbness might in some way or other assist him in the
nefarious pursuits in which it afterwards turned out that he was
engaged. This conclusion, however, was not altogether satisfactory.

To oblige him, we at last took a sip of his “arva tee,” and found it
very crude, and strong as Lucifer. Curious to know whence it was
obtained, we questioned him; when, lighting up with pleasure, he seized
the taper, and led us outside the hut, bidding us follow.

After going some distance through the woods, we came to a dismantled
old shed of boughs, apparently abandoned to decay. Underneath, nothing
was to be seen but heaps of decaying leaves and an immense, clumsy jar,
wide-mouthed, and by some means, rudely hollowed out from a ponderous
stone.

Here, for a while, we were left to ourselves; the old man placing the
light in the jar, and then disappearing. He returned, carrying a long,
large bamboo, and a crotched stick. Throwing these down, he poked under
a pile of rubbish, and brought out a rough block of wood, pierced
through and through with a hole, which was immediately clapped on the
top of the jar. Then planting the crotched stick upright about two
yards distant, and making it sustain one end of the bamboo, he inserted
the other end of the latter into the hole in the block: concluding
these arrangements by placing an old calabash under the farther end of
the bamboo.

Coming up to us now with a sly, significant look, and pointing
admiringly at his apparatus, he exclaimed, “Ah, karhowree, ena
hannahanna arva tee!” as much as to say, “This, you see, is the way
it’s done.”

His contrivance was nothing less than a native still, where he
manufactured his island “poteen.” The disarray in which we found it was
probably intentional, as a security against detection. Before we left
the shed, the old fellow toppled the whole concern over, and dragged it
away piecemeal.

His disclosing his secret to us thus was characteristic of the “Tootai
Owrees,” or contemners of the missionaries among the natives; who,
presuming that all foreigners are opposed to the ascendancy of the
missionaries, take pleasure in making them confidants, whenever the
enactments of their rulers are secretly set at nought.

The substance from which the liquor is produced is called “Tee,” which
is a large, fibrous root, something like yam, but smaller. In its green
state, it is exceedingly acrid; but boiled or baked, has the sweetness
of the sugar-cane. After being subjected to the fire, macerated and
reduced to a certain stage of fermentation, the “Tee” is stirred up
with water, and is then ready for distillation.

On returning to the hut, pipes were introduced; and, after a while,
Long Ghost, who, at first, had relished the “Arva Tee” as little as
myself, to my surprise, began to wax sociable over it, with Varvy; and,
before long, absolutely got mellow, the old toper keeping him company.

It was a curious sight. Everyone knows that, so long as the occasion
lasts, there is no stronger bond of sympathy and good feeling among men
than getting tipsy together. And how earnestly, nay, movingly, a brace
of worthies, thus employed, will endeavour to shed light upon, and
elucidate their mystical ideas!

Fancy Varvy and the doctor, then, lovingly tippling, and brimming over
with a desire to become better acquainted; the doctor politely bent
upon carrying on the conversation in the language of his host, and the
old hermit persisting in trying to talk English. The result was that,
between the two, they made such a fricassee of vowels and consonants
that it was enough to turn one’s brain.

The next morning, on waking, I heard a voice from the tombs. It was the
doctor solemnly pronouncing himself a dead man. He was sitting up, with
both hands clasped over his forehead, and his pale face a thousand
times paler than ever.

“That infernal stuff has murdered me!” he cried. “Heavens! my head’s
all wheels and springs, like the automaton chess-player! What’s to be
done, Paul? I’m poisoned.”

But, after drinking a herbal draught concocted by our host, and eating
a light meal, at noon, he felt much better; so much so that he declared
himself ready to continue our journey.

When we came to start, the Yankee’s boots were missing; and, after a
diligent search, were not to be found. Enraged beyond measure, their
proprietor said that Varvy must have stolen them; but, considering his
hospitality, I thought this extremely improbable; though to whom else
to impute the theft I knew not. The doctor maintained, however, that
one who was capable of drugging an innocent traveller with “Arva Tee”
was capable of anything.

But it was in vain that he stormed, and Varvy and I searched; the boots
were gone.

Were it not for this mysterious occurrence, and Varvy’s detestable
liquors, I would here recommend all travellers going round by the beach
to Partoowye to stop at the Rock, and patronize the old gentleman—the
more especially as he entertains gratis.



CHAPTER LXXIII.
OUR RECEPTION IN PARTOOWYE


Upon starting, at last, I flung away my sandals—by this time quite worn
out—with the view of keeping company with the doctor, now forced to go
barefooted. Recovering his spirits in good time, he protested that
boots were a bore after all, and going without them decidedly manly.

This was said, be it observed, while strolling along over a soft carpet
of grass; a little moist, even at midday, from the shade of the wood
through which we were passing.

Emerging from this we entered upon a blank, sandy tract, upon which the
sun’s rays fairly flashed; making the loose gravel under foot well nigh
as hot as the floor of an oven. Such yelling and leaping as there was
in getting over this ground would be hard to surpass. We could not have
crossed at all—until toward sunset—had it not been for a few small,
wiry bushes growing here and there, into which we every now and then
thrust our feet to cool. There was no little judgment necessary in
selecting your bush; for if not chosen judiciously, the chances were
that, on springing forward again, and finding the next bush so far off
that an intermediate cooling was indispensable, you would have to run
back to your old place again.

Safely passing the Sahara, or Fiery Desert, we soothed our
half-blistered feet by a pleasant walk through a meadow of long grass,
which soon brought us in sight of a few straggling houses, sheltered by
a grove on the outskirts of the village of Partoowye.

My comrade was for entering the first one we came to; but, on drawing
near, they had so much of an air of pretension, at least for native
dwellings, that I hesitated; thinking they might be the residences of
the higher chiefs, from whom no very extravagant welcome was to be
anticipated.

While standing irresolute, a voice from the nearest house hailed us:
“Aramai! aramai, karhowree!” (Come in! come in, strangers!)

We at once entered, and were warmly greeted. The master of the house
was an aristocratic-looking islander, dressed in loose linen drawers, a
fine white shirt, and a sash of red silk tied about the waist, after
the fashion of the Spaniards in Chili. He came up to us with a free,
frank air, and, striking his chest with his hand, introduced himself as
Ereemear Po-Po; or, to render the Christian name back again into
English—Jeremiah Po-Po.

These curious combinations of names among the people of the Society
Islands originate in the following way. When a native is baptized, his
patronymic often gives offence to the missionaries, and they insist
upon changing to something else whatever is objectionable therein. So,
when Jeremiah came to the font, and gave his name as Narmo-Nana Po-Po
(something equivalent to The-Darer-of-Devils-by-Night), the reverend
gentleman officiating told him that such a heathenish appellation would
never do, and a substitute must be had; at least for the devil part of
it. Some highly respectable Christian appellations were then submitted,
from which the candidate for admission into the church was at liberty
to choose. There was Adamo (Adam), Nooar (Noah), Daveedar (David),
Earcobar (James), Eorna (John), Patoora (Peter), Ereemear (Jeremiah),
etc. And thus did he come to be named Jeremiah Po-Po; or,
Jeremiah-in-the-Dark—which he certainly was, I fancy, as to the
ridiculousness of his new cognomen.

We gave our names in return; upon which he bade us be seated; and,
sitting down himself, asked us a great many questions, in mixed English
and Tahitian. After giving some directions to an old man to prepare
food, our host’s wife, a large, benevolent-looking woman, upwards of
forty, also sat down by us. In our soiled and travel-stained
appearance, the good lady seemed to find abundant matter for
commiseration; and all the while kept looking at us piteously, and
making mournful exclamations.

But Jeremiah and his spouse were not the only inmates of the mansion.

In one corner, upon a large native couch, elevated upon posts, reclined
a nymph; who, half-veiled in her own long hair, had yet to make her
toilet for the day. She was the daughter of Po-Po; and a very beautiful
little daughter she was; not more than fourteen; with the most
delightful shape—like a bud just blown; and large hazel eyes. They
called her Loo; a name rather pretty and genteel, and therefore quite
appropriate; for a more genteel and lady-like little damsel there was
not in all Imeeo.

She was a cold and haughty young beauty though, this same little Loo,
and never deigned to notice us; further than now and then to let her
eyes float over our persons, with an expression of indolent
indifference. With the tears of the Loohooloo girls hardly dry from
their sobbing upon our shoulders, this contemptuous treatment stung us
not a little.

When we first entered, Po-Po was raking smooth the carpet of dried
ferns which had that morning been newly laid; and now that our meal was
ready, it was spread on a banana leaf, right upon this fragrant floor.
Here we lounged at our ease, eating baked pig and breadfruit off
earthen plates, and using, for the first time in many a long month,
real knives and forks.

These, as well as other symptoms of refinement, somewhat abated our
surprise at the reserve of the little Loo; her parents, doubtless, were
magnates in Partoowye, and she herself was an heiress.

After being informed of our stay in the vale of Martair, they were very
curious to know on what errand we came to Taloo. We merely hinted that
the ship lying in the harbour was the reason of our coming.

Arfretee, Po-Po’s wife, was a right motherly body. The meal over, she
recommended a nap; and upon our waking much refreshed, she led us to
the doorway, and pointed down among the trees; through which we saw the
gleam of water. Taking the hint, we repaired thither; and finding a
deep shaded pool, bathed, and returned to the house. Our hostess now
sat down by us; and after looking with great interest at the doctor’s
cloak, felt of my own soiled and tattered garments for the hundredth
time, and exclaimed plaintively—“Ah nuee nuee olee manee! olee manee!”
(Alas! they are very, very old! very old!)

When Arfretee, good soul, thus addressed us, she thought she was
talking very respectable English. The word “nuee” is so familiar to
foreigners throughout Polynesia, and is so often used by them in their
intercourse with the natives, that the latter suppose it to be common
to all mankind. “Olee manee” is the native pronunciation of “old man,”
which, by Society Islanders talking Saxon, is applied indiscriminately
to all aged things and persons whatsoever.

Going to a chest filled with various European articles, she took out
two suits of new sailor frocks and trousers; and presenting them with a
gracious smile, pushed us behind a calico screen, and left us. Without
any fastidious scruples, we donned the garments; and what with the
meal, the nap, and the bath, we now came forth like a couple of
bridegrooms.

Evening drawing on, lamps were lighted. They were very simple; the half
of a green melon, about one third full of cocoa-nut oil, and a wick of
twisted tappa floating on the surface. As a night lamp, this
contrivance cannot be excelled; a soft dreamy light being shed through
the transparent rind.

As the evening advanced, other members of the household, whom as yet we
had not seen, began to drop in. There was a slender young dandy in a
gay striped shirt, and whole fathoms of bright figured calico tucked
about his waist, and falling to the ground. He wore a new straw hat
also with three distinct ribbons tied about the crown; one black, one
green, and one pink. Shoes or stockings, however, he had none.

There were a couple of delicate, olive-cheeked little girls—twins—with
mild eyes and beautiful hair, who ran about the house, half-naked, like
a couple of gazelles. They had a brother, somewhat younger—a fine dark
boy, with an eye like a woman’s. All these were the children of Po-Po,
begotten in lawful wedlock.

Then there were two or three queer-looking old ladies, who wore shabby
mantles of soiled sheeting, which fitted so badly, and withal had such
a second-hand look that I at once put their wearers down as domestic
paupers—poor relations, supported by the bounty of My Lady Arfretee.
They were sad, meek old bodies; said little and ate less; and either
kept their eyes on the ground, or lifted them up deferentially. The
semi-civilization of the island must have had something to do with
making them what they were.

I had almost forgotten Monee, the grinning old man who prepared our
meal. His head was a shining, bald globe. He had a round little paunch,
and legs like a cat. He was Po-Po’s factotum—cook, butler, and climber
of the bread-fruit and cocoa-nut trees; and, added to all else, a
mighty favourite with his mistress; with whom he would sit smoking and
gossiping by the hour.

Often you saw the indefatigable Monee working away at a great rate;
then dropping his employment all at once—never mind what—run off to a
little distance, and after rolling himself away in a corner and taking
a nap, jump up again, and fall to with fresh vigour.

From a certain something in the behaviour of Po-Po and his household, I
was led to believe that he was a pillar of the church; though, from
what I had seen in Tahiti, I could hardly reconcile such a supposition
with his frank, cordial, unembarrassed air. But I was not wrong in my
conjecture: Po-Po turned out to be a sort of elder, or deacon; he was
also accounted a man of wealth, and was nearly related to a high chief.

Before retiring, the entire household gathered upon the floor; and in
their midst, he read aloud a chapter from a Tahitian Bible. Then
kneeling with the rest of us, he offered up a prayer. Upon its
conclusion, all separated without speaking. These devotions took place
regularly, every night and morning. Grace too was invariably said, by
this family, both before and after eating.

After becoming familiarized with the almost utter destitution of
anything like practical piety upon these islands, what I observed in
our host’s house astonished me much. But whatever others might have
been, Po-Po was, in truth, a Christian: the only one, Arfretee
excepted, whom I personally knew to be such, among all the natives of
Polynesia.



CHAPTER LXXIV.
RETIRING FOR THE NIGHT—THE DOCTOR GROWS DEVOUT


They put us to bed very pleasantly.

Lying across the foot of Po-Po’s nuptial couch was a smaller one made
of Koar-wood; a thin, strong cord, twisted from the fibres of the husk
of the cocoa-nut, and woven into an exceedingly light sort of network,
forming its elastic body. Spread upon this was a single, fine mat, with
a roll of dried ferns for a pillow, and a strip of white tappa for a
sheet. This couch was mine. The doctor was provided for in another
corner.

Loo reposed alone on a little settee with a taper burning by her side;
the dandy, her brother, swinging overhead in a sailor’s hammock The two
gazelles frisked upon a mat near by; and the indigent relations
borrowed a scant corner of the old butler’s pallet, who snored away by
the open door. After all had retired, Po-Po placed the illuminated
melon in the middle of the apartment; and so, we all slumbered till
morning.

Upon awaking, the sun was streaming brightly through the open bamboos,
but no one was stirring. After surveying the fine attitudes into which
forgetfulness had thrown at least one of the sleepers, my attention was
called off to the general aspect of the dwelling, which was quite
significant of the superior circumstances of our host.

The house itself was built in the simple, but tasteful native style. It
was a long, regular oval, some fifty feet in length, with low sides of
cane-work, and a roof thatched with palmetto-leaves. The ridgepole was,
perhaps, twenty feet from the ground. There was no foundation whatever;
the bare earth being merely covered with ferns; a kind of carpeting
which serves very well, if frequently renewed; otherwise, it becomes
dusty, and the haunt of vermin, as in the huts of the poorer natives.

Besides the couches, the furniture consisted of three or four sailor
chests; in which were stored the fine wearing-apparel of the
household—the ruffled linen shirts of Po-Po, the calico dresses of his
wife and children, and divers odds and ends of European
articles—strings of beads, ribbons, Dutch looking-glasses, knives,
coarse prints, bunches of keys, bits of crockery, and metal buttons.
One of these chests—used as a bandbox by Arfretee—contained several of
the native hats (coal-scuttles), all of the same pattern, but trimmed
with variously-coloured ribbons. Of nothing was our good hostess more
proud than of these hats, and her dresses. On Sundays, she went abroad
a dozen times; and every time, like Queen Elizabeth, in a different
robe.

Po-Po, for some reason or other, always gave us our meals before the
rest of the family were served; and the doctor, who was very discerning
in such matters, declared that we fared much better than they. Certain
it was that, had Ereemear’s guests travelled with purses, portmanteau,
and letters of introduction to the queen, they could not have been
better cared for.

The day after our arrival, Monee, the old butler, brought us in for
dinner a small pig, baked in the ground. All savoury, it lay in a
wooden trencher, surrounded by roasted hemispheres of the breadfruit. A
large calabash, filled with taro pudding, or poee, followed; and the
young dandy, overcoming his customary languor, threw down our
cocoa-nuts from an adjoining tree.

When all was ready, and the household looking on, Long Ghost, devoutly
clasping his hands over the fated pig, implored a blessing. Hereupon,
everybody present looked exceedingly pleased; Po-Po coming up and
addressing the doctor with much warmth; and Arfretee, regarding him
with almost maternal affection, exclaimed delightedly, “Ah! mickonaree
tata matai!” in other words, “What a pious young man!”

It was just after this meal that she brought me a roll of grass sinnate
(of the kind which sailors sew into the frame of their tarpaulins), and
then, handing me needle and thread, bade me begin at once, and make
myself the hat which I so much needed. An accomplished hand at the
business, I finished it that day—merely stitching the braid together;
and Arfretee, by way of rewarding my industry, with her own olive hands
ornamented the crown with a band of flame-coloured ribbon; the two long
ends of which streaming behind, sailor-fashion, still preserved for me
the Eastern title bestowed by Long Ghost.



CHAPTER LXXV.
A RAMBLE THROUGH THE SETTLEMENT


The following morning, making our toilets carefully, we donned our
sombreros, and sallied out on a tour. Without meaning to reveal our
designs upon the court, our principal object was, to learn what chances
there were for white men to obtain employment under the queen. On this
head, it is true, we had questioned Po-Po; but his answers had been
very discouraging; so we determined to obtain further information
elsewhere.

But, first, to give some little description of the village.

The settlement of Partoowye is nothing more than some eighty houses,
scattered here and there, in the midst of an immense grove, where the
trees have been thinned out and the underbrush cleared away. Through
the grove flows a stream; and the principal avenue crosses it, over an
elastic bridge of cocoa-nut trunks, laid together side by side. The
avenue is broad, and serpentine; well shaded from one end to the other,
and as pretty a place for a morning promenade as any lounger could
wish. The houses, constructed without the slightest regard to the road,
peep into view from among the trees on either side: some looking you
right in the face as you pass, and others, without any manners, turning
their backs. Occasionally you observe a rural retreat, inclosed by a
picket of bamboos, or with a solitary pane of glass massively framed in
the broadside of the dwelling, or with a rude, strange-looking door,
swinging upon dislocated wooden hinges. Otherwise, the dwellings are
built in the original style of the natives; and never mind how mean and
filthy some of them may appear within, they all look picturesque enough
without.

As we sauntered along the people we met saluted us pleasantly, and
invited us into their houses; and in this way we made a good many brief
morning calls. But the hour could not have been the fashionable one in
Partoowye, since the ladies were invariably in dishabille. But they
always gave us a cordial reception, and were particularly polite to the
doctor; caressing him, and amorously hanging about his neck;
wonderfully taken up, in short, with a gay handkerchief he wore there.
Arfretee had that morning bestowed it upon the pious youth.

With some exceptions, the general appearance of the natives of
Partoowye was far better than that of the inhabitants of Papeetee: a
circumstance only to be imputed to their restricted intercourse with
foreigners.

Strolling on, we turned a sweep of the road, when the doctor gave a
start; and no wonder. Right before us, in the grove, was a block of
houses: regular square frames, boarded over, furnished with windows and
doorways, and two stories high. We ran up and found them fast going to
decay: very dingy, and here and there covered with moss; no sashes, no
doors; and on one side, the entire block had settled down nearly a
foot. On going into the basement we looked clean up through the
unbearded timbers to the roof; where rays of light, glimmering through
many a chink, illuminated the cobwebs which swung all round.

The whole interior was dark and close. Burrowing among some old mats in
one corner, like a parcel of gipsies in a ruin, were a few vagabond
natives. They had their dwelling here.

Curious to know who on earth could have been thus trying to improve the
value of real estate in Partoowye, we made inquiries; and learned that
some years previous the block had been thrown up by a veritable Yankee
(one might have known that), a house-carpenter by trade, and a bold,
enterprising fellow by nature.

Put ashore from his ship, sick, he first went to work and got well;
then sallied out with chisel and plane, and made himself generally
useful. A sober, steady man, it seems, he at last obtained the
confidence of several chiefs, and soon filled them with all sorts of
ideas concerning the alarming want of public spirit in the people of
Imeeo. More especially did he dwell upon the humiliating fact of their
living in paltry huts of bamboo, when magnificent palaces of boards
might so easily be mortised together.

In the end, these representations so far prevailed with one old chief
that the carpenter was engaged to build a batch of these wonderful
palaces. Provided with plenty of men, he at once set to work: built a
saw-mill among the mountains, felled trees, and sent over to Papeetee
for nails.

Presto! the castle rose; but alas, the roof was hardly on, when the
Yankee’s patron, having speculated beyond his means, broke all to
pieces, and was absolutely unable to pay one “plug” of tobacco in the
pound. His failure involved the carpenter, who sailed away from his
creditors in the very next ship that touched at the harbour.

The natives despised the rickety palace of boards; and often lounged
by, wagging their heads, and jeering.

We were told that the queen’s residence was at the extreme end of the
village; so, without waiting for the doctor to procure a fiddle, we
suddenly resolved upon going thither at once, and learning whether any
privy counsellorships were vacant.

Now, although there was a good deal of my waggish comrade’s nonsense
about what has been said concerning our expectations of court
preferment, we, nevertheless, really thought that something to our
advantage might turn up in that quarter.

On approaching the palace grounds, we found them rather peculiar. A
broad pier of hewn coral rocks was built right out into the water; and
upon this, and extending into a grove adjoining, were some eight or ten
very large native houses, constructed in the handsomest style and
inclosed together by a low picket of bamboos, which embraced a
considerable area.

Throughout the Society Islands, the residences of the chiefs are mostly
found in the immediate vicinity of the sea; a site which gives them the
full benefit of a cooling breeze; nor are they so liable to the
annoyance of insects; besides enjoying, when they please, the fine
shade afforded by the neighbouring groves, always most luxuriant near
the water.

Lounging about the grounds were some sixty or eighty handsomely-dressed
natives, men and women; some reclining on the shady side of the houses,
others under the trees, and a small group conversing close by the
railing facing us.

We went up to the latter; and giving the usual salutation, were on the
point of vaulting over the bamboos, when they turned upon us angrily,
and said we could not enter. We stated our earnest desire to see the
queen; hinting that we were bearers of important dispatches. But it was
to no purpose; and not a little vexed, we were obliged to return to
Po-Po’s without effecting anything.



CHAPTER LXXVI.
AN ISLAND JILT—WE VISIT THE SHIP


Upon arriving home we fully laid open to Po-Po our motives in visiting
Taloo, and begged his friendly advice. In his broken English he
cheerfully gave us all the information we needed.

It was true, he said, that the queen entertained some idea of making a
stand against the French; and it was currently reported also that
several chiefs from Borabora, Huwyenee, Raiatair, and Tahar, the
leeward islands of the group, were at that very time taking counsel
with her as to the expediency of organizing a general movement
throughout the entire cluster, with a view of anticipating any further
encroachments on the part of the invaders. Should warlike measures be
actually decided upon, it was quite certain that Pomaree would be glad
to enlist all the foreigners she could; but as to her making officers
of either the doctor or me, that was out of the question; because,
already, a number of Europeans, well known to her, had volunteered as
such. Concerning our getting immediate access to the queen, Po-Po told
us it was rather doubtful; she living at that time very retired, in
poor health, and spirits, and averse to receiving calls. Previous to
her misfortunes, however, no one, however humble, was denied admittance
to her presence; sailors, even, attended her levees.

Not at all disheartened by these things, we concluded to kill time in
Partoowye until some event turned up more favourable to our projects.
So that very day we sallied out on an excursion to the ship which,
lying land-locked far up the bay, yet remained to be visited.

Passing on our route a long, low shed, a voice hailed us—“White men
ahoy!” Turning round, who should we see but a rosy-cheeked Englishman
(you could tell his country at a glance), up to his knees in shavings,
and planing away at a bench. He turned out to be a runaway ship’s
carpenter, recently from Tahiti, and now doing a profitable business in
Imeeo, by fitting up the dwellings of opulent chiefs with cupboards and
other conveniences, and once in a while trying his hand at a lady’s
work-box. He had been in the settlement but a few months, and already
possessed houses and lands.

But though blessed with prosperity and high health, there was one thing
wanting—a wife. And when he came to speak of the matter, his
countenance fell, and he leaned dejectedly upon his plane.

“It’s too bad!” he sighed, “to wait three long years; and all the
while, dear little Lullee living in the same house with that infernal
chief from Tahar!”

Our curiosity was piqued; the poor carpenter, then, had been falling in
love with some island coquette, who was going to jilt him.

But such was not the case. There was a law prohibiting, under a heavy
penalty, the marriage of a native with a foreigner, unless the latter,
after being three years a resident on the island, was willing to affirm
his settled intention of remaining for life.

William was therefore in a sad way. He told us that he might have
married the girl half-a-dozen times, had it not been for this odious
law: but, latterly, she had become less loving and more giddy,
particularly with the strangers from Tahar. Desperately smitten, and
desirous of securing her at all hazards, he had proposed to the
damsel’s friends a nice little arrangement, introductory to marriage;
but they would not hear of it; besides, if the pair were discovered
living together upon such a footing, they would be liable to a
degrading punishment:—sent to work making stone walls and opening roads
for the queen.

Doctor Long Ghost was all sympathy. “Bill, my good fellow,” said he,
tremulously, “let me go and talk to her.” But Bill, declining the
offer, would not even inform us where his charmer lived.

Leaving the disconsolate Willie planing a plank of New Zealand pine (an
importation from the Bay of Islands), and thinking the while of Lullee,
we went on our way. How his suit prospered in the end we never learned.

Going from Po-Po’s house toward the anchorage of the harbour of Taloo,
you catch no glimpse of the water until, coming out from deep groves,
you all at once find yourself upon the beach. A bay, considered by many
voyagers the most beautiful in the South Seas, then lies before you.
You stand upon one side of what seems a deep green river, flowing
through mountain passes to the sea. Right opposite a majestic
promontory divides the inlet from another, called after its discoverer,
Captain Cook. The face of this promontory toward Taloo is one verdant
wall; and at its base the waters lie still and fathomless. On the left
hand, you just catch a peep of the widening mouth of the bay, the break
in the reef by which ships enter, and, beyond, the sea. To the right,
the inlet, sweeping boldly round the promontory, runs far away into the
land; where, save in one direction, the hills close in on every side,
knee-deep in verdure and shooting aloft in grotesque peaks. The open
space lies at the head of the bay; in the distance it extends into a
broad hazy plain lying at the foot of an amphitheatre of hills. Here is
the large sugar plantation previously alluded to. Beyond the first
range of hills, you descry the sharp pinnacles of the interior; and
among these, the same silent Marling-spike which we so often admired
from the other side of the island.

All alone in the harbour lay the good ship Leviathan. We jumped into
the canoe, and paddled off to her. Though early in the afternoon,
everything was quiet; but upon mounting the side we found four or five
sailors lounging about the forecastle, under an awning. They gave us no
very cordial reception; and though otherwise quite hearty in
appearance, seemed to assume a look of ill-humour on purpose to honour
our arrival. There was much eagerness to learn whether we wanted to
“ship”; and by the unpleasant accounts they gave of the vessel, they
seemed desirous to prevent such a thing if possible.

We asked where the rest of the ship’s company were; a gruff old fellow
made answer, “One boat’s crew of ’em is gone to Davy Jones’s
locker:—went off after a whale, last cruise, and never come back agin.
All the starboard watch ran away last night, and the skipper’s ashore
kitching ’em.”

“And it’s shipping yer after, my jewels, is it?” cried a curly-pated
little Belfast sailor, coming up to us, “thin arrah! my livelies, jist
be after sailing ashore in a jiffy:—the divil of a skipper will carry
yees both to sea, whether or no. Be off wid ye thin, darlints, and
steer clear of the likes of this ballyhoo of blazes as long as ye live.
They murther us here every day, and starve us into the bargain. Here,
Dick, lad, har! the poor divil’s canow alongside; and paddle away wid
yees for dear life.”

But we loitered awhile, listening to more inducements to ship; and at
last concluded to stay to supper. My sheath-knife never cut into better
sea-beef than that which we found lying in the kid in the forecastle.
The bread, too, was hard, dry, and brittle as glass; and there was
plenty of both.

While we were below, the mate of the vessel called out for someone to
come on deck. I liked his voice. Hearing it was as good as a look at
his face. It betokened a true sailor, and no taskmaster.

The appearance of the Leviathan herself was quite pleasing. Like all
large, comfortable old whalers, she had a sort of motherly look:—broad
in the beam, flush decks, and four chubby boats hanging at the breast.
Her sails were furled loosely upon the yards, as if they had been worn
long, and fitted easy; her shrouds swung negligently slack; and as for
the “running rigging,” it never worked hard as it does in some of your
“dandy ships,” jamming in the sheaves of blocks, like Chinese slippers,
too small to be useful: on the contrary, the ropes ran glibly through,
as if they had many a time travelled the same road, and were used to
it.

When evening came, we dropped into our canoe, and paddled ashore; fully
convinced that the good ship never deserved the name which they gave
her.



CHAPTER LXXVII.
A PARTY OF ROVERS—LITTLE LOO AND THE DOCTOR


While in Partoowye, we fell in with a band of six veteran rovers,
prowling about the village and harbour, who had just come overland from
another part of the island.

A few weeks previous, they had been paid off, at Papeetee, from a
whaling vessel, on board of which they had, six months before, shipped
for a single cruise; that is to say, to be discharged at the next port.
Their cruise was a famous one; and each man stepped upon the beach at
Tahiti jingling his dollars in a sock.

Weary at last of the shore, and having some money left, they clubbed,
and purchased a sail-boat; proposing a visit to a certain uninhabited
island, concerning which they had heard strange and golden stories. Of
course, they never could think of going to sea without a medicine-chest
filled with flasks of spirits, and a small cask of the same in the hold
in case the chest should give out.

Away they sailed; hoisted a flag of their own, and gave three times
three, as they staggered out of the bay of Papeetee with a strong
breeze, and under all the “muslin” they could carry.

Evening coming on, and feeling in high spirits and no ways disposed to
sleep, they concluded to make a night of it; which they did; all hands
getting tipsy, and the two masts going over the side about midnight, to
the tune of

“Sailing down, sailing down, On the coast of Barbaree.”

Fortunately, one worthy could stand by holding on to the tiller; and
the rest managed to crawl about, and hack away the lanyards of the
rigging, so as to break clear from the fallen spars. While thus
employed, two sailors got tranquilly over the side, and went plumb to
the bottom, under the erroneous impression that they were stepping upon
an imaginary wharf to get at their work better.

After this, it blew quite a gale; and the commodore, at the helm,
instinctively kept the boat before the wind; and by so doing, ran over
for the opposite island of Imeeo. Crossing the channel, by almost a
miracle they went straight through an opening in the reef, and shot
upon a ledge of coral, where the waters were tolerably smooth. Here
they lay until morning, when the natives came off to them in their
canoes. By the help of the islanders, the schooner was hove over on her
beam-ends; when, finding the bottom knocked to pieces, the adventurers
sold the boat for a trifle to the chief of the district, and went
ashore, rolling before them their precious cask of spirits. Its
contents soon evaporated, and they came to Partoowye.

The day after encountering these fellows, we were strolling among the
groves in the neighbourhood, when we came across several parties of
natives armed with clumsy muskets, rusty cutlasses, and outlandish
clubs. They were beating the bushes, shouting aloud, and apparently
trying to scare somebody. They were in pursuit of the strangers, who,
having in a single night set at nought all the laws of the place, had
thought best to decamp.

In the daytime, Po-Po’s house was as pleasant a lounge as one could
wish. So, after strolling about, and seeing all there was to be seen,
we spent the greater part of our mornings there; breakfasting late, and
dining about two hours after noon. Sometimes we lounged on the floor of
ferns, smoking, and telling stories; of which the doctor had as many as
a half-pay captain in the army. Sometimes we chatted, as well as we
could, with the natives; and, one day—joy to us!—Po-Po brought in three
volumes of Smollett’s novels, which had been found in the chest of a
sailor, who some time previous had died on the island.

Amelia!—Peregrine!—you hero of rogues, Count Fathom!—what a debt do we
owe you!

I know not whether it was the reading of these romances, or the want of
some sentimental pastime, which led the doctor, about this period, to
lay siege to the heart of the little Loo.

Now, as I have said before, the daughter of Po-Po was most cruelly
reserved, and never deigned to notice us. Frequently I addressed her
with a long face and an air of the profoundest and most distant
respect—but in vain; she wouldn’t even turn up her pretty olive nose.
Ah! it’s quite plain, thought I; she knows very well what graceless
dogs sailors are, and won’t have anything to do with us.

But thus thought not my comrade. Bent he was upon firing the cold
glitter of Loo’s passionless eyes.

He opened the campaign with admirable tact: making cautious approaches,
and content, for three days, with ogling the nymph for about five
minutes after every meal. On the fourth day, he asked her a question;
on the fifth, she dropped a nut of ointment, and he picked it up and
gave it to her; on the sixth, he went over and sat down within three
yards of the couch where she lay; and, on the memorable morn of the
seventh, he proceeded to open his batteries in form.

The damsel was reclining on the ferns; one hand supporting her cheek,
and the other listlessly turning over the leaves of a Tahitian Bible.
The doctor approached.

Now the chief disadvantage under which he laboured was his almost
complete ignorance of the love vocabulary of the island. But French
counts, they say, make love delightfully in broken English; and what
hindered the doctor from doing the same in dulcet Tahitian. So at it he
went.

“Ah!” said he, smiling bewitchingly, “oee mickonaree; oee ready
Biblee?”

No answer; not even a look.

“Ah I matai! very goody ready Biblee mickonaree.”

Loo, without stirring, began reading, in a low tone, to herself.

“Mickonaree Biblee ready goody maitai,” once more observed the doctor,
ingeniously transposing his words for the third time.

But all to no purpose; Loo gave no sign.

He paused, despairingly; but it would never do to give up; so he threw
himself at full length beside her, and audaciously commenced turning
over the leaves.

Loo gave a start, just one little start, barely perceptible, and then,
fumbling something in her hand, lay perfectly motionless; the doctor
rather frightened at his own temerity, and knowing not what to do next.
At last, he placed one arm cautiously about her waist; almost in the
same instant he bounded to his feet, with a cry; the little witch had
pierced him with a thorn. But there she lay, just as quietly as ever,
turning over the leaves, and reading to herself.

My long friend raised the siege incontinently, and made a disorderly
retreat to the place where I reclined, looking on.

I am pretty sure that Loo must have related this occurrence to her
father, who came in shortly afterward; for he looked queerly at the
doctor. But he said nothing; and, in ten minutes, was quite as affable
as ever. As for Loo, there was not the slightest change in her; and the
doctor, of course, for ever afterwards held his peace.



CHAPTER LXXVIII.
MRS. BELL


One day, taking a pensive afternoon stroll along one of the many
bridle-paths which wind among the shady groves in the neighbourhood of
Taloo, I was startled by a sunny apparition. It was that of a beautiful
young Englishwoman, charmingly dressed, and mounted upon a spirited
little white pony. Switching a green branch, she came cantering toward
me.

I looked round to see whether I could possibly be in Polynesia. There
were the palm-trees; but how to account for the lady?

Stepping to one side as the apparition drew near, I made a polite
obeisance. It gave me a bold, rosy look; and then, with a gay air,
patted its palfrey, crying out, “Fly away, Willie!” and galloped among
the trees.

I would have followed; but Willie’s heels were making such a pattering
among the dry leaves that pursuit would have been useless.

So I went straight home to Po-Po’s, and related my adventure to the
doctor.

The next day, our inquiries resulted in finding out that the stranger
had been on the island about two years; that she came from Sydney; and
was the wife of Mr. Bell (happy dog!), the proprietor of the sugar
plantation to which I have previously referred.

To the sugar plantation we went, the same day.

The country round about was very beautiful: a level basin of verdure,
surrounded by sloping hillsides. The sugar-cane—of which there was
about one hundred acres, in various stages of cultivation—looked
thrifty. A considerable tract of land, however, which seemed to have
been formerly tilled, was now abandoned.

The place where they extracted the saccharine matter was under an
immense shed of bamboos. Here we saw several clumsy pieces of machinery
for breaking the cane; also great kettles for boiling the sugar. But,
at present, nothing was going on. Two or three natives were lounging in
one of the kettles, smoking; the other was occupied by three sailors
from the Leviathan, playing cards.

While we were conversing with these worthies, a stranger approached. He
was a sun-burnt, romantic-looking European, dressed in a loose suit of
nankeen; his fine throat and chest were exposed, and he sported a
Guayaquil hat with a brim like a Chinese umbrella. This was Mr. Bell.
He was very civil; showed us the grounds, and, taking us into a sort of
arbour, to our surprise, offered to treat us to some wine. People often
do the like; but Mr. Bell did more: he produced the bottle. It was
spicy sherry; and we drank out of the halves of fresh citron melons.
Delectable goblets!

The wine was a purchase from, the French in Tahiti.

Now all this was extremely polite in Mr. Bell; still, we came to see
Mrs. Bell. But she proved to be a phantom, indeed; having left the same
morning for Papeetee, on a visit to one of the missionaries’ wives
there.

I went home, much chagrined.

To be frank, my curiosity had been wonderfully piqued concerning the
lady. In the first place, she was the most beautiful white woman I ever
saw in Polynesia. But this is saying nothing. She had such eyes, such
moss-roses in her cheeks, such a divine air in the saddle, that, to my
dying day, I shall never forget Mrs. Bell.

The sugar-planter himself was young, robust, and handsome. So, merrily
may the little Bells increase, and multiply, and make music in the Land
of Imeeo.



CHAPTER LXXIX.
TALOO CHAPEL—HOLDING COURT IN POLYNESIA


In Partoowye is to be seen one of the best-constructed and handsomest
chapels in the South Seas. Like the buildings of the palace, it stands
upon an artificial pier, presenting a semicircular sweep to the bay.
The chapel is built of hewn blocks of coral; a substance which,
although extremely friable, is said to harden by exposure to the
atmosphere. To a stranger, these blocks look extremely curious. Their
surface is covered with strange fossil-like impressions, the seal of
which must have been set before the flood. Very nearly white when hewn
from the reefs, the coral darkens with age; so that several churches in
Polynesia now look almost as sooty and venerable as famed St. Paul’s.

In shape, the chapel is an octagon, with galleries all round. It will
seat, perhaps, four hundred people. Everything within is stained a
tawny red; and there being but few windows, or rather embrasures, the
dusky benches and galleries, and the tall spectre of a pulpit look
anything but cheerful.

On Sundays we always went to worship here. Going in the family suite of
Po-Po, we, of course, maintained a most decorous exterior; and hence,
by all the elderly people of the village, were doubtless regarded as
pattern young men.

Po-Po’s seat was in a snug corner; and it being particularly snug, in
the immediate vicinity of one of the Palm pillars supporting the
gallery, I invariably leaned against it: Po-Po and his lady on one
side, the doctor and the dandy on the other, and the children and poor
relations seated behind.

As for Loo, instead of sitting (as she ought to have done) by her good
father and mother, she must needs run up into the gallery, and sit with
a parcel of giddy creatures of her own age; who, all through the
sermon, did nothing but look down on the congregation; pointing out,
and giggling at the queer-looking old ladies in dowdy bonnets and scant
tunics. But Loo, herself, was never guilty of these improprieties.

Occasionally during the week they have afternoon service in the chapel,
when the natives themselves have something to say; although their
auditors are but few. An introductory prayer being offered by the
missionary, and a hymn sung, communicants rise in their places, and
exhort in pure Tahitian, and with wonderful tone and gesture. And among
them all, Deacon Po-Po, though he talked most, was the one whom you
would have liked best to hear. Much would I have given to have
understood some of his impassioned bursts; when he tossed his arms
overhead, stamped, scowled, and glared, till he looked like the very
Angel of Vengeance.

“Deluded man!” sighed the doctor, on one of these occasions, “I fear he
takes the fanatical view of the subject.” One thing was certain: when
Po-Po spoke, all listened; a great deal more than could be said for the
rest; for under the discipline of two or three I could mention, some of
the audience napped; others fidgeted; a few yawned; and one irritable
old gentleman, in a nightcap of cocoa-nut leaves, used to clutch his
long staff in a state of excessive nervousness, and stride out of the
church, making all the noise he could, to emphasize his disgust.

Right adjoining the chapel is an immense, rickety building, with
windows and shutters, and a half-decayed board flooring laid upon
trunks of palm-trees. They called it a school-house; but as such we
never saw it occupied. It was often used as a court-room, however; and
here we attended several trials; among others, that of a decayed naval
officer, and a young girl of fourteen; the latter charged with having
been very naughty on a particular occasion set forth in the pleadings;
and the former with having aided and abetted her in her naughtiness,
and with other misdemeanours.

The foreigner was a tall, military-looking fellow, with a dark cheek
and black whiskers. According to his own account, he had lost a
colonial armed brig on the coast of New Zealand; and since then, had
been leading the life of a man about town among the islands of the
Pacific.

The doctor wanted to know why he did not go home and report the loss of
his brig; but Captain Crash, as they called him, had some
incomprehensible reasons for not doing so, about which he could talk by
the hour, and no one be any the wiser. Probably he was a discreet man,
and thought it best to waive an interview with the lords of the
admiralty.

For some time past, this extremely suspicious character had been
carrying on the illicit trade in French wines and brandies, smuggled
over from the men-of-war lately touching at Tahiti. In a grove near the
anchorage he had a rustic shanty and arbour, where, in quiet times,
when no ships were in Taloo, a stray native once in a while got boozy,
and staggered home, catching at the cocoa-nut trees as he went. The
captain himself lounged under a tree during the warm afternoons, pipe
in mouth; thinking, perhaps, over old times, and occasionally feeling
his shoulders for his lost epaulets.

But, sail ho! a ship is descried coming into the bay. Soon she drops
her anchor in its waters; and the next day Captain Crash entertains the
sailors in his grove. And rare times they have of it:—drinking and
quarrelling together as sociably as you please.

Upon one of these occasions, the crew of the Leviathan made so
prodigious a tumult that the natives, indignant at the insult offered
their laws, plucked up a heart, and made a dash at the rioters, one
hundred strong. The sailors fought like tigers; but were at last
overcome, and carried before a native tribunal; which, after a mighty
clamour, dismissed everybody but Captain Crash, who was asserted to be
the author of the disorders.

Upon this charge, then, he had been placed in confinement against the
coming on of the assizes; the judge being expected to lounge along in
the course of the afternoon. While waiting his Honour’s arrival,
numerous additional offences were preferred against the culprit (mostly
by the old women); among others was the bit of a slip in which he stood
implicated along with the young lady. Thus, in Polynesia as
elsewhere;—charge a man with one misdemeanour, and all his peccadilloes
are raked up and assorted before him.

Going to the school-house for the purpose of witnessing the trial, the
din of it assailed our ears a long way off; and upon entering the
building, we were almost stunned. About five hundred natives were
present; each apparently having something to say and determined to say
it. His Honour—a handsome, benevolent-looking old man—sat cross-legged
on a little platform, seemingly resigned, with all Christian
submission, to the uproar. He was an hereditary chief in this quarter
of the island, and judge for life in the district of Partoowye.

There were several cases coming on; but the captain and girl were first
tried together. They were mixing freely with the crowd; and as it
afterwards turned out that everyone—no matter who—had a right to
address the court, for aught we knew they might have been arguing their
own case. At what precise moment the trial began it would be hard to
say. There was no swearing of witnesses, and no regular jury. Now and
then somebody leaped up and shouted out something which might have been
evidence; the rest, meanwhile, keeping up an incessant jabbering.
Presently the old judge himself began to get excited; and springing to
his feet, ran in among the crowd, wagging his tongue as hard as
anybody.

The tumult lasted about twenty minutes; and toward the end of it,
Captain Crash might have been seen, tranquilly regarding, from his
Honour’s platform, the judicial uproar, in which his fate was about
being decided.

The result of all this was that both he and the girl were found guilty.
The latter was adjudged to make six mats for the queen; and the former,
in consideration of his manifold offences, being deemed incorrigible,
was sentenced to eternal banishment from the island. Both these decrees
seemed to originate in the general hubbub. His Honour, however,
appeared to have considerable authority, and it was quite plain that
the decision received his approval.

The above penalties were by no means indiscriminately inflicted. The
missionaries have prepared a sort of penal tariff to facilitate
judicial proceedings. It costs so many days’ labour on the Broom Road
to indulge in the pleasures of the calabash; so many fathoms of stone
wall to steal a musket; and so on to the end of the catalogue. The
judge being provided with a book in which all these matters are
cunningly arranged, the thing is vastly convenient. For instance: a
crime is proved,—say bigamy; turn to letter B—and there you have it.
Bigamy:—forty days on the Broom Road, and twenty mats for the queen.
Read the passage aloud, and sentence is pronounced.

After taking part in the first trial, the other delinquents present
were put upon their own; in which, also, the convicted culprits seemed
to have quite as much to say as the rest. A rather strange proceeding;
but strictly in accordance with the glorious English principle, that
every man should be tried by his peers. They were all found guilty.



CHAPTER LXXX.
QUEEN POMAREE


It is well to learn something about people before being introduced to
them, and so we will here give some account of Pomaree and her family.

Every reader of Cook’s Voyages must remember “Otto,” who, in that
navigator’s time, was king of the larger peninsula of Tahiti.
Subsequently, assisted by the muskets of the Bounty’s men, he extended
his rule over the entire island. This Otto, before his death, had his
name changed into Pomaree, which has ever since been the royal
patronymic.

He was succeeded by his son, Pomaree II., the most famous prince in the
annals of Tahiti. Though a sad debauchee and drunkard, and even charged
with unnatural crimes, he was a great friend of the missionaries, and
one of their very first proselytes. During the religious wars into
which he was hurried by his zeal for the new faith, he was defeated and
expelled from the island. After a short exile he returned from Imeeo,
with an army of eight hundred warriors, and in the battle of Narii
routed the rebellious pagans with great slaughter, and reestablished
himself upon the throne. Thus, by force of arms, was Christianity
finally triumphant in Tahiti.

Pomaree II., dying in 1821, was succeeded by his infant son, under the
title of Pomaree III. This young prince survived his father but six
years; and the government then descended to his elder sister, Aimata,
the present queen, who is commonly called Pomaree Vahinee I., or the
first female Pomaree. Her majesty must be now upwards of thirty years
of age. She has been twice married. Her first husband was a son of the
old King of Tahar, an island about one hundred miles from Tahiti. This
proving an unhappy alliance, the pair were soon afterwards divorced.
The present husband of the queen is a chief of Imeeo.

The reputation of Pomaree is not what it ought to be. She, and also her
mother, were, for a long time, excommunicated members of the Church;
and the former, I believe, still is. Among other things, her conjugal
fidelity is far from being unquestioned. Indeed, it was upon this
ground chiefly that she was excluded from the communion of the Church.

Previous to her misfortunes she spent the greater portion of her time
sailing about from one island to another, attended by a licentious
court; and wherever she went all manner of games and festivities
celebrated her arrival.

She was always given to display. For several years the maintenance of a
regiment of household troops drew largely upon the royal exchequer.
They were trouserless fellows, in a uniform of calico shirts and
pasteboard hats; armed with muskets of all shapes and calibres, and
commanded by a great noisy chief, strutting it in a coat of fiery red.
These heroes escorted their mistress whenever she went abroad.

Some time ago, the queen received from her English sister, Victoria, a
very showy, though uneasy, head-dress—a crown; probably made to order
at some tinman’s in London. Having no idea of reserving so pretty a
bauble for coronation days, which come so seldom, her majesty sported
it whenever she appeared in public; and, to show her familiarity with
European customs, politely touched it to all foreigners of
distinction—whaling captains, and the like—whom she happened to meet in
her evening walk on the Broom Road.

The arrival and departure of royalty were always announced at the
palace by the court artilleryman—a fat old gentleman who, in a
prodigious hurry and perspiration, discharged minute fowling-pieces as
fast as he could load and fire the same.

The Tahitian princess leads her husband a hard life. Poor fellow! he
not only caught a queen, but a Tartar, when he married her. The style
by which he is addressed is rather significant—“Pomaree-Tanee”
(Pomaree’s man). All things considered, as appropriate a title for a
king-consort as could be hit upon.

If ever there were a henpecked husband, that man is the prince. One
day, his carasposa giving audience to a deputation from the captains of
the vessels lying in Papeetee, he ventured to make a suggestion which
was very displeasing to her. She turned round and, boxing his ears,
told him to go over to his beggarly island of Imeeo if he wanted to
give himself airs.

Cuffed and contemned, poor Tanee flies to the bottle, or rather to the
calabash, for solace. Like his wife and mistress, he drinks more than
he ought.

Six or seven years ago, when an American man-of-war was lying at
Papeetee, the town was thrown into the greatest commotion by a conjugal
assault and battery made upon the sacred person of Pomaree by her
intoxicated Tanee.

Captain Bob once told me the story. And by way of throwing more spirit
into the description, as well as to make up for his oral deficiencies,
the old man went through the accompanying action: myself being proxy
for the Queen of Tahiti.

It seems that, on a Sunday morning, being dismissed contemptuously from
the royal presence, Tanee was accosted by certain good fellows, friends
and boon companions, who condoled with him on his misfortunes—railed
against the queen, and finally dragged him away to an illicit vendor of
spirits, in whose house the party got gloriously mellow. In this state,
Pomaree Vahinee I. was the topic upon which all dilated—“A vixen of a
queen,” probably suggested one. “It’s infamous,” said another; “and I’d
have satisfaction,” cried a third. “And so I will!”—Tanee must have
hiccoughed; for off he went; and ascertaining that his royal half was
out riding, he mounted his horse and galloped after her.

Near the outskirts of the town, a cavalcade of women came cantering
toward him, in the centre of which was the object of his fury. Smiting
his beast right and left, he dashed in among them, completely
overturning one of the party, leaving her on the field, and dispersing
everybody else except Pomaree. Backing her horse dexterously, the
incensed queen heaped upon him every scandalous epithet she could think
of; until at last the enraged Tanee leaped out of his saddle, caught
Pomaree by her dress, and dragging her to the earth struck her
repeatedly in the face, holding on meanwhile by the hair of her head.
He was proceeding to strangle her on the spot, when the cries of the
frightened attendants brought a crowd of natives to the rescue, who
bore the nearly insensible queen away.

But his frantic rage was not yet sated. He ran to the palace; and
before it could be prevented, demolished a valuable supply of crockery,
a recent present from abroad. In the act of perpetrating some other
atrocity, he was seized from behind, and carried off with rolling eyes
and foaming at the mouth.

This is a fair example of a Tahitian in a passion. Though the mildest
of mortals in general, and hard to be roused, when once fairly up, he
is possessed with a thousand devils.

The day following, Tanee was privately paddled over to Imeeo in a
canoe; where, after remaining in banishment for a couple of weeks, he
was allowed to return, and once more give in his domestic adhesion.

Though Pomaree Vahinee I. be something of a Jezebel in private life, in
her public rule she is said to have been quite lenient and forbearing.
This was her true policy; for an hereditary hostility to her family had
always lurked in the hearts of many powerful chiefs, the descendants of
the old Kings of Taiarboo, dethroned by her grandfather Otoo. Chief
among these, and in fact the leader of his party, was Poofai; a bold,
able man, who made no secret of his enmity to the missionaries, and the
government which they controlled. But while events were occurring
calculated to favour the hopes of the disaffected and turbulent, the
arrival of the French gave a most unexpected turn to affairs.

During my sojourn in Tahiti, a report was rife—which I knew to
originate with what is generally called the “missionary party”—that
Poofai and some other chiefs of note had actually agreed, for a
stipulated bribe, to acquiesce in the appropriation of their country.
But subsequent events have rebutted the calumny. Several of these very
men have recently died in battle against the French.

Under the sovereignty of the Pomarees, the great chiefs of Tahiti were
something like the barons of King John. Holding feudal sway over their
patrimonial valleys, and on account of their descent, warmly beloved by
the people, they frequently cut off the royal revenues by refusing to
pay the customary tribute due from them as vassals.

The truth is, that with the ascendancy of the missionaries, the regal
office in Tahiti lost much of its dignity and influence. In the days of
Paganism, it was supported by all the power of a numerous priesthood,
and was solemnly connected with the entire superstitious idolatry of
the land. The monarch claimed to be a sort of bye-blow of Tararroa, the
Saturn of the Polynesian mythology, and cousin-german to inferior
deities. His person was thrice holy; if he entered an ordinary
dwelling, never mind for how short a time, it was demolished when he
left; no common mortal being thought worthy to inhabit it afterward.

“I’m a greater man than King George,” said the incorrigible young Otoo
to the first missionaries; “he rides on a horse, and I on a man.” Such
was the case. He travelled post through his dominions on the shoulders
of his subjects; and relays of mortal beings were provided in all the
valleys.

But alas! how times have changed; how transient human greatness. Some
years since, Pomaree Vahinee I., the granddaughter of the proud Otoo,
went into the laundry business; publicly soliciting, by her agents, the
washing of the linen belonging to the officers of ships touching in her
harbours.

It is a significant fact, and one worthy of record, that while the
influence of the English missionaries at Tahiti has tended to so great
a diminution of the regal dignity there, that of the American
missionaries at the Sandwich Islands has been purposely exerted to
bring about a contrary result.



CHAPTER LXXXI.
WE VISIT THE COURT


It was about the middle of the second month of the Hegira, and
therefore some five weeks after our arrival in Partoowye, that we at
last obtained admittance to the residence of the queen.

It happened thus. There was a Marquesan in the train of Pomaree who
officiated as nurse to her children. According to the Tahitian custom,
the royal youngsters are carried about until it requires no small
degree of strength to stand up under them. But Marbonna was just the
man for this—large and muscular, well made as a statue, and with an arm
like a degenerate Tahitian’s thigh.

Embarking at his native island as a sailor on board of a French whaler,
he afterward ran away from the ship at Tahiti; where, being seen and
admired by Pomaree, he had been prevailed upon to enlist in her
service.

Often, when visiting the grounds, we saw him walking about in the
shade, carrying two handsome boys, who encircled his neck with their
arms. Marbonna’s face, tattooed as it was in the ornate style of his
tribe, was as good as a picture-book to these young Pomarees. They
delighted to trace with their fingers the outlines of the strange
shapes there delineated.

The first time my eyes lighted upon the Marquesan, I knew his country
in a moment; and hailing him in his own language, he turned round,
surprised that a person so speaking should be a stranger. He proved to
be a native of Tior, a glen of Nukuheva. I had visited the place more
than once; and so, on the island of Imeeo, we met like old friends.

In my frequent conversations with him over the bamboo picket, I found
this islander a philosopher of nature—a wild heathen, moralizing upon
the vices and follies of the Christian court of Tahiti—a savage,
scorning the degeneracy of the people among whom fortune had thrown
him.

I was amazed at the national feelings of the man. No European, when
abroad, could speak of his country with more pride than Marbonna. He
assured me, again and again, that so soon as he had obtained sufficient
money to purchase twenty muskets, and as many bags of powder, he was
going to return to a place with which Imeeo was not worthy to be
compared.

It was Marbonna who, after one or two unsuccessful attempts, at last
brought about our admission into the queen’s grounds. Through a
considerable crowd he conducted us along the pier to where an old man
was sitting, to whom he introduced us as a couple of “karhowrees” of
his acquaintance, anxious to see the sights of the palace. The
venerable chamberlain stared at us, and shook his head: the doctor,
thinking he wanted a fee, placed a plug of tobacco in his hand. This
was ingratiating, and we were permitted to pass on. Upon the point of
entering one of the houses, Marbonna’s name was shouted in half-a-dozen
different directions, and he was obliged to withdraw.

Thus left at the very threshold to shift for ourselves, my companion’s
assurance stood us in good stead. He stalked right in, and I followed.
The place was full of women, who, instead of exhibiting the surprise we
expected, accosted us as cordially as if we had called to take our
Souchong with them by express invitation. In the first place, nothing
would do but we must each devour a calabash of “poee,” and several
roasted bananas. Pipes were then lighted, and a brisk conversation
ensued.

These ladies of the court, if not very polished, were surprisingly free
and easy in their manners; quite as much so as King Charles’s beauties.
There was one of them—an arch little miss, who could converse with us
pretty fluently—to whom we strove to make ourselves particularly
agreeable, with the view of engaging her services as cicerone.

As such, she turned out to be everything we could desire. No one
disputing her will, every place was entered without ceremony, curtains
brushed aside, mats lifted, and each nook and corner explored. Whether
the little damsel carried her mistress’ signet, that everything opened
to her thus, I know not; but Marbonna himself, the bearer of infants,
could not have been half so serviceable.

Among other houses which we visited, was one of large size and fine
exterior; the special residence of a European—formerly the mate of a
merchant vessel,—who had done himself the honour of marrying into the
Pomaree family. The lady he wedded being a near kinswoman of the queen,
he became a permanent member of her majesty’s household. This
adventurer rose late, dressed theatrically in calico and trinkets,
assumed a dictatorial tone in conversation, and was evidently upon
excellent terms with himself.

We found him reclining on a mat, smoking a reed-pipe of tobacco, in the
midst of an admiring circle of chiefs and ladies. He must have noticed
our approach; but instead of rising and offering civilities, he went on
talking and smoking, without even condescending to look at us.

“His Highness feels his ‘poee,’” carelessly observed the doctor. The
rest of the company gave us the ordinary salutation, our guide
announcing us beforehand.

In answer to our earnest requests to see the queen, we were now
conducted to an edifice, by far the most spacious, in the inclosure. It
was at least one hundred and fifty feet in length, very wide, with low
eaves, and an exceedingly steep roof of pandannas leaves. There were
neither doors nor windows—nothing along the sides but the slight posts
supporting the rafters. Between these posts, curtains of fine matting
and tappa were rustling, all round; some of them were festooned, or
partly withdrawn, so as to admit light and air, and afford a glimpse
now and then of what was going on within.

Pushing aside one of the screens, we entered. The apartment was one
immense hall; the long and lofty ridge-pole fluttering with fringed
matting and tassels, full forty feet from the ground. Lounges of mats,
piled one upon another, extended on either side: while here and there
were slight screens, forming as many recesses, where groups of
natives—all females—were reclining at their evening meal.

As we advanced, these various parties ceased their buzzing, and in
explanation of our appearance among them, listened to a few cabalistic
words from our guide.

The whole scene was a strange one; but what most excited our surprise
was the incongruous assemblage of the most costly objects from all
quarters of the globe. Cheek by jowl, they lay beside the rudest native
articles, without the slightest attempt at order. Superb writing-desks
of rosewood, inlaid with silver and mother-of-pearl; decanters and
goblets of cut glass; embossed volumes of plates; gilded candelabra;
sets of globes and mathematical instruments; the finest porcelain;
richly-mounted sabres and fowling-pieces; laced hats and sumptuous
garments of all sorts, with numerous other matters of European
manufacture, were strewn about among greasy calabashes half-filled with
“poee,” rolls of old tappa and matting, paddles and fish-spears, and
the ordinary furniture of a Tahitian dwelling.

All the articles first mentioned were, doubtless, presents from foreign
powers. They were more or less injured: the fowling-pieces and swords
were rusted; the finest woods were scratched; and a folio volume of
Hogarth lay open, with a cocoa-nut shell of some musty preparation
capsized among the miscellaneous furniture of the Rake’s apartment,
where that inconsiderate young gentleman is being measured for a coat.

While we were amusing ourselves in this museum of curiosities, our
conductor plucked us by the sleeve, and whispered, “Pomaree! Pomaree!
armai kow kow.”

“She is coming to sup, then,” said the doctor, staring in the direction
indicated. “What say you, Paul, suppose we step up?” Just then a
curtain near by lifted, and from a private building a few yards distant
the queen entered, unattended.

She wore a loose gown of blue silk, with two rich shawls, one red and
the other yellow, tied about her neck. Her royal majesty was
barefooted.

She was about the ordinary size, rather matronly; her features not very
handsome; her mouth, voluptuous; but there was a care-worn expression
in her face, probably attributable to her late misfortunes. From her
appearance, one would judge her about forty; but she is not so old.

As the queen approached one of the recesses, her attendants hurried up,
escorted her in, and smoothed the mats on which she at last reclined.
Two girls soon appeared, carrying their mistress’ repast; and then,
surrounded by cut-glass and porcelain, and jars of sweetmeats and
confections, Pomaree Vahinee I., the titular Queen of Tahiti, ate fish
and “poee” out of her native calabashes, disdaining either knife or
spoon.

“Come on,” whispered Long Ghost, “let’s have an audience at once;” and
he was on the point of introducing himself, when our guide, quite
alarmed, held him back and implored silence. The other natives also
interfered, and, as he was pressing forward, raised such an outcry that
Pomaree lifted her eyes and saw us for the first.

She seemed surprised and offended, and, issuing an order in a
commanding tone to several of her women, waved us out of the house.
Summary as the dismissal was, court etiquette, no doubt, required our
compliance. We withdrew; making a profound inclination as we
disappeared behind the tappa arras.

We departed the ground without seeing Marbonna; and previous to
vaulting over the picket, feed our pretty guide after a fashion of our
own. Looking round a few moments after, we saw the damsel escorted back
by two men, who seemed to have been sent after her. I trust she
received nothing more than a reprimand.

The next day Po-Po informed us that strict orders had been issued to
admit no strangers within the palace precincts.



CHAPTER LXXXII.
WHICH ENDS THE BOOK


Disappointed in going to court, we determined upon going to sea. It
would never do, longer to trespass on Po-Po’s hospitality; and then,
weary somewhat of life in Imeeo, like all sailors ashore, I at last
pined for the billows.

Now, if her crew were to be credited, the Leviathan was not the craft
to our mind. But I had seen the captain, and liked him. He was an
uncommonly tall, robust, fine-looking man, in the prime of life. There
was a deep crimson spot in the middle of each sunburnt cheek, doubtless
the effect of his sea-potations. He was a Vineyarder, or native of the
island of Martha’s Vineyard (adjoining Nantucket), and—I would have
sworn it—a sailor, and no tyrant.

Previous to this, we had rather avoided the Leviathan’s men, when they
came ashore; but now, we purposely threw ourselves in their way, in
order to learn more of the vessel.

We became acquainted with the third mate, a Prussian, and an old
merchant-seaman—a right jolly fellow, with a face like a ruby. We took
him to Po-Po’s, and gave him a dinner of baked pig and breadfruit; with
pipes and tobacco for dessert. The account he gave us of the ship
agreed with my own surmises. A cosier old craft never floated; and the
captain was the finest man in the world. There was plenty to eat, too;
and, at sea, nothing to do but sit on the windlass and sail. The only
bad trait about the vessel was this: she had been launched under some
baleful star; and so was a luckless ship in the fishery. She dropped
her boats into the brine often enough, and they frequently got fast to
the whales; but lance and harpoon almost invariably “drew” when darted
by the men of the Leviathan. But what of that? We would have all the
sport of chasing the monsters, with none of the detestable work which
follows their capture. So, hurrah for the coast of Japan! Thither the
ship was bound.

A word now about the hard stories we heard the first time we visited
the ship. They were nothing but idle fictions, got up by the sailors
for the purpose of frightening us away, so as to oblige the captain,
who was in want of more hands, to lie the longer in a pleasant harbour.

The next time the Vineyarder came ashore, we flung ourselves in his
path. When informed of our desire to sail with him, he wanted to know
our history; and, above all, what countrymen we were. We said that we
had left a whaler in Tahiti, some time previous; and, since then, had
been—in the most praiseworthy manner—employed upon a plantation. As for
our country, sailors belong to no nation in particular; we were, on
this occasion, both Yankees. Upon this he looked decidedly incredulous;
and freely told us that he verily believed we were both from Sydney.

Be it known here that American sea captains, in the Pacific, are
mortally afraid of these Sydney gentry; who, to tell the truth,
wherever known, are in excessively bad odour. Is there a mutiny on
board a ship in the South Seas, ten to one a Sydney man is the
ringleader. Ashore, these fellows are equally riotous.

It was on this account that we were anxious to conceal the fact of our
having belonged to the Julia, though it annoyed me much, thus to deny
the dashing little craft. For the same reason, also, the doctor fibbed
about his birthplace.

Unfortunately, one part of our raiment—Arfretee’s blue frocks—we deemed
a sort of collateral evidence against us. For, curiously enough, an
American sailor is generally distinguished by his red frock; and an
English tar by his blue one: thus reversing the national colours. The
circumstance was pointed out by the captain; and we quickly explained
the anomaly. But, in vain: he seemed inveterately prejudiced against
us; and, in particular, eyed the doctor most distrustfully.

By way of propping the tatter’s pretensions, I was throwing out a hint
concerning Kentucky, as a land of tall men, when our Vine-yarder turned
away abruptly, and desired to hear nothing more. It was evident that he
took Long Ghost for an exceedingly problematical character.

Perceiving this, I resolved to see what a private interview would do.
So, one afternoon, I found the captain smoking a pipe in the dwelling
of a portly old native—one Mai-Mai—who, for a reasonable compensation,
did the honours of Partoowye to illustrious strangers.

His guest had just risen from a sumptuous meal of baked pig and taro
pudding; and the remnants of the repast were still visible. Two reeking
bottles, also, with their necks wrenched off, lay upon the mat. All
this was encouraging; for, after a good dinner, one feels affluent and
amiable, and peculiarly open to conviction. So, at all events, I found
the noble Vineyarder.

I began by saying that I called for the purpose of setting him right
touching certain opinions of his concerning the place of my nativity:—I
was an American—thank heaven!—and wanted to convince him of the fact.

After looking me in the eye for some time, and, by so doing, revealing
an obvious unsteadiness in his own visual organs, he begged me to reach
forth my arm. I did so; wondering what upon earth that useful member
had to do with the matter in hand.

He placed his fingers upon my wrist; and holding them there for a
moment, sprang to his feet, and, with much enthusiasm, pronounced me a
Yankee, every beat of my pulse!

“Here, Mai-Mai!” he cried, “another bottle!” And, when it came, with
one stroke of a knife, he summarily beheaded it, and commanded me to
drain it to the bottom. He then told me that if I would come on board
his vessel the following morning, I would find the ship’s articles on
the cabin transom.

This was getting along famously. But what was to become of the doctor?

I forthwith made an adroit allusion to my long friend. But it was worse
than useless. The Vineyarder swore he would have nothing to do with
him—he (my long friend) was a “bird” from Sydney, and nothing would
make him (the man of little faith) believe otherwise.

I could not help loving the free-hearted captain; but indignant at this
most unaccountable prejudice against my comrade, I abruptly took leave.

Upon informing the doctor of the result of the interview, he was
greatly amused; and laughingly declared that the Vineyarder must be a
penetrating fellow. He then insisted upon my going to sea in the ship,
since he well knew how anxious I was to leave. As for himself, on
second thoughts, he was no sailor; and although “lands—’ men” very
often compose part of a whaler’s crew, he did not quite relish the idea
of occupying a position so humble. In short, he had made up his mind to
tarry awhile in Imeeo.

I turned the matter over: and at last decided upon quitting the island.
The impulse urging me to sea once more, and the prospect of eventually
reaching home, were too much to be resisted; especially as the
Leviathan, so comfortable a craft, was now bound on her last whaling
cruise, and, in little more than a year’s time, would be going round
Cape Horn.

I did not, however, covenant to remain in the vessel for the residue of
the voyage; which would have been needlessly binding myself. I merely
stipulated for the coming cruise, leaving my subsequent movements
unrestrained; for there was no knowing that I might not change my mind,
and prefer journeying home by short and easy stages.

The next day I paddled off to the ship, signed and sealed, and stepped
ashore with my “advance”—fifteen Spanish dollars—tasseling the ends of
my neck-handkerchief.

I forced half of the silver on Long Ghost; and having little use for
the remainder, would have given it to Po-Po as some small return for
his kindness; but, although he well knew the value of the coin, not a
dollar would he accept.

In three days’ time the Prussian came to Po-Po’s, and told us that the
captain, having made good the number of his crew by shipping several
islanders, had determined upon sailing with the land breeze at dawn the
following morning. These tidings were received in the afternoon. The
doctor immediately disappeared, returning soon after with a couple of
flasks of wine concealed in the folds of his frock. Through the agency
of the Marquesan, he had purchased them from an understrapper of the
court.

I prevailed upon Po-Po to drink a parting shell; and even little Loo,
actually looking conscious that one of her hopeless admirers was about
leaving Partoowye for ever, sipped a few drops from a folded leaf. As
for the warm-hearted Arfretee, her grief was unbounded. She even
besought me to spend my last night under her own palm-thatch; and then,
in the morning, she would herself paddle me off to the ship.

But this I would not consent to; and so, as something to remember her
by, she presented me with a roll of fine matting, and another of tappa.
These gifts placed in my hammock, I afterward found very agreeable in
the warm latitudes to which we were bound; nor did they fail to awaken
most grateful remembrances.

About nightfall, we broke away from this generous-hearted household,
and hurried down to the water.

It was a mad, merry night among the sailors; they had on tap a small
cask of wine, procured in the same way as the doctor’s flasks.

An hour or two after midnight, everything was noiseless; but when the
first streak of the dawn showed itself over the mountains, a sharp
voice hailed the forecastle, and ordered the ship unmoored.

The anchors came up cheerily; the sails were soon set; and with the
early breath of the tropical morning, fresh and fragrant from the
hillsides, we slowly glided down the bay, and were swept through the
opening in the reef. Presently we “hove to,” and the canoes came
alongside to take off the islanders who had accompanied us thus far. As
he stepped over the side, I shook the doctor long and heartily by the
hand. I have never seen or heard of him since.

Crowding all sail, we braced the yards square; and, the breeze
freshening, bowled straight away from the land. Once more the sailor’s
cradle rocked under me, and I found myself rolling in my gait.

By noon, the island had gone down in the horizon; and all before us was
the wide Pacific.





*** End of this LibraryBlog Digital Book "Omoo: Adventures in the South Seas" ***

Copyright 2023 LibraryBlog. All rights reserved.