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 color may be seen. In their ardor 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 every thing being of a dark color, 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,5 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 colors. 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 every thing to native management. With South Sea islanders, assembled in any numbers, there is no other way of getting along.

  CHAPTER 45

  A 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 bleat 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 Bible1 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 mayors’ 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-Wee’s (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. Every body, 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, any thing 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 Sea. And this assertion is made, with full knowledge of what is called the “Great Revival at the Sandwich Islands,”2 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 afterward 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 Society3 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 labor, 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 hinderances to the strict moralities of Christianity.

  Added to all this, is a quality inherent in Polynesians; and more akin to hypocrisy than any thing 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 favor 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—Raiatair,4 I believe—the natives, for special reasons, desired to commend themselves particularly to the favor of the missionaries. Accordingly, during divine service, many of them behaved in a manner, otherwise unaccountable, and precisely similar to their behavior 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.5

  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 46

  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 worshipers.

  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 trowsers, 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 coarse, 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 favorites, 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 by, 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 can not 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 offenses 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.