From my own familiar intercourse with the natives, this last reflection still more forcibly applies to myself.

  CHAPTER 49

  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 any thing but tidy; nor could I avoid a comparison, im-measurably 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 any thing,” 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,1 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 Bligh2 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 taro.”

  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 employments 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 can not 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, alledged 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,5 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 Tyerman and Bennet,6 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,7 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 Tahitians:—

  “A harree ta fow,

  A toro ta farraro,

  A mow ta tararta.”

  The palm-tree shall grow,

  The coral shall spread,

  But man shall cease.

  CHAPTER 50

  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 any one.

  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 can not 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 any body’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 every thing 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 by-stander.

  “Colic be hanged!” shouted the physician; “who ever heard of any body 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,”1 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.2

  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 humor.

  “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. ‘Ita! ita!—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 51

  WILSON GIVES USTHE CUT • DEPARTURE FOR IMEEO

  About three weeks after the Julia’s sailing, our condition 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. Beside, 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 operation1 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 Fanning’s Island2 (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-laborers.