But the coral barriers answer another purpose. They form all the harbors 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 sentineled, 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 72

  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, mossgrown, 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 under ground.

  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 some thing 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 afterward 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 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.”1 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 ascendency of the missionaries, take pleasure in making them confidants, whenever the enactments of their rulers are secretly set at naught.

  The substance from which the liquor is produced is called “Tee,” which is a large, fibrous root, something like a 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. Every one 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 endeavor 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 an 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 traveler with “Arva Tee,” was capable of any thing.

  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 travelers 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 73

  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 offense 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), & c. 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, upward 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 only 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 bread-fruit 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 harbor 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 trowsers; 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 cocoanut oil, and a wick of twisted tappa floating on the surface. As a night lamp, this contrivance can not 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 favorite with his mistress; with whom he would sit smoking and gossiping by the hour.