55. 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,
water-falls 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 the hills, a
mile or two further, where the nearest bullocks were seen.
We were cautious in keeping to 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 is 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 path, 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 center,
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 canoetree;
as in old times it supplied the navies of the Kings of Tahiti.
For canoe-building, the wood 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 water-course, long since deserted. There
was nothing but stone walls, and rude dismantled foundations
of houses, constructed of the same material. Large trees and
brush-wood were growing rankly among them.
I asked Tonoi how long it was since any one 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 “Ati,” 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 to Christianity
of the first Pomaree, a war party from Tahiti destroyed
(by “girdling” the bark) entire groves of these invaluable
trees. For some time afterward, they stood stark and leafless
in the sun; sad monuments of the fate which befell the inhabitants
of the valley.
