61. 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 harbor on the opposite side of the
island.
We at once put ourselves in traveling trim. Just previous
to leaving Tahiti, having found my wardrobe reduced to two
suits (frock and trowsers, 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 was 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, eying his toga critically, reminded its proprietor,
that there were many streams to ford, and precipices to
scale, between Martair and Tamai; and if he traveled 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 saddle-bags, 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 Roora, 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 particolored
worsted—what sailors call a Scotch cap. Every one
knows the elasticity of knit wool; and this Caledonian headdress
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
colors.
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 defense against the sun,
though in a shower it was best off. The pendent sleeves adding
much to the effect, the doctor always 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.
