62. CHAPTER LXII.
Long before sunrise, the next morning, my sandals were laced
on, and the doctor had vaulted into Zeke's boots.
Expecting to see us again before we went to Taloo, the
planters wished us a pleasant journey; and, on parting, very
generously presented us with a pound or two of what sailors
call “plug” tobacco; telling us to cut it up into small change;
the Virginian weed being the principal circulating medium on
the island.
Tamai, we were told, was not more than three or four
leagues distant; so making allowances for a wild road, a few
hours to rest at noon, and our determination to take the journey
leisurely, we counted upon reaching the shores of the lake
some time in the flush of the evening.
For several hours we went on slowly through wood and ravine,
and over hill and precipice, seeing nothing but occasional
herds of wild cattle, and often resting; until we found ourselves,
about noon, in the very heart of the island.
It was a green, cool hollow among the mountains, into which
we at last descended with a bound. The place was gushing
with a hundred springs, and shaded over with great solemn
trees, on whose mossy boles the moisture stood in beads.
Strange to say, no traces of the bullocks ever having been here
were revealed. Nor was there a sound to be heard, nor a bird
to be seen, nor any breath of wind stirring the leaves. The utter
solitude and silence were oppressive; and after peering
about under the shades, and seeing nothing but ranks of dark,
motionless trunks, we hurried across the hollow, and ascended
a steep mountain opposite.
Midway up, we rested where the earth had gathered about
the roots of three palms, and thus formed a pleasant lounge,
from which we looked down upon the hollow, now one darkgreen
tuft of woodland at our feet. Here we brought forth a
small calabash of “poee,” a parting present from Tonoi. After
eating heartily, we obtained fire by two sticks, and throwing
ourselves back, puffed forth our fatigue in wreaths of smoke.
At last we fell asleep; nor did we waken till the sun had sunk
so low, that its rays darted in upon us under the foliage.
Starting up, we then continued our journey; and as we gained
the mountain top—there, to our surprise, lay the lake and
village of Tamai. We had thought it a good league off.
Where we stood, the yellow sunset was still lingering; but
over the valley below, long shadows were stealing—the rippling
green lake reflecting the houses and trees, just as they stood
along its banks. Several small canoes, moored here and there
to posts in the water, were dancing upon the waves; and
one solitary fisherman was paddling over to a grassy point. In
front of the houses, groups of natives were seen; some thrown
at full length upon the ground, and others indolently leaning
against the bamboos.
With whoop and halloo, we ran down the hills, the villagers
soon hurrying forth to see who were coming. As we drew near,
they gathered round, all curiosity to know what brought the
“karhowries” into their quiet country. The doctor contriving
to make them understand the purely social object of our visit,
they gave us a true Tahitian welcome; pointing into their
dwellings, and saying they were ours as long as we chose to
remain.
We were struck by the appearance of these people, both men
and women; so much more healthful than the inhabitants of the
bays. As for the young girls, they were more retiring and
modest, more tidy in their dress, and far fresher and more
beautiful than the damsels of the coast. A thousand pities,
thought I, that they should bury their charms in this nook of a
valley.
That night we abode in the house of Rartoo, a hospitable old
chief. It was right on the shore of the lake; and at supper,
we looked out through a rustling screen of foliage upon the
surface of the starlit water.
The next day we rambled about, and found a happy little
community, comparatively free from many deplorable evils to
which the rest of their countrymen are subject. Their time,
too, was more occupied. To my surprise, the manufacture of
tappa was going on in several buildings. European calicoes
were seldom seen, and not many articles of foreign origin of
any description.
The people of Tamai were nominally Christians; but being
so remote from ecclesiastical jurisdiction, their religion sat
lightly upon them. We had been told, even, that many heathenish
games and dances still secretly lingered in their valley.
Now the prospect of seeing an old-fashioned “hevar,” or
Tahitian reel, was one of the inducements which brought us
here; and so, finding Rartoo rather liberal in his religious
ideas, we disclosed our desire. At first, he demurred; and
shrugging his shoulders like a Frenchman, declared it could
not be brought about—was a dangerous matter to attempt,
and might bring all concerned into trouble. But we overcame
all this, convinced him that the thing could be done,
and a “hevar,” a genuine pagan fandango, was arranged for
that very night.
