The sheep must have died off: for I never saw a solitary fleece in any
part of Polynesia. The pair left were an ill-assorted couple,
perhaps; separated in disgust, and died without issue.
As for the goats, occasionally you come across a black, misanthropic
ram, nibbling the scant herbage of some height inaccessible to man,
in preference to the sweet grasses of the valley below. The goats are
not very numerous.
The bullocks, coming of a prolific ancestry, are a hearty set, racing
over the island of Imeeo in considerable numbers, though in Tahiti
but few of them are seen. At the former place, the original pair must
have scampered off to the interior since it is now so thickly
populated by their wild progeny. The herds are the private property
of Queen Pomaree; from whom the planters had obtained permission to
shoot for their own use as many as they pleased.
The natives stand in great awe of these cattle; and for this reason
are excessively timid in crossing the island, preferring rather to
sail round to an opposite village in their canoes.
Tonoi abounded in bullock stories; most of which, by the bye, had a
spice of the marvellous. The following is one of these.
Once upon a time, he was going over the hills with a brother - now no
more - when a great bull came bellowing out of a wood, and both took
to their heels. The old chief sprang into a tree; his companion,
flying in an opposite direction, was pursued, and, in the very act of
reaching up to a bough, trampled underfoot. The unhappy man was then
gored - tossed in the air - and finally run away with on the bull's
horns. More dead than alive, Tonoi waited till all was over, and then
made the best of his way home. The neighbours, armed with two or
three muskets, at once started to recover, if possible, his
unfortunate brother's remains. At nightfall, they returned without
discovering any trace of him; but the next morning, Tonoi himself
caught a glimpse of the bullock, marching across the mountain's brow,
with a long dark object borne aloft on his horns.
Having referred to Vancouver's attempts to colonize the islands with
useful quadrupeds, we may as well say something concerning his
success upon Hawaii, one of the largest islands in the whole
Polynesian Archipelago; and which gives the native name to the
well-known cluster named by Cook in honour of Lord Sandwich.
Hawaii is some one hundred leagues in circuit, and covers an area of
over four thousand miles. Until within a few years past, its interior
was almost unknown, even to the inhabitants themselves, who, for
ages, had been prevented from wandering thither by certain strange
superstitions.
