Quite enraged, Wilson bade him hold his peace; and then, summoning a
fat old native to his side, addressed him in Tahitian, giving
directions for leading us away to a place of safe keeping.
Hereupon, being marshalled in order, with the old man at our head, we
were put in motion, with loud shouts, along a fine pathway, running
far on through wide groves of the cocoa-nut and bread-fruit.
The rest of our escort trotted on beside us in high good-humour;
jabbering broken English, and in a hundred ways giving us to
understand that Wilson was no favourite of theirs, and that we were
prime, good fellows for holding out as we did. They seemed to know
our whole history.
The scenery around was delightful. The tropical day was fast drawing
to a close; and from where we were, the sun looked like a vast red
fire burning in the woodlands - its rays falling aslant through the
endless ranks of trees, and every leaf fringed with flame. Escaped
from the confined decks of the frigate, the air breathed spices to
us; streams were heard flowing; green boughs were rocking; and far
inland, all sunset flushed, rose the still, steep peaks of the
island.
As we proceeded, I was more and more struck by the picturesqueness of
the wide, shaded road. In several places, durable bridges of wood
were thrown over large water-courses; others were spanned by a single
arch of stone. In any part of the road, three horsemen might have
ridden abreast.
This beautiful avenue - by far the best thing which civilization has
done for the island - is called by foreigners "the Broom Road," though
for what reason I do not know. Originally planned for the convenience
of the missionaries journeying from one station to another, it almost
completely encompasses the larger peninsula; skirting for a distance
of at least sixty miles along the low, fertile lands bordering the
sea. But on the side next Taiarboo, or the lesser peninsula, it
sweeps through a narrow, secluded valley, and thus crosses the island
in that direction.
The uninhabited interior, being almost impenetrable from the
densely-wooded glens, frightful precipices, and sharp mountain ridges
absolutely inaccessible, is but little known, even to the natives
themselves; and so, instead of striking directly across from one
village to another, they follow the Broom Road round and round.
It is by no means, however, altogether travelled on foot; horses being
now quite plentiful. They were introduced from Chili; and possessing
all the gaiety, fleetness, and docility of the Spanish breed, are
admirably adapted to the tastes of the higher classes, who as
equestrians have become very expert. The missionaries and chiefs
never think of journeying except in the saddle; and at all hours of
the day you see the latter galloping along at full speed. Like the
Sandwich Islanders, they ride like Pawnee-Loups.
For miles and miles I have travelled the Broom Road, and never wearied
of the continual change of scenery. But wherever it leads
you - whether through level woods, across grassy glens, or over hills
waving with palms - the bright blue sea on one side, and the green
mountain pinnacles on the other, are always in sight.
CHAPTER XXXI.
THE CALABOOZA BERETANEE
ABOUT a mile from the village we came to a halt.
It was a beautiful spot. A mountain stream here flowed at the foot of
a verdant slope; on one hand, it murmured along until the waters,
spreading themselves upon a beach of small, sparkling shells,
trickled into the sea; on the other was a long defile, where the eye
pursued a gleaming, sinuous thread, lost in shade and verdure.
The ground next the road was walled in by a low, rude parapet of
stones; and, upon the summit of the slope beyond, was a large, native
house, the thatch dazzling white, and in shape an oval.
"Calabooza! Calabooza Beretanee!" (the English Jail), cried our
conductor, pointing to the building.
For a few months past, having been used by the consul as a house of
confinement for his refractory sailors, it was thus styled to
distinguish it from similar places in and about Papeetee.
Though extremely romantic in appearance, on a near approach it proved
hut ill adapted to domestic comfort. In short, it was a mere shell,
recently built, and still unfinished. It was open all round, and
tufts of grass were growing here and there under the very roof. The
only piece of furniture was the "stocks," a clumsy machine for
keeping people in one place, which, I believe, is pretty much out of
date in most countries. It is still in use, however, among the
Spaniards in South America; from whom, it seems, the Tahitians have
borrowed the contrivance, as well as the name by which all places of
confinement are known among them.
The stocks were nothing more than two stout timbers, about twenty feet
in length, and precisely alike. One was placed edgeways on the
ground, and the other, resting on top, left, at regular intervals
along the seam, several round holes, the object of which was evident
at a glance.
By this time, our guide had informed us that he went by the name of
"Capin Bob" (Captain Bob); and a hearty old Bob he proved. It was
just the name for him. From the first, so pleased were we with the
old man that we cheerfully acquiesced in his authority.
Entering the building, he set us about fetching heaps of dry leaves to
spread behind the stocks for a couch. A trunk of a small cocoa-nut
tree was then placed for a bolster - rather a hard one, but the
natives are used to it. For a pillow, they use a little billet of
wood, scooped out, and standing on four short legs - a sort of
head-stool.
