"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 are 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 pass 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 centre, 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
canoe tree; as in old times it supplied the navies of the Kings of
Tahiti. For canoe building, the woods 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 watercourse, long since deserted. There was nothing
but stone walls, and rude dismantled foundations of houses,
constructed of the same material. Large trees and brushwood were
growing rankly among them.
I asked Tonoi how long it was since anyone 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 "AH" 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 of Christianity of the
first Pomaree, a war-party from Tahiti destroyed (by "girdling" the
bark) entire groves of these invaluable trees. For some time
afterwards they stood stark and leafless in the sun; sad monuments of
the fate which befell the inhabitants of the valley.
CHAPTER LVI.
MOSQUITOES
THE NIGHT following the hunting trip, Long Ghost and myself, after a
valiant defence, had to fly the house on account of the mosquitoes.
And here I cannot avoid relating a story, rife among the natives,
concerning the manner in which these insects were introduced upon the
island.
Some years previous, a whaling captain, touching at an adjoining bay,
got into difficulty with its inhabitants, and at last carried his
complaint before one of the native tribunals; but receiving no
satisfaction, and deeming himself aggrieved, he resolved upon taking
signal revenge. One night, he towed a rotten old water-cask ashore,
and left it in a neglected Taro patch where the ground was warm and
moist. Hence the mosquitoes.
I tried my best to learn the name of this man; and hereby do what I
can to hand it down to posterity. It was Coleman - Nathan Cole-man.
The ship belonged to Nantucket.
When tormented by the mosquitoes, I found much relief in coupling the
word "Coleman" with another of one syllable, and pronouncing them
together energetically.
The doctor suggested a walk to the beach, where there was a long, low
shed tumbling to pieces, but open lengthwise to a current of air
which he thought might keep off the mosquitoes. So thither we went.
The ruin partially sheltered a relic of times gone by, which, a few
days after, we examined with much curiosity. It was an old war-canoe,
crumbling to dust. Being supported by the same rude blocks upon
which, apparently, it had years before been hollowed out, in all
probability it had never been afloat.
