CHAPTER LXXVIII.
MRS. BELL
ONE DAY, taking a pensive afternoon stroll along one of the many
bridle-paths which wind among the shady groves in the neighbourhood
of Taloo, I was startled by a sunny apparition. It was that of a
beautiful young Englishwoman, charmingly dressed, and mounted upon a
spirited little white pony. Switching a green branch, she came
cantering toward me.
I looked round to see whether I could possibly be in Polynesia. There
were the palm-trees; but how to account for the lady?
Stepping to one side as the apparition drew near, I made a polite
obeisance. It gave me a bold, rosy look; and then, with a gay air,
patted its palfrey, crying out, "Fly away, Willie!" and galloped
among the trees.
I would have followed; but Willie's heels were making such a pattering
among the dry leaves that pursuit would have been useless.
So I went straight home to Po-Po's, and related my adventure to the
doctor.
The next day, our inquiries resulted in finding out that the stranger
had been on the island about two years; that she came from Sydney;
and was the wife of Mr. Bell (happy dog!), the proprietor of the
sugar plantation to which I have previously referred.
To the sugar plantation we went, the same day.
The country round about was very beautiful: a level basin of verdure,
surrounded by sloping hillsides. The sugar-cane - of which there was
about one hundred acres, in various stages of cultivation - looked
thrifty. A considerable tract of land, however, which seemed to have
been formerly tilled, was now abandoned.
The place where they extracted the saccharine matter was under an
immense shed of bamboos. Here we saw several clumsy pieces of
machinery for breaking the cane; also great kettles for boiling the
sugar. But, at present, nothing was going on. Two or three natives
were lounging in one of the kettles, smoking; the other was occupied
by three sailors from the Leviathan, playing cards.
While we were conversing with these worthies, a stranger approached.
He was a sun-burnt, romantic-looking European, dressed in a loose
suit of nankeen; his fine throat and chest were exposed, and he
sported a Guayaquil hat with a brim like a Chinese umbrella. This was
Mr. Bell. He was very civil; showed us the grounds, and, taking us
into a sort of arbour, to our surprise, offered to treat us to some
wine. People often do the like; but Mr. Bell did more: he produced
the bottle. It was spicy sherry; and we drank out of the halves of
fresh citron melons. Delectable goblets!
The wine was a purchase from, the French in Tahiti.
Now all this was extremely polite in Mr. Bell; still, we came to see
Mrs. Bell. But she proved to be a phantom, indeed; having left the
same morning for Papeetee, on a visit to one of the missionaries'
wives there.
I went home, much chagrined.
To be frank, my curiosity had been wonderfully piqued concerning the
lady. In the first place, she was the most beautiful white woman I
ever saw in Polynesia. But this is saying nothing. She had such eyes,
such moss-roses in her cheeks, such a divine air in the saddle, that,
to my dying day, I shall never forget Mrs. Bell.
The sugar-planter himself was young, robust, and handsome. So, merrily
may the little Bells increase, and multiply, and make music in the
Land of Imeeo.
CHAPTER LXXIX.
TALOO CHAPEL - HOLDING COURT IN POLYNESIA
IN Partoowye is to be seen one of the best-constructed and handsomest
chapels in the South Seas. Like the buildings of the palace, it
stands upon an artificial pier, presenting a semicircular sweep to
the bay. The chapel is built of hewn blocks of coral; a substance
which, although extremely friable, is said to harden by exposure to
the atmosphere. To a stranger, these blocks look extremely curious.
Their surface is covered with strange fossil-like impressions, the
seal of which must have been set before the flood. Very nearly white
when hewn from the reefs, the coral darkens with age; so that several
churches in Polynesia now look almost as sooty and venerable as famed
St. Paul's.
In shape, the chapel is an octagon, with galleries all round. It will
seat, perhaps, four hundred people. Everything within is stained a
tawny red; and there being but few windows, or rather embrasures, the
dusky benches and galleries, and the tall spectre of a pulpit look
anything but cheerful.
On Sundays we always went to worship here. Going in the family suite
of Po-Po, we, of course, maintained a most decorous exterior; and
hence, by all the elderly people of the village, were doubtless
regarded as pattern young men.
Po-Po's seat was in a snug corner; and it being particularly snug, in
the immediate vicinity of one of the Palm pillars supporting the
gallery, I invariably leaned against it: Po-Po and his lady on one
side, the doctor and the dandy on the other, and the children and
poor relations seated behind.
As for Loo, instead of sitting (as she ought to have done) by her good
father and mother, she must needs run up into the gallery, and sit
with a parcel of giddy creatures of her own age; who, all through the
sermon, did nothing but look down on the congregation; pointing out,
and giggling at the queer-looking old ladies in dowdy bonnets and
scant tunics. But Loo, herself, was never guilty of these
improprieties.
Occasionally during the week they have afternoon service in the
chapel, when the natives themselves have something to say; although
their auditors are but few. An introductory prayer being offered by
the missionary, and a hymn sung, communicants rise in their places,
and exhort in pure Tahitian, and with wonderful tone and gesture.
And among them all, Deacon Po-Po, though he talked most, was the one
whom you would have liked best to hear.
