IN THE MARQUESAS
At last we were in the real Marquesas Islands, the islands we had
heard so much about, the islands that very few white people ever
see--for here there is only one way of communicating with the
outside world, and that is by two trading schooners that make four
trips a year from Papeete, Tahiti, one thousand miles away, and an
occasional bark or brig that drops in here for copra.
When the sun peeped over the mountains, we awoke to the prettiest
sight imaginable. All about, sloping steeply upward, were green
mountains; at the end of the bay ahead, palm trees of all kinds were
clustered. We saw a number of white houses, with low white roofs;
and, further back on the mountains, one considerably larger house,
where the French Resident lived. Our deck was covered with a
sweet-smelling pollen, which had settled aboard during the small
hours of the morning. Near us was a small, old-fashioned
bark--Norwegian, we found out afterward--with painted imitation
square port holes, such as are seen on old galleons. Her hull was
down in the water, showing her to be loaded, or nearly so. We were
surprised to see this vessel, for we had expected to have the bay to
ourselves. From a distance, several big, brown, grinning men
inspected the _Snark_; and when we invited them aboard, they climbed
over the rail, bringing bunches of bananas, oranges, papaias, and
various other fruits, all of which they gave us. I lowered the
launch and soon had it running, but it was nearly noon before we had
a chance to go ashore. The natives were constantly swarming around
us, all talking at once and trying to talk to us. The big,
good-natured fellows were doing their best to make us feel at home.
With each presentation of fruit, a speech was delivered, which
always ended in a grin and a handshake. We had learned enough of the
Hawaiian tongue to understand a little of what they said, for the
languages are very similar; and we could gather that each one was
wanting the pleasure of being our guide.
These people were the most hospitable and kindly of any in the South
Seas; they entertained us lavishly; expense was no object to them;
and our money was of no value to us, as here no such medium of
exchange was in use. These people gladly prepared the most gorgeous
entertainments when they found that we were bent on a mission of
friendly inquiry and honest research into their customs and manners.
At last Jack made them understand that we were not needing
assistance, but would gladly avail ourselves of their hospitality
when we got ashore. Finally, we did go ashore, but only to stagger
and roll so that walking was almost impossible. In those sixty-one
days at sea, we had practically forgotten what walking was. The
whole village of nearly naked islanders was awaiting us on the
beach. How those kind people did bustle good-naturedly around us!
With the whole crowd following, we made our way to the only trading
station on the island, "The Societé Commercial de la Oceanie," a
branch of the biggest trading concern in the South Sea islands.
We were quickly relieved of our escort when the two white men of the
place came out and said a few words in the native tongue. All the
people stopped out in front while we went inside. Mr. Kriech and Mr.
Rawling, two Germans, were the agents for the company here, and
during our stay they did all in their power to show us the
interesting spots on the island. Everywhere we were stared at by the
natives. Mrs. London attracted more attention than did we men. Few
white women had ever been seen here before. A Mrs. Fisher had lived
here thirty years, and had boarded Robert Louis Stevenson while he
was at Nuka-hiva.
The storekeeper accompanied us to the French Resident's, where he
acted as interpreter. The French Resident spoke no English. He was a
queer, fat little man, with a good-natured face. When we first saw
him, he was wearing overalls, and had no coat; on his feet were
wooden shoes, and on his head a military hat. Upon observing us, he
quickly donned a faded old uniform coat, and was all dignity at
once. He did not even look at our papers, for he declared that the
word of so important a man as Monsieur London was better than any
credentials we could display. He made us highly welcome, and did not
even charge us the usual twenty-franc hunting license.
Shortly after, Captain Luvins of the bark _Lucine_ came in, and to
him Jack broached the subject that had brought us to the island. We
wanted to see Typee Valley. Arrangements were immediately made for
us to go over to this famous valley, which for years and years, in
fact, since he was a little boy and had read Herman Melville's
"Typee," Jack had longed to visit. Mr. Kriech secured horses and
guides for us, and we started next morning before sun-up.
When I think of those early mornings in the Marquesas, I seem to
smell anew the sweet flowers and the copra. The soft still morning
air leaves something in one's nostrils that makes one want to go
back again. I believe that all four of the white people on the
_Snark_ will drop anchor in this bay again. I know I will . . .
sometime.
We started early next morning, Captain Y----, Mr. and Mrs. London,
myself, a native guide, Captain Luvins, and two girls we did not
know were going, and to whom Jack did not take very kindly at first,
until it was explained that they were the daughters of the chief of
the Typee tribe, and that their going assured us a welcome in their
valley. We were each mounted on a small Marquesan pony, with
provisions for four days in our saddle-bags. We started off a
narrow path and headed straight for the mountains. We climbed for
hours, often going around the corner of a mountain on a little path,
where we could look hundreds and hundreds of feet down a sheer
precipice. The little ponies were as sure-footed as goats, and
finally, at nearly noon, we reached the summit of the mountain, the
mountain that divided off the different tribes. Looking down one
side, we could see Hapaa Valley. Back of us lay Taiohae Bay, with
the Norwegian bark and the _Snark_ lying at anchor. Straight ahead
spread Typee, the wonderful valley Herman Melville so vividly
described as a paradise. We had fought the elements and suffered for
sixty-one days in order to win to this place, and see whether it was
really the perfect spot that Melville described it, or whether, like
certain who write about our Pacific coast states, he was but a
delightful romancer. But we found that Melville had told the
truth--that if he had not told the whole truth, it was because he
had not described all the beauties of this bewitching valley of
leisure and abundance, so far from the United States, where white
men toil and grind incessantly.
We rode until late in the afternoon through the groves of bananas,
thousands of big yellow bunches that would never be picked. Our
horses stumbled over cocoanuts in the path. At one place, one of the
native girls pointed out to us what she called a shortcut. We
followed her directions, and rode right through a cluster of
hornets' nests. The girl, who remained at a safe distance, stood
and watched us fighting the hornets and being royally stung, and
laughed heartily at what she considered the cleverness of her
practical joke. Just how much intrinsic humour there may have been
in the situation I am unable to say--being so closely involved in
it--but I am sure that the girl was the only one who did much
laughing. The rest of us were busy swatting hornets, as were also
our horses busy in dodging.
Finally, we came to a clearing where the old village of Typee
had once stood. But now only the foundations of the buildings of
this once strong tribe remained to show where they had been. The
cocoanut trees we found growing in the fantastic arrangement that
Melville had spoken of, but the natives were gone. Everything
was quiet except the chirping of the birds, and the rustling of
palm-leaves. We rode on until we came to a frame house that had
been built by a trader, but he had left, and now a family of
natives lived in this old house on the edge of Faiaways Lake.
How delightful this little lake looked, with the background of
mountains, but how sad this one family! When we came to them and
asked for a drink of water, the woman brought a large gourd full to
the brim, and as she extended it, we saw upon her flesh the curse
of the islands, leprosy. The man came out, dragging a big heavy
foot behind him. He had elephantiasis, and the children that played
in the yard showed signs of leprosy.
Perhaps we should have gone back without seeing any more of the
Typee tribe, had not the girls urged us on. We shortly came to
another clearing--the new village of the valley. Here we found about
twenty grass houses and perhaps fifty or seventy-five people, all
that remained of the once strongest tribe in the Marquesas Islands.
About thirty years ago, there were six thousand natives in this
valley, with nearly as many in the opposite valley of Hapaa. But the
two tribes were continually at war, until the Hapaa tribe was
totally exterminated. Then came ships in search of sandalwood and
copra, and came also missionaries. With them they managed to bring
leprosy and elephantiasis, and a venereal disease that, in the
tropics, is worse than either of the others. As a result, the native
hosts are gone, and only the few remain. Still, these people we saw
looked healthy enough, though here and there we could see a leper
lurking in the background.
Better had it been had the natives never seen the missionaries. What
happened in the Marquesas has happened in many other South Sea
islands, and no doubt is happening to-day. My conscience smote me.
To think, the very pennies I had given in Sunday School for foreign
missions had contributed to the calamitous end of the inhabitants of
this beautiful garden-spot!
After the girls had told who we were and what we wanted, a large
house was put at our disposal, and the women brought mats for us to
sit on, while the men started a big fire and roasted several pigs.
Others brought fish and _poi_ and eggs and chicken. The feast was
spread out on the ruins of an old stone house, and we sat down to
eat. Only we white people and the two chief's daughters and the
chiefs were together. The other natives would come up respectfully
and gather their portion, then withdraw to a little distance and
eat. Of all the various kinds of edibles I have tried in different
places of this world, I think none could compare with this. The fish
was served raw, but it was good. The _poi_ had been buried in the
ground until it was slightly fermented. The natives climbed the big
cocoanut trees and picked the young nuts for us to drink; and when
we had finished eating, they got out their queer musical instruments
made of logs, part of the natives danced and others sang, and I lay
on my mat when I had finished eating and watched these happy people
until it got too dark to see. I could not help thinking of my
friends at home, who were bundled in heavy clothes, trying to keep
warm, and going to moving-picture shows and dances, and persuading
themselves that they were really having a pleasant time. What a
contrast between their lot and mine!
That night Jack and Mrs. London slept inside on sleeping-mats thrown
on the floor, while the rest of us slept outside on mats thrown on
the ground. No mosquitoes or insects bothered us. There were no
reptiles for us to be afraid of. The soft-treading natives came and
went all night long. Bright and early next morning, we were awakened
by the natives' getting breakfast. When the meal was over, we went
swimming in Faiaways Lake, and that day we explored the valley, and
tried to buy curios. But they would not sell to us. They forced us
to take presents of tapa cloth and ornaments of sharks' and
porpoises' teeth, and corals, while we made presents to them out of
our stores of tinned provisions.
One thing that I tried hard to bring out in photographs was the
gorgeous tattooing of the natives, but their skins and the tattooing
colour being so near the same shade and hue, the camera cannot catch
so subtle a distinction. I tried many exposures, without success.
After the boys are old enough to stand the pain of tattooing, they
are started on, and it sometimes takes years to complete them. When
they are completed, their eyelids, nose, every part of the body, are
covered with fantastic designs. Tattooing seems to be the only
really serious thought of these people, except worshipping their big
stone idols, several of which we saw in the valley.
One of the girls who had come with us was named Antoinette. She was
the last left of royal blood on Nuka-hiva, and she owned nearly all
of Typee Valley and most of Hapaa Valley, but she received little
revenue. There is much copra, but no one to gather it. Copra, I may
explain, is the dried kernel of the cocoanut, valued at about
twenty-five cents a hundred.
[Illustration: MARQUESAS ISLANDERS]
While we were here, one woman brought in a large piece of tapa
cloth, which she sold for five dollars Chile. Chile money is the
common currency here. It is about half the value of American money,
and comes in very handy. Of course, this tapa cloth could never have
been bought elsewhere for such a sum, but in the Marquesas quality
is not considered in setting prices--only quantity. Natives gave us
calabashes, _hula_ dresses of human hair, then more tapa, until Jack
was loaded down. I bought a fine big piece of this cloth, which is
made from the bark of cocoanut trees, pounded into a pulp, then
flattened out and dried. Once it was used for making _pareus_, but
now they wrap their dead in it.
At one place, the girls told us that near the mouth of a river
nearby was a large cave, in which were petrified bodies. It had once
been an old burying ground, they said, but now a big stone had
blocked the way. I had heard of this cave, and knew that Stevenson
had once tried to force his way in after petrified eyes, of which
the natives had told him. But my own opinion is that cave, bodies,
and petrified eyes are all myths, although they are myths in which
the natives place belief.
In telling of Typee, the Garden of Eden, I want to lay special
stress on this one thing: if ever there was a Garden of Eden, it was
right here in this valley. Nowhere else in the world is the climate
so perfect, nowhere else in the world can be found the myriads of
delicious fruits, nowhere else is there such a profusion of wild
cattle, goat, turkey, and chicken, to say nothing of the different
species of ducks, cranes, storks and pigeons. One thing that struck
me as strange was that the thousands and thousands of pure white
doves which soared and floated over our heads showed absolutely no
fear of us. It was evident they had never been molested.
Big ragged mountains rose on every side, over which were scattered
waterfalls that started high up in the mountains and fell so far
that before the water had reached the bottom it had scattered away
in mists that floated down the valley in rainbows. Turning one's
eyes at any time up the mountains, one could see the wild goats
feeding or watching one in wonder, and see the occasional wild
cattle that swung up precarious paths and out of sight, and the wild
chickens that stalked about in search of food. One could reach up on
either hand and pick the delicious fruit, ripe from the trees. A
climate so perfect that no words can describe it, other than to call
like unto the Garden of Eden, is here. The natives are like big
happy children. They do not steal, gossip about one another, nor
carry grudges. Instead, they sing, dance, hunt, fish, and live
together as brothers in a life of perfect peace.
On my return to my own country, one provincial (and so
narrow-minded) man went so far as to tell me that he thought the
United States had the most perfect climate in the world; that it was
the most perfect country in the world; that he couldn't see why
people should poke about looking for something better--for his part,
he would see what he could of the States, and settle down and be
satisfied. Then he started telling me of the Road of a Thousand
Wonders, the place where there are oranges and flowers the year
round.
Now you who read, of you let me ask: Have you ever seen this Road of
a Thousand Wonders, this place where the oranges and flowers blossom
the year round? What was your impression of it, if so? Did it come
up to your expectations? Were you disappointed? And are you
satisfied that in seeing it you have seen all that is worth seeing
on this whirling sphere of ours?
Now, I have seen the Road of a Thousand Wonders. And I have been in
Typee, the Garden of Eden. The very thought of comparing the two
places makes me sad for the frailty of human judgment.
Our stay in Typee Valley was one of the most delightful experiences
of a voyage that contained much of the delightful. It was with a
profound regret that we left it, and with the determination that
some day our eyes should again feast upon its many beauties, and
that again we should partake of the hospitality of those who had
made us so royally welcome. Back we came to the _Snark_, filled with
pleasing memories.
The Marquesas Islands lie in Latitude 10°, so close to the Equator
that ordinarily the sun's rays would have been almost unbearable,
but among all the South Sea Islands the trade winds that blow every
month in the year, coming from over the sea, keep the temperature
about the same as a fine spring day in America.
The _Snark_ lay at anchor close in to the shore. Jack and Mrs.
London secured a small frame house, the one that Robert Louis
Stevenson had lived in while he was in the Marquesas. And they
secured board with Mrs. Fisher, the same old woman who had cooked
for Stevenson. Many of the older natives would tell stories of the
time _Tusitala_ (which was Stevenson's native name, signifying
"story-teller") had lived here. He was a great hand to entertain,
and as anyone can see from his writings, he loved and was loved by
all the natives with whom he came in contact. The Polynesians never
had a better friend than Robert Louis Stevenson. He has done more to
give the Americans and English a good name in the islands than has
any other man.
After the first day in Taiohae Bay, the _Snark_ was deserted most of
the time. There was never any danger of quitting the vessel with no
one on board, for we had left the only persons who needed watching,
back in America. Hermann was a great hunter. He usually started off
early in the morning, and returned in the evening with birds of
every variety, and he would sometimes return with wild goat. Once he
shot a wild cow. It seemed a shame to kill the cattle, for such a
little of the meat could be used, and the rest would spoil in a
day. Jack and Mrs. London went hunting one morning, and returned
about noon with the native boys who had accompanied them bearing
fourteen goats.
But the great attraction for the natives was our graphophone. When
evening fell, they came about us in swarms to hear the playing, and
they could never get over the belief that we had a little dwarf
caged in the "talk-box." At times, there would be as many as two
hundred brown people squatting on the grass, and they would never
leave until we stopped the graphaphone. In the Hawaiian Islands, we
had secured records of _hula-hula_ music, which so delighted the
Marquesans that sometimes we would have half a hundred dancing in
front of the machine.
The natives who lived nearby in a small grass hut came to the house
one day with the request that we play the graphaphone for them to
dance by. Jack left his writing, and all that afternoon while he
played these men practised different steps, and I believe a new
_hula-hula_ was originated that day.
The men, understanding nearly half of the Hawaiian language, sang
with the graphaphone, keeping time by clapping their hands and
swaying their bodies. They would anoint themselves from head to foot
with cocoanut oil, until their skin was shiny. The cocoanut oil
emitted a faint, pleasant odour, which, once smelled, is never
forgotten. They would dance as fast as their limbs could carry them,
the womenfolk keeping time with their hands. Even the children
imitated them. A native Polynesian can no more keep from dancing
when he hears music than a duck can keep away from water.
The house where Jack lived was tended by an old man and a woman, who
were covered with tattooing. The man's face looked like a convict's
uniform--brown and blue instead of white and blue, with long stripes
clear across the face. The woman had a trick of pulling up her dress
and showing the tattooing on her legs whenever she saw anyone
admiring it on her feet. Very immodest she was, but then, there is
no such thing as modesty among such people as these. I think some
staid persons I have seen in America would be vastly shocked by the
things that take place in the Marquesas.
These natives are considerably larger than the average white person.
Their skin is a light brown colour; their hair is thick, straight
and black. Dark eyes and eyelashes make them appear a fine, handsome
race. The only unfortunate thing is their tendency to age so soon.
At fifteen the girls are fully developed women, and at twenty-eight
or-nine they are old women. They seem to have no vitality; though
they look strong and healthy, if one were told that he was going to
die, and had the idea impressed on his mind, he would be sure to lie
down and die.
They have no morals at all. Their marriage contracts are so flimsy
that if one wants a divorce, he needs only to apply to the chief;
and a couple can be married and divorced in the same day. There were
few white men here, but all had native women, and were continually
changing. The girls, from fourteen years up, make their homes with
first one native and then with another. If they want to marry a man
they say so, and if he refuses them they call him "missionary." I
was sitting on a barrel in front of the trading store one day, when
several young _vahines_ (women) came up, and tried to talk to me.
One grabbed me by the arm, and pointing to the others: "She
wife--she wife--she wife--me no wife!" One girl had a white baby of
which she was very proud. To my mind, the girls here were better
looking than the Hawaiian girls, but they were much more lax in
their notions of becoming conduct.
All of Jack's photographic supplies were spoiled, so I was kept busy
printing pictures from mine. Once, while I was engaged in this work,
a girl came in the house, without knocking, and was tickled nearly
to death watching me develop velox. After that, she came and went
whenever she wished, but always dispensed with the formality of
knocking.
We had aboard the _Snark_ a full set of dentist's tools, which Jack
had had no chance to use up to this time. His entire experience of
dentistry had been gained by practise on a skull he had purchased in
Honolulu. He was always wanting someone of the crew to act as
patient. Wada had once pulled a tooth with a string before Jack
could get to him, and Jack never forgave Wada for that.
One day I found an old Chinaman--the only Chinaman on the
island--groaning on the beach with the toothache. Here was Jack's
chance; I rushed off and told him. He urged me to hold the Chinaman
until Nakata went aboard for his tools. Then the Chinaman was led to
the back of the house. The poor old fellow was shaking with fright.
After Jack found, by reading in his little dental book, the proper
forceps to use, and was ready to start on the operation, I cried for
him to wait until I got my kodak. Mrs. London ran for hers, too.
When I yelled "pull," Jack pulled mightily, and he nearly fell over
on his back, the tooth came out so easily. But we got the
photographs!
The most amusing thing I saw while here was the jail. It was a
little old wooden shack, so small that it would hold only two or
three persons--and not then, if they wanted to get out. The French
government used Nuka-hiva as a penal settlement. Some twenty or
thirty prisoners were kept here, and they were the happiest
prisoners I ever saw. Why, they didn't need to stay in jail unless
they wanted to, so they had built grass houses. One of the long-term
men had married, and not only did the government feed him, but it
fed his wife as well--better food than the natives ever got, and it
was cooked, too. They were supposed to work, but the old jailor was
as lazy as they, so I don't think any of them ever did a stroke.
Tom the Jailor had once lived in Papeete, Tahiti, and was the proud
possessor of an old suit of clothes. These clothes were only worn on
state occasions; the rest of the time he dressed like any other
native. Tom could speak a little of the English language, and he
used to bring all his family around to the house so he could show
off his knowledge of the white man's talk. One day I was enquiring
about a string of porpoise teeth made in the form of a necklace that
his daughter was wearing, and Tom took it from her and gave it to
me. These porpoise teeth are very valuable and are used by the
Marquesans in lieu of money.
The Norwegian bark of which I spoke had been anchored in this bay
for six months. The captain owned the vessel, so he could stay as
long as he wanted to without anyone's complaining; and I don't think
his ten sailors wanted to leave any more than he did. They all had
native girls to whom they seemed to give more time than to the
loading of copra. And I think it probable they would have been there
yet had it not been for a queer little comedy that I saw enacted.
A large stone idol stood back in the mountains, that the natives
were very superstitious about. They believed that anyone touching
this image or even going into its shrine cast a spell on them. Now
the captain of the bark did not know this, and as it was a very fine
piece of work, he decided to take it back to his country with him.
His ten sailors cut a large cocoanut tree, and the image, which
weighed two tons, was made fast to the middle. It took two days to
get it down to the ship. During this time not a native was to be
seen, and it was not till the work was done and the sailors tried to
go back to their girls that they knew of the superstition attached
to the idol. The girls would have nothing further to do with them;
so a few days later they set sail and started on their long journey,
first to stop at St. Helena, and then on to Norway.
As our launch drew too much water, we used to borrow small native
canoes with which to go out in the bay, and were able to come and go
without difficulty. One night Hermann arrived astraddle an
overturned canoe. He had been to some kind of feast ashore, and had
mounted the wrong side of the canoe. Hermann often did these little
things.
Our favourite loafing-place was the German traders' headquarters.
Here the natives would bring curios for us to buy. It was our custom
to buy knives and sticks of tobacco of the Company at white man's
prices and trade them to the natives at brown man's prices. For
instance, a knife we would buy of the trader for twenty-five cents,
we would trade to the Marquesans at $1.00 value. Four hundred per
cent. is the regular scale of South Sea profit.
[Illustration: THE OLD HOME OF ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON, MARQUESAS
ISLANDS]
The copra that I have mentioned is the principal article of South
Sea commerce. The natives collect the cocoanuts after they have
fallen from the tree, and after hulling them, cut the nut in two in
the centre, and the pieces are laid in the sun until the meat is
dried and broken away from the shell. It is then ready for shipping.
Soap-oils and perfumes are made from copra. One company that has
stations in the Marquesas, the Society, and the Taumotu Islands,
collects fifty thousand tons of copra every year.
The cocoanut trees grow anywhere they can find sand to hold their
roots; even places where no other vegetation will grow the cocoanuts
thrive. They must have plenty of water--the soil makes no
difference.
Near Mr. London's frame bungalow were numerous mountain streams
where the natives bathed. Some of these people seemed to spend most
of their time in the water. Captain Y----, who liked bathing but was
a little bashful, used to have a hard time finding a place where he
could swim unobserved. One day, he and I were bathing close to the
house in a spot where we thought we were safe. When we started out,
we heard a snicker ashore, and there stood two native girls,
watching us. We sank down in the water, which just struck us to the
chin. Captain Y---- told the girls to go away, but they didn't
understand, and when he threw a shell at them, they thought it a new
game, and threw it back. Finally, we made a wild dash for our
clothes, and finished dressing back in the jungle.
The girls here make ornaments of land-snail shells, several of which
ornaments I now treasure among the curios I brought back with me
from the South Seas.
The healthy appearance of these people is due to their method of
living: sleeping in their grass houses is nearly the same as
sleeping in the open air. They eat fruits and fish and very little
meat--in fact, very little of what they eat is cooked. They grind
the different kinds of fruit together and make _poi_. The leaves of
certain trees and grasses are made into salads. One salad that they
prepare only on state occasions is made by taking the heart from a
young cocoanut tree; but a handful can be secured from each tree;
and as it kills the tree, there is an unwritten law that this salad
can be made only with the chief's consent.
Tom the Jailor was a polite old fellow, especially polite to Mrs.
London. He would bring fruit to us nearly every morning, and would
help at any work we were doing, although, like Rip Van Winkle, he
was too lazy to do any work for himself. Once, when Mrs. London
asked him his age, he said he did not know, although he knew he was
still young, to prove which he climbed one of the tallest cocoanut
trees nearby, and brought us the nut. The young nut, rich with milk,
could also be eaten with a spoon, and was much better than when
dried.
I wish it were possible for me to describe Taiohae Bay. Photographs
give no idea of its beauty. And I know no description can do it
justice. Viewed from our ship as she lay at anchor in the harbour,
it presented the appearance of a vast natural amphitheatre
overgrown with vines. The deep glens that furrowed its sides seemed
like enormous fissures graven by the disruptive influences of time.
Very often, when lost in admiration of its beauty, I have
experienced a pang of regret that a scene so enchanting should be
hidden from the world in these remote seas, and seldom meet the eyes
of devoted lovers of nature.
Besides this bay, the shores of the island are indented by several
other extensive inlets, into which descend broad and fertile
valleys. These are inhabited by several distinct tribes of
islanders, who, although speaking kindred dialects of the same
tongue, have from time immemorial waged hereditary warfare against
each other. The intervening mountains, generally two or three
thousand feet above the sea-level, define the territories of each of
the three tribes.
The bay of Nuka-hiva, in which we were lying, is an expanse of water
not unlike in figure the space included within the limits of a
horse-shoe, being perhaps nine miles in circumference. From the
verge of the water, the land rises uniformly on all sides, with
green and sloping elevations and swells that rise into lofty
heights. Down each of these valleys flows a clear stream, here and
there assuming the form of slender cascades, then stealing along
invisibly until it bursts upon the sight again in large and more
noisy waterfalls, and at last demurely wanders along to the sea.