THE SOCIETY ISLANDS
One thousand miles to the west of the Marquesas Islands lie the
Society Islands. Both groups are of volcanic origin. Stretching
between them are the low coral reefs of the Paumota Archipelago. In
order to get to the Society group, it was necessary for us to go
through the thick of these low reefs.
Robert Louis Stevenson was lost for nearly two weeks among these
lagoons; whaling and trading ships avoid them; and navigators have
given them the name Dangerous Archipelago.
We had been in the Marquesas Islands a little over two weeks when
Jack decided that we had better be getting on. So word was sent out
to the natives that on a certain day we would want fruit and fowl;
and on that day, canoes were coming and going from daybreak to
twilight, and by evening our decks were littered with good things of
every shape and colour; the life-boat had been filled with oranges;
sacks containing pineapples, yams, and taro were piled on the deck;
the cockpit was so full of green cocoanuts that there was barely
room left for us to steer; and there were bananas of every stage of
ripeness, from very green to very ripe, hung upside down to the
davits.
We had expected to start away on December 17, but we did not do so,
for late in the afternoon a white spot showed on the horizon at the
mouth of the bay and gradually got brighter until the schooner
_Tameraihoe Tahiti_ dropped anchor close to us. Here was news, and
we could not leave until we knew what was going on in the world. The
schooner had met the steamer in Papeete, Tahiti, two months before,
and had some three-months-old San Francisco papers aboard.
There were three white men on this ship. One was such an interesting
subject that I must tell of him. He had come years before, when only
a young man. He was in the employ of some trading concern that he
still worked for, and on his rounds among the islands he had met and
fallen in love with a native girl, but she only laughed at him,
saying that he was not nearly so good-looking as the natives,
because not tattooed. Now, the girl's brother was just learning this
art, and as he thought the white man's skin would be fine for
practise, he persuaded the trader to be tattooed. The man quit the
company, and for six months lived in a native house in the mountains
while the boy practised tattooing on him every day, until the work
was done and the skin healed up. Then he made his way to the girl's
home. At first the girl was frightened; then she nearly went into
hysterics, and ridiculed him; and finally, she insulted him in the
worst possible manner--she spat upon him, and ran away into the
jungle. And the tattooed white man never saw her again. Now he is
one of the wealthiest men in Polynesia; pearl shell, copra, and
sandalwood have reaped him a fortune that is of no use to him, for
he can never return to civilised people again.
On December 18 we left Taiohae Bay, at seven-thirty in the evening.
We started thus late because we had to wait for a land-breeze to
spring up before we could set sail. The trading vessel gave us three
salutes with their cannon as we started. Owing to the lightness of
the breeze, we were an hour getting out. All the time the vessel was
giving us three salutes, while Hermann kept the shotgun hot
answering. As long as I live, I shall never forget that clearing.
The full moon was just rising over the mountains, making it almost
as light as day. We caught the trades just out of the mouth, and
soon were flying southeast at six knots. No one was seasick; it
seemed almost as if we had not been ashore at all, but were still on
the long traverse from Hilo.
The days were very hot. We accordingly changed our working hours,
getting up early and laying off during the extreme heat. I say
"working hours," but the truth is that extremely little work was
done at all. Jack wrote as usual, Mrs. London did her typing, and
all took their tricks at the wheel, but most of the time we just lay
around on deck and read or chatted.
For the first two days or so we skirted the shores of numerous small
islands of the Marquesan group, but we soon left them behind. On
the fourth day out, squalls began to blow up every few minutes,
looking like storms as they came up over the horizon, but always
fizzling away in a little rain. That evening the wind suddenly
shifted from east to west, sending the sails across deck with a
boom, almost enough to tear the masts out. As it was, it carried
away a stanchion on the rail, and the boom tackle.
Everybody's nerves were on end, what of the nasty and uncertain
weather. According to the chart, we had a coral reef about fifteen
miles on either side of us, making this a bad place in which to
encounter a storm. Early on the morning of the 24th, we sighted
cocoanut palms on our port side, but no land at all, only the tall
palms above the horizon. We left them behind, and soon picked up
another island, but could see only the palms as before, though more
of them. The barometer had been falling for thirty-six hours, and
numerous quick squalls swept over us. All hands were kept on deck
all of Christmas Eve and all of Christmas Day. No one seemed to
realise that it was Christmas, for the heat and squalls and
barometer together had greatly worried us. This was the middle of
the typhoon season, and we were in the most dangerous part of the
world for storms.
The day after Christmas we sighted the tall cocoanut palms growing
on the first of the Taumotu Islands; then for two days longer we
could see the tops of the palm trees on every side, but during this
time we could catch no glimpse of land, as the islands rise only
between two and six feet above the water, and cannot be seen over
five or six miles away.
Jack had decided that our first stop in the Taumotus would be on one
of the largest of the atolls, known as Rangiroa. Early on the fifth
morning we sighted what we supposed to be this atoll. We had not
been able to make observations since leaving the Marquesas, for the
sky had been overcast with low, black, threatening clouds, so we
were navigating by dead reckoning only; and as the currents and
tides are known to be very treacherous, it was merely blind
guess-work instead of real navigating.
[Illustration: THE PRICE OF A WIFE, FEATHER MONEY]
All morning and most of the afternoon we coasted along about a mile
from a low coral reef, on which the surf thundered and pounded. The
strip of land was only about a quarter of a mile wide, but one
hundred miles in circumference, forming an atoll with a large lagoon
in the centre. We sailed within a mile of the low sandy beach before
we could make out an opening, and Captain Y---- finally decided that
this was not the lagoon we were looking for, but that the one ahead
was, so we sailed up the coast of this island, so close that we
could plainly make out the remains of a schooner that had been
wrecked upon the reef. Perhaps this old hull was the monument of
human lives, the last relict of those who had sailed her. This did
not prove to be the atoll we were looking for, nor did the next, or
the next; we were getting among islands so thick that it was
necessary to carry double watches at night on deck. Captain Y----
acted like a man driven crazy, for the ship was in his care, and the
currents and squalls were so deceptive during this time that he was
almost entirely deprived of sleep. One day we had sighted several
small sails to the leeward of us; on trying to get to them we found
our way blocked by a reef just on a level with the water, so low
that had it been night nothing could have saved us from being
wrecked. While we were trying to get round the reef, the sails
disappeared beneath the sky-line, and we were still in a dangerous
position. Little islands scarcely large enough to bear one cocoanut
tree would spring up ahead, and then we must spend valuable time
beating around them. It was not the island itself that we were most
afraid of, it was the reef that we knew always surrounded the
island, sometimes over a mile from the land.
Large merchant ships have spent weeks and weeks trying to get out of
this group. Little pearling luggers pile up on the white coral by
the hundreds, every year. Something like two thousand of these small
pearling vessels are scattered through these islands. Pearl shell is
the only article of value to be found. Every season, scores of lives
are lost in the hurricanes that sweep over the islands; the sand,
being so close to the water, will often be levelled off to the
water-line. The only safe place during such storms is on some sort
of boat in the centre of the lagoon.
The atolls are all about the same shape--that is, circular. The
land, about a quarter of a mile in width, will sometimes form in
such a large circle that it will be impossible to see across the
lagoon. However, we could see the whole of the atoll of the ones we
sailed past.
We had been tangled up among these islands for seven days. There was
no sun, no stars, from which to work our observations. We had now
given up all thought of anchoring anywhere in the Archipelago--if we
could only get away, far away, we would be more than satisfied. Even
had we wanted to anchor, it seemed impossible, for the openings made
by the run of the tide as it ebbed and flowed were too small for us
to enter, and the reefs around the outside of the atolls were too
rough for us to give a thought to. We knew that if we worked to the
south, we would eventually get out. Had the islands been properly
charted we could easily have located our position, but as it was,
all was confusion and guess-work. In this duty, as in most others,
the French had been very remiss. It was too late in the season for
many pearling boats, and very few traders ever attempted these
passages, although I afterward saw in Papeete several old Kanaka
captains who had worked through these lagoons as the Indians used to
locate themselves in America--more by instinct than through any
practical knowledge.
It was on the seventh day out that we saw clear water ahead. That
night we sailed out of the reach of any cross-currents, and we now
had clear water ahead to Papeete. All sail was crowded on, for the
barometer was still acting queerly, and we did not relish the idea
of being caught in a hurricane in so small a vessel. During this
trip, we had not tasted one bit of meat. The fruit of every variety,
and the yams and taro, made food that, for health, in the tropics
has no equal.
Nakata was the biggest banana-eater I ever saw. He would keep his
Japanese stomach filled with bananas all the time. Once he made a
bet with Jack that he could eat twenty bananas in half an hour. He
managed to eat a dozen with no difficulty, but after that he had to
force them down, and he got stalled on his eighteenth banana. He
just could not force down another one. One night, while it was his
watch on deck, he got hold of a tin of salmon which gave him
ptomaine poisoning. He was doubled up on deck for several hours
while I poured mustard down him, but next day he was all right
again.
On the morning of the ninth day we sighted the island of Tahiti, and
raised a signal for a pilot. A Frenchman came out in a large
whale-boat, manned by twelve big Tahitians. The wind was light, so
that we did not get inside Papeete Bay until nearly noon. Papeete
Bay is more like a lagoon with a narrow passage, than it is like a
bay. About one mile across, the water is so deep close to the shore
that a ship can make fast to a cocoanut tree on the beach.
We had been expected in Papeete for a couple of months. Sailing
authorities had given us up as lost.
I shall never forget that scene as we tacked back and forth against
a light headwind; hundreds of little pearling luggers tied to the
shore all around the bay, a French man-of-war tied up to a small
wharf; an American warship anchored in the centre of the bay; and
back on the gradual slopes of the mountains the city of Papeete, the
capital of the South Seas, a city so gay that I can only compare it
by calling it the Paris of the South Sea islands.
The American warship saluted us as we passed under her stern, and a
couple of hundred American sailors set up a cheer that was worth all
the hardships we had been through to hear. And to see the old Stars
and Stripes again! Surrounded by flags of other nationalities, our
old flag looked better than ever before; and no words can describe
our feelings as those white-clad jackies cheered the crew of the
_Snark_. We wanted to show our appreciation of their welcome, but
the best we could do was to bare our heads as the big flag on the
stern of the warship was raised and lowered three times.
Then as we passed the warship, a little canoe with two passengers
bore down on us. One of the passengers was a big, sunburned white
man, with long hair and beard, dressed only in a native loin-cloth.
He urged along the native who was paddling the canoe, while he
stood upright waving a big red flag. When he got close enough to be
understood, he yelled: "Hello, Jack," and Jack, recognising him,
answered: "Hello, Darling." Then the Nature Man, as Darling is
called, came alongside. We could not let him aboard, for the doctor
had not passed us yet, but that did not hinder his piling baskets of
fruit on our deck, and jars of honey, and jams, and jells, of his
own make. He was so glad to see us that he cried; and as I leaned
over to shake hands with him, it seemed that I had clasped the hand
of a friend, and so it proved. Ernest Darling, the Nature Man, was
one of the best friends I ever made in the South Sea islands. I came
to know him well during our stay at Papeete, Tahiti.
The Society group comprises about twenty-five small islands, the
greatest of which is called Tahiti. On the windward side of Tahiti
is located the city of Papeete, the largest settlement in Polynesia.
Papeete has a population of five thousand. About one thousand of the
population are French; five hundred are Chinamen, and the remainder
are natives, with a sprinkling of New Zealanders, Australians,
Germans and Americans. The city lies at the foot of a large
mountain, and is fed by the finest supply of fresh, cool water of
any city in the tropics. This water, coming from the high mountains,
rushes down past Papeete as cool and clear and pure as spring
water. At the outside of Papeete are large cocoanut groves and
sugar-cane plantations. In the city are several first-class business
buildings, and the French have built splendid bungalows; but inside
the town the natives live in their grass houses, and always will, I
suppose, for a frame building is too close and confining for
them--they will invariably select a grass house in preference to a
frame. These islands belong to the French, than whom there are no
people in the world with better ideas on making clean, pretty
cities. As a consequence, they have in Papeete well-kept, parked
streets, and cultivated lawns.
The tropical ferns and trees are excellent for decorating, as the
trees are easily trained to any shape, and they use the rare figures
to advantage. The traveller's palm is one of the rarest of the palm
species, and is used quite extensively in decorating the government
grounds.
The French government in the South Seas is as funny as a comic
opera. In their love of pomp and display, the officials parade the
streets in blue and gold uniforms, with medals pinned to their
coats. The man-o'-war _Zelle_ is stationed here to keep down
rebellions, but even to think of these quiet people's rebelling is
amusing.
The _Zelle_ makes regular trips among the other islands, and the
first class battleship _Catinet_ makes one trip a year to Papeete
from France. Each ship carries something like two hundred men, who
just about turn Papeete upside down when they get ashore. It seemed
to me that the officers had very little control over the men, for
they came and went from the ship whenever they felt like it, and the
ships, as compared with the American warship _Annapolis_, were about
the dirtiest, most ill-kept fighting vessels I ever saw. I have
heard the French sailors talk back to the officers when they had
been ordered aboard the ship; and one sailor told an officer to go
to h--, that he intended to stay ashore all night. Should an
American sailor ever return so much as one word to an officer, he
would most likely be court-martialled.
About one hundred sailors were busy one day beaching a large
coal-barge near the _Snark_, with six or eight officers overseeing
the work. I stood on the rail of the _Annapolis_ with several
American jackies, watching the operation. The sailors were all
talking at once, so loud that the officers could not be heard, and
finally the officers gave up in disgust and let the men do the work
to suit themselves.
But to me most interesting were the tiny trading schooners that ply
between here and the hundreds of small islands within a radius of a
thousand miles--dozens of them, some of such meagre proportions that
a man can hardly stand between the rail and the tiny poop deck over
the little hold. Yet, I have seen fifteen almost naked islanders
squatted on the deck and poop, with no room to lie down, in which
position they would probably remain until they got to their
destination, some minor coral island in the low Archipelago. It was
always amusing to watch one of these vessels unload, for the cargo
was sure to be queer.
One schooner I noticed had several bags of copra, several of pearl
shell, four live turtles weighing about three hundred and fifty
pounds--the largest I ever saw--and the rigging was hanging full of
bananas. In addition, there were ten native men and women aboard. I
wondered how they could make expenses, for the whole thing would not
bring over twenty-five dollars. The turtles they sold for two
dollars each, and the bananas at ten cents a bunch.
I think Papeete might easily be called the city of girls, for they
outnumber the male population two to one. From the Taumotu and
Marquesas Islands and the rest of the Society Islands, the girls
come to Papeete when about fifteen years old to complete their
education, which consists of playing the accordion and dancing the
_hula-hula_. Playing an accordion is as much of an accomplishment
with these girls as playing the piano is with an American girl.
Every evening, from every direction, will be heard music and
singing, and one will see crowds of girls, hand in hand, singing and
dancing through all the streets. From eight o'clock in the evening
until nearly midnight this merry-making goes on, like a continual
carnival, every night. On account of the extreme minority of the
men, the streets seem to be flooded with nothing but girls. They
wear a loose white wrapper in the evenings, called an _au-au_. In
the daytime they wear gaudy coloured _au-aus_. The French government
compels the girls to wear these dresses inside the city limits, but
outside they wear only the comfortable _pareus_.
After the first day we had anchored the _Snark_ in Papeete Harbor,
we secured Darling, the Nature Man, to stay aboard; and while Mr.
and Mrs. London rented a small house, Captain Y---- and I rented a
small two-roomed bungalow, while Wada and Nakata found accommodation
elsewhere in the town. Hermann went on a protracted drunk, which
lasted so long that Jack gave him his walking papers. He afterward
secured the job of second mate on a small trading vessel.
We had been in Papeete but a few days when the steamer _Mariposa_
made port from San Francisco, and we learned the first of the panic
in the United States. Jack's business affairs were badly tangled, so
it became necessary for him to go back to attend to them, leaving
the rest of the crew in Papeete. No one was sorry that we were
delayed, for we had just about decided that we should like to live
here.
An interesting place was the market. Life in Papeete starts at five
o'clock, when the market opens. Fish, fruit and vegetables are
brought before sunrise, and at five o'clock sharp the people may
begin buying. Two known lepers have their booths in this market,
where they sell fruit that the Kanakas buy just as readily as from
any other fruit vendors. For several hours the market square is
crowded with buyers and with girls anxious to show their finery. It
seems queer, but this is the time to show their clothes, for half
the town is there to see them. The market is the most important
place in Papeete. Even during the hottest part of the day, sleepy
Kanakas will be on guard over the fruit until later in the
afternoon, when the people come out again; and for the rest of the
day until midnight the crowds loaf around here making small
purchases of fruit, which is eaten on the spot.
Just imagine buying one of these big yellow bunches of bananas for
what would equal ten cents of our money, and as many oranges as one
could carry for five cents! But the best fruit, alone worth a trip
to Tahiti, is the big red juicy mangoes, and another banana, the
_fei_, which, when cooked, makes a substitute for the best pudding
ever tasted.
I had secured the services of three French blacksmiths, who called
themselves machinists, to help me on the engines. We took all the
machinery from the engine-room, and completely overhauled it. Also,
we installed new rigging on deck, swung our boats on their davits,
and repainted the _Snark_, inside and out.
Our bungalow was just a block up the beach from the _Snark_, on a
quiet, shady street where the élite of the city lived. As no one
worked during the middle of the day, Captain Y---- and I stayed at
home in our cool bungalow, eating fruit and reading, until late in
the afternoon. We had always a bottle of cognac or absinthe, and
plenty of tobacco, of which the natives who visited us partook
freely. At our house, we saw the real _hula-hulas_, and heard native
music and singing that tourists who happen to come to Papeete never
encounter. Everyone smokes in the South Seas--girls, children, men
and women--and all drink. The Kanakas would have drunk our cognac
and absinthe like beer, had we allowed it. In the daytime, the girls
came and squatted on our floor, making shell wreaths or weaving
hats. Their toilet is very simple. On arising, they take a bath,
slip on a _pareu_, over that an _au-au_, put on a wreath of flowers,
wash their hair in cocoanut oil, tuck a flower under the right ear,
and--the toilet is complete. They have a saying that only white
people and fools wear shoes, so of course they go barefoot.
The girls gave a big _hula-hula_ one day just back of our bungalow,
in a big grass house built for the occasion. In the morning they got
a large demijohn of orange beer from the mountains, and by evening
were pretty drunk, but that did not prevent eighteen girls from
giving the prettiest dance I ever saw, while four others played
their weird music on tom-tom drums. One old woman kept shouting and
jumping throughout the dance. At times they would shout in chorus,
and all squat on the floor together, holding their hands over their
heads and keeping time by rhythmical waving. Again, they would give
short hops and yells, holding on to each other and keeping time by a
peculiar scraping of their bare feet.
In the cool of the afternoon, I would start again on the engines,
and work until dark, while Captain Y----, in his new white clothes,
would promenade around Papeete, telling everyone that he was captain
of the _Snark_. Captain Y---- was really a pretty good fellow, but
he took himself too seriously. He was well liked by everyone who
knew him. He was known throughout the Society Islands in a short
time. In fact, it was impossible to see him without getting
acquainted, for he _would_ have everybody know that Captain Y---- of
the _Snark_ was in town; and as he was a pretty good spender and a
sociable club fellow, the people were always glad to have him about.
The two clubs extended to him and Jack and me honorary membership
cards to their club houses. One, the "Circle Bouganville," gave
dances and held social sessions, which we usually attended. We were
always sure of a good time, though it got very tiresome saluting the
many captains we found there. These "captains" strutted about the
streets like peacocks, and gathered in the evening at the "Circle
Bouganville" to drink until morning. There was always plenty of
them! It was safe to call any man captain, for even if he did not
hold the title, he would be so flattered that he would take special
pains to speak to you at every meeting.
[Illustration: A STUDY IN ORNAMENTS]
On the government grounds is a large bandstand. Here the band, pride
of Papeete, plays several times a week. The band is small, very
small, only a little larger than a tiny orchestra, and the music is
horrible, but it supplies an excuse for the population to gather for
a good time. Usually, a few _hula-hula_ dancers have more attention
than the band.
These people are great hands to bedeck themselves with flowers. The
older people carry on a very profitable business during the
evenings, selling wreaths. The Tahitians would no more think of
going out in the evening without wearing flowers than the average
man in the States would think of going without his shirt.
The Kanakas (the name holds even outside Hawaii) are very religious
during church hours; the rest of the time they forget about it. The
big Catholic church is the finest building in the town, being made
entirely of coral cement. The other buildings are of wood.
Along the water-front the principal street, known as Broom Road,
runs clear around the bay in the shape of a horse-shoe. One side of
the street is lined with buildings. On the other side is the beach.
At one end of the beach is a shipbuilding yard, where small pearling
luggers are built and repaired. The rise and fall of the tide in
this bay is so great that no dry dock is necessary. Some of the
vessels have names almost as large as the ship. For instance, there
is the _Teheipouroura Tapuai_, a mission schooner belonging to the
Catholics.
The streets running into the market square are lined with Chinese
stores, and the headquarters of the several trading concerns that
send schooners among the other islands. The Chinese are the only
ones that can carry on a retail business. The Kanakas are too lazy,
and the white people could not live on so small a scale. About all
the natives need is coloured calico, fruits, cheap overalls, and
singlets. They make their own hats when they wear any, and a white
coat is the only thing the French ever buy in the way of luxuries.
Now that I am back in America, I can appreciate their quiet lazy
life better than I could then. To be able to sit or sleep under
those big shady trees or to take a book out there to read, all the
time with plenty of fruit handy, and with nothing to worry over, is
a genuine luxury.
Now and then a sailing vessel will drop in from America or Europe or
Australia, loaded with lumber, and ships of wine come from France.
Every six weeks arrive the _Mariposa_ from San Francisco and the
_Manapaoura_ from New Zealand, while warships of every nation coal
here on their long journeys across the Pacific. It is only when the
South American warships put into port that any real trouble begins,
for the South American jackies always have fights with the French
jackies. The Americans licked a few of the Frenchmen while I was at
Papeete, and after that there was peace for a while.
Papeete is the centre of the pearling industry of the South Seas.
Hundreds of little sloops lie here during the hurricane season,
while the captains strut about the streets. None of the captains can
navigate. They sail entirely from dead reckoning, often taking weeks
to go a few hundred miles, when a captain who could navigate would
take only as many days. But they put no value on time. They simply
look for an island until they find it. Every year, when it is time
for the pearling vessels to come in from the Taumotus, there are
always many missing which are never heard from again.
The pearl shell is loaded in large sailing vessels. Most of it is
sent to Europe. The pearl divers are only after the shell, and not
after the real pearl, as most persons think. If they are lucky
enough to find a pearl, they are that much ahead, but fishing for
the pearl alone would be a very unprofitable business.