SHORT SKETCH OF A ROYAL PROGRESS ROUND TAHITI.
_Chez_ THE REV. JAMES GREEN,
PAPEETE, _25th October_
DEAR LADY GORDON,—I have just heard that a vessel is about to sail, and
will carry mails, so, though I have not time to write at length, I must
send a few lines by her. Though antagonisms are not perhaps so openly
virulent here as in Samoa, there is nevertheless such jealousy among the
traders that they often try to sneak out of harbour unknown to their
neighbours, and so we have just lost the chance of sending letters _viâ_
Auckland by a fine vessel belonging to Godeffroy; but no one knew she
was going, till she actually sailed.
We returned last night from the grand tour of this isle on the occasion
of King Pomare’s accession to the throne. Admiral Serre most kindly
arranged that I should be of the party, and really I do not think I ever
enjoyed an expedition so much in all my life. It was wonderful luck for
me just to have come in for so exceptional a chance; for, of course,
under no other circumstances could I have seen either the country or the
people to such advantage. It was really like a bit of a fairy tale, and
all fitted in so smoothly and naturally without the smallest trouble or
care of any sort, so far as I was concerned. In every respect it has
been a most delightful trip,—good weather, good roads, and most
agreeable company. I cannot tell you how often I longed to have you with
us (remembering how you love driving, and that carriages are an unknown
luxury in Fiji)!
The admiral had a capital carriage and excellent horses, and such a
jovial great half-caste driver. And the broad grass drives along the
shore, generally skirting the sea or passing through the heavenly
orange-groves, are so delicious, and you glide along so silently through
ever-changing scenes of beauty. How you would have enjoyed it all!
Besides the royal party and a few native chiefs, there were about twenty
French officers and the admiral’s excellent brass band, consisting of
twenty sailors, who have been trained and are kept well up to the mark
by M. D’Oncieue de la Battye, the admiral’s _chef d’étât-major_, who is
an excellent musician, and a most agreeable companion—which was
fortunate, as either he or M. Hardouin, the A.D.C., always occupied the
third seat in the carriage. Everything on the whole expedition was
admirably arranged; and although we were such a very large party, there
was always good accommodation provided, and everything was done
comfortably.
Each district possesses a very large _cheferie_ or _fareo_,—_i.e._, a
very large native house built for public purposes—meetings, and the
accommodation of strangers. Like all the native houses here, they
consist chiefly of a heavy thatch roof, rounded at both ends, supported
on a mere framework of posts, and leaving the sides all open, save at
night, when they are screened in. They generally have good wooden
floors, often smooth enough to dance upon.
The first of these at which we stopped was most beautifully decorated,
and tables spread for 300 persons, the chief’s family supplying that for
_les gros bonnets_—and each family in the district taking entire charge
of one table. At other places we found the feast spread in temporary
houses, but everywhere it was gracefully done.
Our night quarters were also most comfortably arranged, and I was
especially charmed by the beds provided for us,—very large and soft,
stuffed with the silky tree-cotton; abundant pillows; real mosquito-nets
and light curtains, tied back with gay ribbons; and such pretty
coverlets of patchwork, really triumphs of art needlework. Those most in
favour have crimson patterns on a white ground, but the designs are
highly artistic. It seems that a Tahitian housewife prides herself on
her snowy linen and downy pillows—a very happy adaptation of foreign
customs. Whenever it was possible so to arrange it, Marau and I shared
the same room, which was a pleasant arrangement.
Each morning our procession of fifteen wheeled vehicles started at 7
A.M., preceded by native outriders carrying the gay district flag, which
made a pretty bit of colour as we passed through the green glades. A
drive of seven or eight miles brought us to our halting-point, where we
found masses of people assembled to sing _himènes_ of welcome, all,
however, dressed in black, relieved only by crowns and handkerchiefs of
yellow, or else a wreath or hat of snowy white bamboo or arrowroot
fibre, and in their hair soft plumes of snowy _reva-reva_,—a filmy
ribbon extracted from the cocoa-palm leaf. All the women were supposed
to have cut off their beautiful long black hair, as mourning for old
Queen Pomare; but happily a good many had only shammed, so now there is
no lack of glossy black tresses. Those, however, who affect deep
mourning, still wear black straw-hats trimmed with crape, and look most
lugubrious, their dark sallow complexions and raven hair giving them
such a very sombre appearance.
All the women without exception have their dresses cut on the pattern of
the old English _sacques_ worn by our grandmothers—that is, a yoke on
the shoulders, from which the skirt falls to the feet, and trails
behind. The effect is very easy and graceful, and it is a matter of deep
congratulation that the dress in fashion in Europe at the period when
Tahiti adopted foreign garments, should have been one so suitable. It
would be impossible to devise a cooler dress, as it only touches the
neck, shoulders, and (very loosely) the arms. The one under-garment is
low-necked, short-sleeved, and of such a length as to form a sweeping
skirt, thus combining chemise and petticoat. Shoes and stockings are of
course superfluous.
Having halted and feasted at the morning district, we started again
about two o’clock, drove seven or eight miles further, always through
lovely country, and so reached our night quarters, where we were again
received by assembled multitudes and congratulatory _himènes_. Then the
band played, as it had done at our noonday halt, to the great delight of
the people; and we strolled about, and bathed in some clear crystalline
stream, reassembling for a great native feast, which, however, was
served European fashion, as each district possesses its own crockery,
glass, knives, forks, spoons, &c. The admiral provided French wines and
bread.
Then followed more _himène_ singing; while we sat listening, entranced,
either in the great house, or on the beautiful sea-shore, in the perfect
moonlight. _Himènes_ are a new sensation in music, utterly
indescribable—the strangest, wildest, most perplexing chants; very
musical and varied, quite impossible to catch. They are a curious and
fascinating sort of glee-chorus, in which every one seems to introduce
any variations he fancies, but always in perfect tune, and producing a
combination like most melodious cathedral chimes—rising and falling in
rippling music, and a droning undertone sounding through it all. The
whole air seems full of musical voices perfectly harmonised—now in
unison, now heard singly; one moment lulled to softest tones, then
swelling in clear ringing melody; voices now running together, now
diverging. The singers compose their own words, which sometimes describe
the most trivial details of passing events, sometimes are fragments of
most sacred hymns—according to the impulse of the moment. Perhaps this
last fact gives us a clue to the origin of the word _hymn-ene_; though I
fancy that the words sung are often those of older and less seemly songs
than the hymns taught by the early missionaries.
This is an outline of what has been our daily life for the last ten
days. All has gone off without a single drawback, and it has been a
spell of thorough enjoyment: nothing could exceed the kindness of every
one, whether French or Tahitian. I think that of all the lovely isles I
have visited, these certainly deserve the palm. Tahiti is a miniature of
Ceylon, omitting all the great hideous coffee districts in the interior
(districts made hideous by denudation—the glorious primeval forests
having been ruthlessly sacrificed to make way for gold-producing crops).
The lovely hills and valleys of Tahiti and Moorea have only gained in
beauty by the introduction of the fruit-bearing trees, which now form a
most important feature in the general wealth of foliage—the dense
thickets of orange-trees having all grown from those brought from Sydney
by Mr Henry, one of the early missionaries. Strangely enough, the most
healthy trees are those which have grown self-sown from the seed thrown
about carelessly by the natives, when they retired to some quiet valley
to brew their orange-rum in secret. These trees have thriven far better
than those much cared for, and transplanted.
The splendid mango-trees, whose mass of dark foliage is now so prominent
a feature on all sides, were introduced less than twenty years ago by
the French, who have taken infinite trouble to procure all the very best
sorts, and have succeeded to perfection.
But the special charm of these isles lies in the multitude of their
streams and rivulets. We calculated that in driving round Tahiti—a
distance of 160 miles—we crossed 150 streams, all clear as crystal.
Several of these are large rivers; and all have enchanting pools, most
tempting to bathers.
The general form of the main isle is that of a double gourd—a large
circle divided by a rocky ridge from a small one, the centre being
composed of a tumbled wilderness of mountains rising to a height of 7000
feet. Precipitous crags, pinnacles, and narrow ridges of black volcanic
rock, which the natives themselves never care to scale, tower in grand
forms at the head of each of the countless richly wooded valleys, to all
of which we looked up from the sea-level. There was only one point where
we rose to any height—namely, the rocky ridge which connects the
peninsula with the main isle.
I must not write more at present lest I should lose the mail. Next week,
if all is well, the Seignelay is to take the royal party across to
beautiful Moorea, there to repeat the pleasures of the last fortnight on
a smaller scale. And very soon after our return thence, Mrs Brander
intends to despatch one of her large vessels to Honolulu to fetch
cattle, and I purpose taking passage by her, hoping that I shall thus
have time to see something of the Sandwich Isles, and there find letters
from you, with such definite plans as shall guide me whether to meet you
in Australia or New Zealand about Christmas. You will scarcely venture
to keep the children in Fiji any later in the hot season.—With all
loving greetings, yours ever,
C. F. G. C.