LIFE IN PAPEETE—THE MARKET—CHURCHES—COUNTRY LIFE IN THE SOUTH SEAS.
THE RED HOUSE, PAPEETE,
_Saturday, December 1st_.
We have had a very gay week, including several festivities on board the
three French men-of-war now in harbour. On Saturday I was invited to
dine on board Le Limier, with the Greens, Viennots, and Verniers. (In
case your French fails you, I may remind you that a _limier_ is a
blood-hound; a fact which I only recollected on seeing canine heads on
all the boats.) M. Puèch is a good friend of the French Protestant
Mission, and his visit to Tahiti is a happy event for all its members.
After a pleasant dinner, we sat on deck to hear the sailors sing, and
then went off in small canoes for a nearer sight of the _pêche à
flambeaux_, which was going on in every direction near the reef—the
flashing torches and dark figures of the fishermen forming a most
picturesque scene.
Another day we breakfasted on board Le Seignelay, and in the afternoon a
large party assembled on La Magicienne to see the boat-races. A pretty
sight, and seen from a beautiful and most luxurious ship.
On Wednesday, the admiral held his last reception at Government House,
at which there was a very large attendance; and Mrs Brander had most
mirthful dances here on Monday, and again last night. The latter was a
farewell, and I fear that to many of the young folk it was really a very
sorrowful one.
This morning we watched La Magicienne steam out of harbour on her way to
Valparaiso. The admiral leaves a pleasant vice-governor in M. D’Oncieue
de la Battye, who is happily allowed to retain the excellent band till
the arrival of the new governor; when the Seignelay is to convey him and
it to Valparaiso. So the Tahitians find some consolation in this
arrangement.
_Sunday Evening._
I think our Sundays would seem to you rather a curious medley, so I will
give you a sketch of to-day from morning till evening. I was, as usual,
awakened at 5 A.M. by the chattering of many voices, as the boats
discharged their cargoes of fruit and rainbow-coloured fish beneath my
windows. It was an exquisite cloudless morning, and I was seized with a
sudden impulse to follow the crowd to the market, which hitherto I had
only seen in its deserted afternoon aspect.
Passing by roads which are called streets, but are rather shady bowers
of yellow hybiscus and bread-fruit trees, I entered the covered
market-place, where were assembled as gay a throng as you could wish to
see, many of them dressed in flowing robes of the very brightest
colours; for the people here assembled are chiefly _le peuple_, whose
days of ceremonial mourning for their good old queen are drawing to a
close; so the long tresses of glossy black hair, hitherto so carefully
hidden within their jaunty little sailor hats, are now again suffered to
hang at full length in two silky plaits, and hair and hats are wreathed
with bright fragrant flowers of double Cape jessamine, orange-blossom,
scarlet hybiscus, or oleander. Many wear a delicate white jessamine star
in the ear in place of an ear-ring. The people here are not so winsome
as those in remoter districts. Too much contact with shipping and
grog-shops has of course gone far to deteriorate them, and take off the
freshness of life; but a South Sea crowd is always made up of groups
pleasant to the eye; and a party of girls dressed in long graceful
sacques of pale sea-green, or delicate pink, pure white, or bright
crimson, chatting and laughing as they roll up minute fragments of
tobacco in strips of pandanus or banana to supply the inevitable
cigarette, is always attractive.
The men all wear _pareos_ of Manchester cotton stuff, prepared expressly
for these isles, and of the most wonderful patterns. Those most in
favour are bright crimson with a large white pattern, perhaps groups of
red crowns on circles of white, arranged on a scarlet ground, or else
rows of white crowns, alternating with groups of stars. A dark-blue
ground with circles and crosses in bright yellow, or scarlet with yellow
anchors and circles, also find great favour; and though they certainly
sound “loud” when thus described, they are singularly effective. It is
wonderful what a variety of patterns can be produced, not one of which
has ever been seen in England. With these the men wear white shirts, and
sailor’s hats, with bright-coloured silk handkerchiefs tied over them
and knotted on the ear; or else a gay garland.
On entering the market, it struck me that many of the sellers must have
taken up their quarters over-night, for their gay quilts and pillows lay
near, as they sat on their mats snatching a hasty breakfast of fruit or
raw fish.
The latter is always in favour. Little fish or big fish of certain sorts
are swallowed with apparently the same delight as you might hail a
basket of ripe cherries; in fact, a green banana-leaf full of skipping
shrimps, is a dainty dish for any pretty maid, who crunches the
wriggling creatures with her gleaming white teeth, or lets them hop down
her throat with the greatest coolness.
The fish here offered for sale are of every sort and size and colour.
Large silvery fish, flat fish; long narrow fish with prolonged snouts,
excellent to eat; the _au_ or needle-fish, with long sharp-pointed head;
and gay scarlet and green and blue fishes of every colour of the
rainbow. I have seen gaudy fish in many tropical seas, but nowhere such
brilliancy as here. There are rock-fish of all sorts, bonito, good
fresh-water salmon with white flesh, eels, mussels, turtle, clams,
echini, prawns, red and white cray-fish, &c., &c. Sometimes the market
has a fair supply of poultry, turkeys, fowls, pigeons, and wild
duck,—generally a few live pigs, which are carried hanging from a pole
and squealing pitifully. They are very good, and clean feeders, being
allowed to wander at large, and find themselves in cocoa-nuts and
bread-fruit. The enterprising Chinamen, as usual, improve the vegetable
supply, especially in the matter of what I venture to call Christian
potatoes, in opposition to the indigenous potato, _alias_ yam.
Every one brings to the morning market whatever he happens to have for
sale. Some days he has a large stock-in-trade, sometimes next to
nothing. But, be it little or be it much, he divides it into two lots,
and slings his parcels or baskets from a light bamboo-pole which rests
across his shoulder, and, light as it is, often weighs more than the
trifles suspended from it,—perhaps a few shrimps in a green leaf are
slung from one end, and a lobster from the other, or, it may be, a tiny
basket of new-laid eggs balanced by half-a-dozen silvery fishes.
But often the burden is so heavy that the pole bends with the weight—of
perhaps two huge bunches of mountain bananas—and you think how that poor
fellow’s shoulder must have ached as he carried his spoil down the steep
mountain-path from the cleft in the rugged rock where the _faees_ had
contrived to take root. These resemble bunches of gigantic golden plums.
As a bit of colour they are glorious, but as a vegetable I cannot learn
to like them,—which is perhaps as well, as the native proverb says that
the foreigner who does appreciate _faees_, can never stay away from
Tahiti.
As you enter the cool shady market you see hundreds of those golden
clusters hanging from ropes stretched across the building, and great
bunches of mangoes and oranges. These last lie heaped in baskets, among
cool green leaves. Sometimes a whole laden bough has been recklessly cut
off. Pine-apples, bread-fruit, cocoa-nuts, all are there, and baskets of
scarlet tomatoes, suggestive of cool salads.
But tempting above all are the luscious mangoes, whose thin skins are
ready to burst at a touch, and yield their treasure of delight to
thirsting lips. Purple, or golden, or pale yellow, long-shaped or
egg-shaped, I know not which to prefer; each in turn seems more
delicious than any other, and the only difficulty is to stop feasting
before the basket is empty! If Tahiti owns no other debt of gratitude to
France, she at least has to thank a French governor for this excellent
fruit, which is now so thoroughly acclimatised, that it has attained a
perfection rarely equalled in any other country, and, moreover, grows so
luxuriantly and bears fruit so abundantly, as to form an important item
in the food of the people.
Returning from the market to a pleasant early breakfast on the cool
verandah, I rested in luxurious quiet till the bells of the Roman church
close by, summoned the faithful to the nine o’clock service, which I
generally attend, in preference to walking in the heat to the large
native Congregational church—“_le temple Protestant_”—where the long
service, in a tongue to me unknown, is a weariness of flesh and spirit.
Moreover, it lacks the picturesque element which was to me so attractive
in the simple Fijian churches, where soft mats are the only furnishings
required. Here the congregation are penned in hideous pews, which make
it difficult, if not impossible, to kneel—a natural attitude of worship,
which, in the early days of Tahitian Christianity, was as common as it
now is in Fiji, but from which the modern Tahitians refrain in church,
as savouring of Romish ritual!
At the Catholic church, the bishop preaches half in French, half in
Tahitian, that all his hearers may carry away some message in their own
tongue; and the singing by the French Sisters and their school-children
is always sweet and harmonious. I cannot say the congregation is
large—merely a small handful of natives; such of the French as are
compelled to be present at all, having already been in official
attendance at the eight o’clock military Mass, which is to me a very
distasteful form of worship. I think that good Père Collet looks on me
as rather a hopeful convert; but I tell him I only appear as the
representative of my naval friends, who all consider church-going in any
form as altogether unnecessary, neither officers nor sailors ever
attending service since our arrival here.
After church, we went to breakfast on board Le Seignelay, and then to
see Queen Marau, whom we escorted to the Government House gardens, where
we were joined by several friends. The great attractions there are two
newly arrived Russian bears, passengers by Le Limier—nice brown beasts,
and very tame.
We returned here just in time for the family dinner, from which, as
usual, Mrs Brander and I made our way to the evening service at the
little Congregational chapel, at which only a tiny handful of the
foreign residents assemble. All the members of the Protestant mission
officiate by turns, in French or English; and this evening M. Vernier
conducted the service in admirable English. But a strong
counter-attraction is offered by the pleasant gardens, where the band
always reserves its most attractive programme for Sunday night; and we
catch tempting snatches of lovely operatic airs as we walk homeward by
the hybiscus-shaded lanes.
FAUTAWA VALLEY, _Thursday, 6th Dec._
Last Monday the whole party moved out from Papeete to this lovely
country-home. It is a delightful bungalow, built by Mr Brander—a cool
one-storeyed house, with wide shady verandahs; a pleasant garden, bright
with summer flowers; masses of cool shade; and a clear, beautiful river,
which affords a dozen delightful bathing-places of varied depth, so that
every one can select a spot according to his own heart’s desire. All the
family and their friends can swim like fishes, so of course they prefer
the deep pools, and have a favourite spot just below the house, where
they disport themselves joyously at all hours of the day; and the first
hospitable offer made to callers, is that of a _pareo_ and towels, that
they may at once enjoy this most refreshing luxury.
I, being a foolish non-swimmer, and moreover somewhat ungregarious, have
discovered a bathing paradise for myself some way further up the stream,
where the interlacing boughs of cool blue-grey hybiscus foliage form an
immense arbour—a dressing-room of leafy shade, through which the
gurgling waters flow gently, with rippling, liquid, most musical
tones—the voice of hidden streams. Here a rivulet leaves the main river,
and its sparkling waters play over a thick velvety carpet of the
softest, greenest mosses, forming the most delightful couch you can
imagine; while from the leafy canopy overhead drop pale lemon-coloured
blossoms, which float idly down the stream; and from the wild guava
bushes I can pluck any number of ripe guavas, or, to be still more
luxurious, I may gather luscious mangoes on my way from the house. Can
you wonder that so fascinating a bower is not only my first attraction
at early dawn, but a favourite retreat at all hours? Sometimes I end the
evening with a moonlight bathe, but am inclined to think that this is
imprudent, as it is always followed by a feeling of chill, though the
water and air both feel warm and delicious.
My hostess has presented me with a couple of sacques like those worn by
all Tahitian ladies. They are the perfection of dress in this climate,
being so delightfully cool. They are literally flowing garments, for
they only touch you at the shoulders, and thence fall in long loose
folds. So when the first ray of light gilds the high mountains in which
this lovely valley lies embosomed, I slip on one of those simple
dresses, and start barefoot across the dewy lawn and by the grassy paths
that lead to the stream. Going barefoot is only a preliminary stage of
bathing, for the grass is saturated with moisture, and an early walk
across a field is about equivalent to walking knee-deep through a river.
Curiously enough, it is to this heavy night-dew that the royal family of
Tahiti owe their name of Pomare, which literally means “night cough.”
About four generations back the king chanced to be sleeping on the
mountains and exposed to the penetrating dew which brought on a
troublesome cough. His followers spoke of the _po mare_, and the sound
of the words pleased the royal ear; and thenceforth the king adopted
this euphonious but singular surname, which has since been borne by each
crowned head.
This very odd custom of adopting a name to commemorate some simple
event, was common to a good many of the isles. Mr Gill mentions such
names as “Lost son,” adopted by the king of Mangaia when his son had
been stolen; a title retained long after the lad had been restored.
Another man took the name of “Deal-coffin,” because a relation had been
buried in a sailor’s chest. One chief desired to be always called “Press
me,” because those words had been uttered by a dying grandchild when in
pain; and another was called “Dim-sight,” because his grandfather
suffered from weak eyes.
This pleasant country-home is about three miles from Papeete, and
various carriages are ready after early breakfast to convey the
gentlemen to town, whence some return to late breakfast, others not till
dinner-time. But all day long, people come and go on divers errands of
business or pleasure; and the drive is so pretty as to be in itself
quite an enjoyment. In short, life here is altogether easy and
luxurious, combined with most captivating simplicity.
The already large family party has been increased by the arrival of a
third big brother, Ariipaea, who has been for some time living on
another of the islands. Mrs Salmon and the pretty young sisters, and
several friends, are also staying here, a most loving “family-pie.” To
Narii this happy valley has an additional charm, for it is also the home
of a certain charming “Mademoiselle Cécile,” whom he hopes ere long to
include in the family circle.
_Chez_ THE REV. JAMES GREEN, PAPEETE,
_Friday Evening_.
This morning early, Ariipaea drove me here, where it had been arranged
that I should meet M. Brun, the _pasteur_ of Moorea, and accompany him
to his beautiful isle. We were to have taken passage in one of a small
fleet of Moorea boats, which arrived here some days ago in order to
build a district house, which shall henceforth be the regular
headquarters of all Mooreans who have occasion to visit Papeete. The
house was finished this morning, and the event was notified by a most
deafening beating of native drums, after which all the boats set sail,
very sensibly objecting to lose the fair breeze by any delay. M. Brun
arrived in time to see them flying before the wind, like a flight of
white butterflies.
I solaced myself by commencing a careful study of a noble bread-fruit
tree, overshadowing Queen Moë’s house, when suddenly a cry was raised
that an English man-of-war was signalled. Great was the excitement that
prevailed, as it is fully four years since the British ensign was last
seen in this harbour, and there was a general chorus of disappointment
when it was found that the visitor was only a small sloop, H.M.S.
Daring; a disappointment, however, which was followed by great
rejoicing, when it became known that she was the forerunner of H.M.S.
Shah, Admiral de Horsey’s flag-ship, which is to arrive here in a few
days. Already the small society of the place is in a ferment at the
prospect of so important a visitor; and the arrival of about fifty
English officers will compensate for the departure of the French
flag-ship. So all manner of hospitalities are already under discussion,
as we gathered from the general conversation at the band this evening.
I shall leave this letter to go by H.M.S. Daring, in case she sails
before I return from Moorea; so shall bid you good-bye for the present.