TAHITI THE ISLAND PARADISE
Transcriber's Note
This book was transcribed from scans of the original found at the
Internet Archive. Variant spellings are not corrected. Some
illustrations are rotated.
TAHITI
THE
ISLAND PARADISE
BY
NICHOLAS SENN, M. D., Ph. D., LL. D., C. M.
Professor of Surgery in the University of Chicago
Professor and Head of the Surgical Department in Rush Medical College
Surgeon-in-Chief of St. Joseph's Hospital
Attending Surgeon of the Presbyterian Hospital
Lieutenant-Colonel and Chief of the Operating Staff with the Army in
the Field during the Spanish-American War
Surgeon-General of Illinois
WITH FIFTY HALF-TONE ILLUSTRATIONS
CHICAGO
W. B. CONKEY COMPANY
COPYRIGHT, 1906,
BY
W. B. CONKEY COMPANY
PREFACE
The far-away little island of Tahiti is the gem of the South Pacific
Ocean. If any place in this world deserves to be called a paradise,
Tahiti can make this claim. This charming spot in the wide expanse of
the peaceful ocean has attractions which we look for in vain anywhere
else. From a distance, the grandeur of its frowning cliffs rivets the
eye, and, in coming nearer, its tropic beauty charms the visitor and
imprints upon his memory pictures single and panoramic that neither
distance nor time can efface. The scenic beauty of this island is
unsurpassed. The calming air, redolent with the perfume of fragrant
flowers of exquisite beauty, on the seashore, in the valleys and on the
precipitous mountain sides; the luxuriant vegetation; the forest
fruit-gardens and the sweet music of the surf remind one of the original
habitation of man. The natives, a childlike people, friendly, courteous
and hospitable, are the happiest people on earth, free from care and
worries which in other less favored parts of the world make life a
drudgery.
Tahiti is the only place in the world where the people are not obliged
to work. The forests furnish bread and fruit and the sea teems with
fish. The climate is so mild that the wearing of clothing is rather a
matter of choice than of necessity, and the bamboo huts that can be made
with little or no expense in half a day with the willing help of the
neighbors, meet all the requirements of a home. The stranger will find
here throughout the year a climate and surroundings admirably adapted to
calm his nervous system and procure repose and sleep.
In writing this little book I have made free use of the "Memoirs of
Arrii Taimai E., Marama of Eimeo, Terii rere of Tooarai, Terii nui of
Tahiti, Tauraatua I Amo" (Paris, 1901). The authoress was the mother of
Tati, one of the most influential present chiefs of Tahiti, and, as her
several titles show, she was of noble birth. She was an eye-witness of
many of the most stirring political events in the history of the island.
Only fifty copies of this book were printed and only three remained in
possession of her son. He was kind enough to give me one of them, which,
after making liberal use of it, I presented to the library of the
University of Chicago, through its late lamented president, Dr. W. R.
Harper. I also acknowledge my indebtedness to the works of Captain Cook,
"A Voyage to the Pacific" (London, 1784), and to the book of Baron Ferd.
von Mueller, "Select Extra-tropical Plants" (Melbourne, 1885).
N. Senn.
Chicago, 1906.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
- PREFACE
- TAHITI THE ISLAND PARADISE
- THE ISLAND OF TAHITI
- OCEAN VOYAGE
- THE ATOLL ISLANDS
- THE LANDING AT PAPEETE
- THE CITY OF PAPEETE
- TOPOGRAPHY OF THE ISLAND
- THE CLIMATE
- HISTORY OF THE ISLAND
- POMARE, THE ROYAL FAMILY OF TAHITI
- MISSIONARY RULE
- WARS BETWEEN PROTESTANT AND CATHOLIC MISSIONARIES
- THE LAST WAR
- THE NATIVES
- FOREIGNERS IN TAHITI
- BUSINESS IN TAHITI
- OLD TAHITI
- RELIGION OF THE NATIVES
- THE INSIGNIA OF TAHITIAN ROYALTY
- DISEASES OF TAHITI
- PRESENT PREVAILING DISEASES
- THE KAHUNA OR NATIVE DOCTOR
- PHYSICIANS IN TAHITI
- HÔPITAL MILITAIRE
- THE ISLAND OF PLENTY
- TAHITI'S NATURAL BREAD SUPPLY
- THE COCOANUT, THE MEAT OF THE TAHITIANS
- THE COCOA-PALM
- THE FORESTS OF TAHITI
- NOTED FOREST TREES OF TAHITI
- VANILLA CULTIVATION IN TAHITI
- THE RURAL DISTRICTS
- POINT VENUS
- FAUTAHUA VALLEY
- VILLAGE OF PAPARA
- IORANA!
- ADDENDA
- THE STORY OF ARIITAIMAI OF TAHITI
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
- The Royal Family
- Harbor and Principal Port of Papeete
- Lighthouse, and Cook Monument at Haapape
- King Pomare V
- Pomare IV
- View of Moorea
- Tahiti from the Harbor of Papeete
- In the Shadow of the Palm Forest
- The S. S. "Mariposa" Leaving the Harbor of Papeete
- Royal Palace (Headquarters of the Governor)
- Avenue of Purranuia, Papeete
- Native Village by the Sea
- Native Hut close by the Sea
- Prince Hinoi
- A Tahitian Home
- Tahitian Bamboo House
- Tomb of the Last King of Tahiti, Pomare V
- Tahitian Women in Ancient Native Dress
- Tahiti Girls in Native Dress
- A Group of Native Girls
- Native Girl in Modern Dress
- Tahitian Ladies in Zulu Dress
- Native Musicians and Native Dance
- Tahitian Girl in Native Festive Dress
- At Home
- A Home by the Sea — Raiatea
- Fisherman's Home
- Native Settlement
- Group of Tahitian Children
- A Case of Far-Advanced Leprosy Affecting All Limbs
- A Leper of Tahiti
- Military Hospital in Papeete
- Tahitian Fruit Vender
- Preparing Breadfruit
- Sapodilla
- Copra Establishment
- Government Wharf — Papeete
- Corner in Papeete
- A View of Fautahua Valley
- Avenue of Fautahua
- Cascade of Fautahua
- Bridge across Fautahua near Waterfall
- Lagoon and Reef on the Ninety-Mile Road
- On the Ninety-Mile Road
- Fishermen of Papeete
- Tahitian Canoe with Outrigger
- Two Papaya Trees
- Picking Cocoanuts
- Alligator Pear Tree
- Ancient Masked Warriors
TAHITI THE ISLAND PARADISE
When the Almighty Architect of the universe created the earth we
inhabit, He manifested His wisdom, goodness and foresight in adapting,
in a most admirable manner, the soil, climate, and animal and vegetable
life for the habitation of man, the supreme work of creation. By the
gradual and progressive geographical distribution of man over the
surface of the earth, he has become habituated to diverse climates and
environments, and has found conditions most congenial to his comfort and
the immediate necessities of life.
In cold, laborious climes, the wintry North
Brings her undaunted, hardy warriors forth,
In body and in mind untaught to yield,
Stubborn of soul, and steady in the field;
While Asia's softer climate, form'd to please.
Dissolves her sons in indolence and ease.
LUCANUS.
It required centuries for the Esquimau to become acclimated to the
inhospitable polar regions, and make them his favorite abode; the people
who drifted toward the equator gradually became inured to the climate of
the tropics and accustomed to the manner of living in countries where
the perennial heat paralyzes the physical and mental energies, and
undermines the health of strangers coming from a more temperate climate.
Nature has made ample provision for man in all habitable parts of the
earth. The regions of ice and snow are inhabited by fur-bearing animals,
and, at certain seasons of the year, are frequented by a large variety
of aquatic birds in great abundance, which supply the natives with food
and clothing, while in the tropics, man has little or no need of fuel
and clothing, and, with very little exertion, he can subsist on the
fruits of the forests, and on the food so liberally supplied by the sea.
The intensity of the struggle for life increases with the distance north
and south from the temperate zones, where climatic conditions
necessitate active exercise and where the necessities of life can only
be obtained by the hardest kind of labor. The climate of the tropics, on
the other hand, is very generous to man. The forests are rich in fruit
yielding trees which Nature plants, which receive little or no care, yet
which bear fruit throughout the year. Wherever the cocoa-palm grows in
abundance, there can be no famine, because this tree yields a rich
harvest of nutritious fruit from one end of the year to the other
without fail, as it is never affected to any considerable extent by
drouth and other conditions which so often bring failure to the orchards
in more temperate climates. The continuous summer and the wonderful
fertility of the soil in tropic and subtropic countries reward richly
the labor of the husbandman by two and sometimes three harvests a year,
as nature's forces require no rest, no slumber there.
Life in a changeable, severe climate is full of hardships; in the
tropics, of ease and leisure. The nearer we come to the tropics, the
closer we approach the conditions of primitive man. The necessities of
life increase as we recede on either side of the equatorial line. The
dreamy, easy, care-free life in the tropics is in strong contrast with
the severe and arduous struggles for existence in countries less favored
by the resources of nature.
Among the trees in the Garden of Eden, the palm tree was undoubtedly the
most beautiful, and it remains to-day the queen of the forests of the
seacoast in the tropics. The palm-clad isles of the South Sea bear a
closer resemblance to the description of the Garden of Eden than any
other of the many parts of the world that I have ever seen; and of
these, Tahiti is a real paradise on earth. There is no country nor other
isle where Nature has been so liberal in the distribution of her gifts.
No other island can compare in natural beauty with Tahiti, the gem of
the South Pacific Ocean. It is the island where life is free of care. It
is the island where the natives are fed, clothed and housed by nature.
It is the island where man is born, eats his daily bread without being
forced to labor, sleeps and dreams away his life free from worry, and
enjoys the foretaste of the eternal paradise before he dies. It is the
island which must have been born
In the morning of the world,
When earth was nigher heaven than now.
BROWNING.
It is the island of which the poet must have been musing when he wrote:
Amid an isle around whose rocky shore
The forests murmur and the surges roar,
A goddess guards in her enchanted dome.
POPE.
THE ISLAND OF TAHITI
About three thousand six hundred miles south by southwest from San
Francisco are the Society Islands, a small archipelago in the South
Pacific Ocean, in latitude 16 to 18 degrees south, longitude 148 to 155
degrees west. Captain Cook named this group in honor of the Royal
Society of London. The largest two of these islands, Tahiti and Moorea,
are of volcanic origin, mountainous and heavily timbered; the remaining
islands are small, low, of coral origin, and are called atolls. In
approaching the archipelago from San Francisco, a few of these
palm-fringed atoll islands come first into view, forming a pleasing
foreground to the rugged mountains of Tahiti and its smaller neighbor,
Moorea, which are sighted almost at the same time. After a voyage over
the desert ocean of thirteen days (all this time out of sight of land),
to gaze on the most beautiful islands of this group is a source of
exquisite pleasure.
Sea-girt isles,
That like to rich and various gems, inlay
The unadorned bosom of the deep.
MILTON.
The South Pacific Ocean is the natural home of the coral polyps, which
are great island-builders, using the volcanic material as a foundation
for the coral superstructure. As these minute builders can live only in
shallow water, they use submerged mountain peaks for their foundations,
converting them into low atolls, and building reefs around the base of
the high volcanic islands. Most of the Society Islands are of coral
formation perched upon submerged mountain summits. The island of Tahiti
is small, of little commercial interest, and hence it is comparatively
unknown to the masses of the people. Very few who left the schoolroom
twenty-five years ago would be able to locate it without consulting a
geography, and many have even forgotten the name. The children fresh
from school recall it in connection with the difficulty they encountered
in finding the little dot in the great, trackless South Pacific Ocean,
surrounded by a group of still smaller specks, representing the
remainder of the little archipelago to which it belongs.
Tahiti is nearly four thousand miles distant from San Francisco, in a
southwesterly direction, below the equator, in latitude 17, hence in a
similar latitude to that of the Hawaiian Islands, which are situated
about the same distance north of the equator.
I had heard much of the natural beauty of this far-off island and its
interesting inhabitants, and decided to spend my midwinter vacation in
1904 in paying it a visit. Formerly the passage from San Francisco had
to be made by a schooner, and required several months. For the last four
years the island has been made readily accessible by a regular steamer
service. The staunch steamer, _Mariposa_, of the Oceanic Steamship Company
of San Francisco, sails from that port every thirty-six days, makes the
trip in twelve or thirteen days, and remains at Papeete, the capital of
the island, four days, which give the visitor ample time to visit the
most interesting points and make the desired observations. The track of
the steamer is over that part of the Pacific Ocean which is
comparatively free from violent storms, between the storm centers east
and west from it. The prevailing trade-winds cool off the tropical heat
in the vicinity of the equator, rendering the voyage at all seasons of
the year a pleasant one. The steamer has a tonnage of three thousand
tons, the service is excellent, and the table all that could be desired.
I know of no better way to spend a short mid-winter vacation than a trip
to Tahiti, the island paradise, the most interesting and beautiful of
all islands.
January and February are the months when the fruit is most abundant, and
the climate most agreeable. The twenty-five days of voyage on the ocean,
the few days on shore occupied by a study of its natives, their customs,
manner of living, by visits to the various points of historic interest,
and by the greatest of all genuine pleasures, the contemplation of
nature's choicest exhibitions in the tropics, are all admirably adapted
to procure physical rest and pleasure, and pleasing as well as
profitable mental occupation. A trip to Tahiti will prove of particular
benefit to those who are in need of mental rest. The absence of anything
like severe storms on this trip should be a special inducement, for
those who are subject to seasickness, to travel there.
The steamer is well adapted for service in the tropics, the cabins are
roomy and comfortable. Capt. J. Rennie is one of the most experienced
commanders of the fleet, a good disciplinarian and devoted to the safety
and comfort of his passengers. While the steamer can accommodate seventy
cabin passengers, the number seldom exceeds twenty-five. The tourist
therefore escapes crowding and noise, so trying to the nerves, and so
common on the transatlantic steamers and other more frequented ocean
routes.
OCEAN VOYAGE
The steamer _Mariposa_ leaves the San Francisco wharf at eleven o'clock
a.m.,—an excellent time for the passengers to enjoy the beauties of the
bay and the Golden Gate, to see the rugged coast of California gradually
disappear in the distance during the course of the afternoon, and to
prepare himself for the first night's sleep in the cradle of the deep.
The second day out, and until the mountains of Tahiti come in sight, the
traveler will see nothing but the floating tavern in which he lives, its
inmates, the inky blue ocean, the sky, clouds, and, occasionally,
sea-gulls, and isolated schools of flying fish. The steamer's track is
over an unfrequented part of the ocean. The passenger looks in vain for
a mast or white-winged sails, or puffs of smoke in the distance, sights
so often seen on more frequented ocean highways. The steamer crosses an
ocean desert little known, but out of reach of the violent storms, so
frequent near the coasts, on both sides free from reefs and rocks, as
this part of the ocean is of unusual depth, amounting in many places to
three miles. Stranding of the vessel, or collision with others, the
greatest dangers incident to sea travel, are therefore reduced to a
minimum on this route. Although this course is an unusually lonely one,
the interested observer will find much to see and enjoy. The vast
expanse of the ocean impresses the traveler from day to day and grows
upon him as the distance from the coast increases.
Illimitable ocean! without bound,
Without dimensions, where length, breadth, and height,
And time, and place, are lost
MILTON.
The boundless ocean desert, mirror-like when at rest, clothed by gentle
ripples and ceaseless wavelets when fanned by the trade-winds, is a
picture of peace and contentment.
The winds with wonder whist,
Smoothly the waters kiss'd,
Whispering new joys to the mild ocean.
MILTON.
But even here in the most peaceful part of the Pacific, when angered by
the fury of a heavy squall, a diminutive storm agitates the waters into
foam-crested waves, which, for a short time at least, impart to the ship
an intoxicated gait. The effect of sun, moon and starlight on the
smooth, undulating, heaving, billowing, tossing, storm-beaten surface of
the ocean, is marvelous. When all is quiet, and the passenger is only
conscious of the vibratory movements imparted to the ship by the
ceaseless action of the faithful screw, and the lights of heaven are
veiled by a curtain of dark clouds, the beautiful blue gives way to a
sombre black. When the tropic sun shines with all his force, the color
of the water fairly vies with the deep blue of the sky, and the nearer
we approach our destination, the tints of blue grow deeper and deeper,
until at last they are of perfect indigo.
The moon and starlight have a magic effect on the surface of the water.
The long evenings give the passengers the exquisite pleasure of watching
the journey of the moon across the starlit heavenly dome, growing, night
after night, from a mere sickle to her full majestic size, and of
observing the effects of the gradually increasing intensity of the light
issuing from the welcome visitor of the night, on the glassy mirror of
water beneath. The star-bedecked pale dome of the tropic sky is, in
itself, a picture that rivets the attention of the traveler who loves
and studies the book of nature. The short twilight over, "these blessed
candles of the night" (Shakespeare) are lighted, and send their feeble
light down upon the bosom of the ocean.
If the sky is clear, the illuminating power of the moon at its best, and
the ocean calm, its surface is transformed into a boundless sheet of
silver. This magic effect of moonlight on the surface of the sleeping
ocean is magnified by passing fleecy, or dark, storm-threatening clouds.
The fleeting, fleecy clouds often veil, only in part, the lovely, full
face of the moon, and through fissures, the rays of light issue, and,
falling upon the water, are reflected in the form of silvery patches or
pathways, corresponding in size and outline with the temporary window in
the passing cloud. It is when the moon is about to be hidden behind a
dark, impenetrable veil that the spectator may expect to see the most
wonderful display of pictures above and around him. As the cloud
approaches the moon, the blue background deepens in color and brilliancy
and when its dark margin touches the rim of the moon it is changed into
a fringe of gold or silver; with the disappearance of the moon behind
the cloud the fringe of the latter is rudely torn away, the water
beneath is robbed of its carpet of silver, and the captivated observer
is made aware that the darkness of night is upon him. But the gloom is
of short duration. A break in the cloud serves as a window through which
the moon peeps down, with a most bewitching grace, upon the dark surface
beneath. The prelude to this exhibition appears on the side of the
temporary frame, in the form of a silver lining which broadens with the
moving cloud; now the rim of the moon comes into view; slowly, the veil
is completely thrown aside, and Luna's calm, pale, smiling, full face
makes its appearance, enclosed in a dark frame with silver margins,
while, more than likely, she will be attended by a few brilliant stars,
thus completing the charms and beauty of the picture suspended from the
heavenly dome. All genuine pleasures of this world are of short
duration; so with this nocturnal picture painted on the clouds and
water. The silver rim on one side of the frame of clouds disappears, the
dark margin increases in width, the moon is obscured, and only a few
flickering stars remain fixed in the picture.
Surely there is something in the unruffled calm of nature that
overcomes our little anxieties and doubts: the sight of the deep blue
sky, and the clustering stars above, seem to impart a quiet to the
mind.
JONATHAN EDWARDS.
In midocean is the place to view at greatest advantage the gorgeous
sunrise and sunset of the tropics. To see the sun disappear in the
distance, where the dome of the sky seems to rest on the bosom of the
ocean, is a scene which no pen can describe, and which no artist's brush
has ever reproduced in any degree comparable with the grand reality. The
canvas of the sky behind the setting glowing orb, and the passing clouds
in front, above, and beneath it, are painted successively by the
invisible brush in the unseen hands of the departing artist in colors
and shades of colors that may well laugh to scorn any and all attempts
at description or reproduction. The gilded horizon serves as a fitting
background for the retreating monarch of the day, and the slowly moving
canvas of clouds transmits his last messages in all the hues of red,
crimson, pink, and yellow. To observe this immense panorama stretched
from north to south, and projected toward the east, resting on the
silvery surface of the rippling ocean, with the ever-varying colors of
the slowly moving clouds, as seen evening after evening on the Tahitian
trip, leaves impressions which time can not erase from memory.
Night on board the _Mariposa_ has additional attractions for the
passengers who appreciate the wonders and beauties of nature. When the
night is dark, they find a place in the stern of the ship, lean against
the taffrail, and watch the water agitated into a diminutive storm by
the powerful screw. There one beholds a sight sufficiently attractive
and interesting to keep him spellbound for an hour or more. The
indolent, phosphorescent sea-amoeba has been roused into action by the
merciless revolutions of the motor of the ship, and emits its diamond
sparks of phosphorescent light. Thousands of these little beings
discharge their magic light in the white veil of foam which adorns the
crests of the storm-beaten surface, in the form of a narrow track as far
as the eye can reach in the darkness of the night. The flashes of light
thrown off by these minute, to the naked eye invisible, inhabitants of
the sea, when angered by the rude action of the screw, appear and
disappear in the twinkling of an eye. When these tiny, light-producing
animals are numerous, as is the case in the equatorial region, the
snow-white veil of foam is richly decorated with diamond sparks which,
when they coalesce, form flames of fire in the track of the vessel.
The ocean voyage has occasionally still another surprise in store for
the traveler when he reaches the South Pacific. A squall is a tempest on
a small scale. We see in the distance a dark cloud of immense size which
seems to ride slowly over the surface of the smooth sea. The gentle
breeze gives way to a strong wind, the surface of the water becomes
ruffled with whitecaps, the darkness increases, and at irregular
intervals the threatening, angry cloud is lighted up by chains of
lightning thrown in all possible directions; these flashes are followed
by peals of thunder, and by prolonged rumbling, which becomes feebler
and feebler, and finally dies away far out on the surface of the ocean.
The steamer penetrates the storm area. Darkness prevails. Gigantic drops
of rain strike the deck and patter upon the canvas awning, the
harbingers of a drenching rain.
And now the thick'ned sky
Like a dark ceiling stood; down rush'd the rain impetuous.
MILTON.
The cloud and darkness are left behind, and a clear sky and smooth sea
ahead greet the passengers. Did you ever see a rainbow at midnight? Such
an unusual nocturnal spectral phenomenon greeted us in midocean: the
full moon in the east, the delicate rainbow in its infinite colors
painted on the clouds in the west. Our captain, who had lived on the
tropic sea for a quarter of a century, had never seen the like before.
It was reserved for us to see a rainbow painted by the moon. With such
pleasant diversions, by day and by night, we soon forget the ocean
desert, and yet on the last day of the voyage we welcome the sight of
land.
Be of good cheer, I see land.
DIOGENES.
The vastness of the ocean and the smallness of Tahiti are in strange
contrast. How the mariner, in setting the compass on leaving the harbor
of San Francisco, can so unerringly find this little speck in the ocean
nearly four thousand miles away, is an accomplishment which no one, not
versed in the science of navigation can fully comprehend. We sighted
Tahiti during the early part of the forenoon. The peaks of the two
highest mountains in Tahiti, Oroheua and Aorii, seven to eight thousand
feet in height, projected spectre-like from the surface of the ocean.
These peaks appeared as bare, sharp, conical points in the clear sky
above a mantle of clouds which enveloped the balance of the island. This
misty draping of the two highest mountains takes place almost every day,
as the clouds are attracted by the constant moisture of the soil, due to
the dense forests and luxuriant tropical vegetation.
The next sight of land brought into view the rugged mountains of Moorea
and a group of small atoll islands. Moorea is in plain view from
Papeete, and is the second largest of the Society Islands. Before we
look at Tahiti at close range, let us examine the group of atoll islands
which the steamer passes close enough to give us a good idea of their
formation.
THE ATOLL ISLANDS
The atoll islands, so numerous in the South Seas, have a uniform
conformation, and are of coral, deposited upon submerged summits of
mountains of volcanic origin. The floor of the Pacific, like many other
parts of the earth's surface, is undergoing constant changes, increasing
or diminishing its level. Here and there, at certain intervals, volcanic
eruptions have created mountains, which, in Hawaii, rise to nearly
fourteen thousand and, in Tahiti, to over seven thousand feet. Around
each of these innumerable islands and islets in the great Pacific Ocean
the coral polyps have a fringing reef of rock. As these minute creatures
can live only at a depth of twenty to thirty fathoms, and die as soon as
exposed to the air, their life-work is confined to the coast of volcanic
islands. Whenever, as it often happened, the island upon which they had
congregated was slowly sinking, they would elevate their wall to save
themselves from death in deep water. It is evident that if this process
continued long enough, the land would entirely disappear and leave a
submerged circular wall of coral just below the level of the low tide.
The effects of the waves in breaking off the coral formation, large and
small, in elevating them, would, in course of time, produce a ring of
sandy beach, rising above the sea surrounding the central basin, filled
with salt water entering through one or many open channels. Upon the
beach, cocoanuts, washed ashore, would find a favorable soil for
germination, and, ere long, stately palms would fringe the rim of the
enclosed lagoon. Every atoll island has a peripheral fringe of
cocoa-palms and a central lagoon which communicates with the ocean by
one or more channels. Such an island is an atoll, the final stage in the
disappearance of a volcanic islet from the surface of the sea. Such
islands are numerous in the Society Islands, and the Paumotuan
Archipelago consists exclusively of such atoll islands.
It is interesting to know how these minute coral polyps manage their
work of island-building, or, rather, island-preservation. Coral
formation is a calcareous secretion or deposit of many kinds of
zoöphytes of the class Anthozoa, which assumes infinite and often
beautiful forms, according to the different laws which govern the manner
of germination of the polyps of various species. The coral-producing
zoöphytes are compound animals, which multiply in the very swiftest
manner, by germination or budding, young polyp buds springing from the
original polyp, sometimes indifferently from any part of its surface,
sometimes only from its upper circumference or from its base, and not
separating from it, but remaining in the same spot when the original
parent or polyp is dead, and producing buds in their turn. The
reproductive capacity of these polyps is marvelous and explains the
greatness of their work in building up whole islands and the countless
submerged reefs so much dreaded by the mariners of the South Seas. The
calcareous deposition begins when the zoöphytes are still simple polyps,
owing their existence to oviparous reproduction, adhering to a rock or
other substance, to which the calcareous material becomes attached, and
on which the coral is built up, the hard deposits of past generations
forming the base to which those of the progeny are attracted. The coral
formation takes place with astonishing rapidity; under favorable
circumstances, masses of coral have been found to increase in height
several feet in a few months, and a channel cut in a reef surrounding a
coral island, to permit the passage of a schooner, has been blocked with
coral in ten years. Coral formations have been found immediately
attached to the land, whilst in many other cases the reef surrounds the
island, the intervening space, of irregular, but nowhere of great width,
forming a lagoon or channel of deep water, protected by the reef from
wind and waves. According to Darwin, this kind of reef is formed from a
reef of the former merely fringing kind, by the gradual subsidence of
the rocky basis, carrying down the fringe of coral to a greater depth;
whilst the greatest activity of life is displayed by polyps of the kind
most productive of large masses of coral in the outer parts which are
most exposed to the waves. In this manner he also accounts for the
formation of true coral islands, or atolls, which consist merely of a
narrow reef of coral surrounding a central lagoon, and very often of a
reef, perhaps half a mile in breadth, clothed with luxuriant vegetation
and the never-absent cocoa-palms, bordered by a narrow beach of snowy
whiteness, and forming an arc, the convexity of which is toward the
prevailing wind, whilst a straight line of reef not generally rising
above the reach of the tide, forms the chord of the arc. The reef is
generally intersected by a narrow channel into the enclosed lagoon, the
waters of which are still and beautifully transparent, teeming with the
greatest variety of fish. Its surface is enlivened by water-fowl, and
the depth of water close to the precipitous sides of the reef is almost
always very great. The channels are kept open by the flux and reflux of
the tide, the current and waves of which are often so swift and high as
to become a menace to schooners attempting entrance into the lagoon. On
the beach, soil most conducive to the growth of cocoanut-palms is formed
by accumulation of sand, shells, fragments of coral, seaweeds, decayed
leaves, etc. The giant cocoanuts planted in this soil either by the hand
of man or by the waves washing them ashore, germinate quickly, and in a
few years the narrow circular strip of land enclosing the lagoon is
fringed with colonnades of tall fruit-bearing palms. These islands rise
nowhere more than a few feet above the level of the sea. Sometimes the
upheaval of coral formation by volcanic action results in the making of
a real island, in which event the lagoon disappears. Islands with such
an origin sometimes rise to a height of five hundred feet and often
exhibit precipitous cliffs and contain extensive caves. I had read a
description of the Paumotu atoll islands by Stevenson, and consequently
I was much interested in the little group of atolls we passed before
coming into full view of Tahiti. As these islands, like all true atolls,
are only a few feet above the level of the sea, they can not be seen
from the sea at anything like a great distance. When they were pointed
out to us by an officer of the steamer, we could see no land; they
appeared like oases in the desert, green patches in the ocean, due to
the cocoa-palms which guarded their shores. As we came nearer, we could
make out the rim of land and the snow-white coral beach. The smallest of
these atoll islands are not inhabited, but regular visits are made to
them in a small schooner or native double canoe to harvest and bring to
market the never-failing crops of cocoanuts.
THE LANDING AT PAPEETE
As we left the atolls behind us and neared Tahiti, we could see more
clearly the outlines of the rugged island, disrobed, by this time, of
its vestments of clouds. From a distance, the carpet of green which
extends from its base to near the summit of the highest peaks is varied
here and there by patches of red volcanic earth, thus adding to the
picturesqueness of the scene. What at first appears as a greensward on
the shore, on nearer view discloses itself as a broad fringe of
cocoa-palms, extending from the edge of the ocean to the foot of the
mountains, and from there well up on their slopes, where they are lost
in the primeval forest. Above the tree-line, low shrubs and hardy
grasses compose the verdure up to the bare, brown mountain-peaks. The
largest trees are seen in the mountains' deep ravines, which are cut out
of the side of the heights by gushing of cold, clear waters, which drain
the very heart of the mountains, bounding and leaping over boulders and
rapids in their race to a resting-place in the near-by calm waters of
the lagoon. As we came nearer to the island we were able to make out the
white lighthouse on Point Venus, seven miles from Papeete. Here, Captain
Cook, during one of his visits to the island, was stationed for a
considerable length of time for the purpose of observing the transit of
Venus; hence the name of the point.
Near the harbor, a native pilot came on board, and, by careful
maneuvering, safely guided the ship through the very narrow channel in
the reef into the harbor, with the tricolor flying from the top mast.
From the harbor, the little city of Papeete and the island present an
inspiring view. A charming islet on the left as we enter the harbor,
looks like an emerald set in the blue water. It serves as a quarantine
station, and the little snow-white buildings upon it appear like toy
houses. The small city is spread out among cocoa-palms, ornamental and
shade trees. The green of the foliage of these trees is continuous with
the forest-clad mountains which form the background of the beautiful
plateau on which the city is built. The harbor of Papeete is land and
reef-locked, small, but deep enough to float the largest steamers plying
in the Pacific Ocean. As the steamer came up slowly to the wharf,
hundreds of people, a strange mixture of natives, half-castes, Europeans
and Chinese, old and young, dressed in clothes of all imaginable colors,
red being by far the most predominant, crowded the dock. Many of the
children were naked, and not a few of the men and boys were unencumbered
by clothing, with the exception of the typical, much checkered Tahitian
cotton loin-cloth. A number of handsome carriages brought the élite of
the city to take part in this most important of all monthly events.
They come to see; they come to be seen.
OVIDIUS.
Custom-house officers, uniformed native policemen, government officials,
French soldiers and merchants, mingled with the dusky natives and
contributed much to the uniqueness of the landing-scene. The dense,
motley crowd was anxious to see and be seen, but was orderly and well
behaved. The custom-house officers were accommodating and courteous, and
passed our hand-baggage without inspection. On the wharf was a small
mountain of cocoanuts, in readiness to be loaded as a part of the return
cargo of the _Mariposa_.
THE CITY OF PAPEETE
Papeete is the capital of Tahiti, the seat of government of the entire
archipelago, and the principal commercial city of the French possessions
in Oceanica. It is a typical city of the South Sea world, as it is
viewed from the deck of the steamer and while walking or riding along
its narrow, crooked streets. From the harbor, little can be seen of its
buildings, except the spire of the cathedral and the low steeples of two
Protestant churches, the low tower of the governor's palace, formerly
the home of royalty, the military hospital, the wharf, and a few
business houses loosely scattered along the principal street, the Quai
du Commerce that skirts the harbor. The residence part of the city is
hidden behind towering cocoa-palms and magnificent shade-trees among
which the flamboyant (burau) trees are the most beautiful. It is
situated on a low plateau with a background of forest-clad mountains,
the beautiful little harbor, the spray-covered coral reef, the vast
ocean and the picturesque outlines of Moorea in front of it.
Papeete has no sidewalks. The streets are narrow, irregularly laid out,
and none of them paved. Most of the houses are one-story frame
buildings, covered with corrugated iron roofs. There are only two or
three large stores; the remaining business-places are small shops, many
of them owned and managed by Chinamen. The present population, made up
of natives of all tints, from a light chocolate to nearly white, six to
eight hundred whites and about three hundred Chinese, numbers in the
neighborhood of five thousand, nearly half of the population of the
entire island. There are about five hundred Chinese in the island, who,
by their industry and knowledge of business methods, have become
formidable competitors of the merchants from other foreign countries.
Their small shops and coffee-houses in Papeete and the country districts
are well patronized by the natives.
Papeete is the commercial center of Oceanica. There are no department
stores there. Business is specialized more there than perhaps in any
other city. All of the shops, even the largest, look small in the eyes
of Americans. There are dry goods stores, grocery stores, millinery
shops, two small frame hotels, the Hotel Francais and another smaller
one, both on the Quai, a few boarding-houses, two saloons, and no bank.
The scarcity of saloons can be explained by the fact that the natives
are temperate in their habits. According to a law enforced by the
government, the native women are prohibited from frequenting such
places.
The public wash-basin, supplied with running fresh water from a mountain
stream, is a sight worth seeing. From a dozen to twenty native women,
and a few soldiers, may be found here almost any time of the day,
paddling knee-deep in the water, using stones in place of washboards in
performing their arduous work. This primitive way of washing gives
excellent results, judging from the snow-white, spotless linen garments
worn by the Europeans and well-to-do natives.
The little plaza or square in the center of the city is used as a
market-place where natives congregate at five o'clock in the morning, to
make their modest purchases of fish, plantain, pineapple, melon or
preserved shrimp done up in joints of bamboo. This is the place to learn
what the islanders produce, sell and buy.
The public buildings are well adapted for a tropic climate. The most
important of these is the palace of the last of the Tahitian kings, now
used as the office of the government. It is a handsome white building,
surrounded by ample grounds well laid out, and beautified by trees,
shrubs and flowers. The government schoolhouse is an enormous frame
building, resting upon posts, several feet from the ground, with more
than one-half of its walls taken up by arched windows, the best lighted
and most thoroughly ventilated building in the city, an ideal
schoolhouse for the tropics. Among the churches of different
denominations, the Catholic cathedral is the largest and best, although
in the States it would not be considered an ornament for a small country
village.
The city is well supplied with pure water from a mountain stream, but
lacks a system of sewerage. The gardens and grounds of the best
residences of the foreigners present an exquisite display of flowers
that flourish best in the tropic soil, under the invigorating rays of
the tropic sun, and the soothing effects of the frequent showers of
rain, which are not limited to any particular season of the year.
Papeete, like all cities in the equatorial region, is a city of supreme
idleness and freedom from care. The citizens can not comprehend that
"The great principle of human satisfaction is engagement" (Paley). This
idleness is inherent in the natives, and under the climatic conditions,
and I suppose to a certain extent by suggestion, is soon acquired by the
foreigners. Contentment and absence of anxiety characterize the life of
the Tahitian. He has no desire to accumulate wealth; he is satisfied
with little. He is "shut up in measureless content" (Shakespeare); he is
inspired with the good idea that "he that maketh haste to be rich, shall
not be innocent" (Proverb xxviii: 20). The merchants open their shops at
sunrise, lock the doors at ten, retire to their homes for breakfast,
take their two-hour siesta, return to their business, suspend work at
five, and the remainder of the day and the entire evening are devoted to
rest, social visits and divers amusements. The social center of the
foreigners is the Cercle Bougainville, a small frame building which
serves the purpose of a club house. Bicycling is a favorite means of
travel and sport for the Europeans as well as the natives of all
classes. This vehicle has found its way not only into the capital city
but also into the country districts throughout the island. The splendid
macadamized road which encircles the island furnishes a great inducement
for this sport. Two of the wealthiest citizens travel the principal
streets in the city and the ninety-mile drive in the most modern fashion
by riding an automobile.
There are few if any door locks in private residences, hotels and
boarding-houses, the best possible proof that the inhabitants are
law-abiding citizens. In the boarding-house in which I lived, the main
entrance was left wide open during the night, and none of the door locks
was supplied with a key. The native women wear Mother Hubbard gowns of
bright calico; the better class of men dress in European fashion, while
the laborers and men from the country districts wear a pareu
(loin-cloth) of bright calico, with or without an undershirt. The
average Tahitian does not believe in:
We are captivated by dress.
OVIDIUS.
TOPOGRAPHY OF THE ISLAND
Into the silent land!
Ah, who shall lead us thither?
VON SALIS.
There is no spot on earth more free from care, worry and unrest than the
island of Tahiti. The abundance with which nature here has provided for
the wants of man, the uniform soothing climate, the calmness of the
Pacific Ocean, the pleasing scenery quiet the nerves, induce sleep and
reduce to a minimum the efforts of man in the struggle for life. It is
the island of peace, contentment and rest, a paradise on earth.
No writer has ever done justice to the natural beauties of this gem of
the South Seas. The towering mountains, the tropical forests, the
numerous rippling streams of crystal water, shaded dark ravines, the
palm-fringed shore, the lagoons with their quiet, peaceful, clear waters
painted in most exquisite colors of all shades of green, blue and salmon
by the magic influence of the tropical sun, their outside wall of coral
reef ceaselessly kissed by the caressing, foaming, moaning surf, the
near-by picturesque island of Moorea, with its precipitous mountains
rising from the deep bed of the sea, the flat basin-like, palm-fringed
atolls in the distance, and the vast ocean beyond, make up a combination
of pictures of which the mind never tires, and which engrave themselves
indelibly on the tablet of memory.
Tahiti is a typical mountain island, protected against the aggressive
ocean by a coral reef which forms almost a complete wall around it,
enclosing lagoons of much beauty, which teem with a great variety of
fish. It is thirty-five miles in length, and on an average twelve miles
in breadth. It is shaped somewhat in the form of an hourglass, the
narrow part at Isthmus Terrawow. The circuit of the island by following
the coast is less than one hundred and twenty miles. The ninety-mile
drive which engirdles the island cuts off some of the irregular
projections into the sea. The interior is very mountainous and cut into
ravines so deep that it has never been inhabited to any extent. The
highest peaks are Orohena and Aorii, from seven to eight thousand feet
in height, the former cleft into two points of rock which are often
draped with dark masses of tropic clouds. Numerous other peaks of lesser
magnitude are crowded together in the center of the island, their broad
foundations encroaching upon the plain. The people live on the narrow
strip of low land at the base of the mountains and running down to the
shore, where the soil is exceedingly fertile and always well watered by
numerous rivers, brooks and rivulets. Numberless cascades can be seen
from the ninety-mile drive, leaping over cliffs and appearing like
silver threads in the dark green of the mountain-sides. The strip of
arable land at the base of the mountains varies in width from the bare
precipitous cliffs, without even a beach, to one, or perhaps in the
widest places, two miles. The larger streams have cut out a few broader
valleys. It is this narrow strip of land which is inhabited, the little
villages being usually located near the mouth of a river on the
coast-line, insuring for the inhabitants a pure water-supply and
facilities for fresh-water bathing, a frequent and pleasant pastime for
the natives of both sexes and all ages.
Wherever there is sufficient depth of soil, vegetation is rampant. The
fertility of the soil and the stimulating effect of constant moisture on
vegetable life are best seen by the vitality exhibited by the
fence-posts. I have seen fence-posts a foot and more in circumference,
after being implanted in the soil, strike root, sprout and develop into
trees of no small size. The mountains, and more especially the ravines,
are heavily timbered. There is no place on earth where the scenery is
more beautiful and sublime than at many points along the ninety-mile
drive. The lofty mountains, the fertile plain, the many rivers, brooks,
rivulets and glimpses of foaming cascades, lagoons, of the surf beating
the coral reef in the distance, the limitless ocean beyond, the
luxuriant rampant vegetation, the beautiful flowers, the majestic
palm-trees, the quaint villages and their interesting inhabitants, form
a picture which is beautiful, and, at the same time, sublime. As a whole
it is sublime; in detail, beautiful.
Beauty charms, sublimity awes us, and is often accompanied with a
feeling resembling fear; while beauty rather attracts and draws us
towards it.
FLEMING.
Let us see how Captain Cook was impressed with Tahiti when he first cast
his eyes upon this gem of the Pacific: