SOMETHING ABOUT THE KANNAKIPPERS
A worthy young man, formerly a friend of mine (I speak of Kooloo with
all possible courtesy, since after our intimacy there would be an
impropriety in doing otherwise)—this worthy youth, having some genteel
notions of retirement, dwelt in a “maroo boro,” or bread-fruit shade, a
pretty nook in a wood, midway between the Calabooza Beretanee and the
Church of Cocoa-nuts. Hence, at the latter place, he was one of the
most regular worshippers.
Kooloo was a blade. Standing up in the congregation in all the bravery
of a striped calico shirt, with the skirts rakishly adjusted over a
pair of white sailor trousers, and hair well anointed with cocoa-nut
oil, he ogled the ladies with an air of supreme satisfaction. Nor were
his glances unreturned.
But such looks as the Tahitian belles cast at each other: frequently
turning up their noses at the advent of a new cotton mantle recently
imported in the chest of some amorous sailor. Upon one occasion, I
observed a group of young girls, in tunics of course, soiled sheeting,
disdainfully pointing at a damsel in a flaming red one. “Oee tootai
owree!” said they with ineffable scorn, “itai maitai!” (You are a
good-for-nothing huzzy, no better than you should be).
Now, Kooloo communed with the church; so did all these censorious young
ladies. Yet after eating bread-fruit at the Eucharist, I knew several
of them, the same night, to be guilty of some sad derelictions.
Puzzled by these things, I resolved to find out, if possible, what
ideas, if any, they entertained of religion; but as one’s spiritual
concerns are rather delicate for a stranger to meddle with, I went to
work as adroitly as I could.
Farnow, an old native who had recently retired from active pursuits,
having thrown up the business of being a sort of running footman to the
queen, had settled down in a snug little retreat, not fifty rods from
Captain Bob’s. His selecting our vicinity for his residence may have
been with some view to the advantages it afforded for introducing his
three daughters into polite circles. At any rate, not averse to
receiving the attentions of so devoted a gallant as the doctor, the
sisters (communicants, be it remembered) kindly extended to him free
permission to visit them sociably whenever he pleased.
We dropped in one evening, and found the ladies at home. My long friend
engaged his favourites, the two younger girls, at the game of “Now,” or
hunting a stone under three piles of tappa. For myself, I lounged on a
mat with Ideea the eldest, dallying with her grass fan, and improving
my knowledge of Tahitian.
The occasion was well adapted to my purpose, and I began.
“Ah, Ideea, mickonaree oee?” the same as drawling out—“By the bye, Miss
Ideea, do you belong to the church?”
“Yes, me mickonaree,” was the reply.
But the assertion was at once qualified by certain, reservations; so
curious that I cannot forbear their relation.
“Mickonaree ena” (church member here), exclaimed she, laying her hand
upon her mouth, and a strong emphasis on the adverb. In the same way,
and with similar exclamations, she touched her eyes and hands. This
done, her whole air changed in an instant; and she gave me to
understand, by unmistakable gestures, that in certain other respects
she was not exactly a “mickonaree.” In short, Ideea was
“A sad good Christian at the heart—A very heathen in the carnal part.”
The explanation terminated in a burst of laughter, in which all three
sisters joined; and for fear of looking silly, the doctor and myself.
As soon as good-breeding would permit, we took leave.
The hypocrisy in matters of religion, so apparent in all Polynesian
converts, is most injudiciously nourished in Tahiti by a zealous and in
many cases, a coercive superintendence over their spiritual well-being.
But it is only manifested with respect to the common people, their
superiors being exempted.
On Sunday mornings, when the prospect is rather small for a full house
in the minor churches, a parcel of fellows are actually sent out with
ratans into the highways and byways as whippers-in of the congregation.
This is a sober fact.
These worthies constitute a religious police; and you always know them
by the great white diapers they wear. On week days they are quite as
busy as on Sundays; to the great terror of the inhabitants, going all
over the island, and spying out the wickedness thereof.
Moreover, they are the collectors of fines—levied generally in grass
mats—for obstinate non-attendance upon divine worship, and other
offences amenable to the ecclesiastical judicature of the missionaries.
Old Bob called these fellows “kannakippers” a corruption, I fancy, of
our word constable.
He bore them a bitter grudge; and one day, drawing near home, and
learning that two of them were just then making a domiciliary visit at
his house, he ran behind a bush; and as they came forth, two green
bread-fruit from a hand unseen took them each between the shoulders.
The sailors in the Calabooza were witnesses to this, as well as several
natives; who, when the intruders were out of sight, applauded Captain
Bob’s spirit in no measured terms; the ladies present vehemently
joining in. Indeed, the kannakippers have no greater enemies than the
latter. And no wonder: the impertinent varlets, popping into their
houses at all hours, are forever prying into their peccadilloes.
Kooloo, who at times was patriotic and pensive, and mourned the evils
under which his country was groaning, frequently inveighed against the
statute which thus authorized an utter stranger to interfere with
domestic arrangements. He himself—quite a ladies’ man—had often been
annoyed thereby. He considered the kannakippers a bore.
Beside their confounded inquisitiveness, they add insult to injury, by
making a point of dining out every day at some hut within the limits of
their jurisdiction. As for the gentleman of the house, his meek
endurance of these things is amazing. But “good easy man,” there is
nothing for him but to be as hospitable as possible.
These gentry are indefatigable. At the dead of night prowling round the
houses, and in the daytime hunting amorous couples in the groves. Yet
in one instance the chase completely baffled them.
It was thus.
Several weeks previous to our arrival at the island, someone’s husband
and another person’s wife, having taken a mutual fancy for each other,
went out for a walk. The alarm was raised, and with hue and cry they
were pursued; but nothing was seen of them again until the lapse of
some ninety days; when we were called out from the Calabooza to behold
a great mob inclosing the lovers, and escorting them for trial to the
village.
Their appearance was most singular. The girdle excepted, they were
quite naked; their hair was long, burned yellow at the ends, and
entangled with burrs; and their bodies scratched and scarred in all
directions. It seems that, acting upon the “love in a cottage”
principle, they had gone right into the interior; and throwing up a hut
in an uninhabited valley, had lived there, until in an unlucky stroll
they were observed and captured.
They were subsequently condemned to make one hundred fathoms of Broom
Road—a six months’ work, if not more.
Often, when seated in a house, conversing quietly with its inmates, I
have known them betray the greatest confusion at the sudden
announcement of a kannakipper’s being in sight. To be reported by one
of these officials as a “Tootai Owree” (in general, signifying a bad
person or disbeliever in Christianity), is as much dreaded as the
forefinger of Titus Gates was, levelled at an alleged papist.
But the islanders take a sly revenge upon them. Upon entering a
dwelling, the kannakippers oftentimes volunteer a pharisaical
prayer-meeting: hence, they go in secret by the name of “Boora-Artuas,”
literally, “Pray-to-Gods.”