THE VALLEY OF MARTAIR
We went up through groves to an open space, where we heard voices, and
a light was seen glimmering from out a bamboo dwelling. It was the
planters’ retreat; and in their absence, several girls were keeping
house, assisted by an old native, who, wrapped up in tappa, lay in the
corner, smoking.
A hasty meal was prepared, and after it we essayed a nap; but, alas! a
plague, little anticipated, prevented. Unknown in Tahiti, the
mosquitoes here fairly eddied round us. But more of them anon.
We were up betimes, and strolled out to view the country. We were in
the valley of Martair; shut in, on both sides, by lofty hills. Here and
there were steep cliffs, gay with flowering shrubs, or hung with
pendulous vines, swinging blossoms in the air. Of considerable width at
the sea, the vale contracts as it runs inland; terminating, at the
distance of several miles, in a range of the most grotesque elevations,
which seem embattled with turrets and towers, grown over with verdure,
and waving with trees. The valley itself is a wilderness of woodland;
with links of streams flashing through, and narrow pathways fairly
tunnelled through masses of foliage.
All alone, in this wild place, was the abode of the planters; the only
one back from the beach—their sole neighbours, the few fishermen and
their families, dwelling in a small grove of cocoa-nut trees whose
roots were washed by the sea.
The cleared tract which they occupied comprised some thirty acres,
level as a prairie, part of which was under cultivation; the whole
being fenced in by a stout palisade of trunks and boughs of trees
staked firmly in the ground. This was necessary as a defence against
the wild cattle and hogs overrunning the island.
Thus far, Tombez potatoes were the principal crop raised; a ready sale
for them being obtained among the shipping touching at Papeetee. There
was a small patch of the taro, or Indian turnip, also; another of yams;
and in one corner, a thrifty growth of the sugar-cane, just ripening.
On the side of the inclosure next the sea was the house; newly built of
bamboos, in the native style. The furniture consisted of a couple of
sea-chests, an old box, a few cooking utensils, and agricultural tools;
together with three fowling-pieces, hanging from a rafter; and two
enormous hammocks swinging in opposite corners, and composed of dried
bullocks’ hides, stretched out with poles.
The whole plantation was shut in by a dense forest; and, close by the
house, a dwarfed “Aoa,” or species of banian-tree, had purposely been
left twisting over the palisade, in the most grotesque manner, and thus
made a pleasant shade. The branches of this curious tree afforded low
perches, upon which the natives frequently squatted, after the fashion
of their race, and smoked and gossiped by the hour.
We had a good breakfast of fish—speared by the natives, before sunrise,
on the reef—pudding of Indian turnip, fried bananas, and roasted
bread-fruit.
During the repast, our new friends were quite sociable and
communicative. It seems that, like nearly all uneducated foreigners,
residing in Polynesia, they had, some time previous, deserted from a
ship; and, having heard a good deal about the money to be made by
raising supplies for whaling-vessels, they determined upon embarking in
the business. Strolling about, with this intention, they, at last, came
to Martair; and, thinking the soil would suit, set themselves to work.
They began by finding out the owner of the particular spot coveted, and
then making a “tayo” of him.
He turned out to be Tonoi, the chief of the fishermen: who, one day,
when exhilarated with brandy, tore his meagre tappa from his loins, and
gave me to know that he was allied by blood with Pomaree herself; and
that his mother came from the illustrious race of pontiffs, who, in old
times, swayed their bamboo crosier over all the pagans of Imeeo. A
regal, and right reverend lineage! But, at the time I speak of, the
dusky noble was in decayed circumstances, and, therefore, by no means
unwilling to alienate a few useless acres. As an equivalent, he
received from the strangers two or three rheumatic old muskets, several
red woollen shirts, and a promise to be provided for in his old age: he
was always to find a home with the planters.
Desirous of living on the cosy footing of a father-in-law, he frankly
offered his two daughters for wives; but as such, they were politely
declined; the adventurers, though not averse to courting, being
unwilling to entangle themselves in a matrimonial alliance, however
splendid in point of family.
Tonoi’s men, the fishermen of the grove, were a sad set. Secluded, in a
great measure, from the ministrations of the missionaries, they gave
themselves up to all manner of lazy wickedness. Strolling among the
trees of a morning, you came upon them napping on the shady side of a
canoe hauled up among the bushes; lying on a tree smoking; or, more
frequently still, gambling with pebbles; though, a little tobacco
excepted, what they gambled for at their outlandish games, it would be
hard to tell. Other idle diversions they had also, in which they seemed
to take great delight. As for fishing, it employed but a small part of
their time. Upon the whole, they were a merry, indigent, godless race.
Tonoi, the old sinner, leaning against the fallen trunk of a cocoa-nut
tree, invariably squandered his mornings at pebbles; a gray-headed rook
of a native regularly plucking him of every other stick of tobacco
obtained from his friends, the planters. Toward afternoon, he strolled
back to their abode; where he tarried till the next morning, smoking
and snoozing, and, at times, prating about the hapless fortunes of the
House of Tonoi. But like any other easy-going old dotard, he seemed for
the most part perfectly content with cheerful board and lodging.
On the whole, the valley of Martair was the quietest place imaginable.
Could the mosquitoes be induced to emigrate, one might spend the month
of August there quite pleasantly. But this was not the case with the
luckless Long Ghost and myself; as will presently be seen.