A HUNTING RAMBLE WITH ZEKE
At the foot of the mountain, a steep path went up among rocks and
clefts mantled with verdure. Here and there were green gulfs, down
which it made one giddy to peep. At last we gained an overhanging,
wooded shelf of land which crowned the heights; and along this, the
path, well shaded, ran like a gallery.
In every direction the scenery was enchanting. There was a low,
rustling breeze; and below, in the vale, the leaves were quivering; the
sea lay, blue and serene, in the distance; and inland the surface
swelled up, ridge after ridge, and peak upon peak, all bathed in the
Indian haze of the Tropics, and dreamy to look upon. Still valleys,
leagues away, reposed in the deep shadows of the mountains; and here
and there, waterfalls lifted up their voices in the solitude. High
above all, and central, the “Marling-spike” lifted its finger. Upon the
hillsides, small groups of bullocks were seen; some quietly browsing;
others slowly winding into the valleys.
We went on, directing our course for a slope of these hills, a mile or
two further, where the nearest bullocks were seen.
We were cautious in keeping to the windward of them; their sense of
smell and hearing being, like those of all wild creatures, exceedingly
acute.
As there was no knowing that we might not surprise some other kind of
game in the coverts through which we were passing, we crept along
warily.
The wild hogs of the island are uncommonly fierce; and as they often
attack the natives, I could not help following Tonoi’s example of once
in a while peeping in under the foliage. Frequent retrospective glances
also served to assure me that our retreat was not cut off.
As we rounded a clump of bushes, a noise behind them, like the
crackling of dry branches, broke the stillness. In an instant, Tonoi’s
hand was on a bough, ready for a spring, and Zeke’s finger touched the
trigger of his piece. Again the stillness was broken; and thinking it
high time to get ready, I brought my musket to my shoulder.
“Look sharp!” cried the Yankee; and dropping on one knee, he brushed
the twigs aside. Presently, off went his piece; and with a wild snort,
a black, bristling boar—his cherry red lip curled up by two glittering
tusks—dashed, unharmed, across the path, and crashed through the
opposite thicket. I saluted him with a charge as he disappeared; but
not the slightest notice was taken of the civility.
By this time, Tonoi, the illustrious descendant of the Bishops of
Imeeo, was twenty feet from the ground. “Aramai! come down, you old
fool!” cried the Yankee; “the pesky critter’s on t’other side of the
island afore this.”
“I rayther guess,” he continued, as we began reloading, “that we’ve
spoiled sport by firing at that ’ere tarnal hog. Them bullocks heard
the racket, and are flinging their tails about now on the keen jump.
Quick, Paul, and let’s climb that rock yonder, and see if so be there’s
any in sight.”
But none were to be seen, except at such a distance that they looked
like ants.
As evening was now at hand, my companion proposed our returning home
forthwith; and then, after a sound night’s rest, starting in the
morning upon a good day’s hunt with the whole force of the plantation.
Following another pass in descending into the valley, we passed through
some nobly wooded land on the face of the mountain.
One variety of tree particularly attracted my attention. The dark mossy
stem, over seventy feet high, was perfectly branchless for many feet
above the ground, when it shot out in broad boughs laden with lustrous
leaves of the deepest green. And all round the lower part of the trunk,
thin, slab-like buttresses of bark, perfectly smooth, and radiating
from a common centre, projected along the ground for at least two
yards. From below, these natural props tapered upward until gradually
blended with the trunk itself. There were signs of the wild cattle
having sheltered themselves behind them. Zeke called this the canoe
tree; as in old times it supplied the navies of the Kings of Tahiti.
For canoe building, the woods is still used. Being extremely dense, and
impervious to worms, it is very durable.
Emerging from the forest, when half-way down the hillside, we came upon
an open space, covered with ferns and grass, over which a few lonely
trees were casting long shadows in the setting sun. Here, a piece of
ground some hundred feet square, covered with weeds and brambles, and
sounding hollow to the tread, was inclosed by a ruinous wall of stones.
Tonoi said it was an almost forgotten burial-place, of great antiquity,
where no one had been interred since the islanders had been Christians.
Sealed up in dry, deep vaults, many a dead heathen was lying here.
Curious to prove the old man’s statement, I was anxious to get a peep
at the catacombs; but hermetically overgrown with vegetation as they
were, no aperture was visible.
Before gaining the level of the valley, we passed by the site of a
village, near a watercourse, long since deserted. There was nothing but
stone walls, and rude dismantled foundations of houses, constructed of
the same material. Large trees and brushwood were growing rankly among
them.
I asked Tonoi how long it was since anyone had lived here. “Me,
tammaree (boy)—plenty kannaker (men) Martair,” he replied. “Now, only
poor pehe kannaka (fishermen) left—me born here.”
Going down the valley, vegetation of every kind presented a different
aspect from that of the high land.
Chief among the trees of the plain on this island is the “Ati,” large
and lofty, with a massive trunk, and broad, laurel-shaped leaves. The
wood is splendid. In Tahiti, I was shown a narrow, polished plank fit
to make a cabinet for a king. Taken from the heart of the tree, it was
of a deep, rich scarlet, traced with yellow veins, and in some places
clouded with hazel.
In the same grove with the regal “AH” you may see the beautiful
flowering “Hotoo”; its pyramid of shining leaves diversified with
numberless small, white blossoms.
Planted with trees as the valley is almost throughout its entire
length, I was astonished to observe so very few which were useful to
the natives: not one in a hundred was a cocoa-nut or bread-fruit tree.
But here Tonoi again enlightened me. In the sanguinary religious
hostilities which ensued upon the conversion of Christianity of the
first Pomaree, a war-party from Tahiti destroyed (by “girdling” the
bark) entire groves of these invaluable trees. For some time afterwards
they stood stark and leafless in the sun; sad monuments of the fate
which befell the inhabitants of the valley.