PREPARING FOR THE JOURNEY
During the remainder of the day we loitered about, talking over our
plans.
The doctor was all eagerness to visit Tamai, a solitary inland village,
standing upon the banks of a considerable lake of the same name, and
embosomed among groves. From Afrehitoo you went to this place by a
lonely pathway leading through the wildest scenery in the world. Much,
too, we had heard concerning the lake itself, which abounded in such
delicious fish that, in former times, angling parties occasionally came
over to it from Papeetee.
Upon its banks, moreover, grew the finest fruit of the islands, and in
their greatest perfection. The “Ve,” or Brazilian plum, here attained
the size of an orange; and the gorgeous “Arheea,” or red apple of
Tahiti, blushed with deeper dyes than in any of the seaward valleys.
Beside all this, in Tamai dwelt the most beautiful and unsophisticated
women in the entire Society group. In short, the village was so remote
from the coast, and had been so much less affected by recent changes
than other places that, in most things, Tahitian life was here seen as
formerly existing in the days of young Otoo, the boy-king, in Cook’s
time.
After obtaining from the planters all the information which was needed,
we decided upon penetrating to the village; and after a temporary
sojourn there, to strike the beach again, and journey round to Taloo, a
harbour on the opposite side of the island.
We at once put ourselves in travelling trim. Just previous to leaving
Tahiti, having found my wardrobe reduced to two suits (frock and
trousers, both much the worse for wear), I had quilted them together
for mutual preservation (after a fashion peculiar to sailors);
engrafting a red frock upon a blue one, and producing thereby a choice
variety in the way of clothing. This was the extent of my wardrobe. Nor
was the doctor by any means better off. His improvidence had at last
driven him to don the nautical garb; but by this time his frock—a light
cotton one—had almost given out, and he had nothing to replace it.
Shorty very generously offered him one which was a little less ragged;
but the alms were proudly refused; Long Ghost preferring to assume the
ancient costume of Tahiti—the “Roora.”
This garment, once worn as a festival dress, is now seldom met with;
but Captain Bob had often shown us one which he kept as an heirloom. It
was a cloak, or mantle, of yellow tappa, precisely similar to the
“poncho” worn by the South-American Spaniards. The head being slipped
through a slit in the middle, the robe hangs about the person in ample
drapery. Tonoi obtained sufficient coarse brown tappa to make a short
mantle of this description; and in five minutes the doctor was
equipped. Zeke, eyeing his toga critically, reminded its proprietor
that there were many streams to ford, and precipices to scale, between
Martair and Tamai; and if he travelled in petticoats, he had better
hold them up.
Besides other deficiencies, we were utterly shoeless. In the free and
easy Pacific, sailors seldom wear shoes; mine had been tossed overboard
the day we met the Trades; and except in one or two tramps ashore, I
had never worn any since. In Martair, they would have been desirable:
but none were to be had. For the expedition we meditated, however, they
were indispensable. Zeke, being the owner of a pair of huge,
dilapidated boots, hanging from a rafter like saddlebags, the doctor
succeeded in exchanging for them a case-knife, the last valuable
article in his possession. For myself, I made sandals from a bullock’s
hide, such as are worn by the Indians in California. They are made in a
minute; the sole, rudely fashioned to the foot, being confined across
the instep by three straps of leather.
Our headgear deserves a passing word. My comrade’s was a brave old
Panama hat, made of grass, almost as fine as threads of silk; and so
elastic that, upon rolling it up, it sprang into perfect shape again.
Set off by the jaunty slouch of this Spanish sombrero, Doctor Long
Ghost, in this and his Eoora, looked like a mendicant grandee.
Nor was my own appearance in an Eastern turban less distinguished. The
way I came to wear it was this. My hat having been knocked overboard a
few days before reaching Papeetee, I was obliged to mount an abominable
wad of parti-coloured worsted—what sailors call a Scotch cap. Everyone
knows the elasticity of knit wool; and this Caledonian head-dress
crowned my temples so effectually that the confined atmosphere
engendered was prejudicial to my curls. In vain I tried to ventilate
the cap: every gash made seemed to heal whole in no time. Then such a
continual chafing as it kept up in a hot sun.
Seeing my dislike to the thing, Kooloo, my worthy friend, prevailed
upon me to bestow it upon him. I did so; hinting that a good boiling
might restore the original brilliancy of the colours.
It was then that I mounted the turban. Taking a new Regatta frock of
the doctor’s, which was of a gay calico, and winding it round my head
in folds, I allowed the sleeves to droop behind—thus forming a good
defence against the sun, though in a shower it was best off. The
pendent sleeves adding much to the effect, the doctor called me the
Bashaw with Two Tails.
Thus arrayed, we were ready for Tamai; in whose green saloons we
counted upon creating no small sensation.