OUR RECEPTION IN PARTOOWYE
Upon starting, at last, I flung away my sandals—by this time quite worn
out—with the view of keeping company with the doctor, now forced to go
barefooted. Recovering his spirits in good time, he protested that
boots were a bore after all, and going without them decidedly manly.
This was said, be it observed, while strolling along over a soft carpet
of grass; a little moist, even at midday, from the shade of the wood
through which we were passing.
Emerging from this we entered upon a blank, sandy tract, upon which the
sun’s rays fairly flashed; making the loose gravel under foot well nigh
as hot as the floor of an oven. Such yelling and leaping as there was
in getting over this ground would be hard to surpass. We could not have
crossed at all—until toward sunset—had it not been for a few small,
wiry bushes growing here and there, into which we every now and then
thrust our feet to cool. There was no little judgment necessary in
selecting your bush; for if not chosen judiciously, the chances were
that, on springing forward again, and finding the next bush so far off
that an intermediate cooling was indispensable, you would have to run
back to your old place again.
Safely passing the Sahara, or Fiery Desert, we soothed our
half-blistered feet by a pleasant walk through a meadow of long grass,
which soon brought us in sight of a few straggling houses, sheltered by
a grove on the outskirts of the village of Partoowye.
My comrade was for entering the first one we came to; but, on drawing
near, they had so much of an air of pretension, at least for native
dwellings, that I hesitated; thinking they might be the residences of
the higher chiefs, from whom no very extravagant welcome was to be
anticipated.
While standing irresolute, a voice from the nearest house hailed us:
“Aramai! aramai, karhowree!” (Come in! come in, strangers!)
We at once entered, and were warmly greeted. The master of the house
was an aristocratic-looking islander, dressed in loose linen drawers, a
fine white shirt, and a sash of red silk tied about the waist, after
the fashion of the Spaniards in Chili. He came up to us with a free,
frank air, and, striking his chest with his hand, introduced himself as
Ereemear Po-Po; or, to render the Christian name back again into
English—Jeremiah Po-Po.
These curious combinations of names among the people of the Society
Islands originate in the following way. When a native is baptized, his
patronymic often gives offence to the missionaries, and they insist
upon changing to something else whatever is objectionable therein. So,
when Jeremiah came to the font, and gave his name as Narmo-Nana Po-Po
(something equivalent to The-Darer-of-Devils-by-Night), the reverend
gentleman officiating told him that such a heathenish appellation would
never do, and a substitute must be had; at least for the devil part of
it. Some highly respectable Christian appellations were then submitted,
from which the candidate for admission into the church was at liberty
to choose. There was Adamo (Adam), Nooar (Noah), Daveedar (David),
Earcobar (James), Eorna (John), Patoora (Peter), Ereemear (Jeremiah),
etc. And thus did he come to be named Jeremiah Po-Po; or,
Jeremiah-in-the-Dark—which he certainly was, I fancy, as to the
ridiculousness of his new cognomen.
We gave our names in return; upon which he bade us be seated; and,
sitting down himself, asked us a great many questions, in mixed English
and Tahitian. After giving some directions to an old man to prepare
food, our host’s wife, a large, benevolent-looking woman, upwards of
forty, also sat down by us. In our soiled and travel-stained
appearance, the good lady seemed to find abundant matter for
commiseration; and all the while kept looking at us piteously, and
making mournful exclamations.
But Jeremiah and his spouse were not the only inmates of the mansion.
In one corner, upon a large native couch, elevated upon posts, reclined
a nymph; who, half-veiled in her own long hair, had yet to make her
toilet for the day. She was the daughter of Po-Po; and a very beautiful
little daughter she was; not more than fourteen; with the most
delightful shape—like a bud just blown; and large hazel eyes. They
called her Loo; a name rather pretty and genteel, and therefore quite
appropriate; for a more genteel and lady-like little damsel there was
not in all Imeeo.
She was a cold and haughty young beauty though, this same little Loo,
and never deigned to notice us; further than now and then to let her
eyes float over our persons, with an expression of indolent
indifference. With the tears of the Loohooloo girls hardly dry from
their sobbing upon our shoulders, this contemptuous treatment stung us
not a little.
When we first entered, Po-Po was raking smooth the carpet of dried
ferns which had that morning been newly laid; and now that our meal was
ready, it was spread on a banana leaf, right upon this fragrant floor.
Here we lounged at our ease, eating baked pig and breadfruit off
earthen plates, and using, for the first time in many a long month,
real knives and forks.
These, as well as other symptoms of refinement, somewhat abated our
surprise at the reserve of the little Loo; her parents, doubtless, were
magnates in Partoowye, and she herself was an heiress.
After being informed of our stay in the vale of Martair, they were very
curious to know on what errand we came to Taloo. We merely hinted that
the ship lying in the harbour was the reason of our coming.
Arfretee, Po-Po’s wife, was a right motherly body. The meal over, she
recommended a nap; and upon our waking much refreshed, she led us to
the doorway, and pointed down among the trees; through which we saw the
gleam of water. Taking the hint, we repaired thither; and finding a
deep shaded pool, bathed, and returned to the house. Our hostess now
sat down by us; and after looking with great interest at the doctor’s
cloak, felt of my own soiled and tattered garments for the hundredth
time, and exclaimed plaintively—“Ah nuee nuee olee manee! olee manee!”
(Alas! they are very, very old! very old!)
When Arfretee, good soul, thus addressed us, she thought she was
talking very respectable English. The word “nuee” is so familiar to
foreigners throughout Polynesia, and is so often used by them in their
intercourse with the natives, that the latter suppose it to be common
to all mankind. “Olee manee” is the native pronunciation of “old man,”
which, by Society Islanders talking Saxon, is applied indiscriminately
to all aged things and persons whatsoever.
Going to a chest filled with various European articles, she took out
two suits of new sailor frocks and trousers; and presenting them with a
gracious smile, pushed us behind a calico screen, and left us. Without
any fastidious scruples, we donned the garments; and what with the
meal, the nap, and the bath, we now came forth like a couple of
bridegrooms.
Evening drawing on, lamps were lighted. They were very simple; the half
of a green melon, about one third full of cocoa-nut oil, and a wick of
twisted tappa floating on the surface. As a night lamp, this
contrivance cannot be excelled; a soft dreamy light being shed through
the transparent rind.
As the evening advanced, other members of the household, whom as yet we
had not seen, began to drop in. There was a slender young dandy in a
gay striped shirt, and whole fathoms of bright figured calico tucked
about his waist, and falling to the ground. He wore a new straw hat
also with three distinct ribbons tied about the crown; one black, one
green, and one pink. Shoes or stockings, however, he had none.
There were a couple of delicate, olive-cheeked little girls—twins—with
mild eyes and beautiful hair, who ran about the house, half-naked, like
a couple of gazelles. They had a brother, somewhat younger—a fine dark
boy, with an eye like a woman’s. All these were the children of Po-Po,
begotten in lawful wedlock.
Then there were two or three queer-looking old ladies, who wore shabby
mantles of soiled sheeting, which fitted so badly, and withal had such
a second-hand look that I at once put their wearers down as domestic
paupers—poor relations, supported by the bounty of My Lady Arfretee.
They were sad, meek old bodies; said little and ate less; and either
kept their eyes on the ground, or lifted them up deferentially. The
semi-civilization of the island must have had something to do with
making them what they were.
I had almost forgotten Monee, the grinning old man who prepared our
meal. His head was a shining, bald globe. He had a round little paunch,
and legs like a cat. He was Po-Po’s factotum—cook, butler, and climber
of the bread-fruit and cocoa-nut trees; and, added to all else, a
mighty favourite with his mistress; with whom he would sit smoking and
gossiping by the hour.
Often you saw the indefatigable Monee working away at a great rate;
then dropping his employment all at once—never mind what—run off to a
little distance, and after rolling himself away in a corner and taking
a nap, jump up again, and fall to with fresh vigour.
From a certain something in the behaviour of Po-Po and his household, I
was led to believe that he was a pillar of the church; though, from
what I had seen in Tahiti, I could hardly reconcile such a supposition
with his frank, cordial, unembarrassed air. But I was not wrong in my
conjecture: Po-Po turned out to be a sort of elder, or deacon; he was
also accounted a man of wealth, and was nearly related to a high chief.
Before retiring, the entire household gathered upon the floor; and in
their midst, he read aloud a chapter from a Tahitian Bible. Then
kneeling with the rest of us, he offered up a prayer. Upon its
conclusion, all separated without speaking. These devotions took place
regularly, every night and morning. Grace too was invariably said, by
this family, both before and after eating.
After becoming familiarized with the almost utter destitution of
anything like practical piety upon these islands, what I observed in
our host’s house astonished me much. But whatever others might have
been, Po-Po was, in truth, a Christian: the only one, Arfretee
excepted, whom I personally knew to be such, among all the natives of
Polynesia.