MRS. BELL
One day, taking a pensive afternoon stroll along one of the many
bridle-paths which wind among the shady groves in the neighbourhood of
Taloo, I was startled by a sunny apparition. It was that of a beautiful
young Englishwoman, charmingly dressed, and mounted upon a spirited
little white pony. Switching a green branch, she came cantering toward
me.
I looked round to see whether I could possibly be in Polynesia. There
were the palm-trees; but how to account for the lady?
Stepping to one side as the apparition drew near, I made a polite
obeisance. It gave me a bold, rosy look; and then, with a gay air,
patted its palfrey, crying out, “Fly away, Willie!” and galloped among
the trees.
I would have followed; but Willie’s heels were making such a pattering
among the dry leaves that pursuit would have been useless.
So I went straight home to Po-Po’s, and related my adventure to the
doctor.
The next day, our inquiries resulted in finding out that the stranger
had been on the island about two years; that she came from Sydney; and
was the wife of Mr. Bell (happy dog!), the proprietor of the sugar
plantation to which I have previously referred.
To the sugar plantation we went, the same day.
The country round about was very beautiful: a level basin of verdure,
surrounded by sloping hillsides. The sugar-cane—of which there was
about one hundred acres, in various stages of cultivation—looked
thrifty. A considerable tract of land, however, which seemed to have
been formerly tilled, was now abandoned.
The place where they extracted the saccharine matter was under an
immense shed of bamboos. Here we saw several clumsy pieces of machinery
for breaking the cane; also great kettles for boiling the sugar. But,
at present, nothing was going on. Two or three natives were lounging in
one of the kettles, smoking; the other was occupied by three sailors
from the Leviathan, playing cards.
While we were conversing with these worthies, a stranger approached. He
was a sun-burnt, romantic-looking European, dressed in a loose suit of
nankeen; his fine throat and chest were exposed, and he sported a
Guayaquil hat with a brim like a Chinese umbrella. This was Mr. Bell.
He was very civil; showed us the grounds, and, taking us into a sort of
arbour, to our surprise, offered to treat us to some wine. People often
do the like; but Mr. Bell did more: he produced the bottle. It was
spicy sherry; and we drank out of the halves of fresh citron melons.
Delectable goblets!
The wine was a purchase from, the French in Tahiti.
Now all this was extremely polite in Mr. Bell; still, we came to see
Mrs. Bell. But she proved to be a phantom, indeed; having left the same
morning for Papeetee, on a visit to one of the missionaries’ wives
there.
I went home, much chagrined.
To be frank, my curiosity had been wonderfully piqued concerning the
lady. In the first place, she was the most beautiful white woman I ever
saw in Polynesia. But this is saying nothing. She had such eyes, such
moss-roses in her cheeks, such a divine air in the saddle, that, to my
dying day, I shall never forget Mrs. Bell.
The sugar-planter himself was young, robust, and handsome. So, merrily
may the little Bells increase, and multiply, and make music in the Land
of Imeeo.