CHARACTERS
There was a certain traffic in our anchorage at Atuona; different indeed
from the dead inertia and quiescence of the sister-island, Nuka-hiva.
Sails were seen steering from its mouth; now it would be a whale-boat
manned with native rowdies, and heavy with copra for sale; now perhaps a
single canoe come after commodities to buy. The anchorage was besides
frequented by fishers; not only the lone females perched in niches of
the cliff, but whole parties, who would sometimes camp and build a fire
upon the beach, and sometimes lie in their canoes in the midst of the
haven and jump by turns in the water; which they would cast eight or
nine feet high, to drive, as we supposed, the fish into their nets. The
goods the purchasers came to buy were sometimes quaint. I remarked one
outrigger returning with a single ham swung from a pole in the stern.
And one day there came into Mr. Keane's store a charming lad,
excellently mannered, speaking French correctly though with a babyish
accent; very handsome too, and much of a dandy, as was shown not only in
his shining raiment, but by the nature of his purchases. These were five
ship-biscuits, a bottle of scent, and two balls of washing blue. He was
from Tauata, whither he returned the same night in an outrigger, daring
the deep with these young-ladyish treasures. The gross of the native
passengers were more ill-favoured: tall, powerful fellows, well
tattooed, and with disquieting manners. Something coarse and jeering
distinguished them, and I was often reminded of the slums of some great
city. One night, as dusk was falling, a whale-boat put in on that part
of the beach where I chanced to be alone. Six or seven ruffianly fellows
scrambled out; all had enough English to give me "good-bye," which was
the ordinary salutation; or "good-morning," which they seemed to regard
as an intensitive; jests followed, they surrounded me with harsh
laughter and rude looks, and I was glad to move away. I had not yet
encountered Mr. Stewart, or I should have been reminded of his first
landing at Atuona and the humorist who nibbled at the heel. But their
neighbourhood depressed me; and I felt, if I had been there a castaway
and out of reach of help, my heart would have been sick.
Nor was the traffic altogether native. While we lay in the anchorage
there befell a strange coincidence. A schooner was observed at sea and
aiming to enter. We knew all the schooners in the group, but this
appeared larger than any; she was rigged, besides, after the English
manner; and, coming to an anchor some way outside the _Casco_, showed at
last the blue ensign. There were at that time, according to rumour, no
fewer than four yachts in the Pacific; but it was strange that any two
of them should thus lie side by side in that outlandish inlet: stranger
still that in the owner of the _Nyanza_, Captain Dewar, I should find a
man of the same country and the same county with myself, and one whom I
had seen walking as a boy on the shores of the Alpes Maritimes.
We had besides a white visitor from shore who came and departed in a
crowded whale-boat manned by natives; having read of yachts in the
Sunday papers, and being fired with the desire to see one. Captain
Chase, as they called him, an old whaler-man, thickset and
white-bearded, with a strong Indiana drawl; years old in the country, a
good backer in battle, and one of those dead shots whose practice at the
target struck terror in the braves of Haamau. Captain Chase dwelt
farther east in a bay called Hanamate, with a Mr. M'Callum; or rather
they had dwelt together once, and were now amicably separated. The
captain is to be found near one end of the bay, in a wreck of a house,
and waited on by a Chinese. At the point of the opposing corner another
habitation stands on a tall paepae. The surf runs there exceeding heavy,
seas of seven and eight feet high bursting under the walls of the house,
which is thus continually filled with their clamour, and rendered fit
only for solitary, or at least for silent, inmates. Here it is that Mr.
M'Callum, with a Shakespeare and a Burns, enjoys the society of the
breakers. His name and his Burns testify to Scottish blood; but he is an
American born, somewhere far east; followed the trade of a
ship-carpenter; and was long employed, the captain of a hundred Indians,
breaking up wrecks about Cape Flattery. Many of the whites who are to be
found scattered in the South Seas represent the more artistic portion of
their class; and not only enjoy the poetry of that new life, but came
there on purpose to enjoy it. I have been shipmates with a man, no
longer young, who sailed upon that voyage, his first time to sea, for
the mere love of Samoa; and it was a few letters in a newspaper that
sent him on that pilgrimage. Mr. M'Callum was another instance of the
same. He had read of the South Seas; loved to read of them; and let
their image fasten in his heart; till at length he could refrain no
longer--must set forth, a new Rudel, for that unseen homeland--and has
now dwelt for years in Hiva-oa, and will lay his bones there in the end
with full content; having no desire to behold again the places of his
boyhood, only, perhaps--once, before he dies--the rude and wintry
landscape of Cape Flattery. Yet he is an active man, full of schemes;
has bought land of the natives; has planted five thousand coco-palms;
has a desert island in his eye, which he desires to lease, and a
schooner in the stocks, which he has laid and built himself, and even
hopes to finish. Mr. M'Callum and I did not meet, but, like gallant
troubadours, corresponded in verse. I hope he will not consider it a
breach of copyright if I give here a specimen of his muse. He and
Bishop Dordillon are the two European bards of the Marquesas.
"Sail, ho! Ahoy! _Casco_,
First among the pleasure fleet
That came around to greet
These isles from San Francisco.
And first, too; only one
Among the literary men
That this way has ever been--
Welcome, then, to Stevenson.
Please not offended be
At this little notice
Of the _Casco_, Captain Otis
With the novelist's family.
_Avoir une voyage magnifical_
Is our wish sincere,
That you'll have from here
_Allant sur la Grande Pacifical_."
But our chief visitor was one Mapiao, a great Tahuku--which seems to
mean priest, wizard, tattooer, practiser of any art, or, in a word,
esoteric person--and a man famed for his eloquence on public occasions
and witty talk in private. His first appearance was typical of the man.
He came down clamorous to the eastern landing, where the surf was
running very high; scorned all our signals to go round the bay; carried
his point, was brought aboard at some hazard to our skiff, and set down
in one corner of the cockpit to his appointed task. He had been hired,
as one cunning in the art, to make my old men's beards into a wreath:
what a wreath for Celia's arbour! His own beard (which he carried, for
greater safety, in a sailor's knot) was not merely the adornment of his
age, but a substantial piece of property. One hundred dollars was the
estimated value; and as Brother Michel never knew a native to deposit a
greater sum with Bishop Dordillon, our friend was a rich man in virtue
of his chin. He had something of an East Indian cast, but taller and
stronger; his nose hooked, his face narrow, his forehead very high, the
whole elaborately tattooed. I may say I have never entertained a guest
so trying. In the least particular he must be waited on; he would not go
to the scuttle-butt for water; it must be given him in his hand; if aid
were denied him, he would fold his arms, bow his head, and go without;
only the work would suffer. Early the first forenoon he called aloud for
biscuit and salmon; biscuit and ham were brought; he looked on them
inscrutably, and signed they should be set aside. A number of
considerations crowded on my mind; how the sort of work on which he was
engaged was probably tapu in a higher degree; should by rights, perhaps,
be transacted on a tapu platform which no female might approach; and it
was possible that fish might be the essential diet. Some salted fish I
therefore brought him, and along with that a glass of rum: at sight of
which Mapiao displayed extraordinary animation, pointed to the zenith,
made a long speech in which I picked up _umati_--the word for the
sun--and signed to me once more to place these dainties out of reach. At
last I had understood, and every day the programme was the same. At an
early period of the morning his dinner must be set forth on the roof of
the house and at a proper distance, full in view but just out of reach;
and not until the fit hour, which was the point of noon, would the
artificer partake. This solemnity was the cause of an absurd
misadventure. He was seated plaiting, as usual, at the beards, his
dinner arrayed on the roof, and not far off a glass of water standing.
It appears he desired to drink; was of course far too great a gentleman
to rise and get the water for himself; and spying Mrs. Stevenson,
imperiously signed to her to hand it. The signal was misunderstood; Mrs.
Stevenson was, by this time, prepared for any eccentricity on the part
of our guest; and instead of passing him the water, flung his dinner
overboard. I must do Mapiao justice: all laughed, but his laughter rang
the loudest.
These troubles of service were at worst occasional; the embarrassment of
the man's talk incessant. He was plainly a practised conversationalist;
the nicety of his inflections, the elegance of his gestures, and the
fine play of his expression, told us that. We, meanwhile, sat like
aliens in a playhouse; we could see the actors were upon some material
business and performing well, but the plot of the drama remained
undiscoverable. Names of places, the name of Captain Hart, occasional
disconnected words, tantalised without enlightening us; and the less we
understood, the more gallantly, the more copiously, and with still the
more explanatory gestures, Mapiao returned to the assault. We could see
his vanity was on the rack; being come to a place where that fine jewel
of his conversational talent could earn him no respect; and he had times
of despair when he desisted from the endeavour, and instants of
irritation when he regarded us with unconcealed contempt. Yet for me, as
the practitioner of some kindred mystery to his own, he manifested to
the last a measure of respect. As we sat under the awning in opposite
corners of the cockpit, he braiding hairs from dead men's chins, I
forming runes upon a sheet of folio paper, he would nod across to me as
one Tahuku to another, or, crossing the cockpit, study for a while my
shapeless scrawl and encourage me with a heartfelt "_mitai_!--good!" So
might a deaf painter sympathise far off with a musician, as the slave
and master of some uncomprehended and yet kindred art. A silly trade he
doubtless considered it; but a man must make an allowance for
barbarians, _chaque pays a ses coutumes_--and he felt the principle was
there.
The time came at last when his labours, which resembled those rather of
Penelope than Hercules, could be no more spun out, and nothing remained
but to pay him and say farewell. After a long, learned argument in
Marquesan, I gathered that his mind was set on fish-hooks; with three of
which, and a brace of dollars, I thought he was not ill rewarded for
passing his forenoons in our cockpit, eating, drinking, delivering his
opinions, and pressing the ship's company into his menial service. For
all that, he was a man of so high a bearing and so like an uncle of my
own who should have gone mad and got tattooed, that I applied to him,
when we were both on shore, to know if he were satisfied. "_Mitai
ehipe?_" I asked. And he, with rich unction, offering at the same time
his hand--"_Mitai ehipe, mitai kaekae; kaoha nui!_"--or, to translate
freely: "The ship is good, the victuals are up to the mark, and we part
in friendship." Which testimonial uttered, he set off along the beach
with his head bowed and the air of one deeply injured.
I saw him go, on my side, with relief. It would be more interesting to
learn how our relation seemed to Mapiao. His exigence, we may suppose,
was merely loyal. He had been hired by the ignorant to do a piece of
work; and he was bound that he would do it the right way. Countless
obstacles, continual ignorant ridicule, availed not to dissuade him. He
had his dinner laid out; watched it, as was fit, the while he worked;
ate it at the fit hour; was in all things served and waited on; and
could take his hire in the end with a clear conscience, telling himself
the mystery was performed duly, the beards rightfully braided, and we
(in spite of ourselves) correctly served. His view of our stupidity,
even he, the mighty talker, must have lacked language to express. He
never interfered with my Tahuku work; civilly praised it, idle as it
seemed; civilly supposed that I was competent in my own mystery: such
being the attitude of the intelligent and the polite. And we, on the
other hand--who had yet the most to gain or lose, since the product was
to be ours--who had professed our disability by the very act of hiring
him to do it--were never weary of impeding his own more important
labours, and sometimes lacked the sense and the civility to refrain from
laughter.