A drive to Papenoo--The chief of Papenoo--A dinner and poker on the
beach--Incidents of the game--Breakfast the next morning--The chief
tells his story--The journey back--The leper child and her doll--The
Alliance Française--Bemis and his daughter--The band concert and the
fire--The prize-fight--My bowl of velvet.
We had another picnic; this time at Papenoo. Polonsky owned thirty
thousand acres of land in the Great Valley of Papenoo, the largest
of all the valleys of Tahiti. He had bought it from the Catholic
mission, which, following the monastic orders of the church in other
countries for a thousand years, had early adopted a policy of acquiring
land. But there were too few laborers in Tahiti now. Christianity
had not worked the miracle of preserving them from civilization. The
priests were glad to sell their extensive holdings at Papenoo, and the
energetic Russo-French count said that he would bring Slav families
from Europe to populate and develop it. He would plant the vast acreage
in cocoanut-trees, vanilla vines, and sugar-cane, and build up a white
community in the South Seas. He had noble plans for a novel experiment.
We started from the Cercle Bougainville in the afternoon in carriages
pulled by California bronchos. The dour Llewellyn, the handsome
Landers, the boastful McHenry, Lying Bill, David, the young American
vanilla-shipper, Bemis, an American cocoanut-buyer, the half-castes of
the orchestra, and servants, filled three roomy carryalls. The ideal
mode of travel in Tahiti in the cool of the day would be a donkey, a
slow, patient beast, who might himself take an interest in the scenery,
or at least the shrubbery. But the white must ever go at top speed,
and we dashed through the streets of Papeete, the accordions playing
"Revive us again!" the "Himene Tatou Arearea," and other tunes, and
we singing, "Hallelujah! I'm a bum!" and "Faararirari ta oe Tamarii
Tahiti! La, li!" One never makes merry privately in the South Seas.
Through Papeete we went along the eastern Broom Road, our train
attracting much attention. We stopped at the glacerie for ice, and
Polonsky insisted that we make a detour to his residence to drink a
stirrup-cup of champagne. He donned riding-breeches and took a horse
from his well-appointed stable.
Against the road on each side were close hedges of acalypha, or false
coffee, called in Tahitian tafeie, a small tree which grows quickly,
and the leaves of which are red or bronze or green, handsome and
admirably suited for fencing. Through these hedges and the broad
entrances I saw the houses and gardens, the residents and family life
of the people. Everywhere was a small prosperity, with gladness; pigs
and sheep cropping the grass and herbs, which were a mat of green,
rising so fast with the daily showers that only flocks could keep
it shorn. On the verandas and on the turf idle men and women were
gazing at the sky, talking, humming the newest air, plaiting hats,
or napping. No one was reading. There was no book-store in Tahiti. I
had not read a line since I came. I had not stepped up to the genial
dentist's to see an American journal. After years of the newspaper
habit, reading and writing them, it had fallen away in Tahiti as
the prickly heat after a week at sea. Of what interest was it that
the divorce record was growing longer in New York, that Hinky Dink
had been reëlected in Chicago, and that Los Angeles had doubled in
population. A dawn on the beach, a swim in the lagoon, the end of
the fish strike, were vastly more entertaining.
We passed the gorge of Fautaua, where Fragrance of the Jasmine and I
had had a charmed day. The pinnacles of the Diadem were black against
the eastern sky. Aorai, the tallest peak in sight, more than a mile
high, hid its head in a mass of snowy clouds.
Not far away was the mausoleum of the last king of the Society Islands,
Pomaré the Fifth, with whose wide-awake widow, the queen, I had smoked
a cigarette a day ago. It was a pyramid of coral, a red funeral-urn
on top, and a red P on the façade. Pillars and roof were of the same
color, and a chain surrounded it. The tomb was rococo, glaring,
typical of the monuments in the South Seas where the aboriginal
structures of beauty or interest were destroyed by the missionaries
to please their Clapham Seminary god. Pomaré, who had been the victim
of French political chicane, enjoyed now but one privilege. If his
spirit had senses, it heard the lapping of the waves upon the beach
of the lagoon across which his ancestor, the first Pomaré, had come
from Moorea to be a king.
We left the Broom Road for Point Venus to see the monument to Captain
James Cook, the great mariner of these seas. The only lighthouse
on Tahiti is there. On that spot Cook and his astronomers had
observed the transit of Venus in 1769, and it was there the first
English missionaries landed from the ship Duff to convert the pagan
Tahitians. Cook has a pillar, with a plate of commemoration, in a
grove of purau-trees, cocoanuts, pandanus, and the red oleander;
Cook who is an immortal, and was loved by a queen here.
We left behind Paintua, Taunoa, Arahim, Arue and Haapape, and came
to a shore where no reef checked the waves in a yeasty line a mile or
less from the beach. The breakers roared and beat upon a black shore,
strangely different from the Tahitian strand that I had seen. For miles
a hundred feet of sable rocks, pebbles, some small and others as big as
a man's hand, lay between the receded tide and the road, and all along
huge islets of somber stone defended themselves as best they could
against the attack of the surf. Signs of surrender showed in some,
caverns and arches cut by the constant hammer of swell and billow.
Sugar-cane, vanilla, pineapples, coffee, bananas, plantation after
plantation, with the country houses of Papeete's merchants, officials,
lawyers, and doctors, moved past our vehicle, and, as we increased
the distance from the capital, the beautiful native homes appeared.
Simple they were, with no windows or doors, mere shelters, but cool and
cheap, with no division of rooms, and no furniture but the sleeping
mats and a utensil or two. Natives were seen cooking their simple
meal of fish and breadfruit, or only the latter. The fire was in the
ground or under a grill of iron on stones. They would not go hungry,
for mango-trees lined the road, and bananas, feis, and pineapples
were to be had for the taking.
We drove through Aapahi and Faaripoo and saw a funeral. In the grounds
of the dead man sat two large groups of people, the men and the women
separate. They talked of his dying and his property, and his children,
while those who liked to do so made him ready for the grave. A hundred
yards away, in a school-yard, twoscore men, women, boys, and girls
played football. The males were in pareus, naked except about the
waist, and they kicked the heavy leather sphere with their bare feet.
Pare, Arue, and Mahina districts behind us, we were in Papenoo, a
straggling village of a few hundred people along the road, the houses,
all but the half-dozen stores of the Chinese, set back a hundred yards,
and the domestic animals and carts in the front.
With a flourish we drove into the inclosure of the largest, newest,
and most pretentious house, and were greeted by Teriieroo, the Tahitian
chief, all native, but speaking French easily and musically. Count
Polonsky shook hands with him, as did we all, but when a daughter
appeared, neither Polonsky nor we paid her any attention. Yet she was
Polonsky's "girl," as they say here, and he kept her in good style
in a house near her father's, sending his yellow automobile for her
when he wanted her at his villa near Papeete.
The chief's house had four bedrooms, each with an European bed,
three-quarter size, and with a mattress two feet high, stuffed with
kapok, the silky cotton which grows on trees all over Tahiti, These
mattresses were beveled, and one must lie in their middle not to slip
off. The coverlets were red and blue in stamped patterns.
It was dark when we touched the earth after two hours' driving, and
leaving the coachman to care for the horses, we went with the chief,
each of us carrying a siphon of seltzer or a bottle of champagne or
claret. Our way was through an old and dark cocoanut grove, a bare
trail, winding among the trees, and ending at the beach.
Polonsky had had built a pavilion for the revel. Fifty feet away was
a kitchen in which the dinner was cooking, its odors adding appetite
to that whetted by the several cocktails which Polonsky had mixed
when the ice was brought in a wheelbarrow from the wagon.
We sat down in chairs on the turf a foot from the jetty boulders,
and watched the inrush of the breakers. A light breeze outside had
stirred the water, and the combers were white and high.
"Every sea is really three seas," said McHenry, pipe in hand, as he
sipped his Martini. "We fellows who have to risk our cargoes and lives
in landing in the Paumotus and Marquesas, study the accursed surf to
find out its rules. There are rules, too, and the ninth wave is the
one we come in on. That is the last of the third group, the biggest,
and the one that will bring your boat near enough to shore to let
all hands leap out and run her up away from the undertow."
Lights were placed in the new house. It was elegantly made, of small
bamboos up and down, with a floor of matched boards, the roof of
cocoanut-leaves, and hung with blossoms of many kinds. The table had
been spread, and there was a glitter of silver and glass, with all
the accoutrements of fashion. We sat down, eight, the chief making
nine, and ate and drank until ten o'clock. The pièce de résistance
was the sucking pig, with taro and feis, but roasted in an oven,
and not in native style; and there was a delicious young turkey from
New Zealand, a ham from Virginia, truffles, a salad of lettuce and
tomatoes, and a plum pudding from London. The claret was 1900 and
1904, a vintage obtained by Polonsky in Paris. The champagne, also,
was of a year, and frappéd. Tahitian coffee, with brown sugar from
the chief's plantation, ended the banquet.
There was no conversation of any interest. The Parisian count was
far removed in experience and culture from the others, and probably
only the necessity of companionship in revelry and cards brought
them together. Europe, and all the earth, was his playground, and
doubtless he had lavished a fortune in pleasure in the capitals of the
Continent. Llewellyn had an education in the universities of England
and Germany, but since young manhood had been in his birthplace,
and the others were the rough and ready stuff of business or seafaring.
The table for the gambling was moved to the sward by the shingle,
and lamps hung upon bamboos planted at each end. It was balmy, and we
sat in our shirts, the bosoms open for the breeze, the count with his
gorgeous Japanese god shining upon his ivory breast, and the round
glass in his eye. The tattooed skeleton upon his forearm was uncanny
in the flickering light, the black shadows of the eyes seeming to
open and close as the rays fell upon it.
Landers, though he had drunk with all, was appreciative of every
nicety of the game, and won fifteen hundred francs. He alone was cool,
watching the faces of the players at every crisis, quick to detect
a weakness, to interpret rightly a gesture or counting of losses and
gains, remorselessly hammering home his victories, and always suave
and generous in action.
Llewellyn would withdraw his attention to listen to the himene of the
musicians thirty feet away, which consisted mostly of familiar American
airs, interpolated with bizarre staves and dissonances. One caught a
beloved strain, and then it wandered away queerly as if the musician
had forgotten the score and had done his best otherwise. I never heard
in Tahiti one air of Europe or America played through as composed,
without variation or omission, except the national anthem of France.
"They are happy, those boys," mused Llewellyn. "They get more out
of life than we do. Why should we fool with these cards here when we
might sing?"
Llewellyn was only a quarter Tahitian, but at times the island blood
was the only pulse he felt. One noticed it especially during the
himenes, when he seemed to wander far from the business in hand. That
business being poker, and Landers all attention to the cards and the
psychology of his antagonists, every time Llewellyn harked to the
himene he lost a little, and when he became entangled in a jackpot
of size, and drew too many cards on account of his abstraction, he
was mulcted of fifty francs and failed of winning the two hundred he
might have won.
"Unlucky at cards, lucky in something else," said he, self-consolingly.
"Ye want to drop that other thing when ye're playing cards," McHenry
advised as he scooped in the pot. "The cards are all queens to you."
Chief Teriieroo a Teriieroterai sat ten feet removed from the players,
but kept his eyes on the money. They played with notes, five francs
being the smallest, and the others twenties and hundreds. The chief
smiled whenever Count Polonsky drew in a heap of these, and when one
fell on the floor, he scrambled under the table to prevent it being
blown on the rocks. The Javanese served the drinks, and a crowd of
natives watched curiously the shifting vantages from a respectful
distance.
It was three o'clock when the scores were settled, and, the chief
leading with a lantern, we tramped through the great cocoanut-grove
to his residence.
Landers and I each took a bed, I being warned to be forehanded by my
experience in Moorea, where I slept on the floor. The chief retired,
and Polonsky went off with his arm about his inamorata's waist,
she having apparently awaited his return. When Llewellyn and McHenry
appeared half an hour later, having emptied a bottle reminiscent to
McHenry of his father's liking for Auld Reekie, they were discomfited
by the beds being all occupied, the other two having been early
claimed by two men who ate and drank and immediately slept.
When I awoke, the sun was up half an hour, and Landers and I went
for a bath in the brook. We found a pool famed in the legends of the
natives. In the olden days the kings and chiefs would have made it
tabu to themselves.
Landers had on a pareu only, his two hundred and fifty pounds of
bone and muscle a refreshing sight, and his eyes as bright as if he
had had the prescribed eight hours. They looked at him, sighingly,
the young women of the village, even at this hour busied cooking
breadfruit or fish and coffee; and Landers flirted with each one and
in Tahitian called out words which made them laugh, and sometimes
hide their heads coquettishly.
"I dated them all," he said to me when we were under the water. We
threw off our garments at the edge of the pool and plunged in. The
water was as soft as milk and as clear as crystal, cool and
invigorating. I drank my fill of it as I swam.
Breakfast we had in the chief's house, the remains of the amuraa
rahi of the night before. The chief drank coffee with us, and when
we had gone to sit on the veranda, his eight children and wife took
the board. I talked with Teriieroo a Teriieroterai for half an hour
in French. He was thirty-eight years old, very engaging, and had
several grandchildren.
"Eh bien," he said to my question, "I will tell you. I was married
first at sixteen years of age and this is my third wife." He pointed
over his shoulder to a tow-headed German for all I could see, and
who certainly showed no sign of the native except in her dress and
manners and avoirdupois.
"My first wife died," continued the arii, contemplatively. "I divorced
the second, and the third is just now eating the first déjeuner in
that room. I have eight children, and will have twenty, and I am
the chief of the Papenoo district, but this is not the place of my
ancienne famille. I was appointed here by the French Governor three
years ago to administer the district, which needed a strong hand. I
like it, and have bought land and built this house. I will stay my
days here. There is the farehau, the administration building where
I meet the people and we have conferences."
He pointed to a wooden cottage near by, with what looked like a
dancing-pavilion attached. There the people come to squat upon the
floor and relate their grievances. Most of the disputes before minor
and major courts were over land and water rights.
It was half past seven o'clock when we inspanned for the trek
to Papeete, a balmy, brilliant morning. The banks and cliffs were
masses of ferns, the living imposed upon the dead, and hibiscus and
gardenias and clumps of bamboo in a dissolving pageant mingled with
plots of taro and yams, pineapples and bananas. The majestic bread
trees and the spreading mangoes, the latter with their fruit verging
from gold to russet, were surflnounted by the soaring cocoanuts,
the monarchs of the tropics, whose banners fly from every atoll,
and fall only before the most terrible might of the King of Storms.
A cocoanut-palm bears at eight years and when about twenty-five feet
high. It rises seventy or eighty feet, and has a hundred curves. It
is the wily creature of the winds, but outwits them in all but their
worst moods. To the tropical man the cocoa-palm is life and luxury. He
drinks the milk and eats the meat, or sells it dried for making soaps
and emollients and other things; the oil he lights his house with and
rubs upon his body to assuage pain; he builds his houses and wharves of
it, and thatches his home with the husks, which also serve for fuel,
fiber for lines and dresses and hats, leaves for canoe-sails and the
shell of the nut for his goblet. Its roots he fashions into household
utensils. The cocoa grows where other edibles perish. It dips its bole
in the salt tide, and will not thrive removed from its beloved sea.
To me there is an inexpressible sentiment in the presence of these
cocoa-palms. They are the symbol of the simplicity and singleness
of the eternal summer of the tropics; the staff and gonfalons of the
dominion of the sun. My heart leaps at their sight when long away. They
are the dearest result of seed and earth. I drink their wine and esteem
dwelling in their sight a rare communion with the best of nature.
They joked Count Polonsky about his girl, and he began to explain.
"I was here a year before I found one that suited me," he said as
he rode beside the wagon. "I don't love her, nor she me, but I pay
her well, and ask only physical fidelity for my physical safety. Her
father is practical and influential, and will help me with my plans
for development of the Papenoo valley, which I have bought."
Three tall and robust natives in pareus of red and yellow, and carrying
long spears, went by, accompanied by a dozen dogs. We stopped them,
and they said they were from the Papara district on their way to hunt
pig in the Papenoo Mountains for Count Polonsky. The latter remembered
he had ordered such a hunt, and explained through Llewellyn that he
was their employer.
They faced him, and seldom was greater contrast. Magnificent
semi-savages, clothed in only a rag, their powerful muscles responsive
to every demand of their minds, and health glowing in their laughing
countenances: Polonsky, slight, bent, baldish, arrayed in Paris
fashions, a figure from the Bois de Boulogne, his glass screwed in
his weak eye, the other myopic, teeth missing, and face pale. But
at his command they hunted, for he had that which they craved, the
money of civilization, to buy its toys and poisons. Polonsky had a
reputation for generous dealing.
A bent native man repairing the road near Faaripoo had his face swathed
in bandages. He greeted us with the courteous, "Ia ora na!" but did
not lift his head.
"He is a leper," said Llewellyn. "I have seen him for years on this
road. He may not be here many more days, because they are segregating
the lepers. The Government has built a lazaretto for them up that
road."
We saw a group of little houses a short distance removed from the
road. They were fenced in and had an institutional look.
"There's hundreds of lepers in Tahiti," remarked McHenry.
"Mac, you're a damned liar," replied Llewellyn. He was an overlord
in manner when with natives, but his quarter aboriginal blood caused
the least aspersion on them by others to touch him on the raw.
"Well, there's a bloody lot o'them," broke in Lying Bill.
"Eighty only," stated Llewellyn, conclusively. "The Government has
taken a census, and they 're all to be brought here. Did you hear
that Tissot left for Raiatea when he heard of the census? He's a
leper and a white man. They seized young Briand yesterday."
I was astonished, because the latter had lived opposite the Tiare
Hotel, and I had met him often at the barber's. I had been "next"
to him at Marechal's shop a week before.
"He did not know he was a leper until they examined him," Llewellyn
went on. "He does not know how he contracted the disease. I don't
mind it. I am not afraid. You get used to it. I tell you, the only
leper I ever knew that made me cry was a kid. I used to see on the
porch of a house on the road to Papara from Papeete a big doll. A
little leper girl owned it, and she was ashamed to be seen outside
her home, so she put on the veranda the doll she loved best to greet
her friends. She made out that the doll was really herself, and she
loved to listen when those who might have been playmates talked to
the doll and fondled it. She lived for and in the doll, and those
who cherished the little girl saw that each Christmas the doll was
exchanged secretly for a bigger one, keeping pace with the growth of
the child. I have caressed it and sung to it, and guessed that the
child was peeping and listening inside. She herself never touched
it, for it would be like picking up one's own self. Each Christmas
she saw herself born again, for the old dolls were burned without
her knowledge. And all the time her own little body was falling to
pieces. Last Christmas she was carried to the door to see the new
doll. I bought it for her, and I had in it a speaking-box, to say
'Bonjour!' I sent to Paris for it. She's dead now, poor little devil,
or they'd have shut her up in the lazaretto."
Bemis bought cocoanuts for shipment for food purposes. His firm sold
them all over America to fruitdealers for eating raw by children,
and shredded and prepared them for confectioners and grocers. He was
the only buyer in Tahiti of fresh nuts, as all others purchased them
as copra, split and dried, for the oil. Bemis had been here years ago,
he said.
"I'm married now," he told me, "but in those days I was a damn
fool about the Tahitian girls. I put in six months here before I
was married."
He became thoughtful, and asked me to accompany him to the soiree of
the Alliance Française, in the Palais cinema-hall. The Alliance was
for encouraging the study and use of the French language. A few decades
ago Admiral Serre, the governor, had forbidden the teaching of French
to girls in the country districts as hurtful to their moral weal. It
was feared that they would seek to air their learning in Papeete,
and, as said Admiral Serre, be corrupted. A new regime reckoned a
knowledge of French a requisite of patriotism.
At the Palais the scene was brilliant. Two large banana-trees were
apparently growing at the sides of the stage, and the pillars of the
roof were wreathed in palm-leaves. Scores of French flags draped the
walls. Pupils of the government schools occupied many seats, and their
families, friends, and officials the others. The galleries were filled
with native children. Marao, the former queen, and her daughters, the
Princesses Boots and Tekau, with a party of English acquaintances, were
in front, and the general audience consisted of French and every caste
of Tahitian, from half to a sixteenth. The men were in white evening
suits, and the women and girls in décolleté gowns, white and colored.
It was eight o'clock when the governor entered on the arm of the
president of the Alliance, Dr. Cassiou. He was in a white drill
uniform, with deep cuffs of gold bullion, and a blazing row of
orders on his breast. The république outdoes many monarchies in
decorating with these baubles its heroes of politics. The governor,
a wholesome-looking diplomat, was the image of the famous host of
the Old Poodle Dog restaurant in San Francisco, who himself would
have had a hundred ribbons in a just democracy.
The band of native musicians played "The Marseillaise," but nobody
stood. With all their embellishments, the French would not incommode
themselves at the whim of a baton-wielder, who in America had only to
wave his stick in "The Star-Spangled Banner," and any one who did not
humor his whim by getting on his feet was beaten by his neighbors,
who would not suffer without him.
With the governor were the inspecteurs colonials, the bearded
napkin-wearers of Lovaina's. They, too, had a line of gay ribbon
from nipple to nipple. These three and the boulevardier, the gay
secretary, sat upon the stage beside a stack of gilded red books. The
band played "La Croix d'Honneur," and the good Dr. Cassiou read from a
manuscript his annual address in a low voice becoming a ministrant at
sick-beds. Another piece by the band, and the books were distributed to
the pupils, who went tremulously upon the stage to receive them from
the governor's hand. This was a lengthy process, but each child had a
claque, which communicated enthusiasm to the others of the audience,
and there was continuous clapping.
"Les Cadets de Russie" by the band preceded the allocution by the
governor. He also spoke sotto voce, as if to himself, and as no
one heard his words, the fans of native straw and Chinese turkey
feathers were plied incessantly. The heat was oppressive. A sigh of
relief came with the entr'acte, when all the grown folk flocked to
the attached saloon. I joined the queen's group for a few moments,
and drank champagne with her and her daughters, and I was called over
to have a glass of Perrier Jouet with the governor's party. Most of
the natives drank bottled lemonade from the glacerie at five sous
a bottle. The queen wore a rose in her hair. She was very large,
with almost a man's face, shrewd, heavy, determined, and yet lively,
and without a shade of pretense. Her walk was singularly majestic,
and was often commented upon.
The Princess Tekau was beautiful, quite like a Spanish senorita in
color and feature, her ivory skin gleaming against a pale-blue bodice,
and her blue-black hair piled high. We talked French or English, with
many Tahitian words thrown in, according to the mood or need of the
moment. Every one was laughing. After all, Tahiti was very simple,
and even officialdom could not import aristocracy or stiffness into
a climate where starch melted before one could impress a spectator.
The inspecteurs and others of the suite had smiles and quips for
humbler girls than princesses. I saw one of the awesome whiskerandos
from Paris, haughty and secretive toward the French, lighting the
cigarette of a blanchisseuse at the Pool of Psyche, his arm about her,
and his black bristles nearer than necessary to her ripe mouth. A
merchant dining away from home slapped caressingly the hips of the
girls who waited upon him, nor concealed his gestures. Hypocrisy had
lost her shield in Tahiti, because, except among a few aged persons,
and the pastors, she was not a virtue, as in America and England,
but a hateful vice.
Back again in the Palais, cooled and made receptive to music by
the joyous quarter of an hour in the buffet, we heard Mme. Gautier
sing "Le Cid," by Massenet, and the Princess Tekau accompany her
effectively on the piano. A solo de piston, a violin, a flute, all
played by Tahitians, entertained us, and then came the fun. M. X----
was down for a monologue. Who could it be? He bounced on the stage in
a Prince-Albert coat and a Derby hat, rollicking, truculent, plainly
exhilarated. Why, it was M. Lontane in disguise, the second in command
of the police, the hero of the battle of the limes, the coal, and
the potatoes. He gave a side-splitting burlesque of the conflict. He
acted the drunken stoker, the man who would write to "The Times"
when M. Lontane placed his pistol at his stomach, and he made us see
the fruit and coal flying. It was all good natured, and his dialogue
(monologue) amusing. We saw how we Anglo-Saxons appeared to the French,
and learned how the hoarse growl of the British sailor sounded.
The governor was delighted, the inspecteurs also. The officials
took their cue, the entire audience laughed, and the galleries of
children, not understanding at all, but convulsed at the antics of
the head policeman, yelled encore. The British consul grinned, and the
governor turned and winked at him. The entente cordiale was cemented
again. The second in command, who provoked the sundering of the tie,
had reunited it by his comicality. Ire dissolved in glee.
A play followed, in which several of the players were in the audience,
and in which my barber, M. Bontet, shone, and moving-pictures
followed. The babies were long asleep, and we yawning when we were
dismissed at half past twelve.
Bemis, the cocoanut-buyer, sat through the entr'acte, not accompanying
me to the buffet. He received a shock during the handing out of
the premiums and was silent afterward. Bemis was a striking man,
because the very regular features of his young face were set off by
a mass of white hair. He was placid, without a disturbing intellect,
and interested solely in the price and condition of fresh cocoanuts
for shipment. I had seen him start when a little girl of distinctive
expression was called to the stage to receive her book. She sat with
her mother and putative father, and their other children. When I
first saw her, I pulled his arm.
"Bemis," I said, "for heaven's sake, look at that girl!"
He looked, and his face tensed, growing ashen white. "She's the image
of you, Bemis," I pursued.
"For God's sake, talk low!" he cautioned. "People are rubbering at me
now. She is mine, I'm sure. I was here six months a dozen years ago
and had an affair with her mother, who sits there. What can I do? I
have my own at home in Oakland. I could not tell. I never knew about
that girl until a week ago. She doesn't know me. I saw her on the Broom
Road, so I came to-night to have a good look at her. I was afraid to
come alone. It would do no good for me to tell her. She's taken care
of. She's lovely, isn't she? I'd like to take her in my arms once."
We walked to the Annexe.
"I'll tell you," he resumed. "I can't blame myself. I was like any
young fellow who comes down here,--I wasn't more than twenty-five,--but
I feel like hell. That child's face is almost identical, except for
color, with my baby of eight or nine at home. I'm afraid I'll see it
at night when I go back."
On the trees, which carry all the public announcements, appeared a
notice of a concert by the local band:
Fanfare de Papeete
Le public est informé la Fanfare donnera son
Concert sur la Place du Gouvernement Mardi Soir a 8 heures.
RETRAITE
aux Flambeaux!
All day it rained, but at seven a myriad of stars were in the sky. The
Place du Gouvernement is a large lawn between the group of buildings
devoted to administrative affairs, with seats for several score,
but not for the hundreds who attended the band concert. The notice
about the flambeaux drew even the few boys and youths who might not
have come for the music.
In the center of the lawn was a kiosk, and on the four sides the
rue de Rivoli, the garden of the Cercle Militaire, the grounds of
the former palace of the Pomarés, now the executive offices, and the
pavilion of the Revues.
I went early when the lights were being turned on. Only the sellers of
wreaths had arrived, and they seated themselves along the square, their
ferns and flowers on the ground beside them. Then came the venders
of sweets, ice-cream, and peanuts, and soon the band and the throng.
An allegro broke upon the air, and stilled for a moment
the chatter. Most of the people stood or strolled in twos or
dozens. They bought wreaths and placed them on their bare heads,
while the few who wore hats encircled them with the brilliant greens
and blossoms. Bevies of handsome girls and women in their prettiest
tunics, many wearing Chinese silk shawls of blue or pink, their hair
tied with bright ribbons, sat on the benches or grouped about the
confectionery-stands. Many carriages and automobiles were parked in
the shadows, holding the more reserved citizens--the governor, the
royal family, the bishop, the clergy, and dignified matrons of girth.
The bachelors and male coquets of the Tahitians and French, with a
sprinkling of all the foreigners in Papeete, the officers and crews
of the war-ship Zélée and sailing vessels, smoked and endeavored to
segregate vahines who appealed to them. The dark procureur général
from Martinique had an eye for beauty, and the private secretary of
the governor was in his most gallant mood, a rakish cloth hat with
a feather, a silver-headed stick, a suit of tight-fitting black,
and a tiare Tahiti over his ear, marking him among the other Lotharios.
The band was led by a tall, impressive native who both beat and hummed
the airs to guide the others. A tune ended, the bandsmen hurried to
mix with the audience, to smoke and flirt. The shading acacia-trees
lining the avenues permitted privacy for embraces, kisses, for making
engagements, and for the singing of chansons and himenes of scandalous
import. Better than the Latin, the Tahitian likes direct words and
candor in song.
French naval officers and sailors passed and repassed, or sought
the obscurity of the mangoes or the acacias. One heard the sibilance
of kisses, the laughter, and the banter, the half-serious blows and
scoldings of the vahines who repelled over-bold sailors. In an hour
the sedate and the older took leave; the governor and the procureur
turned into the Cercle Militaire for whist or écarté and a glass
of wine, the carriages withdrew, and the band's airs and manner
of playing took on a new freedom and abandon. A polka was begun,
and couples danced upon the grass, the ladies in their peignoirs,
their black hair floating, and their lips chanting, their wreaths
and flowers nodding to their motions.
In retired nooks where the lamp-lights did not penetrate ardent ones
threw themselves into the postures and agitations of the upaupa,
the hula.
Boys now began to light the flambeaux for the retraite. These
were large bundles of cocoanut-husks and candlenuts soaked in oil,
and they gave a generous flare. Suddenly, we heard the mairie-bell
tolling. The band-leader climbed upon the roof of the kiosk, descended,
and gave a vigorous beat upon the air for "the Marseillaise," which
ends all concerts.
It was quickly over, and seizing the flambeaux, all rushed from the
Place du Gouvernement, lighting the way of the retraite, now more
furious even than planned. The band struck up, "There'll be a Hot Time
in the Old Town To-night," the drum and bugle made warlike notes, and
down the rue de Rivoli we went madly toward the conflagration sighted
by the leader. After the band and the flambeaux-bearers danced the
jolly commoners, with here and there a more important pair of legs,
an English clerk, a tourist, or an official, all excited by the music,
the torches, and the running to the fire. The flambeaux reeled to and
fro with the skipping and leaping of their carriers, the multitude
sang loudly, and the music became broken as the leader lost control
of his men. They came to the house of the hose-cart, and transformed
themselves into firemen, laying down their instruments and harnessing
themselves to the lines. Away we went again, now at top speed. Other
carts with apparatus dashed into the Broom Road from side streets
and caught up with us.
The pullers yelled warnings in Tahitian to those who might impede
their way or be run over. The stir was tremendous, for fires were rare
and greatly feared. The regulations of the possession and storage
of combustibles were severe, even a wagon or handcart containing as
little as one can of kerosene being compelled to fly a red flag.
After a mile we came to the fire, a Chinese restaurant beside a little
creek and in a cocoanut-grove. The roof had fallen in and there were
reports that a woman and two children had been killed. Two men with
quart cans threw water from the stream on the edge of the blaze.
The little hose-carts, with a small ladder, arrived with éclat, native
gendarmes clearing the road, and Frenchmen and natives shouting the
danger of death by these formidable engines. They were of no purpose,
the water-taps which were conspicuous in the main streets being absent
here, and no water under pressure was available. They knew this, of
course, but the hose was unreeled, and a dozen people tripped up by
its snakelike movements, the while bandsmen and gendarmes roared out
manoeuvers. By now a thousand were there. I counted roughly several
hundred bicycles and two public automobiles, holding thirty persons
each, came from the center of town, the enterprising owners canvassing
the coffee-shops and saloons for passengers. These carryalls drew up
by the stream within forty feet of the blaze, forcing the pedestrians
and cyclists to retreat.
Lovaina appeared, puffing furiously. Vava was roused to a high
pitch. He told me by signs how he had seen the fire and given the alarm
to the mairie, or city hall, the bell of which tolled for an hour.
There was no wind, and the flames rose straight up, scorching
the cocoanut-leaves, but unharming other houses within twenty-five
feet. The crowd lingered until the last timber had fallen. After seeing
that there was small danger to the adjoining buildings, and learning
that the loss fell upon Chinese only, that no one had been hurt, and
that a can of kerosene had exploded, interest in the conflagration
dropped, and friends and acquaintances who had met chatted amiably
on other subjects. The proximity of the fire and the marshy condition
of the ground made it proper for the ladies with well-turned legs to
raise their gowns high, displaying garterless stockings held up by the
"native twist" above the calf. Accordions and mouth-organs enlivened
the talk, and not until only charred boards remained did we leave.
Besides the occasional concerts of the band, boxing and moving-pictures
made up the public night life of Papeete. Attached to the theaters
were bars, as at the Palais, and these were the foci of those who
hunted distraction, and the trysting-places of the amorous. One found
in them or flitting about them all the Tahitian or part Tahitian
girls in Papeete who were not kept from them by higher ambition or
by a strict family rule. From Moorea, Raiatea, Bora-Bora, and other
islands, and from the rural districts of Tahiti, drifted the fairest
who pursued pleasure, and to these cafés went the male tourists,
the gayer traders, the sailors, and the Tahitian men of city ways,
the chauffeurs, clerks, and officials.
Boxing and cinemas were novelties in Tahiti, and though the bars
were only adjuncts of the shows, they had become the scenes of a
hectic life quite different from former days. The groves, the beach,
and the homes were less frequented for merrymaking, the white having
brought his own comparatively new customs of men and women drinking
together in public houses. And there had crept in on a small scale an
exploitation of beauty by those who profited by the receipts at the
prize-fights, the cinemas, and the bars. The French or part castes who
owned these attractions were copying the cruder methods of the Chinese.
Llewellyn, David, and McHenry were habitués of these resorts, and I
not an infrequent visitor. We went together to a prize-fight, which
had been well advertised. A small boy with a gong handed me a bill
on the rue du Four, which read:
Casino de Tahiti
Ce Soir Vendredi
Pour le championnat des Etablissements français de l'Oceanie
Grand Match de Boxe Entre MM.
Great Boxing Match Between MM.
Moto Raa rahi i rotopu ia
Opeta (Raratonga) & Teaea (Mataiea)
10 Rounds
Moni parahiraa 1re 2f. 50 2me 2f. 3me 1f. 50
The bill said further in French and Tahitian that this was to be
the climax of all ring battles in the South Seas between natives,
the Christchurch Kid and Cowan, the bridegroom, being hors concours.
Every seat was reserved by noon. All day the automobile stages ran
into the country districts to bring natives, and from Moorea came
boat-loads of spectators. On the streets native youths emulated the
combatants, and at every corner boys were at fisticuffs. The Casino
de Tahiti was on the rue de Rivoli, a large wooden shed painted in
polychromatic tints, and with a gallery open to the air for the band,
which played an hour before all events to summon patrons. Groups were
in the street by eight o'clock, many having been unable to buy seats,
and others there merely to hear the music and to laugh. Many were
Chinese, queueless, smartly dressed in conventional white suits and
American straw hats. The storekeepers had come in from the country. The
men heatedly discussed the merits of the boxers. Opeta of Raratonga
was mentioned as the champion of the world--this part of it.
Smoking was not allowed inside, so not until the last moment did the
men file in. Hundreds of women were long in their places, some white,
many part white, and others Tahitians. They were in their best gowns,
flirting, eating fruit and nuts, laughing, and talking. Every girl
of the Tiare Hotel was there, and all the guests. I was wedged in
between Lovaina and Atupu, and the latter stroked my leg often,
as one does a cat or dog, affectionately, but without much thought
about it. Lovaina, too, rubbed my back from time to time.
A picture preceded the fight. It was of cow-boys, robbers, and the Wild
West, with much shooting. A half-caste explained it, and his wit was
considerable, tickling the ears as the scenes tickled the eyes. The
natives applauded or execrated the films as the Parisians do at the
opera. They encouraged the heroes and cursed the villains. Lovaina
was interested, but said:
"Those robber in picshur make all boy bad. The governor he say that
maybe he stop that Bill 'Art kind of picshur. Some Tahiti boy steal
horse and throw rope on other boy for lassoo."
When the screen was removed, a roped enclosure, a square "ring," was
disclosed. The announcer spoke in Tahitian of the signal achievements
of the two fighters, of their determination to do their best then
and there. The women cheered these declarations. Seated just below
me was a red-headed French girl, with perhaps a slight infusion of
Polynesian blood, who had a baby in a perambulator. Her strawberry
plaits dangled temptingly as she cooed to the baby. She was for Opeta,
the foreign competitor.
A white-haired Australian woman, with a strong accent, favored Teaea,
and when the Raratonga youth was winning, shouted to Teaea:
"'It 'im 'arder, Ol' Peet! 'E's outa wind! Knock 'is shell hoff!"
The Casino de Tahiti had two galleries, and in the topmost, at a franc,
five sous each, sat the little gods, as with us. Others were perched
on doors, on projections of cornices, and in every nook.
The fighters were naked except for breech-clouts. They were
barefooted. They wore their hair longish, and it appeared like
rough, black caps, which now and again fell over their faces and was
flung back by a toss of their heads. They were handsome men, framed
symmetrically, lithe, and healthy-looking. Their bodies soon shone
with the sweat. Their eyes, as soft as velvet to begin, grew fiery
as they punished each other. In truth, this punishment was not severe
from American prize-ring standards. The islander was unused to blows,
and the gloves were of the biggest size, such as those worn by business
men in gymnasiums.
Opeta had as seconds American beach-combers; and Teaea, natives. They
had all the pugilistic appurtenances of towels, bottles, etcetera,
and fanned and rubbed their men between rounds as if they were matched
for a fortune.
Teaea had a green ribbon in his loin-cloth. He was taller and heavier
than Opeta, but showed his inferiority quickly. They danced about
and fiddled for an opening, sparred for wind, and did all the fancy
footwork of the fifth-class fighter, but they seldom came together
except in clinches. The referee, the Christchurch Kid, was the
martyr, for he had to pull them apart every minute. The rounds were
of two minutes' duration, and the rests one minute. After seven very
tame rounds, the spectators became angered, and in the eighth Teaea
went down, and took the count of ten on his hands and feet, warily
watching his opponent. In the ninth, Opeta, excited by the demands of
the gallery, slugged him in the head. Teaea sought the boards again,
and the counting of ten by the referee began.
The Mataiea boxer was on his back, but his glazing eyes stared
reproachfully at Opeta. The latter, now clearly the victor, glanced
at the red-headed girl, who was dancing on the floor beside her
perambulator and waving her congratulations. The house was on its feet
yelling wildly to Teaea to rise. Those who had bet on him were calling
him a knave and a coward, while Opeta's backers were imploring him
to kill Teaea if he stood up. The Raratonga champion became excited,
confused and when Teaea, at the call of eight, cautiously turned over
and lifted his head, he struck him lightly.
The inhabitants of the country districts vociferated in one voice:
"Uahani! Uahani!"
"Faufau! Faufau!" cried the gods.
"Foul! Foul! 'E 'it' im, 'hand' e's hon 'is 'ands hand kneeses,"
exclaimed the Australian woman.
The audience took up the chorus in French, Tahitian, and
English. Though Opeta had won them all by his ability and fairness
and was plainly the better man, the sentiment was for the rules. The
Christchurch Kid thought a moment, and conferred with the announcer,
who talked with all the seconds. The spectators were insistent,
and though loath to end the show, the Kid held up the gloved hand of
the Mataiean.
The announcer declared him the "champignon" of Papeete, but naïvely
declared that Opeta was still full of fight, and challenged the
universe. The Raratonga man was dumfounded at the result of his
forgetfulness, and gazed coldly and accusingly at the red plaits. The
people, too, now regretted their enthusiasm for the right, which had
shortened their program of rounds, and demanded that the battle go
on. But the band had left, the lights were dimmed, and gradually the
crowd departed.
The Australian waited to shake the hand of her knight, to whom
she said:
"I bloomin' well knew you 'd do 'im hup! 'E's got nothin' hin 'is
right. 'E's a runaw'y, 'e is."
David and I went into the buffet of the cinema after the fight to
hear the arguments over it, and he to collect bets. He had chosen the
winner by the toss of a coin. The French Governor of the Paumotus was
there, gaily bantering half a dozen girls for whom he bought drinks. We
joined him with Miri and Caroline and Maraa and others, the best-known
sirens of Papeete. They were handsome, though savage-looking, and
they had lost their soft voices. Alcohol and a thousand upaupahuras
had made them shrill. They smoked endless cigarettes. Some wore shoes
and stockings, and some were barefooted. Their dresses were red or
blue, with insertions of lace and ribbons, and they were crowned with
flowers in token of their mood of gaiety.
David insisted on a bowl of velvet, three quarts of champagne, and
three of English porter mixed in a great urn. The champagne bubbled in
the heavier porter, and the brew was a dark, brilliant color, soft and
smooth. It was delicious, and seemed as safe as cocoanut milk. I drank
my share of it in the cinema cafe, and after that was conscious only
vaguely of going to the Cocoanut House garden, where Miri and Caroline
and Maraa danced nude under the trees by the light of the full moon.
Then came blankness until I awoke several hours after midnight. I
was sitting on the curbing of the Pool of Psyche, and some one was
holding my hand. I thought it must be Atupu or Lovaina, and groped
for a moment before I could pull my senses together. I looked up,
and saw a wreathed and bearded native, and then down and saw his
attire, mixed man's and woman's, and knew he was one of the mahus
who loafed about the queen's grounds. I drew away my hand as from a
serpent's jaws, and clasped my head, which rocked in anguish. A horrid
chuckle or dismal throaty sound caused me to see the Dummy standing
in the gateway, looking contemptuously at me, and witheringly at my
companion. I had a second's thought of myself as a son of Laocoön.
The mahu got up and hastened away, and Vava put his hand on my shoulder
and lifted me as a child to the road. He pointed toward the Annexe,
and as I went haltingly with him, he now and again uttered unearthly
cackles and bawls as if enjoying a farce I could not see. He, like the
mahu, was one of those mishaps of nature assigned to play an absurd
and sorry part in the tragicomedy of life in which all must act the
rôles assigned by the great author-manager until death puts us out
of the cast. In that scene I myself was the buffoon of fate.