CHAPTER VII

IN THE MARQUESAS

At last we were in the real Marquesas Islands, the islands we had heard so much about, the islands that very few white people ever see--for here there is only one way of communicating with the outside world, and that is by two trading schooners that make four trips a year from Papeete, Tahiti, one thousand miles away, and an occasional bark or brig that drops in here for copra.

When the sun peeped over the mountains, we awoke to the prettiest sight imaginable. All about, sloping steeply upward, were green mountains; at the end of the bay ahead, palm trees of all kinds were clustered. We saw a number of white houses, with low white roofs; and, further back on the mountains, one considerably larger house, where the French Resident lived. Our deck was covered with a sweet-smelling pollen, which had settled aboard during the small hours of the morning. Near us was a small, old-fashioned bark--Norwegian, we found out afterward--with painted imitation square port holes, such as are seen on old galleons. Her hull was down in the water, showing her to be loaded, or nearly so. We were surprised to see this vessel, for we had expected to have the bay to ourselves. From a distance, several big, brown, grinning men inspected the _Snark_; and when we invited them aboard, they climbed over the rail, bringing bunches of bananas, oranges, papaias, and various other fruits, all of which they gave us. I lowered the launch and soon had it running, but it was nearly noon before we had a chance to go ashore. The natives were constantly swarming around us, all talking at once and trying to talk to us. The big, good-natured fellows were doing their best to make us feel at home. With each presentation of fruit, a speech was delivered, which always ended in a grin and a handshake. We had learned enough of the Hawaiian tongue to understand a little of what they said, for the languages are very similar; and we could gather that each one was wanting the pleasure of being our guide.

These people were the most hospitable and kindly of any in the South Seas; they entertained us lavishly; expense was no object to them; and our money was of no value to us, as here no such medium of exchange was in use. These people gladly prepared the most gorgeous entertainments when they found that we were bent on a mission of friendly inquiry and honest research into their customs and manners.

At last Jack made them understand that we were not needing assistance, but would gladly avail ourselves of their hospitality when we got ashore. Finally, we did go ashore, but only to stagger and roll so that walking was almost impossible. In those sixty-one days at sea, we had practically forgotten what walking was. The whole village of nearly naked islanders was awaiting us on the beach. How those kind people did bustle good-naturedly around us! With the whole crowd following, we made our way to the only trading station on the island, "The Societé Commercial de la Oceanie," a branch of the biggest trading concern in the South Sea islands.

We were quickly relieved of our escort when the two white men of the place came out and said a few words in the native tongue. All the people stopped out in front while we went inside. Mr. Kriech and Mr. Rawling, two Germans, were the agents for the company here, and during our stay they did all in their power to show us the interesting spots on the island. Everywhere we were stared at by the natives. Mrs. London attracted more attention than did we men. Few white women had ever been seen here before. A Mrs. Fisher had lived here thirty years, and had boarded Robert Louis Stevenson while he was at Nuka-hiva.

The storekeeper accompanied us to the French Resident's, where he acted as interpreter. The French Resident spoke no English. He was a queer, fat little man, with a good-natured face. When we first saw him, he was wearing overalls, and had no coat; on his feet were wooden shoes, and on his head a military hat. Upon observing us, he quickly donned a faded old uniform coat, and was all dignity at once. He did not even look at our papers, for he declared that the word of so important a man as Monsieur London was better than any credentials we could display. He made us highly welcome, and did not even charge us the usual twenty-franc hunting license.

Shortly after, Captain Luvins of the bark _Lucine_ came in, and to him Jack broached the subject that had brought us to the island. We wanted to see Typee Valley. Arrangements were immediately made for us to go over to this famous valley, which for years and years, in fact, since he was a little boy and had read Herman Melville's "Typee," Jack had longed to visit. Mr. Kriech secured horses and guides for us, and we started next morning before sun-up.

When I think of those early mornings in the Marquesas, I seem to smell anew the sweet flowers and the copra. The soft still morning air leaves something in one's nostrils that makes one want to go back again. I believe that all four of the white people on the _Snark_ will drop anchor in this bay again. I know I will . . . sometime.

We started early next morning, Captain Y----, Mr. and Mrs. London, myself, a native guide, Captain Luvins, and two girls we did not know were going, and to whom Jack did not take very kindly at first, until it was explained that they were the daughters of the chief of the Typee tribe, and that their going assured us a welcome in their valley. We were each mounted on a small Marquesan pony, with provisions for four days in our saddle-bags. We started off a narrow path and headed straight for the mountains. We climbed for hours, often going around the corner of a mountain on a little path, where we could look hundreds and hundreds of feet down a sheer precipice. The little ponies were as sure-footed as goats, and finally, at nearly noon, we reached the summit of the mountain, the mountain that divided off the different tribes. Looking down one side, we could see Hapaa Valley. Back of us lay Taiohae Bay, with the Norwegian bark and the _Snark_ lying at anchor. Straight ahead spread Typee, the wonderful valley Herman Melville so vividly described as a paradise. We had fought the elements and suffered for sixty-one days in order to win to this place, and see whether it was really the perfect spot that Melville described it, or whether, like certain who write about our Pacific coast states, he was but a delightful romancer. But we found that Melville had told the truth--that if he had not told the whole truth, it was because he had not described all the beauties of this bewitching valley of leisure and abundance, so far from the United States, where white men toil and grind incessantly.

We rode until late in the afternoon through the groves of bananas, thousands of big yellow bunches that would never be picked. Our horses stumbled over cocoanuts in the path. At one place, one of the native girls pointed out to us what she called a shortcut. We followed her directions, and rode right through a cluster of hornets' nests. The girl, who remained at a safe distance, stood and watched us fighting the hornets and being royally stung, and laughed heartily at what she considered the cleverness of her practical joke. Just how much intrinsic humour there may have been in the situation I am unable to say--being so closely involved in it--but I am sure that the girl was the only one who did much laughing. The rest of us were busy swatting hornets, as were also our horses busy in dodging.

Finally, we came to a clearing where the old village of Typee had once stood. But now only the foundations of the buildings of this once strong tribe remained to show where they had been. The cocoanut trees we found growing in the fantastic arrangement that Melville had spoken of, but the natives were gone. Everything was quiet except the chirping of the birds, and the rustling of palm-leaves. We rode on until we came to a frame house that had been built by a trader, but he had left, and now a family of natives lived in this old house on the edge of Faiaways Lake. How delightful this little lake looked, with the background of mountains, but how sad this one family! When we came to them and asked for a drink of water, the woman brought a large gourd full to the brim, and as she extended it, we saw upon her flesh the curse of the islands, leprosy. The man came out, dragging a big heavy foot behind him. He had elephantiasis, and the children that played in the yard showed signs of leprosy.

Perhaps we should have gone back without seeing any more of the Typee tribe, had not the girls urged us on. We shortly came to another clearing--the new village of the valley. Here we found about twenty grass houses and perhaps fifty or seventy-five people, all that remained of the once strongest tribe in the Marquesas Islands.

About thirty years ago, there were six thousand natives in this valley, with nearly as many in the opposite valley of Hapaa. But the two tribes were continually at war, until the Hapaa tribe was totally exterminated. Then came ships in search of sandalwood and copra, and came also missionaries. With them they managed to bring leprosy and elephantiasis, and a venereal disease that, in the tropics, is worse than either of the others. As a result, the native hosts are gone, and only the few remain. Still, these people we saw looked healthy enough, though here and there we could see a leper lurking in the background.

Better had it been had the natives never seen the missionaries. What happened in the Marquesas has happened in many other South Sea islands, and no doubt is happening to-day. My conscience smote me. To think, the very pennies I had given in Sunday School for foreign missions had contributed to the calamitous end of the inhabitants of this beautiful garden-spot!

After the girls had told who we were and what we wanted, a large house was put at our disposal, and the women brought mats for us to sit on, while the men started a big fire and roasted several pigs. Others brought fish and _poi_ and eggs and chicken. The feast was spread out on the ruins of an old stone house, and we sat down to eat. Only we white people and the two chief's daughters and the chiefs were together. The other natives would come up respectfully and gather their portion, then withdraw to a little distance and eat. Of all the various kinds of edibles I have tried in different places of this world, I think none could compare with this. The fish was served raw, but it was good. The _poi_ had been buried in the ground until it was slightly fermented. The natives climbed the big cocoanut trees and picked the young nuts for us to drink; and when we had finished eating, they got out their queer musical instruments made of logs, part of the natives danced and others sang, and I lay on my mat when I had finished eating and watched these happy people until it got too dark to see. I could not help thinking of my friends at home, who were bundled in heavy clothes, trying to keep warm, and going to moving-picture shows and dances, and persuading themselves that they were really having a pleasant time. What a contrast between their lot and mine!

That night Jack and Mrs. London slept inside on sleeping-mats thrown on the floor, while the rest of us slept outside on mats thrown on the ground. No mosquitoes or insects bothered us. There were no reptiles for us to be afraid of. The soft-treading natives came and went all night long. Bright and early next morning, we were awakened by the natives' getting breakfast. When the meal was over, we went swimming in Faiaways Lake, and that day we explored the valley, and tried to buy curios. But they would not sell to us. They forced us to take presents of tapa cloth and ornaments of sharks' and porpoises' teeth, and corals, while we made presents to them out of our stores of tinned provisions.

One thing that I tried hard to bring out in photographs was the gorgeous tattooing of the natives, but their skins and the tattooing colour being so near the same shade and hue, the camera cannot catch so subtle a distinction. I tried many exposures, without success.

After the boys are old enough to stand the pain of tattooing, they are started on, and it sometimes takes years to complete them. When they are completed, their eyelids, nose, every part of the body, are covered with fantastic designs. Tattooing seems to be the only really serious thought of these people, except worshipping their big stone idols, several of which we saw in the valley.

One of the girls who had come with us was named Antoinette. She was the last left of royal blood on Nuka-hiva, and she owned nearly all of Typee Valley and most of Hapaa Valley, but she received little revenue. There is much copra, but no one to gather it. Copra, I may explain, is the dried kernel of the cocoanut, valued at about twenty-five cents a hundred.

While we were here, one woman brought in a large piece of tapa cloth, which she sold for five dollars Chile. Chile money is the common currency here. It is about half the value of American money, and comes in very handy. Of course, this tapa cloth could never have been bought elsewhere for such a sum, but in the Marquesas quality is not considered in setting prices--only quantity. Natives gave us calabashes, _hula_ dresses of human hair, then more tapa, until Jack was loaded down. I bought a fine big piece of this cloth, which is made from the bark of cocoanut trees, pounded into a pulp, then flattened out and dried. Once it was used for making _pareus_, but now they wrap their dead in it.

At one place, the girls told us that near the mouth of a river nearby was a large cave, in which were petrified bodies. It had once been an old burying ground, they said, but now a big stone had blocked the way. I had heard of this cave, and knew that Stevenson had once tried to force his way in after petrified eyes, of which the natives had told him. But my own opinion is that cave, bodies, and petrified eyes are all myths, although they are myths in which the natives place belief.

In telling of Typee, the Garden of Eden, I want to lay special stress on this one thing: if ever there was a Garden of Eden, it was right here in this valley. Nowhere else in the world is the climate so perfect, nowhere else in the world can be found the myriads of delicious fruits, nowhere else is there such a profusion of wild cattle, goat, turkey, and chicken, to say nothing of the different species of ducks, cranes, storks and pigeons. One thing that struck me as strange was that the thousands and thousands of pure white doves which soared and floated over our heads showed absolutely no fear of us. It was evident they had never been molested.

Big ragged mountains rose on every side, over which were scattered waterfalls that started high up in the mountains and fell so far that before the water had reached the bottom it had scattered away in mists that floated down the valley in rainbows. Turning one's eyes at any time up the mountains, one could see the wild goats feeding or watching one in wonder, and see the occasional wild cattle that swung up precarious paths and out of sight, and the wild chickens that stalked about in search of food. One could reach up on either hand and pick the delicious fruit, ripe from the trees. A climate so perfect that no words can describe it, other than to call like unto the Garden of Eden, is here. The natives are like big happy children. They do not steal, gossip about one another, nor carry grudges. Instead, they sing, dance, hunt, fish, and live together as brothers in a life of perfect peace.

On my return to my own country, one provincial (and so narrow-minded) man went so far as to tell me that he thought the United States had the most perfect climate in the world; that it was the most perfect country in the world; that he couldn't see why people should poke about looking for something better--for his part, he would see what he could of the States, and settle down and be satisfied. Then he started telling me of the Road of a Thousand Wonders, the place where there are oranges and flowers the year round.

Now you who read, of you let me ask: Have you ever seen this Road of a Thousand Wonders, this place where the oranges and flowers blossom the year round? What was your impression of it, if so? Did it come up to your expectations? Were you disappointed? And are you satisfied that in seeing it you have seen all that is worth seeing on this whirling sphere of ours?

Now, I have seen the Road of a Thousand Wonders. And I have been in Typee, the Garden of Eden. The very thought of comparing the two places makes me sad for the frailty of human judgment.

Our stay in Typee Valley was one of the most delightful experiences of a voyage that contained much of the delightful. It was with a profound regret that we left it, and with the determination that some day our eyes should again feast upon its many beauties, and that again we should partake of the hospitality of those who had made us so royally welcome. Back we came to the _Snark_, filled with pleasing memories.

The Marquesas Islands lie in Latitude 10°, so close to the Equator that ordinarily the sun's rays would have been almost unbearable, but among all the South Sea Islands the trade winds that blow every month in the year, coming from over the sea, keep the temperature about the same as a fine spring day in America.

The _Snark_ lay at anchor close in to the shore. Jack and Mrs. London secured a small frame house, the one that Robert Louis Stevenson had lived in while he was in the Marquesas. And they secured board with Mrs. Fisher, the same old woman who had cooked for Stevenson. Many of the older natives would tell stories of the time _Tusitala_ (which was Stevenson's native name, signifying "story-teller") had lived here. He was a great hand to entertain, and as anyone can see from his writings, he loved and was loved by all the natives with whom he came in contact. The Polynesians never had a better friend than Robert Louis Stevenson. He has done more to give the Americans and English a good name in the islands than has any other man.

After the first day in Taiohae Bay, the _Snark_ was deserted most of the time. There was never any danger of quitting the vessel with no one on board, for we had left the only persons who needed watching, back in America. Hermann was a great hunter. He usually started off early in the morning, and returned in the evening with birds of every variety, and he would sometimes return with wild goat. Once he shot a wild cow. It seemed a shame to kill the cattle, for such a little of the meat could be used, and the rest would spoil in a day. Jack and Mrs. London went hunting one morning, and returned about noon with the native boys who had accompanied them bearing fourteen goats.

But the great attraction for the natives was our graphophone. When evening fell, they came about us in swarms to hear the playing, and they could never get over the belief that we had a little dwarf caged in the "talk-box." At times, there would be as many as two hundred brown people squatting on the grass, and they would never leave until we stopped the graphaphone. In the Hawaiian Islands, we had secured records of _hula-hula_ music, which so delighted the Marquesans that sometimes we would have half a hundred dancing in front of the machine.

The natives who lived nearby in a small grass hut came to the house one day with the request that we play the graphaphone for them to dance by. Jack left his writing, and all that afternoon while he played these men practised different steps, and I believe a new _hula-hula_ was originated that day.

The men, understanding nearly half of the Hawaiian language, sang with the graphaphone, keeping time by clapping their hands and swaying their bodies. They would anoint themselves from head to foot with cocoanut oil, until their skin was shiny. The cocoanut oil emitted a faint, pleasant odour, which, once smelled, is never forgotten. They would dance as fast as their limbs could carry them, the womenfolk keeping time with their hands. Even the children imitated them. A native Polynesian can no more keep from dancing when he hears music than a duck can keep away from water.

The house where Jack lived was tended by an old man and a woman, who were covered with tattooing. The man's face looked like a convict's uniform--brown and blue instead of white and blue, with long stripes clear across the face. The woman had a trick of pulling up her dress and showing the tattooing on her legs whenever she saw anyone admiring it on her feet. Very immodest she was, but then, there is no such thing as modesty among such people as these. I think some staid persons I have seen in America would be vastly shocked by the things that take place in the Marquesas.

These natives are considerably larger than the average white person. Their skin is a light brown colour; their hair is thick, straight and black. Dark eyes and eyelashes make them appear a fine, handsome race. The only unfortunate thing is their tendency to age so soon. At fifteen the girls are fully developed women, and at twenty-eight or-nine they are old women. They seem to have no vitality; though they look strong and healthy, if one were told that he was going to die, and had the idea impressed on his mind, he would be sure to lie down and die.

They have no morals at all. Their marriage contracts are so flimsy that if one wants a divorce, he needs only to apply to the chief; and a couple can be married and divorced in the same day. There were few white men here, but all had native women, and were continually changing. The girls, from fourteen years up, make their homes with first one native and then with another. If they want to marry a man they say so, and if he refuses them they call him "missionary." I was sitting on a barrel in front of the trading store one day, when several young _vahines_ (women) came up, and tried to talk to me. One grabbed me by the arm, and pointing to the others: "She wife--she wife--she wife--me no wife!" One girl had a white baby of which she was very proud. To my mind, the girls here were better looking than the Hawaiian girls, but they were much more lax in their notions of becoming conduct.

All of Jack's photographic supplies were spoiled, so I was kept busy printing pictures from mine. Once, while I was engaged in this work, a girl came in the house, without knocking, and was tickled nearly to death watching me develop velox. After that, she came and went whenever she wished, but always dispensed with the formality of knocking.

We had aboard the _Snark_ a full set of dentist's tools, which Jack had had no chance to use up to this time. His entire experience of dentistry had been gained by practise on a skull he had purchased in Honolulu. He was always wanting someone of the crew to act as patient. Wada had once pulled a tooth with a string before Jack could get to him, and Jack never forgave Wada for that.

One day I found an old Chinaman--the only Chinaman on the island--groaning on the beach with the toothache. Here was Jack's chance; I rushed off and told him. He urged me to hold the Chinaman until Nakata went aboard for his tools. Then the Chinaman was led to the back of the house. The poor old fellow was shaking with fright. After Jack found, by reading in his little dental book, the proper forceps to use, and was ready to start on the operation, I cried for him to wait until I got my kodak. Mrs. London ran for hers, too. When I yelled "pull," Jack pulled mightily, and he nearly fell over on his back, the tooth came out so easily. But we got the photographs!

The most amusing thing I saw while here was the jail. It was a little old wooden shack, so small that it would hold only two or three persons--and not then, if they wanted to get out. The French government used Nuka-hiva as a penal settlement. Some twenty or thirty prisoners were kept here, and they were the happiest prisoners I ever saw. Why, they didn't need to stay in jail unless they wanted to, so they had built grass houses. One of the long-term men had married, and not only did the government feed him, but it fed his wife as well--better food than the natives ever got, and it was cooked, too. They were supposed to work, but the old jailor was as lazy as they, so I don't think any of them ever did a stroke. Tom the Jailor had once lived in Papeete, Tahiti, and was the proud possessor of an old suit of clothes. These clothes were only worn on state occasions; the rest of the time he dressed like any other native. Tom could speak a little of the English language, and he used to bring all his family around to the house so he could show off his knowledge of the white man's talk. One day I was enquiring about a string of porpoise teeth made in the form of a necklace that his daughter was wearing, and Tom took it from her and gave it to me. These porpoise teeth are very valuable and are used by the Marquesans in lieu of money.

The Norwegian bark of which I spoke had been anchored in this bay for six months. The captain owned the vessel, so he could stay as long as he wanted to without anyone's complaining; and I don't think his ten sailors wanted to leave any more than he did. They all had native girls to whom they seemed to give more time than to the loading of copra. And I think it probable they would have been there yet had it not been for a queer little comedy that I saw enacted.

A large stone idol stood back in the mountains, that the natives were very superstitious about. They believed that anyone touching this image or even going into its shrine cast a spell on them. Now the captain of the bark did not know this, and as it was a very fine piece of work, he decided to take it back to his country with him. His ten sailors cut a large cocoanut tree, and the image, which weighed two tons, was made fast to the middle. It took two days to get it down to the ship. During this time not a native was to be seen, and it was not till the work was done and the sailors tried to go back to their girls that they knew of the superstition attached to the idol. The girls would have nothing further to do with them; so a few days later they set sail and started on their long journey, first to stop at St. Helena, and then on to Norway.

As our launch drew too much water, we used to borrow small native canoes with which to go out in the bay, and were able to come and go without difficulty. One night Hermann arrived astraddle an overturned canoe. He had been to some kind of feast ashore, and had mounted the wrong side of the canoe. Hermann often did these little things.

Our favourite loafing-place was the German traders' headquarters. Here the natives would bring curios for us to buy. It was our custom to buy knives and sticks of tobacco of the Company at white man's prices and trade them to the natives at brown man's prices. For instance, a knife we would buy of the trader for twenty-five cents, we would trade to the Marquesans at $1.00 value. Four hundred per cent. is the regular scale of South Sea profit.

The copra that I have mentioned is the principal article of South Sea commerce. The natives collect the cocoanuts after they have fallen from the tree, and after hulling them, cut the nut in two in the centre, and the pieces are laid in the sun until the meat is dried and broken away from the shell. It is then ready for shipping. Soap-oils and perfumes are made from copra. One company that has stations in the Marquesas, the Society, and the Taumotu Islands, collects fifty thousand tons of copra every year.

The cocoanut trees grow anywhere they can find sand to hold their roots; even places where no other vegetation will grow the cocoanuts thrive. They must have plenty of water--the soil makes no difference.

Near Mr. London's frame bungalow were numerous mountain streams where the natives bathed. Some of these people seemed to spend most of their time in the water. Captain Y----, who liked bathing but was a little bashful, used to have a hard time finding a place where he could swim unobserved. One day, he and I were bathing close to the house in a spot where we thought we were safe. When we started out, we heard a snicker ashore, and there stood two native girls, watching us. We sank down in the water, which just struck us to the chin. Captain Y---- told the girls to go away, but they didn't understand, and when he threw a shell at them, they thought it a new game, and threw it back. Finally, we made a wild dash for our clothes, and finished dressing back in the jungle.

The girls here make ornaments of land-snail shells, several of which ornaments I now treasure among the curios I brought back with me from the South Seas.

The healthy appearance of these people is due to their method of living: sleeping in their grass houses is nearly the same as sleeping in the open air. They eat fruits and fish and very little meat--in fact, very little of what they eat is cooked. They grind the different kinds of fruit together and make _poi_. The leaves of certain trees and grasses are made into salads. One salad that they prepare only on state occasions is made by taking the heart from a young cocoanut tree; but a handful can be secured from each tree; and as it kills the tree, there is an unwritten law that this salad can be made only with the chief's consent.

Tom the Jailor was a polite old fellow, especially polite to Mrs. London. He would bring fruit to us nearly every morning, and would help at any work we were doing, although, like Rip Van Winkle, he was too lazy to do any work for himself. Once, when Mrs. London asked him his age, he said he did not know, although he knew he was still young, to prove which he climbed one of the tallest cocoanut trees nearby, and brought us the nut. The young nut, rich with milk, could also be eaten with a spoon, and was much better than when dried.

I wish it were possible for me to describe Taiohae Bay. Photographs give no idea of its beauty. And I know no description can do it justice. Viewed from our ship as she lay at anchor in the harbour, it presented the appearance of a vast natural amphitheatre overgrown with vines. The deep glens that furrowed its sides seemed like enormous fissures graven by the disruptive influences of time. Very often, when lost in admiration of its beauty, I have experienced a pang of regret that a scene so enchanting should be hidden from the world in these remote seas, and seldom meet the eyes of devoted lovers of nature.

Besides this bay, the shores of the island are indented by several other extensive inlets, into which descend broad and fertile valleys. These are inhabited by several distinct tribes of islanders, who, although speaking kindred dialects of the same tongue, have from time immemorial waged hereditary warfare against each other. The intervening mountains, generally two or three thousand feet above the sea-level, define the territories of each of the three tribes.

The bay of Nuka-hiva, in which we were lying, is an expanse of water not unlike in figure the space included within the limits of a horse-shoe, being perhaps nine miles in circumference. From the verge of the water, the land rises uniformly on all sides, with green and sloping elevations and swells that rise into lofty heights. Down each of these valleys flows a clear stream, here and there assuming the form of slender cascades, then stealing along invisibly until it bursts upon the sight again in large and more noisy waterfalls, and at last demurely wanders along to the sea.