Part 2
Night on board the _Mariposa_ has additional attractions for the passengers who appreciate the wonders and beauties of nature. When the night is dark, they find a place in the stern of the ship, lean against the taffrail, and watch the water agitated into a diminutive storm by the powerful screw. There one beholds a sight sufficiently attractive and interesting to keep him spellbound for an hour or more. The indolent, phosphorescent sea-amoeba has been roused into action by the merciless revolutions of the motor of the ship, and emits its diamond sparks of phosphorescent light. Thousands of these little beings discharge their magic light in the white veil of foam which adorns the crests of the storm-beaten surface, in the form of a narrow track as far as the eye can reach in the darkness of the night. The flashes of light thrown off by these minute, to the naked eye invisible, inhabitants of the sea, when angered by the rude action of the screw, appear and disappear in the twinkling of an eye. When these tiny, light-producing animals are numerous, as is the case in the equatorial region, the snow-white veil of foam is richly decorated with diamond sparks which, when they coalesce, form flames of fire in the track of the vessel.
The ocean voyage has occasionally still another surprise in store for the traveler when he reaches the South Pacific. A squall is a tempest on a small scale. We see in the distance a dark cloud of immense size which seems to ride slowly over the surface of the smooth sea. The gentle breeze gives way to a strong wind, the surface of the water becomes ruffled with whitecaps, the darkness increases, and at irregular intervals the threatening, angry cloud is lighted up by chains of lightning thrown in all possible directions; these flashes are followed by peals of thunder, and by prolonged rumbling, which becomes feebler and feebler, and finally dies away far out on the surface of the ocean. The steamer penetrates the storm area. Darkness prevails. Gigantic drops of rain strike the deck and patter upon the canvas awning, the harbingers of a drenching rain.
And now the thick'ned sky
Like a dark ceiling stood; down rush'd the rain impetuous.
MILTON.
The cloud and darkness are left behind, and a clear sky and smooth sea ahead greet the passengers. Did you ever see a rainbow at midnight? Such an unusual nocturnal spectral phenomenon greeted us in midocean: the full moon in the east, the delicate rainbow in its infinite colors painted on the clouds in the west. Our captain, who had lived on the tropic sea for a quarter of a century, had never seen the like before. It was reserved for us to see a rainbow painted by the moon. With such pleasant diversions, by day and by night, we soon forget the ocean desert, and yet on the last day of the voyage we welcome the sight of land.
Be of good cheer, I see land.
DIOGENES.
The vastness of the ocean and the smallness of Tahiti are in strange contrast. How the mariner, in setting the compass on leaving the harbor of San Francisco, can so unerringly find this little speck in the ocean nearly four thousand miles away, is an accomplishment which no one, not versed in the science of navigation can fully comprehend. We sighted Tahiti during the early part of the forenoon. The peaks of the two highest mountains in Tahiti, Oroheua and Aorii, seven to eight thousand feet in height, projected spectre-like from the surface of the ocean. These peaks appeared as bare, sharp, conical points in the clear sky above a mantle of clouds which enveloped the balance of the island. This misty draping of the two highest mountains takes place almost every day, as the clouds are attracted by the constant moisture of the soil, due to the dense forests and luxuriant tropical vegetation.
The next sight of land brought into view the rugged mountains of Moorea and a group of small atoll islands. Moorea is in plain view from Papeete, and is the second largest of the Society Islands. Before we look at Tahiti at close range, let us examine the group of atoll islands which the steamer passes close enough to give us a good idea of their formation.
THE ATOLL ISLANDS
The atoll islands, so numerous in the South Seas, have a uniform conformation, and are of coral, deposited upon submerged summits of mountains of volcanic origin. The floor of the Pacific, like many other parts of the earth's surface, is undergoing constant changes, increasing or diminishing its level. Here and there, at certain intervals, volcanic eruptions have created mountains, which, in Hawaii, rise to nearly fourteen thousand and, in Tahiti, to over seven thousand feet. Around each of these innumerable islands and islets in the great Pacific Ocean the coral polyps have a fringing reef of rock. As these minute creatures can live only at a depth of twenty to thirty fathoms, and die as soon as exposed to the air, their life-work is confined to the coast of volcanic islands. Whenever, as it often happened, the island upon which they had congregated was slowly sinking, they would elevate their wall to save themselves from death in deep water. It is evident that if this process continued long enough, the land would entirely disappear and leave a submerged circular wall of coral just below the level of the low tide. The effects of the waves in breaking off the coral formation, large and small, in elevating them, would, in course of time, produce a ring of sandy beach, rising above the sea surrounding the central basin, filled with salt water entering through one or many open channels. Upon the beach, cocoanuts, washed ashore, would find a favorable soil for germination, and, ere long, stately palms would fringe the rim of the enclosed lagoon. Every atoll island has a peripheral fringe of cocoa-palms and a central lagoon which communicates with the ocean by one or more channels. Such an island is an atoll, the final stage in the disappearance of a volcanic islet from the surface of the sea. Such islands are numerous in the Society Islands, and the Paumotuan Archipelago consists exclusively of such atoll islands.
It is interesting to know how these minute coral polyps manage their work of island-building, or, rather, island-preservation. Coral formation is a calcareous secretion or deposit of many kinds of zoöphytes of the class Anthozoa, which assumes infinite and often beautiful forms, according to the different laws which govern the manner of germination of the polyps of various species. The coral-producing zoöphytes are compound animals, which multiply in the very swiftest manner, by germination or budding, young polyp buds springing from the original polyp, sometimes indifferently from any part of its surface, sometimes only from its upper circumference or from its base, and not separating from it, but remaining in the same spot when the original parent or polyp is dead, and producing buds in their turn. The reproductive capacity of these polyps is marvelous and explains the greatness of their work in building up whole islands and the countless submerged reefs so much dreaded by the mariners of the South Seas. The calcareous deposition begins when the zoöphytes are still simple polyps, owing their existence to oviparous reproduction, adhering to a rock or other substance, to which the calcareous material becomes attached, and on which the coral is built up, the hard deposits of past generations forming the base to which those of the progeny are attracted. The coral formation takes place with astonishing rapidity; under favorable circumstances, masses of coral have been found to increase in height several feet in a few months, and a channel cut in a reef surrounding a coral island, to permit the passage of a schooner, has been blocked with coral in ten years. Coral formations have been found immediately attached to the land, whilst in many other cases the reef surrounds the island, the intervening space, of irregular, but nowhere of great width, forming a lagoon or channel of deep water, protected by the reef from wind and waves. According to Darwin, this kind of reef is formed from a reef of the former merely fringing kind, by the gradual subsidence of the rocky basis, carrying down the fringe of coral to a greater depth; whilst the greatest activity of life is displayed by polyps of the kind most productive of large masses of coral in the outer parts which are most exposed to the waves. In this manner he also accounts for the formation of true coral islands, or atolls, which consist merely of a narrow reef of coral surrounding a central lagoon, and very often of a reef, perhaps half a mile in breadth, clothed with luxuriant vegetation and the never-absent cocoa-palms, bordered by a narrow beach of snowy whiteness, and forming an arc, the convexity of which is toward the prevailing wind, whilst a straight line of reef not generally rising above the reach of the tide, forms the chord of the arc. The reef is generally intersected by a narrow channel into the enclosed lagoon, the waters of which are still and beautifully transparent, teeming with the greatest variety of fish. Its surface is enlivened by water-fowl, and the depth of water close to the precipitous sides of the reef is almost always very great. The channels are kept open by the flux and reflux of the tide, the current and waves of which are often so swift and high as to become a menace to schooners attempting entrance into the lagoon. On the beach, soil most conducive to the growth of cocoanut-palms is formed by accumulation of sand, shells, fragments of coral, seaweeds, decayed leaves, etc. The giant cocoanuts planted in this soil either by the hand of man or by the waves washing them ashore, germinate quickly, and in a few years the narrow circular strip of land enclosing the lagoon is fringed with colonnades of tall fruit-bearing palms. These islands rise nowhere more than a few feet above the level of the sea. Sometimes the upheaval of coral formation by volcanic action results in the making of a real island, in which event the lagoon disappears. Islands with such an origin sometimes rise to a height of five hundred feet and often exhibit precipitous cliffs and contain extensive caves. I had read a description of the Paumotu atoll islands by Stevenson, and consequently I was much interested in the little group of atolls we passed before coming into full view of Tahiti. As these islands, like all true atolls, are only a few feet above the level of the sea, they can not be seen from the sea at anything like a great distance. When they were pointed out to us by an officer of the steamer, we could see no land; they appeared like oases in the desert, green patches in the ocean, due to the cocoa-palms which guarded their shores. As we came nearer, we could make out the rim of land and the snow-white coral beach. The smallest of these atoll islands are not inhabited, but regular visits are made to them in a small schooner or native double canoe to harvest and bring to market the never-failing crops of cocoanuts.
THE LANDING AT PAPEETE
As we left the atolls behind us and neared Tahiti, we could see more clearly the outlines of the rugged island, disrobed, by this time, of its vestments of clouds. From a distance, the carpet of green which extends from its base to near the summit of the highest peaks is varied here and there by patches of red volcanic earth, thus adding to the picturesqueness of the scene. What at first appears as a greensward on the shore, on nearer view discloses itself as a broad fringe of cocoa-palms, extending from the edge of the ocean to the foot of the mountains, and from there well up on their slopes, where they are lost in the primeval forest. Above the tree-line, low shrubs and hardy grasses compose the verdure up to the bare, brown mountain-peaks. The largest trees are seen in the mountains' deep ravines, which are cut out of the side of the heights by gushing of cold, clear waters, which drain the very heart of the mountains, bounding and leaping over boulders and rapids in their race to a resting-place in the near-by calm waters of the lagoon. As we came nearer to the island we were able to make out the white lighthouse on Point Venus, seven miles from Papeete. Here, Captain Cook, during one of his visits to the island, was stationed for a considerable length of time for the purpose of observing the transit of Venus; hence the name of the point.
Near the harbor, a native pilot came on board, and, by careful maneuvering, safely guided the ship through the very narrow channel in the reef into the harbor, with the tricolor flying from the top mast. From the harbor, the little city of Papeete and the island present an inspiring view. A charming islet on the left as we enter the harbor, looks like an emerald set in the blue water. It serves as a quarantine station, and the little snow-white buildings upon it appear like toy houses. The small city is spread out among cocoa-palms, ornamental and shade trees. The green of the foliage of these trees is continuous with the forest-clad mountains which form the background of the beautiful plateau on which the city is built. The harbor of Papeete is land and reef-locked, small, but deep enough to float the largest steamers plying in the Pacific Ocean. As the steamer came up slowly to the wharf, hundreds of people, a strange mixture of natives, half-castes, Europeans and Chinese, old and young, dressed in clothes of all imaginable colors, red being by far the most predominant, crowded the dock. Many of the children were naked, and not a few of the men and boys were unencumbered by clothing, with the exception of the typical, much checkered Tahitian cotton loin-cloth. A number of handsome carriages brought the élite of the city to take part in this most important of all monthly events.
They come to see; they come to be seen.
OVIDIUS.
Custom-house officers, uniformed native policemen, government officials, French soldiers and merchants, mingled with the dusky natives and contributed much to the uniqueness of the landing-scene. The dense, motley crowd was anxious to see and be seen, but was orderly and well behaved. The custom-house officers were accommodating and courteous, and passed our hand-baggage without inspection. On the wharf was a small mountain of cocoanuts, in readiness to be loaded as a part of the return cargo of the _Mariposa_.
THE CITY OF PAPEETE
Papeete is the capital of Tahiti, the seat of government of the entire archipelago, and the principal commercial city of the French possessions in Oceanica. It is a typical city of the South Sea world, as it is viewed from the deck of the steamer and while walking or riding along its narrow, crooked streets. From the harbor, little can be seen of its buildings, except the spire of the cathedral and the low steeples of two Protestant churches, the low tower of the governor's palace, formerly the home of royalty, the military hospital, the wharf, and a few business houses loosely scattered along the principal street, the Quai du Commerce that skirts the harbor. The residence part of the city is hidden behind towering cocoa-palms and magnificent shade-trees among which the flamboyant (burau) trees are the most beautiful. It is situated on a low plateau with a background of forest-clad mountains, the beautiful little harbor, the spray-covered coral reef, the vast ocean and the picturesque outlines of Moorea in front of it.
Papeete has no sidewalks. The streets are narrow, irregularly laid out, and none of them paved. Most of the houses are one-story frame buildings, covered with corrugated iron roofs. There are only two or three large stores; the remaining business-places are small shops, many of them owned and managed by Chinamen. The present population, made up of natives of all tints, from a light chocolate to nearly white, six to eight hundred whites and about three hundred Chinese, numbers in the neighborhood of five thousand, nearly half of the population of the entire island. There are about five hundred Chinese in the island, who, by their industry and knowledge of business methods, have become formidable competitors of the merchants from other foreign countries. Their small shops and coffee-houses in Papeete and the country districts are well patronized by the natives.
Papeete is the commercial center of Oceanica. There are no department stores there. Business is specialized more there than perhaps in any other city. All of the shops, even the largest, look small in the eyes of Americans. There are dry goods stores, grocery stores, millinery shops, two small frame hotels, the Hotel Francais and another smaller one, both on the Quai, a few boarding-houses, two saloons, and no bank. The scarcity of saloons can be explained by the fact that the natives are temperate in their habits. According to a law enforced by the government, the native women are prohibited from frequenting such places.
The public wash-basin, supplied with running fresh water from a mountain stream, is a sight worth seeing. From a dozen to twenty native women, and a few soldiers, may be found here almost any time of the day, paddling knee-deep in the water, using stones in place of washboards in performing their arduous work. This primitive way of washing gives excellent results, judging from the snow-white, spotless linen garments worn by the Europeans and well-to-do natives.
The little plaza or square in the center of the city is used as a market-place where natives congregate at five o'clock in the morning, to make their modest purchases of fish, plantain, pineapple, melon or preserved shrimp done up in joints of bamboo. This is the place to learn what the islanders produce, sell and buy.
The public buildings are well adapted for a tropic climate. The most important of these is the palace of the last of the Tahitian kings, now used as the office of the government. It is a handsome white building, surrounded by ample grounds well laid out, and beautified by trees, shrubs and flowers. The government schoolhouse is an enormous frame building, resting upon posts, several feet from the ground, with more than one-half of its walls taken up by arched windows, the best lighted and most thoroughly ventilated building in the city, an ideal schoolhouse for the tropics. Among the churches of different denominations, the Catholic cathedral is the largest and best, although in the States it would not be considered an ornament for a small country village.
The city is well supplied with pure water from a mountain stream, but lacks a system of sewerage. The gardens and grounds of the best residences of the foreigners present an exquisite display of flowers that flourish best in the tropic soil, under the invigorating rays of the tropic sun, and the soothing effects of the frequent showers of rain, which are not limited to any particular season of the year.
Papeete, like all cities in the equatorial region, is a city of supreme idleness and freedom from care. The citizens can not comprehend that "The great principle of human satisfaction is engagement" (Paley). This idleness is inherent in the natives, and under the climatic conditions, and I suppose to a certain extent by suggestion, is soon acquired by the foreigners. Contentment and absence of anxiety characterize the life of the Tahitian. He has no desire to accumulate wealth; he is satisfied with little. He is "shut up in measureless content" (Shakespeare); he is inspired with the good idea that "he that maketh haste to be rich, shall not be innocent" (Proverb xxviii: 20). The merchants open their shops at sunrise, lock the doors at ten, retire to their homes for breakfast, take their two-hour siesta, return to their business, suspend work at five, and the remainder of the day and the entire evening are devoted to rest, social visits and divers amusements. The social center of the foreigners is the Cercle Bougainville, a small frame building which serves the purpose of a club house. Bicycling is a favorite means of travel and sport for the Europeans as well as the natives of all classes. This vehicle has found its way not only into the capital city but also into the country districts throughout the island. The splendid macadamized road which encircles the island furnishes a great inducement for this sport. Two of the wealthiest citizens travel the principal streets in the city and the ninety-mile drive in the most modern fashion by riding an automobile.
There are few if any door locks in private residences, hotels and boarding-houses, the best possible proof that the inhabitants are law-abiding citizens. In the boarding-house in which I lived, the main entrance was left wide open during the night, and none of the door locks was supplied with a key. The native women wear Mother Hubbard gowns of bright calico; the better class of men dress in European fashion, while the laborers and men from the country districts wear a pareu (loin-cloth) of bright calico, with or without an undershirt. The average Tahitian does not believe in:
We are captivated by dress.
OVIDIUS.
TOPOGRAPHY OF THE ISLAND
Into the silent land!
Ah, who shall lead us thither?
VON SALIS.
There is no spot on earth more free from care, worry and unrest than the island of Tahiti. The abundance with which nature here has provided for the wants of man, the uniform soothing climate, the calmness of the Pacific Ocean, the pleasing scenery quiet the nerves, induce sleep and reduce to a minimum the efforts of man in the struggle for life. It is the island of peace, contentment and rest, a paradise on earth.
No writer has ever done justice to the natural beauties of this gem of the South Seas. The towering mountains, the tropical forests, the numerous rippling streams of crystal water, shaded dark ravines, the palm-fringed shore, the lagoons with their quiet, peaceful, clear waters painted in most exquisite colors of all shades of green, blue and salmon by the magic influence of the tropical sun, their outside wall of coral reef ceaselessly kissed by the caressing, foaming, moaning surf, the near-by picturesque island of Moorea, with its precipitous mountains rising from the deep bed of the sea, the flat basin-like, palm-fringed atolls in the distance, and the vast ocean beyond, make up a combination of pictures of which the mind never tires, and which engrave themselves indelibly on the tablet of memory.