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- 2026-01-30T20:48:15.152Z
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- 6327
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- CHAPTER XLVI.
SOMETHING ABOUT THE KANNAKIPPERS
A worthy young man, formerly a friend of mine (I speak of Kooloo with
all possible courtesy, since after our intimacy there would be an
impropriety in doing otherwise)—this worthy youth, having some genteel
notions of retirement, dwelt in a “maroo boro,” or bread-fruit shade, a
pretty nook in a wood, midway between the Calabooza Beretanee and the
Church of Cocoa-nuts. Hence, at the latter place, he was one of the
most regular worshippers.
Kooloo was a blade. Standing up in the congregation in all the bravery
of a striped calico shirt, with the skirts rakishly adjusted over a
pair of white sailor trousers, and hair well anointed with cocoa-nut
oil, he ogled the ladies with an air of supreme satisfaction. Nor were
his glances unreturned.
But such looks as the Tahitian belles cast at each other: frequently
turning up their noses at the advent of a new cotton mantle recently
imported in the chest of some amorous sailor. Upon one occasion, I
observed a group of young girls, in tunics of course, soiled sheeting,
disdainfully pointing at a damsel in a flaming red one. “Oee tootai
owree!” said they with ineffable scorn, “itai maitai!” (You are a
good-for-nothing huzzy, no better than you should be).
Now, Kooloo communed with the church; so did all these censorious young
ladies. Yet after eating bread-fruit at the Eucharist, I knew several
of them, the same night, to be guilty of some sad derelictions.
Puzzled by these things, I resolved to find out, if possible, what
ideas, if any, they entertained of religion; but as one’s spiritual
concerns are rather delicate for a stranger to meddle with, I went to
work as adroitly as I could.
Farnow, an old native who had recently retired from active pursuits,
having thrown up the business of being a sort of running footman to the
queen, had settled down in a snug little retreat, not fifty rods from
Captain Bob’s. His selecting our vicinity for his residence may have
been with some view to the advantages it afforded for introducing his
three daughters into polite circles. At any rate, not averse to
receiving the attentions of so devoted a gallant as the doctor, the
sisters (communicants, be it remembered) kindly extended to him free
permission to visit them sociably whenever he pleased.
We dropped in one evening, and found the ladies at home. My long friend
engaged his favourites, the two younger girls, at the game of “Now,” or
hunting a stone under three piles of tappa. For myself, I lounged on a
mat with Ideea the eldest, dallying with her grass fan, and improving
my knowledge of Tahitian.
The occasion was well adapted to my purpose, and I began.
“Ah, Ideea, mickonaree oee?” the same as drawling out—“By the bye, Miss
Ideea, do you belong to the church?”
“Yes, me mickonaree,” was the reply.
But the assertion was at once qualified by certain, reservations; so
curious that I cannot forbear their relation.
“Mickonaree ena” (church member here), exclaimed she, laying her hand
upon her mouth, and a strong emphasis on the adverb. In the same way,
and with similar exclamations, she touched her eyes and hands. This
done, her whole air changed in an instant; and she gave me to
understand, by unmistakable gestures, that in certain other respects
she was not exactly a “mickonaree.” In short, Ideea was
“A sad good Christian at the heart—A very heathen in the carnal part.”
The explanation terminated in a burst of laughter, in which all three
sisters joined; and for fear of looking silly, the doctor and myself.
As soon as good-breeding would permit, we took leave.
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