- end_line
- 2334
- extracted_at
- 2026-01-30T20:48:15.149Z
- extracted_by
- structure-extraction-lambda
- start_line
- 2272
- text
- CHAPTER XVIII.
TAHITI
At early dawn of the following morning we saw the Peaks of Tahiti. In
clear weather they may be seen at the distance of ninety miles.
“Hivarhoo!” shouted Wymontoo, overjoyed, and running out upon the
bowsprit when the land was first faintly descried in the distance. But
when the clouds floated away, and showed the three peaks standing like
obelisks against the sky; and the bold shore undulating along the
horizon, the tears gushed from his eyes. Poor fellow! It was not
Hivarhoo. Green Hivarhoo was many a long league off.
Tahiti is by far the most famous island in the South Seas; indeed, a
variety of causes has made it almost classic. Its natural features
alone distinguish it from the surrounding groups. Two round and lofty
promontories, whose mountains rise nine thousand feet above the level
of the ocean, are connected by a low, narrow isthmus; the whole being
some one hundred miles in circuit. From the great central peaks of the
larger peninsula—Orohena, Aorai, and Pirohitee—the land radiates on all
sides to the sea in sloping green ridges. Between these are broad and
shadowy valleys—in aspect, each a Tempe—watered with fine streams, and
thickly wooded. Unlike many of the other islands, there extends nearly
all round Tahiti a belt of low, alluvial soil, teeming with the richest
vegetation. Here, chiefly, the natives dwell.
Seen from the sea, the prospect is magnificent. It is one mass of
shaded tints of green, from beach to mountain top; endlessly
diversified with valleys, ridges, glens, and cascades. Over the ridges,
here and there, the loftier peaks fling their shadows, and far down the
valleys. At the head of these, the waterfalls flash out into the
sunlight, as if pouring through vertical bowers of verdure. Such
enchantment, too, breathes over the whole, that it seems a fairy world,
all fresh and blooming from the hand of the Creator.
Upon a near approach, the picture loses not its attractions. It is no
exaggeration to say that, to a European of any sensibility, who, for
the first time, wanders back into these valleys—away from the haunts of
the natives—the ineffable repose and beauty of the landscape is such,
that every object strikes him like something seen in a dream; and for a
time he almost refuses to believe that scenes like these should have a
commonplace existence. No wonder that the French bestowed upon the
island the appellation of the New Cytherea. “Often,” says De
Bourgainville, “I thought I was walking in the Garden of Eden.”
Nor, when first discovered, did the inhabitants of this charming
country at all diminish the wonder and admiration of the voyager. Their
physical beauty and amiable dispositions harmonized completely with the
softness of their clime. In truth, everything about them was calculated
to awaken the liveliest interest. Glance at their civil and religious
institutions. To their king, divine rights were paid; while for poetry,
their mythology rivalled that of ancient Greece.
Of Tahiti, earlier and more full accounts were given, than of any other
island in Polynesia; and this is the reason why it still retains so
strong a hold on the sympathies of all readers of South Sea voyages.
The journals of its first visitors, containing, as they did, such
romantic descriptions of a country and people before unheard of,
produced a marked sensation throughout Europe; and when the first
Tahitiana were carried thither, Omai in London, and Aotooroo in Paris,
were caressed by nobles, scholars, and ladies.
- title
- Chunk 1