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- 2026-01-30T20:48:15.153Z
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- CHAPTER LXVII.
THE JOURNEY ROUND THE BEACH
It was on the fourth day of the first month of the Hegira, or flight
from Tamai (we now reckoned our time thus), that, rising bright and
early, we were up and away out of the valley of Martair before the
fishermen even were stirring.
It was the earliest dawn. The morning only showed itself along the
lower edge of a bank of purple clouds pierced by the misty peaks of
Tahiti. The tropical day seemed too languid to rise. Sometimes,
starting fitfully, it decked the clouds with faint edgings of pink and
gray, which, fading away, left all dim again. Anon, it threw out thin,
pale rays, growing lighter and lighter, until at last, the golden
morning sprang out of the East with a bound—darting its bright beams
hither and thither, higher and higher, and sending them, broadcast,
over the face of the heavens.
All balmy from the groves of Tahiti came an indolent air, cooled by its
transit over the waters; and grateful underfoot was the damp and
slightly yielding beach, from which the waves seemed just retired.
The doctor was in famous spirits; removing his Koora, he went splashing
into the sea; and, after swimming a few yards, waded ashore, hopping,
skipping, and jumping along the beach; but very careful to cut all his
capers in the direction of our journey.
Say what they will of the glowing independence one feels in the saddle,
give me the first morning flush of your cheery pedestrian!
Thus exhilarated, we went on, as light-hearted and care-free as we
could wish.
And here I cannot refrain from lauding the very superior inducements
which most intertropical countries afford, not only to mere rovers like
ourselves, but to penniless people generally. In these genial regions
one’s wants are naturally diminished; and those which remain are easily
gratified; fuel, house-shelter, and, if you please, clothing, may be
entirely dispensed with.
How different our hard northern latitudes! Alas! the lot of a “poor
devil,” twenty degrees north of the tropic of Cancer, is indeed
pitiable.
At last, the beach contracted to hardly a yard’s width, and the dense
thicket almost dipped into the sea. In place of the smooth sand, too,
we had sharp fragments of broken coral, which made travelling
exceedingly unpleasant. “Lord! my foot!” roared the doctor, fetching it
up for inspection, with a galvanic fling of the limb. A sharp splinter
had thrust itself into the flesh through a hole in his boot. My sandals
were worse yet; their soles taking a sort of fossil impression of
everything trod upon.
Turning round a bold sweep of the beach, we came upon a piece of fine,
open ground, with a fisherman’s dwelling in the distance, crowning a
knoll which rolled off into the water.
The hut proved to be a low, rude erection, very recently thrown up; for
the bamboos were still green as grass, and the thatching fresh and
fragrant as meadow hay. It was open upon three sides; so that, upon
drawing near, the domestic arrangements within were in plain sight. No
one was stirring; and nothing was to be seen but a clumsy old chest of
native workmanship, a few calabashes, and bundles of tappa hanging
against a post; and a heap of something, we knew not what, in a dark
corner. Upon close inspection, the doctor discovered it to be a loving
old couple, locked in each other’s arms, and rolled together in a tappa
mantle.
“Halloa! Darby!” he cried, shaking the one with a beard. But Darby
heeded him not; though Joan, a wrinkled old body, started up in
affright, and yelled aloud. Neither of us attempting to gag her, she
presently became quiet; and, after staring hard and asking some
unintelligible questions, she proceeded to rouse her still slumbering
mate.
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