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- 2026-01-30T20:48:15.149Z
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- 4101
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- CHAPTER XXXI.
THE CALABOOZA BERETANEE
About a mile from the village we came to a halt.
It was a beautiful spot. A mountain stream here flowed at the foot of a
verdant slope; on one hand, it murmured along until the waters,
spreading themselves upon a beach of small, sparkling shells, trickled
into the sea; on the other was a long defile, where the eye pursued a
gleaming, sinuous thread, lost in shade and verdure.
The ground next the road was walled in by a low, rude parapet of
stones; and, upon the summit of the slope beyond, was a large, native
house, the thatch dazzling white, and in shape an oval.
“Calabooza! Calabooza Beretanee!” (the English Jail), cried our
conductor, pointing to the building.
For a few months past, having been used by the consul as a house of
confinement for his refractory sailors, it was thus styled to
distinguish it from similar places in and about Papeetee.
Though extremely romantic in appearance, on a near approach it proved
hut ill adapted to domestic comfort. In short, it was a mere shell,
recently built, and still unfinished. It was open all round, and tufts
of grass were growing here and there under the very roof. The only
piece of furniture was the “stocks,” a clumsy machine for keeping
people in one place, which, I believe, is pretty much out of date in
most countries. It is still in use, however, among the Spaniards in
South America; from whom, it seems, the Tahitians have borrowed the
contrivance, as well as the name by which all places of confinement are
known among them.
The stocks were nothing more than two stout timbers, about twenty feet
in length, and precisely alike. One was placed edgeways on the ground,
and the other, resting on top, left, at regular intervals along the
seam, several round holes, the object of which was evident at a glance.
By this time, our guide had informed us that he went by the name of
“Capin Bob” (Captain Bob); and a hearty old Bob he proved. It was just
the name for him. From the first, so pleased were we with the old man
that we cheerfully acquiesced in his authority.
Entering the building, he set us about fetching heaps of dry leaves to
spread behind the stocks for a couch. A trunk of a small cocoa-nut tree
was then placed for a bolster—rather a hard one, but the natives are
used to it. For a pillow, they use a little billet of wood, scooped
out, and standing on four short legs—a sort of head-stool.
These arrangements completed, Captain Bob proceeded to “hanna-par,” or
secure us, for the night. The upper timber of the machine being lifted
at one end, and our ankles placed in the semicircular spaces of the
lower one, the other beam was then, dropped; both being finally secured
together by an old iron hoop at either extremity. This initiation was
performed to the boisterous mirth of the natives, and diverted
ourselves not a little.
Captain Bob now bustled about, like an old woman seeing the children to
bed. A basket of baked “taro,” or Indian turnip, was brought in, and we
were given a piece all round. Then a great counterpane of coarse, brown
“tappa,” was stretched over the whole party; and, after sundry
injunctions to “moee-moee,” and be “maitai”—in other words, to go to
sleep, and be good boys—we were left to ourselves, fairly put to bed
and tucked in.
Much talk was now had concerning our prospects in life; but the doctor
and I, who lay side by side, thinking the occasion better adapted to
meditation, kept pretty silent; and, before long, the rest ceased
conversing, and, wearied with loss of rest on board the frigate, were
soon sound asleep.
After sliding from one reverie into another, I started, and gave the
doctor a pinch. He was dreaming, however; and, resolved to follow his
example, I troubled him no more.
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