- end_line
- 4643
- extracted_at
- 2026-01-30T20:48:15.149Z
- extracted_by
- structure-extraction-lambda
- start_line
- 4576
- text
- the Pacific have little enough of the virtue; and, nowadays, when so
many charitable appeals are made to them, they have become callous.
I pitied the poor fellow from the bottom of my heart; but nothing could
I do, as our captain was inexorable. “Why,” said he, “here we
are—started on a six months’ cruise—I can’t put back; and he is better
off on the island than at sea. So on Roorootoo he must die.” And
probably he did.
I afterwards heard of this melancholy object, from two seamen. His
attempts to leave were still unavailing, and his hard fate was fast
closing in.
Notwithstanding the physical degeneracy of the Tahitians as a people,
among the chiefs, individuals of personable figures are still
frequently met with; and, occasionally, majestic-looking men, and
diminutive women as lovely as the nymphs who, nearly a century ago,
swam round the ships of Wallis. In these instances, Tahitian beauty is
quite as seducing as it proved to the crew of the Bounty; the young
girls being just such creatures as a poet would picture in the
tropics—soft, plump, and dreamy-eyed.
The natural complexion of both sexes is quite light; but the males
appear much darker, from their exposure to the sun. A dark complexion,
however, in a man, is highly esteemed, as indicating strength of both
body and soul. Hence there is a saying, of great antiquity among them.
“If dark the cheek of the mother, The son will sound the war-conch; If
strong her frame, he will give laws.”
With this idea of manliness, no wonder the Tahitians regarded all pale
and tepid-looking Europeans as weak and feminine; whereas, a sailor,
with a cheek like the breast of a roast turkey, is held a lad of brawn:
to use their own phrase, a “taata tona,” or man of bones.
Speaking of bones recalls an ugly custom of theirs, now obsolete—that
of making fish-hooks and gimlets out of those of their enemies. This
beats the Scandinavians turning people’s skulls into cups and saucers.
But to return to the Calabooza Beretanee. Immense was the interest we
excited among the throngs that called there; they would stand talking
about us by the hour, growing most unnecessarily excited too, and
dancing up and down with all the vivacity of their race. They
invariably sided with us; flying out against the consul, and denouncing
him as “Ita maitai nuee,” or very bad exceedingly. They must have borne
him some grudge or other.
Nor were the women, sweet souls, at all backward in visiting. Indeed,
they manifested even more interest than the men; gazing at us with eyes
full of a thousand meanings, and conversing with marvellous rapidity.
But, alas! inquisitive though they were, and, doubtless, taking some
passing compassion on us, there was little real feeling in them after
all, and still less sentimental sympathy. Many of them laughed outright
at us, noting only what was ridiculous in our plight.
I think it was the second day of our confinement that a wild, beautiful
girl burst into the Calabooza, and, throwing herself into an arch
attitude, stood afar off, and gazed at us. She was a heartless
one:—tickled to death with Black Dan’s nursing his chafed ankle, and
indulging in certain moral reflections on the consul and Captain Guy.
After laughing her fill at him, she condescended to notice the rest;
glancing from one to another in the most methodical and provoking
manner imaginable. Whenever anything struck her comically, you saw it
like a flash—her finger levelled instantaneously, and, flinging herself
back, she gave loose to strange, hollow little notes of laughter, that
sounded like the bass of a music-box, playing a lively air with the lid
down.
- title
- Chunk 2