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- 7621
- extracted_at
- 2026-01-30T20:48:25.203Z
- extracted_by
- structure-extraction-lambda
- start_line
- 7568
- text
- likeness either in heaven or on earth, could hardly be called an idol.
As the islanders always maintained a discreet reserve with regard to
my own peculiar views on religion, I thought it would be excessively
ill-bred of me to pry into theirs.
But, although my knowledge of the religious faith of the Typees was
unavoidably limited, one of their superstitious observances with which I
became acquainted interested me greatly.
In one of the most secluded portions of the valley within a stone’s
cast of Fayaway’s lake--for so I christened the scene of our island
yachting--and hard by a growth of palms, which stood ranged in order
along both banks of the stream, waving their green arms as if to do
honour to its passage, was the mausoleum of a deceased, warrior chief.
Like all the other edifices of any note, it was raised upon a small
pi-pi of stones, which, being of unusual height, was a conspicuous
object from a distance. A light thatching of bleached palmetto-leaves
hung over it like a self supported canopy; for it was not until you
came very near that you saw it was supported by four slender columns of
bamboo rising at each corner to a little more than the height of a man.
A clear area of a few yards surrounded the pi-pi, and was enclosed by
four trunks of cocoanut trees resting at the angles on massive blocks of
stone. The place was sacred. The sign of the inscrutable Taboo was seen
in the shape of a mystic roll of white tappa, suspended by a twisted
cord of the same material from the top of a slight pole planted within
the enclosure*. The sanctity of the spot appeared never to have been
violated. The stillness of the grave was there, and the calm solitude
around was beautiful and touching. The soft shadows of those lofty
palm-trees!--I can see them now--hanging over the little temple, as if
to keep out the intrusive sun.
*White appears to be the sacred colour among the Marquesans.
On all sides as you approached this silent spot you caught sight of the
dead chief’s effigy, seated in the stern of a canoe, which was raised on
a light frame a few inches above the level of the pi-pi. The canoe was
about seven feet in length; of a rich, dark coloured wood, handsomely
carved and adorned in many places with variegated bindings of stained
sinnate, into which were ingeniously wrought a number of sparkling
seashells, and a belt of the same shells ran all round it. The body
of the figure--of whatever material it might have been made--was
effectually concealed in a heavy robe of brown tappa, revealing; only
the hands and head; the latter skilfully carved in wood, and surmounted
by a superb arch of plumes. These plumes, in the subdued and gentle
gales which found access to this sequestered spot, were never for one
moment at rest, but kept nodding and waving over the chief’s brow. The
long leaves of the palmetto drooped over the eaves, and through them you
saw the warrior holding his paddle with both hands in the act of rowing,
leaning forward and inclining his head, as if eager to hurry on his
voyage. Glaring at him forever, and face to face, was a polished human
skull, which crowned the prow of the canoe. The spectral figurehead,
reversed in its position, glancing backwards, seemed to mock the
impatient attitude of the warrior.
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