- end_line
- 5127
- extracted_at
- 2026-01-30T20:48:25.200Z
- extracted_by
- structure-extraction-lambda
- start_line
- 5062
- text
- departure,--tomorrow he will arrive. But that weary day also closed upon
me, without his return. Even yet I would not despair; I thought that
something detained him--that he was waiting for the sailing of a boat,
at Nukuheva, and that in a day or two at farthest I should see him
again. But day after day of renewed disappointment passed by; at last
hope deserted me, and I fell a victim to despair.
Yes; thought I, gloomily, he has secured his own escape, and cares not
what calamity may befall his unfortunate comrade. Fool that I was,
to suppose that any one would willingly encounter the perils of this
valley, after having once got beyond its limits! He has gone, and has
left me to combat alone all the dangers by which I am surrounded. Thus
would I sometimes seek to derive a desperate consolation from dwelling
upon the perfidity of Toby: whilst at other times I sunk under the
bitter remorse which I felt as having by my own imprudence brought upon
myself the fate which I was sure awaited me.
At other times I thought that perhaps after all these treacherous
savages had made away with him, and thence the confusion into which
they were thrown by my questions, and their contradictory answers, or he
might be a captive in some other part of the valley, or, more dreadful
still, might have met with that fate at which my very soul shuddered.
But all these speculations were vain; no tidings of Toby ever reached
me; he had gone never to return.
The conduct of the islanders appeared inexplicable. All reference to my
lost comrade was carefully evaded, and if at any time they were forced
to make some reply to my frequent inquiries on the subject, they would
uniformly denounce him as an ungrateful runaway, who had deserted
his friend, and taken himself off to that vile and detestable place
Nukuheva.
But whatever might have been his fate, now that he was gone the natives
multiplied their acts of kindness and attention towards myself, treating
me with a degree of deference which could hardly have been surpassed had
I been some celestial visitant. Kory-Kory never for one moment left my
side, unless it were to execute my wishes. The faithful fellow, twice
every day, in the cool of the morning and in the evening, insisted upon
carrying me to the stream, and bathing me in its refreshing water.
Frequently in the afternoon he would carry me to a particular part of
the stream, where the beauty of the scene produced a soothing influence
upon my mind. At this place the waters flowed between grassy banks,
planted with enormous bread-fruit trees, whose vast branches interlacing
overhead, formed a leafy canopy; near the stream were several smooth
black rocks. One of these, projecting several feet above the surface
of the water, had upon its summit a shallow cavity, which, filled with
freshly-gathered leaves, formed a delightful couch.
Here I often lay for hours, covered with a gauze-like veil of tappa,
while Fayaway, seated beside me, and holding in her hand a fan woven
from the leaflets of a young cocoanut bough, brushed aside the insects
that occasionally lighted on my face, and Kory-Kory, with a view of
chasing away my melancholy, performed a thousand antics in the water
before us.
As my eye wandered along this romantic stream, it would fall upon the
half-immersed figure of a beautiful girl, standing in the transparent
water, and catching in a little net a species of diminutive shell-fish,
of which these people are extraordinarily fond. Sometimes a chattering
group would be seated upon the edge of a low rock in the midst of the
brook, busily engaged in thinning and polishing the shells of cocoanuts,
by rubbing them briskly with a small stone in the water, an operation
which soon converts them into a light and elegant drinking vessel,
somewhat resembling goblets made of tortoise shell.
- title
- Chunk 5