Ho-o-u-mi is a small valley, separated from Typee by a low ridge, and thither we started when we had knocked our indomitable and insatiable riding-animals into submission.As it was, Warren's mount, after a mile run, selected the most dangerous part of the trail for an exhibition that kept us all on the anxious seat for fully five minutes.We rode by the mouth of Typee valley and gazed down upon the beach from which Melville escaped.There was where the whale-boat lay on its oars close in to the surf; and there was where Karakoee, the taboo Kanaka, stood in the water and trafficked for the sailor's life.There, surely, was where Melville gave Fayaway the parting embrace ere he dashed for the boat.And there was the point of land from which Mehevi and Mow-mow and their following swam off to intercept the boat, only to have their wrists gashed by sheath-knives when they laid hold of the gunwale, though it was reserved for Mow-mow to receive the boat-hook full in the throat from Melville's hands.
We rode on to Ho-o-u-mi.So closely was Melville guarded that he never dreamed of the existence of this valley, though he must continually have met its inhabitants, for they belonged to Typee.
We rode through the same abandoned pae-paes, but as we neared the sea we found a profusion of cocoanuts, breadfruit trees and taro patches, and fully a dozen grass dwellings.In one of these we arranged to pass the night, and preparations were immediately put on foot for a feast.A young pig was promptly despatched, and while he was being roasted among hot stones, and while chickens were stewing in cocoanut milk, I persuaded one of the cooks to climb an unusually tall cocoanut palm.The cluster of nuts at the top was fully one hundred and twenty-five feet from the ground, but that native strode up to the tree, seized it in both hands, jack-knived at the waist so that the soles of his feet rested flatly against the trunk, and then he walked right straight up without stopping.There were no notches in the tree.He had no ropes to help him.He merely walked up the tree, one hundred and twenty-five feet in the air, and cast down the nuts from the summit.Not every man there had the physical stamina for such a feat, or the lungs, rather, for most of them were coughing their lives away.Some of the women kept up a ceaseless moaning and groaning, so badly were their lungs wasted.Very few of either *** were full-blooded Marquesans.They were mostly half-breeds and three-quarter-breeds of French, English, Danish, and Chinese extraction.At the best, these infusions of fresh blood merely delayed the passing, and the results led one to wonder whether it was worth while.
The feast was served on a broad pae-pae, the rear portion of which was occupied by the house in which we were to sleep.The first course was raw fish and poi-poi, the latter sharp and more acrid of taste than the poi of Hawaii, which is made from taro.The poi-poi of the Marquesas is made from breadfruit.The ripe fruit, after the core is removed, is placed in a calabash and pounded with a stone pestle into a stiff, sticky paste.In this stage of the process, wrapped in leaves, it can be buried in the ground, where it will keep for years.Before it can be eaten, however, further processes are necessary.A leaf-covered package is placed among hot stones, like the pig, and thoroughly baked.After that it is mixed with cold water and thinned out--not thin enough to run, but thin enough to be eaten by sticking one's first and second fingers into it.On close acquaintance it proves a pleasant and most healthful food.
And breadfruit, ripe and well boiled or roasted! It is delicious.
Breadfruit and taro are kingly vegetables, the pair of them, though the former is patently a misnomer and more resembles a sweet potato than anything else, though it is not mealy like a sweet potato, nor is it so sweet.
The feast ended, we watched the moon rise over Typee.The air was like balm, faintly scented with the breath of flowers.It was a magic night, deathly still, without the slightest breeze to stir the foliage; and one caught one's breath and felt the pang that is almost hurt, so exquisite was the beauty of it.Faint and far could be heard the thin thunder of the surf upon the beach.There were no beds; and we drowsed and slept wherever we thought the floor softest.Near by, a woman panted and moaned in her sleep, and all about us the dying islanders coughed in the night.