From The Swift
Stream No Sounds Arose Of Maids And Matrons Pounding Tapa.
And
where was the hut that old Narheyo eternally builded?
In vain I
looked for him perched ninety feet from the ground in some tall
cocoanut, taking his morning smoke.
We went down a zigzag trail under overarching, matted jungle, where
great butterflies drifted by in the silence. No tattooed savage
with club and javelin guarded the path; and when we forded the
stream, we were free to roam where we pleased. No longer did the
taboo, sacred and merciless, reign in that sweet vale. Nay, the
taboo still did reign, a new taboo, for when we approached too near
the several wretched native women, the taboo was uttered warningly.
And it was well. They were lepers. The man who warned us was
afflicted horribly with elephantiasis. All were suffering from lung
trouble. The valley of Typee was the abode of death, and the dozen
survivors of the tribe were gasping feebly the last painful breaths
of the race.
Certainly the battle had not been to the strong, for once the
Typeans were very strong, stronger than the Happars, stronger than
the Taiohaeans, stronger than all the tribes of Nuku-hiva. The word
"typee," or, rather, "taipi," originally signified an eater of human
flesh. But since all the Marquesans were human-flesh eaters, to be
so designated was the token that the Typeans were the human-flesh
eaters par excellence. Not alone to Nuku-hiva did the Typean
reputation for bravery and ferocity extend.
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