Out Of The Pai-Pais Grew
Great Trees, Jealous Of The Wrought Work Of Man, Splitting And
Scattering The Stones Back Into The Primeval Chaos.
We gave up the jungle and sought the stream with the idea of evading
the sand-flies.
Vain hope! To go in swimming one must take off his
clothes. The sand-flies are aware of the fact, and they lurk by the
river bank in countless myriads. In the native they are called the
nau-nau, which is pronounced "now-now." They are certainly well
named, for they are the insistent present. There is no past nor
future when they fasten upon one's epidermis, and I am willing to
wager that Omer Khayyam could never have written the Rubaiyat in the
valley of Typee - it would have been psychologically impossible. I
made the strategic mistake of undressing on the edge of a steep bank
where I could dive in but could not climb out. When I was ready to
dress, I had a hundred yards' walk on the bank before I could reach
my clothes. At the first step, fully ten thousand nau-naus landed
upon me. At the second step I was walking in a cloud. By the third
step the sun was dimmed in the sky. After that I don't know what
happened. When I arrived at my clothes, I was a maniac. And here
enters my grand tactical error. There is only one rule of conduct
in dealing with nau-naus. Never swat them. Whatever you do, don't
swat them. They are so vicious that in the instant of annihilation
they eject their last atom of poison into your carcass. You must
pluck them delicately, between thumb and forefinger, and persuade
them gently to remove their proboscides from your quivering flesh.
It is like pulling teeth. But the difficulty was that the teeth
sprouted faster than I could pull them, so I swatted, and, so doing,
filled myself full with their poison. This was a week ago. At the
present moment I resemble a sadly neglected smallpox convalescent.
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.
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