Who, One Day,
When Exhilarated With Brandy, Tore His Meagre Tappa From His Loins,
And Gave Me To Know That
He was allied by blood with Pomaree herself;
and that his mother came from the illustrious race of pontiffs, who,
In old times, swayed their bamboo crosier over all the pagans of
Imeeo. A regal, and right reverend lineage! But, at the time I speak
of, the dusky noble was in decayed circumstances, and, therefore, by
no means unwilling to alienate a few useless acres. As an equivalent,
he received from the strangers two or three rheumatic old muskets,
several red woollen shirts, and a promise to be provided for in his
old age: he was always to find a home with the planters.
Desirous of living on the cosy footing of a father-in-law, he frankly
offered his two daughters for wives; but as such, they were politely
declined; the adventurers, though not averse to courting, being
unwilling to entangle themselves in a matrimonial alliance, however
splendid in point of family.
Tonoi's men, the fishermen of the grove, were a sad set. Secluded, in
a great measure, from the ministrations of the missionaries, they
gave themselves up to all manner of lazy wickedness. Strolling among
the trees of a morning, you came upon them napping on the shady side
of a canoe hauled up among the bushes; lying on a tree smoking; or,
more frequently still, gambling with pebbles; though, a little
tobacco excepted, what they gambled for at their outlandish games, it
would be hard to tell. Other idle diversions they had also, in which
they seemed to take great delight. As for fishing, it employed but a
small part of their time. Upon the whole, they were a merry,
indigent, godless race.
Tonoi, the old sinner, leaning against the fallen trunk of a cocoa-nut
tree, invariably squandered his mornings at pebbles; a gray-headed
rook of a native regularly plucking him of every other stick of
tobacco obtained from his friends, the planters. Toward afternoon,
he strolled back to their abode; where he tarried till the next
morning, smoking and snoozing, and, at times, prating about the
hapless fortunes of the House of Tonoi. But like any other easy-going
old dotard, he seemed for the most part perfectly content with
cheerful board and lodging.
On the whole, the valley of Martair was the quietest place imaginable.
Could the mosquitoes be induced to emigrate, one might spend the
month of August there quite pleasantly. But this was not the case
with the luckless Long Ghost and myself; as will presently be seen.
CHAPTER LIII.
FARMING IN POLYNESIA
THE planters were both whole-souled fellows; but, in other respects,
as unlike as possible.
One was a tall, robust Yankee, hern in the backwoods of Maine, sallow,
and with a long face; - the other was a short little Cockney, who had
first clapped his eyes on the Monument.
The voice of Zeke, the Yankee, had a twang like a cracked viol; and
Shorty (as his comrade called him), clipped the aspirate from every
word beginning with one.
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