Its facings are here and there daubed over with a tawdry blue; and in
other places (without the slightest regard to uniformity), patches of
the same colour may be seen. In their ardour to decorate the
sanctuary, the converts must have borrowed each a brush full of
paint, and zealously daubed away at the first surface that offered.
As hinted, the general impression is extremely curious. Little light
being admitted, and everything being of a dark colour, there is an
indefinable Indian aspect of duskiness throughout. A strange, woody
smell, also - more or less pervading every considerable edifice in
Polynesia - is at once perceptible. It suggests the idea of worm-eaten
idols packed away in some old lumber-room at hand.
For the most part, the congregation attending this church is composed
of the better and wealthier orders - the chiefs and their retainers;
in short, the rank and fashion of the island. This class is
infinitely superior in personal beauty and general healthfulness to
the "marenhoar," or common people; the latter having been more
exposed to the worst and most debasing evils of foreign intercourse.
On Sundays, the former are invariably arrayed in their finery; and
thus appear to the best advantage. Nor are they driven to the chapel,
as some of their inferiors are to other places of worship; on the
contrary, capable of maintaining a handsome exterior, and possessing
greater intelligence, they go voluntarily.
In respect of the woodland colonnade supporting its galleries, I
called this chapel the Church of the Cocoa-nuts.
It was the first place for Christian worship in Polynesia that I had
seen; and the impression upon entering during service was all the
stronger. Majestic-looking chiefs whose fathers had hurled the
battle-club, and old men who had seen sacrifices smoking upon the
altars of Oro, were there. And hark! hanging from the bough of a
bread-fruit tree without, a bell is being struck with a bar of iron by
a native lad. In the same spot, the blast of the war-conch had often
resounded. But to the proceedings within.
The place is well filled. Everywhere meets the eye the gay calico
draperies worn on great occasions by the higher classes, and forming
a strange contrast of patterns and colours. In some instances, these
are so fashioned as to resemble as much as possible European
garments. This is in excessively bad taste. Coats and pantaloons,
too, are here and there seen; but they look awkwardly enough, and take
away from the general effect.
But it is the array of countenances that most strikes you. Each is
suffused with the peculiar animation of the Polynesians, when thus
collected in large numbers. Every robe is rustling, every limb in
motion, and an incessant buzzing going on throughout the assembly.
The tumult is so great that the voice of the placid old missionary,
who now rises, is almost inaudible. Some degree of silence is at
length obtained through the exertions of half-a-dozen strapping
fellows, in white shirts and no pantaloons. Running in among the
settees, they are at great pains to inculcate the impropriety of
making a noise by creating a most unnecessary racket themselves. This
part of the service was quite comical.
There is a most interesting Sabbath School connected with the church;
and the scholars, a vivacious, mischievous set, were in one part of
the gallery. I was amused by a party in a corner. The teacher sat at
one end of the bench, with a meek little fellow by his side. When the
others were disorderly, this young martyr received a rap; intended,
probably, as a sample of what the rest might expect, if they didn't
amend.
Standing in the body of the church, and leaning against a pillar, was
an old man, in appearance very different from others of his
countrymen. He wore nothing but a coarse, scant mantle of faded
tappa; and from his staring, bewildered manner, I set him down as an
aged bumpkin from the interior, unaccustomed to the strange sights
and sounds of the metropolis. This old worthy was sharply reprimanded
for standing up, and thus intercepting the view of those behind; but
not comprehending exactly what was said to him, one of the
white-liveried gentry made no ceremony of grasping him by the
shoulders, and fairly crushing him down into a seat.
During all this, the old missionary in the pulpit - as well as his
associates beneath, never ventured to interfere - leaving everything
to native management. With South Sea islanders, assembled in any
numbers, there is no other way of getting along.
CHAPTER XLV.
MISSIONARY'S SERMON; WITH SOME REFLECTIONS
SOME degree of order at length restored, the service was continued, by
singing. The choir was composed of twelve or fifteen ladies of the
mission, occupying a long bench to the left of the pulpit. Almost the
entire congregation joined in.
The first air fairly startled me; it was the brave tune of Old
Hundred, adapted to a Tahitian psalm. After the graceless scenes I
had recently passed through, this circumstance, with all its
accessories, moved me forcibly.
Many voices around were of great sweetness and compass. The singers,
also, seemed to enjoy themselves mightily; some of them pausing, now
and then, and looking round, as if to realize the scene more fully.
In truth, they sang right joyously, despite the solemnity of the
tune.
The Tahitians have much natural talent for singing; and, on all
occasions, are exceedingly fond of it. I have often heard a stave or
two of psalmody, hummed over by rakish young fellows, like a snatch
from an opera.
With respect to singing, as in most other matters, the Tahitians
widely differ from the people of the Sandwich Islands; where the
parochial flocks may be said rather to Heat than sing.
