CHAPTER LXVI.
HOW WE WERE TO GET TO TALOO
THE inglorious circumstances of our somewhat premature departure from
Tamai filled the sagacious doctor, and myself, with sundry misgivings
for the future.
Under Zeke's protection, we were secure from all impertinent
interference in our concerns on the part of the natives. But as
friendless wanderers over the island, we ran the risk of being
apprehended as runaways, and, as such, sent back to Tahiti. The
truth is that the rewards constantly offered for the apprehension of
deserters from ships induce some of the natives to eye all strangers
suspiciously.
A passport was therefore desirable; but such a thing had never been
heard of in Imeeo. At last, Long Ghost suggested that, as the Yankee
was well known and much respected all over the island, we should
endeavour to obtain from him some sort of paper, not only certifying
to our having been in his employ, but also to our not being
highwaymen, kidnappers, nor yet runaway seamen. Even written in
English, a paper like this would answer every purpose; for the
unlettered natives, standing in great awe of the document, would not
dare to molest us until acquainted with its purport. Then, if it
came to the worst, we might repair to the nearest missionary, and have
the passport explained.
Upon informing Zeke of these matters, he seemed highly flattered with
the opinion we entertained of his reputation abroad; and he agreed to
oblige us. The doctor at once offered to furnish him with a draught
of the paper; but he refused, saying he would write it himself. With
a rooster's quill, therefore, a bit of soiled paper, and a stout
heart, he set to work. Evidently he was not accustomed to composition;
for his literary throes were so violent that the doctor suggested
that some sort of a Caesarian operation might be necessary.
The precious paper was at last finished; and a great curiosity it was.
We were much diverted with his reasons for not dating it.
"In this here dummed eliminate," he observed, "a feller can't keep the
run of the months, nohow; cause there's no seasons; no summer and
winter, to go by. One's etarnally thinkin' it's always July, it's so
pesky hot."
A passport provided, we cast about for some means of getting to
Taloo.
The island of Imeeo is very nearly surrounded by a regular breakwater
of coral extending within a mile or less of the shore. The smooth
canal within furnishes the best means of communication with the
different settlements; all of which, with the exception of Tamai, are
right upon the water. And so indolent are the Imeeose that they think
nothing of going twenty or thirty miles round the island in a canoe in
order to reach a place not a quarter of that distance by land. But as
hinted before, the fear of the bullocks has something to do with
this.
The idea of journeying in a canoe struck our fancy quite pleasantly;
and we at once set about chartering one, if possible. But none could
we obtain. For not only did we have nothing to pay for hiring one,
but we could not expect to have it loaned; inasmuch as the
good-natured owner would, in all probability, have to walk along the
beach as we paddled in order to bring back his property when we had no
further use for it.
At last, it was decided to commence our journey on foot; trusting that
we would soon fall in with a canoe going our way, in which we might
take passage.
The planters said we would find no beaten path: all we had to do was
to follow the beach; and however inviting it might look inland, on no
account must we stray from it. In short, the longest way round was
the nearest way to Taloo. At intervals, there were little hamlets
along the shore, besides lonely fishermen's huts here and there,
where we could get plenty to eat without pay; so there was no
necessity to lay in any store.
Intending to be off before sunrise the next morning, so as to have the
benefit of the coolest part of the day, we bade our kind hosts
farewell overnight; and then, repairing to the beach, we launched our
floating pallet, and slept away merrily till dawn.
CHAPTER LXVII.
THE JOURNEY ROUND THE BEACH
IT was on the fourth day of the first month of the Hegira, or flight
from Tamai (we now reckoned our time thus), that, rising bright and
early, we were up and away out of the valley of Hartair before the
fishermen even were stirring.
It was the earliest dawn. The morning only showed itself along the
lower edge of a bank of purple clouds pierced by the misty peaks of
Tahiti. The tropical day seemed too languid to rise. Sometimes,
starting fitfully, it decked the clouds with faint edgings of pink
and gray, which, fading away, left all dim again. Anon, it threw out
thin, pale rays, growing lighter and lighter, until at last, the
golden morning sprang out of the East with a bound - darting its
bright beams hither and thither, higher and higher, and sending them,
broadcast, over the face of the heavens.
All balmy from the groves of Tahiti came an indolent air, cooled by
its transit over the waters; and grateful underfoot was the damp and
slightly yielding beach, from which the waves seemed just retired.
The doctor was in famous spirits; removing his Koora, he went
splashing into the sea; and, after swimming a few yards, waded
ashore, hopping, skipping, and jumping along the beach; but very
careful to cut all his capers in the direction of our journey.
