Los gringos; or, An inside view of Mexico and California

by H. A. Wise

CHAPTER L.

Early one morning the Governor and myself left the ship at gunfire, for a pic-nic among the mountains. We met with no more serious adventure in our transit from the frigate to the beach, than the capsizing a barrel of bread, by our stupid Italian valet, belonging to the baker's bumboat, in which we had been kindly offered a passage to the shore. The loaves went floating all about the harbor, and we were some minutes rescuing the manna from Neptune's pocket. Without further mishap we went straight to the domicile of an English gentleman, who had politely planned the party. All was prepared, and we set off as the troops of the garrison were filing into the parade ground for weekly review, and a very creditable and soldierly appearance they presented.

We made quite a respectable battalion ourselves, so far as numerical force went. In advance trotted a vigorous taata, with a couple of large, native baskets slung by a pole over his shoulders, loaded with bottles and provender; at his heels, our own unfortunate esquire, Giacomo. The Governor, our English friend and myself, constituted the main body, and the rear guard was composed of three laughter-loving damsels—straight and tall—with an easy grace of motion, like willows. One was housekeeper to our friend, and the most beautiful woman in face and form we had seen in all the islands. Her figure was lithe and clear as an antelope—hands and feet small, with arms that would have made Canova start in his dreams. The face was full of sweetness and expression—eyes soft, full and dark—the mouth and chin large and rounded—with even, white teeth, and long, glossy-black tresses. Her name was Teina, and it, had as pretty a sound as the euphonious ita ita, the Tahitians pronounce so melodiously. The other maidens were Teina's companions, who, having no engagements on hand, accompanied us as volunteers, or light troops. We tramped blithely along the Broom Road, whilst the delicious strains from the brass band went sailing up hill and grove.

Between the radiating mountain-ridges of Tahiti, which diverge from the longitudinal core of the summit, there are many frightful precipices—awful splits in the bosom of the earth—narrow, gloomy and deep, that hang frowningly over the sombre, turbulent torrents of waters that spring from the misty faces of the upper heights. Our route led up one of them. Turning up a broad valley, we followed the course of a rapid stream, crossing and re-crossing where rocks of the adjacent heights became too precipitous to admit a pathway; and to save time and unnecessary trouble, we were either ferried over on the shoulders of our taata convoy, breasting the foaming surge, or once or twice I was mounted on one of the native damsels—Miss Toanni—who kindly offered her services. I blush for my want of gallantry, but trust it was in a measure redeemed by holding her drapery from the water during the several wadings. She wore for head-dress a broad straw hat with fluttering ribbons—a figured gingham sac, plaited and buttoned to the throat, fell loosely over a white under-tunic—and demi-pantaletts reached below the knees, where the costume terminated by open-worked, indigo stockings, that would bear washing—while her fingers were covered with indelible blue rings, of the same material as the hose.

There is very little tatooing among the Tahitians—a few leggings—blue devices about the neck—rings on fingers or toes, but never a mark on the face. As civilization advances, they acquire a distaste for these heathenish skin-paintings. However, I must not lose sight of Toanni. She had a firm, well-knit frame—wide mouth, fine, brilliant teeth, intended for service—such as cracking flinty ship-biscuits, or wrenching husks from cocoanuts—large, mirthsome, dark eyes, with but one flaw to their beauty, which she enjoyed alike with all the Pacific Islanders—the whites of the eyes were yellow! Such was Toanni.

Occasionally, when resting within the close shade of the valley, if the bright eyes of the girls detected the sunny bulbs of papao gleaming through the surrounding foliage, off they sprang for the fruit, or climbed the vai for apples, or pretty flowers clustering about the lower branches, which were soon turned into wreaths or necklaces.

Advancing inland, the lateral valleys converged into one deep gorge, closing perpendicularly on either hand; and further on, the stream itself was cut off by a bold, transverse acclivity between the two sides, like a wall of masonry, more than half way up the lofty shafts that framed the gorge. From this shelf, more than a thousand feet above us, there came leaping a thin thread of water—but long before reaching the base of the grassy barrier, it was diffused in showers of spray, and poured its sparkling tribute into the deep chasms of the valley.

Leaving the lower bed of the stream, we began mounting upward by a zig-zag pathway, cut lately by the French on the flat, sheer face of the mountain. It was at this point, where at an immense height above, the Tahitians had poised vast masses of rocks, with levers ready pointed, to hurl death and destruction on the adventurous soldiers who should dare to attack their stronghold. The natives were posted at the head of the pass, upon an acclivity, with no other approach from below than a crumbling goat-path, where the road now leads. They were well provided with arms and ammunition, cartridges charged at both ends, to prevent mistakes, and kindly furnished, it is said, by foreign ships of war in port at the time. Indeed, the French during the last year of the war, were harrassed night and day. Alarm-fires were blazing on every hill, feints were made upon the town, and the neighboring posts, until the troops became worn out, and more than half ill in hospital. Nor were the French so successful in their different engagements as the superior arms and discipline of trained soldiers would imply; for in one affair at Ta-a-a-a, they had fifty slain.

Thus the Tahitians, believing themselves invincible, after a thirteen month's siege, were at last dislodged through the connivance of a traitor, who guided their enemies up a narrow ravine, when, after surmounting almost inaccessible precipices, by the aid of scaling-ladders and ropes, they succeeded in attaining a foothold on a sharp spur of the peaks above the pass, and then rushing down completely surprised and captured the native camp. To the humanity of the French be it said, every soul was spared. This was the last struggle: tired of subsisting on roots and berries, enveloped in mists and rain, the natives sighing once more for their smiling homes by the sea-side, surrendered in December, 1846.