“Barton, who possessed an enviable faculty of adapting himself to all sorts of people and circumstances, was in a few moments as much at home among the villagers as if he had lived for years in their midst. He gossiped with the old people, romped with the children, and chatted and frolicked with the prettiest and most lively of the dusky maidens, to the manifest disapprobation of several grim-looking young savages, who stalked about in sullen dignity watching these familiar proceedings of the handsome stranger, with rising jealousy and indignation.
“At length a bevy of laughing girls, in punishment for some impertinence with which they charged him, fell to pelting him with jasmine buds and pandanus cones, the latter of which, in mischievous hands, are capable of becoming rather formidable missiles. Foremost among the assailants were our fair acquaintances of the morning, and even Olla, forgetting her matronly station and dignity, joined zealously in the flowery warfare; which was maintained with such spirit, that Barton was at length obliged to beg for quarter, promising at the same time to ‘make some music’ for them, as a condition of the suspension of hostilities. This proposition, as soon as it was understood, seemed to afford the most extravagant delight; the shower of missiles ceased at once, and Barton was immediately surrounded by as attentive and breathlessly expectant an audience as artist could desire. Taking his stand upon a moss-covered fragment of rock, he drew an enormous Jew’s-harp from his pocket, and handed it to me, gravely requesting me to ‘accompany’ him upon it, while he sang. Then, after clearing his throat, with quite a professional air, he commenced ‘Hail Columbia,’ and as he had a full, clear voice, and sang with great spirit, the performance was listened to with every mark of enjoyment, and was succeeded by rapturous applause.
“He next gave a solo on the Jew’s-harp to the air of ‘Yankee Doodle,’ with brilliant and original variations, which likewise met with a flattering reception. But by far the greatest sensation was produced by ‘Auld Lang syne,’ which we sang together as a grand finale. The natives really seemed to feel the sentiment of the music, although Barton turned it into a burlesque by such an exaggerated pathos of tone and expression, and gesture, that I had much difficulty in getting through my part of the performance without laughing; but my vexation at being surprised into taking a part in such a piece of buffoonery, greatly helped me in resisting my sense of the ludicrous. At the end of every verse, Barton grasped my hand in the most demonstrative manner, and commenced shaking it vigorously, looking me all the while solemnly in the face, and shaking away through the entire chorus, thereby producing a number of quavers, which, though not set down in the music, greatly added to its pathetic character. After the last chorus, he spread open his arms, rushed forward, and gave me a stage embrace. This performance, including the pantomime, must have been of a very moving character, for when we had finished, I actually saw tears in the eyes of several of our audience. This evidence of the gentle and unsophisticated character of these simple people, affected me almost as much as our music had moved them, and I could not help thinking to how much better account such amiable impressibility was capable of being turned.
“Having thus performed his promise, Barton now insisted that we ought to be entertained in our turn with some music, and after a little persuasion, three young girls sang, or rather chaunted, several plaintive, but somewhat monotonous airs. Their voices, though neither strong nor clear, were soft and melodious, like the cooing of their native wood-pigeons. In vain we asked for something livelier and more spirited. Barton humming the tune of ‘Yankee Doodle,’ to make them the better understand what we wanted. All their melodies seemed to be of a slow and measured character, and those specimens which we heard, embraced a comparatively narrow range of notes.
“Just as the native girls finished singing, we were joined by a fresh party of eight or ten men, who came across the brook, and mingled with the others. I heard Barton say to Rokóa, ‘There is the old priest again,’ but on looking around I could not see him. The new-comers did not appear to be in the same holiday humour as the throng around us; they walked gravely about without joining in the general mirth and gaiety, and manifesting none of the curiosity in regard to ourselves, which the others had evinced. I, however, thought nothing of this at the time, supposing that they had been of the number of those whom we had seen in the morning by the sea-shore, although I did not recognise any of them.
“Presently, Olla and her companions commenced begging us for more music. One young lady in particular, (the same who had pronounced us to be inhabitants of the moon), pressed Barton with unceasing importunities, mingled with threats of a renewal of hostilities in case of non-compliance. Finding all attempts at excuse or evasion utterly unavailing, he suddenly snatched a wreath of yellow candle-nut-blossoms from the head of his tormentress, crowned himself therewith, and springing upon the top of the rock, assumed an oratorical attitude, and waved his hand, as if about to harangue the people. Then, while I was wondering what was to come next, he fixed his eye sternly upon a sinister looking man of middle-age, with the head-dress of an inferior chief, who was standing directly in front of him, and began to declaim in Latin, with great vehemence— ‘Quo usque tandem abutere, Catilina, patientia nostrâ,’ etcetera, which the audience seemed at first, to consider highly interesting and entertaining. As he proceeded, delivering the sounding sentences, ‘ore rotundo,’ and emphasising each thundering polysyllable with a fierce gesture of his clenched fist, I observed that the individual before mentioned, whom the orator seemed to have chosen to represent Catiline, and who, without understanding Latin, could very well perceive that there was something menacing and vituperative in the language addressed to him, began to look at first puzzled, and then incensed. He stole two or three hurried and uncertain glances at those behind and immediately around him, as if to assure himself whether this torrent of denunciation was not in fact directed against some other person; but when all doubt on this point seemed to have been resolved by the unequivocal demonstrations of the orator, his rigid features assumed an expression of such anger and ferocity, that I began to fear some violent outbreak of passion, and made several attempts by signs and gestures, to indicate to Barton the danger of pursuing so thoughtless and imprudent a pleasantry. But he either did not perceive my meaning, or else, felt rather flattered than alarmed, by the effect which his elocution seemed to produce upon Catiline, for he continued to pour out upon him the torrent of his oratory for several minutes longer, and it was not until his memory began evidently to fail him, that he concluded with a last emphatic invective accompanied by a sufficiently significant pantomime to convey some notion of its meaning, and bowing to his audience, leaped from the rostrum.
“This performance, seemed to afford even greater pleasure to the male part of the assembly, (with a few exceptions), than the previous musical entertainment had done, and they testified their approbation, by emphatic nods and shouts of applause.
“I now thought it time to terminate our visit, and return to the boat, and was about to speak to Rokóa on the subject, when Barton seized me by the arm, and pushed me towards the platform of rock.
“‘Now, Arthur, it is your turn,’ said he, ‘you perceive what an effect my eloquence has produced on old Catiline, there: give him a lecture upon the sinfulness of indulging the vindictive passions, and exhort him to repentance.’
“The younger people pressed about me, and instigated and aided by Barton, they fairly forced me upon the rocky platform. Though by no means pleased at being obliged to take a part in a farce so little to my taste, and for which I possessed none of Barton’s talent, I saw plainly that the shortest and least troublesome way, was to comply with their wishes, and I accordingly endeavoured to recall some fragment of prose or verse which might serve the present purpose. Supposing that English would be quite as intelligible and acceptable to them as Barton’s Latin, I was just about to declaim those noble opening lines of Comus—