I meet O’Hara—The Emotional Irish Temperament—The Tahitian Temperament—O’Hara and I go Pearl-hunting—Tapee, the Old-time Idol-worshipper.

PONDERING over my experiences of idol-worship and my further adventures in Tahiti, the incidents connected with the whole matter seem sufficiently interesting for me to give the story in detail. Not the least important part of the matter was the headstrong Irish youth, my companion; indeed, I might say that he was the prime mover in the whole business.

First, I must say that I can tell the story only by making the facts appear like the buffooneries of a South Sea burlesque. Thinking it over, I must admit that my own cheek upon this particular occasion was enormous and superb! I can recall no other escapade like it, except, perhaps, my dangerous adventure with Singa Lorna, the dancing girl, in the heathen monastery at Fiji. Though I can claim the dubious honour of having arrived on the shores of four continents with three halfpence in my portmanteau and an all-absorbing belief in the generosity of man, of having been a member of the crew of an old-time blackbirder, and of having been thrown among the wildest characters found outside the realms of fiction, I can recall none who managed to get my head so near the guillotine as did the wayward Irishman O’Hara. There was a deal of humour about O’Hara’s personality; it was the humour of romantic youth, a pathetic humour that is discernible only to the practical onlooker, or at the time when the tale is old. In saying humour, I do not refer to humour as defined in the old books of recognized jokes, or the works of many modern humorists, works which, to me, are the saddest, driest books in existence; but I mean the humour suggesting poignant laughter, flickering in the light of the eyes and rippling on the lips, coming like visible music on the flushed, emotional countenance—the poetry of laughter and tears as suggested in a MallarmÉ poem.

I had been some three or four weeks in Papeete when I first met O’Hara, the curly-headed Irishman. I was in the small beach grog-cafÉ near Potuo, having a glass of lime-juice at the time. By this, I do not wish to infer that I was, or am, a teetotaller: on cold nights at sea nothing warms my blood like a nip of rum. O’Hara introduced himself by giving me a whack on the back, and then joined with immense gusto in the chorus of “Killarney,” which I happened to be performing on my violin. Ah, what a voice he had! mellow and sweet, it vibrated like the strings of a ’cello in the hands of a Maestro. And, as he lifted his blue eyes and sang on, moving his fingers before him as though he played an imaginary guitar, the Tahitian belles, peeping through the open bar-door, lifted their dusky arms in sheer ecstasy as they sighed for “One fond look from those wild eyes.” One maid placed her hands on her hips and, putting forth her pearly toe-nailed feet in exquisite style, danced a graceful Tahitian himine. The old shellbacks waxed enthusiastic and pulled their whiskers, as they made critical comments on the dancer’s beauty. I might say here that these dances were wonderful for their restraint and artistic movement, quite devoid of the vulgar limb-movements as exhibited in European music-halls.

I attribute the almost menacing glance of those Tahitian orbs on the Celtic temperament for all that occurred that night. For my Irish friend overshadowed himself, became one inch taller, and broadened considerably in the shoulders, on seeing the impression he had created in the minds of those dusky maidens. His deplorable wit brought forth roars of laughter from the assemblage of shellbacks and half-castes who haunted their presence. Then he ordered a dozen drinks, pressed four plugs of ship’s tobacco into my hand, and swore that he would die for my sake. I returned the compliment, and told him that I did not wish him to die if he would only consent to sing “Killarney” once more. It was nearly midnight when the inevitable argument arose and the shellbacks and traders took sides. I often wonder how O’Hara and I escaped suffocation in the dust of the dÉbris as the empty meat-tubs, the wooden bar-screens, and a hundred drinking-mugs got inextricably mixed up in the farewell mÊlÉe and wild, insane farewells when true comradeship returned, after the fight, and each man had a last drink and then went his way.

Such was my first meeting with O’Hara. But I sought his company again. It was at our next meeting that he informed me he knew a native who could tell us where thousands of pearls were deposited. “Pal, our fortunes are made! Savvy?” I intimated, by a conciliatory nod, that I did savvy. I had heard before, both in Australia and the Islands, of such vast fortunes in the pearl and nugget line; but I had never found them! The very next day O’Hara introduced me to a weird-looking Tahitian chief, who was supposed to know where the pearls were to be found, providing we gave him a sufficiently large bribe. This chief (his name was Tapee), was a most striking-looking old fellow. He was tall and finely built, and looked about sixty years of age. His costume consisted of bits of decorated fibre matting swathed about his loins. He wore a large, cleverly-twisted palm-leaf hat. His face?—well, it was a face! I’ve seen thousands of faces in my travels, but never one like his. Tapee’s face was the essence of faces; it could easily have made fifty ordinary ones and still possess enough character to make one stare back if it passed by in a crowd. The mouth had been finely curved in days gone by, but years had withered it, making the lips appear sardonic. The eyes, once clear as a tropic sky full of stars, had faded into a dim, far-away look, as though Tapee saw some wonderful new day beyond the peaks of death—and stared into the beyond with fright! He was a full-blooded heathen, worshipped idols, and believed in dreams and dark omens.

“Look at him! What a face!” said O’Hara, as he nudged Tapee in the ribs, bent forward, and exploded with laughter! Tapee took O’Hara’s boisterousness in good part, even as a compliment, then, swallowing his rum, beckoned us both to follow him down to the beach. When we stood beneath the breadfruit trees, Tapee peered about to convince himself that we were unobserved. The shadows of night were falling across the rugged mountain slopes behind semi-pagan Papeete city. We could hear the tinkling of guitars, mandolines, and zithers coming from the CafÉ FranÇaise that stood by the coco-palms near the main street of Papeete. The enchantment of fairy-land was destroyed by the cries of “Vive la France! SacrÉ!” as sunburnt gendarmes gazed, as only Frenchmen can gaze, into the lustrous eyes of the pretty “Belles Tahitians.”

“You wanter lot moneys, great heap pearls, nice Englesman, eh?” said Tapee.

“Oui! oui!” said O’Hara and I in one breath, as we joyously pronounced that French monosyllable.

“Well, Masser, me knowee where tousands of pearls are hidder in lagoon near coast.” Saying this, the old chief looked up artfully and continued: “But you give me moneys firster—if I taker you there to-mollow?”

“How do you know that there are pearls in the lagoon?” said I.

Old Tapee’s under lip trembled like a scolded babe’s. I had doubted a Tahitian’s veracity!

“Me ole mans from heaben times, me knowee ebery think.”

“Begorra, pal, it’s a shame,—don’t! Look at that face! Does it look dishonest?” said O’Hara.

“No,” I said, as I gazed reflectively, then handed Tapee my last forty francs. This made in all eighty francs, for O’Hara had given him a like amount.

That same night O’Hara pensioned off for life almost everyone in Old Ireland. He was sure that Tapee told the truth about those pearls.

As the sun was setting, we met Tapee, as arranged. “Come on, white mans,” said he, as he toddled off. Then he intimated that, before he took us round the coast to the lagoon where the wondrous pearls were, he must first consult someone. O’Hara and I were in a fever of excitement as we followed him. It seemed incredible that in a few hours we should both be wealthy men, and that the Élite of the civilized world would fall in humble obeisance on their knees before two such scallawags as we were! But it was no dream. There stood Tapee before us, real enough, wisdom and truth inscribed on his tawny wrinkled countenance, as he said:

“Waiter here, Massers; me back presently, then shower you pearls.”

“Yes, we’ll wait,” we replied, as, with a chuckle in his dusky throat, old Tapee toddled away beneath the palms. We saw him fade away amid the orange groves. O’Hara and I looked at each other.

“What’s he up to?” said I.

It was a lonely spot. To the right rose the mountains, and below us, far away, heaved the ocean, as sleepy winds stirred the forest trees overhead.

“Let’s follow him!” said O’Hara.

Without discussion or hesitation we crept under the coco-palms after Tapee.

It seemed as though we had, in some mysterious way, left the civilized world, and with one footstep walked across a thousand years into the dark ages. Tapee stood before us, in a space in the forest, waving his thin arms and chanting into the lapping wooden ears of a monstrous idol! Though the old native was six feet in height, he appeared diminutive as he stood in front of that dilapidated wooden image. Its big, goggling, glass eyes seemed to stare right over Tapee’s head, gazing mockingly at us! We instinctively held our breath as we stood there exposed to view, for so real did the eyes look that we fancied that It had observed us. Then we dodged back into the shadows, for Tapee had started careering about in the frantic capers of some heathen rite.

“He’s a heathen idol-worshipper!” whispered my comrade.

Then we received another surprise, for out of the shadows, just by us, in response to Tapee’s weird cry of “Awaie! Awaie!” sprang what appeared to be a Tahitian fairy figure! It was a native girl. She was dressed up in some old heathen-time costume. Her mass of hair was of bronze-gold colour, and fell down in luxuriant waves which streamed over her neck and shoulders in attractive contrast to the bright sun-varnished hue of her smooth skin. Her tresses were thickly adorned with flowers, and she wore a barbarian kind of raiment, the tasseled folds of which reached down to her knees. (It was a style similar to that which I had seen worn at the tribal festivals in New Guinea and the Solomon Isles). In a moment she too was careering round the idol in company with old Tapee, as she chanted a himine.

“O Loa!” whispered Tapee, as he turned about and stared into the forest shadows, as though he wondered if we were near enough to hear the girl’s loud singing. O’Hara moved forward.

“Keep out of sight; let us see it all,” I whispered, in at the same time pulling him back by the coat-tail into the shadows. Tapee had commenced to dance again. Then the girl fell on her knees before the big image, and began to beat her body with her hands in a heathen-like manner.

To my sorrow Tapee suddenly turned round and observed us peeping from the bamboo thicket. He looked frightened out of his life.

“Oh, Masser, you no tell Flenchmans that me worship idols? Me know where pearls are, and ’tis this nicer idol who tell Tapee where pearls are found.”

My comrade only stared, hardly knowing what the old native was driving at, till he continued:

“I come here to ask this idol where pearls are, now I am awake. You know, Masser, that I only dream of pearls first; idol tell all ’bout after—savvy?”

Thinking of my money, I shouted, and somewhat fiercely I think, “Don’t you know where the pearls are, you old scoundrel? What about the eighty francs we’ve given you?” I added, as Tapee hung his head, and then said:

“Me get Fae Fae, who am witch-girl, to ask idol where the pearls are, and if idol no tell her, well, me give you back your moneys!”

It all ended in Tapee falling on his knees and saying: “Oh, Masser, me and Fae Fae be put in calaboose if you tell of us. Me great chief and Fae Fae is great princess, same blood as Queen Pomare.”

So spake Tapee, as he pointed to the girl, who stood trembling and abashed beside him. After that the old chief took us into his confidence, and we found, from what he told us as we stood there, that he too was related to the Queen and that Fae Fae was his niece. It appeared that he had managed to get her under his influence, and so she often came out of the palace across the valley, to join Tapee in his heathen worship. For a long time the old man wailed into our ears. Then we gathered that Fae Fae was engaged to be married to a high chief named Tautoa, and that Tapee was very much afraid of this chief.

All that seemed to concern my Irish comrade was Fae Fae and her fright. O’Hara’s manner became quite tender as he repeatedly assured her that we should never say a word to anyone about what we had seen. At this Fae Fae gave O’Hara a languishing glance, and seemed to look with great favour upon him, notwithstanding that she was engaged to be married to the high chief Tautoa whom Tapee had just told us about.

In the end we helped Tapee to drag his huge idol into the deeper undergrowth and so hide it securely from prying eyes. The old chap was so overcome by our friendly manner that he volunteered to refund us part of our money. Indeed, I think we got it all back, less thirty-five francs, which Tapee had spent in the fan-tan bar-room at the Chinese quarter at Soloam, Papeete.

So ended our adventure as far as the pearls were concerned; but it led to another very exciting one, as will be seen in the next chapter.