In the South Seas | Page 8

saffron, of sulphur, of the clove, and of the rose. The
lustre was like that of satin; on the lighter hues there seemed to float an
efflorescence; a solemn bloom appeared on the more dark. The light
itself was the ordinary light of morning, colourless and clean; and on
this ground of jewels, pencilled out the least detail of drawing.
Meanwhile, around the hamlet, under the palms, where the blue shadow
lingered, the red coals of cocoa husk and the light trails of smoke
betrayed the awakening business of the day; along the beach men and
women, lads and lasses, were returning from the bath in bright raiment,
red and blue and green, such as we delighted to see in the coloured little
pictures of our childhood; and presently the sun had cleared the eastern
hill, and the glow of the day was over all.
The glow continued and increased, the business, from the main part,
ceased before it had begun. Twice in the day there was a certain stir of
shepherding along the seaward hills. At times a canoe went out to fish.
At times a woman or two languidly filled a basket in the cotton patch.
At times a pipe would sound out of the shadow of a house, ringing the
changes on its three notes, with an effect like Que le jour me dure,
repeated endlessly. Or at times, across a corner of the bay, two natives
might communicate in the Marquesan manner with conventional
whistlings. All else was sleep and silence. The surf broke and shone
around the shores; a species of black crane fished in the broken water;
the black pigs were continually galloping by on some affair; but the
people might never have awaked, or they might all be dead.
My favourite haunt was opposite the hamlet, where was a landing in a
cove under a lianaed cliff. The beach was lined with palms and a tree
called the purao, something between the fig and mulberry in growth,
and bearing a flower like a great yellow poppy with a maroon heart. In
places rocks encroached upon the sand; the beach would be all
submerged; and the surf would bubble warmly as high as to my knees,
and play with cocoa-nut husks as our more homely ocean plays with
wreck and wrack and bottles. As the reflux drew down, marvels of
colour and design streamed between my feet; which I would grasp at,
miss, or seize: now to find them what they promised, shells to grace a
cabinet or be set in gold upon a lady's finger; now to catch only maya
of coloured sand, pounded fragments and pebbles, that, as soon as they

were dry, became as dull and homely as the flints upon a garden path. I
have toiled at this childish pleasure for hours in the strong sun,
conscious of my incurable ignorance; but too keenly pleased to be
ashamed. Meanwhile, the blackbird (or his tropical understudy) would
be fluting in the thickets overhead.
A little further, in the turn of the bay, a streamlet trickled in the bottom
of a den, thence spilling down a stair of rock into the sea. The draught
of air drew down under the foliage in the very bottom of the den, which
was a perfect arbour for coolness. In front it stood open on the blue bay
and the Casco lying there under her awning and her cheerful colours.
Overhead was a thatch of puraos, and over these again palms
brandished their bright fans, as I have seen a conjurer make himself a
halo out of naked swords. For in this spot, over a neck of low land at
the foot of the mountains, the trade-wind streams into Anaho Bay in a
flood of almost constant volume and velocity, and of a heavenly
coolness.
It chanced one day that I was ashore in the cove, with Mrs. Stevenson
and the ship's cook. Except for the Casco lying outside, and a crane or
two, and the ever-busy wind and sea, the face of the world was of a
prehistoric emptiness; life appeared to stand stock- still, and the sense
of isolation was profound and refreshing. On a sudden, the trade-wind,
coming in a gust over the isthmus, struck and scattered the fans of the
palms above the den; and, behold! in two of the tops there sat a native,
motionless as an idol and watching us, you would have said, without a
wink. The next moment the tree closed, and the glimpse was gone. This
discovery of human presences latent overhead in a place where we had
supposed ourselves alone, the immobility of our tree-top spies, and the
thought that perhaps at all hours we were similarly supervised, struck
us with a chill. Talk languished on the