Part 22 (1/2)
To supply the place of Johnny's jacket and trousers, which are completely worn out, Arthur has made, from two or three large strips of cocoa-nut cotton, a garment resembling the South American ”poncho,”
being a loose wrapper, with a circular aperture through which the head of the wearer is to be thrust. It is by no means an elegant article of apparel, and Johnny was at first inclined to look upon it with disfavour. But upon being informed that it was in all respects, except the material of which it was made, like the ”tiputa,” formerly worn by the Tahitian chiefs and men of note, he became fully reconciled to it.
These, (which I mention merely as a sample of our industrial labours), and similar tasks, furnish us occupation during the day. As soon as it gets dark, we set out the broken-legged table in the middle of the room, and lighting three or four skewers of candle-nuts, amuse or employ ourselves in a variety of ways. Browne and Morton frequently sit down to a game of chess, or seizing a couple of Max's ”Feejee war-clubs,”
practise the broad-sword exercise, in which Browne, who has some skill in fencing, occasionally gives lessons to the rest.
Arthur has opened an evening-school, in which he teaches Eiulo reading and writing, and gives Johnny instruction in botany and conchology, using his ”herbarium,” and Johnny's collection of sh.e.l.ls, for the purpose of ill.u.s.tration. He also writes a good deal, and asks Eiulo many questions respecting the customs, ceremonies, and traditions of Tewa. Occasionally, during such conversations, when he makes a note of something new or striking, Max laughs, and says, that in addition to the great work on the botany of Polynesia, Arthur designs to enlighten the world with a learned treatise on the ”Traditions and Superst.i.tions of the South-Sea Islanders.”
Johnny either re-arranges his ”collection,” or plays jack straws with Eiulo, or devotes himself to the education of the parrot.
As for me, I have hitherto amused myself during the evenings in writing up ”the narrative,” and occasionally reading portions of it aloud, claiming, however, the privilege of skipping such pa.s.sages as I think proper. It having been solemnly resolved that the ”history of our adventures” must be written in the form of a ”regular desert island story,” to use Johnny's expression, and divided into chapters, Max insists that the commencement of each chapter should be furnished with a poetical motto, and offers, in the capacity of a dictionary of quotations, to furnish sc.r.a.ps of rhyme for that purpose, to order, in any quant.i.ty required, and at the shortest notice, upon merely being informed of the sentiment with which the motto is desired to harmonise.
After hearing the narrative thus far, with the exception of such portions as I have thought proper to omit, Max expresses strong distrust of my fairness and impartiality as a historian. He accuses me in particular, of having done him injustice by omitting some of his most remarkable exploits, as well as many brilliant sayings upon a great variety of subjects. He declares that I do not understand and appreciate him--that I am incapable of doing so; and that I have unjustly, though perhaps unintentionally, represented him as a trifling, light-minded sort of person. I have, therefore, felt bound to record this protest of the injured party, but having just read it to him, he p.r.o.nounces it unsatisfactory, and an aggravation of the original wrong.
Sometimes, as a variation of our evening amus.e.m.e.nts, we put out the lights, and sit and tell stories in the dark. Browne's memory is stored with an unfailing supply of marvellous tales and legends, founded upon Scottish history and tradition, or the habits and superst.i.tions of the people; some relate to wraiths, warnings, second sight, etcetera; some ill.u.s.trate the prowess of Scottish heroes and worthies, from Bruce and Wallace, right down to Johnny Armstrong and Rob Roy Macgregor; others, again, are wild and tragical tales of covenanting times, or of the sufferings endured, and the dangers encountered by his countrymen, for their religious faith, from the time of the murder of ”holy Patrick Hamilton, the first Scottish martyr,” to the forays of prelatical moss-troopers, and the butcheries of Claverhouse, in later days.
The chief point of all Browne's narratives, however various their subjects, is to ill.u.s.trate the superiority of Scotland, and every thing Scottish, from martyrs to mendicants, and from heroes to highwaymen, over all the rest of the world in general, and the sister kingdom in particular. I was greatly amused by one of his stories, which related how a Scottish border-robber outwitted and plundered an English professional brother. In his patriotic resolution to uphold the superiority of his country in all respects, Browne was not even willing to allow that the pilferers and marauders south of the Tweed, could at all compare in address and audacity, with those who enjoyed the advantage of having been bred to the north of it.
Max, too, was, (at least in Johnny's estimation), a famous story-teller, almost equal in fact to Schehezerade, of the Thousand and One Nights.
His stories, however, were of an entirely different character from those of Browne. They had no savour of historic or traditionary truth,--no relation to actual life,--and in this consisted their great charm.
Their subject matter, was the wonderful exploits of bold knights-errant, sallying forth, attended by their trusty esquires, in search of high adventures; their chivalrous encounters with other knights in mortal quarrel, or for the honours of the tourney; their incredible feats of strength and valour in the rescue of captive maidens, wandering princesses, and distressed damsels, from all sorts of unheard-of perils, and in the redress of all manner of grievances, by whomsoever suffered.
In his more romantic flights he described exploits yet more perilous than these,--conflicts with giants and ogres,--the storming and demolis.h.i.+ng of enchanted castles, defended by scaly griffins, and fire-breathing dragons, backed by the potent spells and incantations of some hostile magician. To such narratives Johnny would willingly listen by the hour. Any trifling anachronisms or inconsistencies, which sometimes occurred, never troubled him in the least. If some of Max's knights, equipped with sword and s.h.i.+eld, and sheathed in mail, were also expert at fire-arms, and handled a rifle or a revolver, like a Kentuckian, Johnny respected and admired them all the more on account of these varied accomplishments, and never troubled the narrator with any vexatious demand for explanations.
At first Max had been greatly piqued at the slight interest which Johnny seemed to feel in the fate of his heroes. The fact was, that he had become so familiar with that department of literature, and was so accustomed to see the hero come safely out of the most horrible and unheard-of dangers, that he regarded it as quite a matter of course, and there was now no such thing as alarming him for his safety. It was to no purpose that Max surrounded his heroes with fierce and numerous foes; Johnny took it quite coolly, expecting him to cut his way out as a hero should. It was in vain to cover him with wounds--a hero's wounds are never mortal. Cast him away upon an iron-bound coast in the midst of a hurricane--Johnny knew that _one_ would escape: drown a hero! who ever heard of such a thing! Max at length resented this indifference, by suddenly becoming quite tragical, and actually despatching two or three heroes with very little ceremony. The first of these unfortunate gentlemen perished, if I remember correctly, by ”a tremendous backstroke of a two-handed, double-edged sword, that severed his head from his body.” At this sentence, which seemed pretty decisive, Johnny was somewhat staggered, but, immediately recovering himself, he bade Max ”go on,” expecting, I verily believe, that it would turn out that the head was not in fact _quite_ cut off or that if it was, it would, like that of the physician Dubin, in the Arabian Nights, be again set upon the shoulders, and life restored by the healing virtue of some potent medicament. Great was his astonishment and consternation, on being made at last to comprehend, that the hero was actually dead; which fact he did not, however, appear fully to realise, until Max, to put the matter beyond doubt, buried him with great funereal pomp and ceremony, and erected over his remains a splendid monument, with an inscription recording his exploits and his valour. This method of proceeding, Max judiciously followed up, by giving a tragical termination to his romances, often enough to keep Johnny reminded that _his_ heroes at any rate were mortal.
In addition to these resources for our evenings, we have the semi-weekly meetings of ”The South-Sea Lyceum,” which was organised soon after the commencement of the rainy season, and of which Arthur is the president having been twice unanimously elected to that dignified and responsible office. Recitations or declamations, essays, and debates upon questions previously selected, const.i.tute the regular exercises at these meetings.
Browne possesses quite a talent for dramatic recitation, and he has Shakespeare almost by heart, which circ.u.mstances, early on the voyage out, earned for him the nickname of ”Shaks.” At nearly every session of the ”Lyceum,” he is either among the regular appointees for a recitation, or is called out by acclamation for a voluntary one. Max s.h.i.+nes chiefly in debate, in which he is always ready to take either side, of any question. Indeed he sometimes speaks on both sides of the same question, and displays his ingenuity by refuting his own arguments.
These meetings have thus far been exceedingly pleasant, and on many a night when the driving rain was beating upon roof and window, and the wind was howling dismally around our solitary cabin, all has seemed bright and cheerful within, as Max and Morton carried on a spirited debate, or Browne declaimed Wolsey's soliloquy, or ”To be, or not to be, that is the question.”
The minutes of one meeting of the Lyceum may answer as a sample of their entertainments:--
Recitation, (by Johnny), Lines supposed to have been written by Alexander Selkirk, ”I am monarch of all I survey,” etcetera.
Recitation, (by Browne), Clarence's Dream.
Essay, (by the President), on the traditions of a Deluge, to be found among the Polynesian tribes.
Essay, (by myself), The theory of the formation and structure of Coral Islands.
Debate. Question: Is childhood the happiest period of human life?
Affirmative maintained by Max, negative by Morton.
Summing up of the arguments by the President and decision by him in the negative.
Reading of the Polynesian Intelligencer, by the Editor, (Max).
Recitation, (by Eiulo), a Tewan War-song, in the original.