Chapter: Six months at sea! Yes, reader, as I live, six months out of sight of
land; cruising after the sperm-whale beneath the scorching sun of the
Line, and tossed on the billows of the wide-rolling Pacific--the sky
above, the sea around, and nothing else! Weeks and weeks ago our fresh
provisions were all exhausted. There is not a sweet potato left; not a
single yam. Those glorious bunches of bananas, which once decorated
our stern and quarter-deck, have, alas, disappeared! and the delicious
oranges which hung suspended from our tops and stays--they, too, are
gone! Yes, they are all departed, and there is nothing left us but
salt-horse and sea-biscuit. Oh! ye state-room sailors, who make so
much ado about a fourteen-days' passage across the Atlantic; who so
pathetically relate the privations and hardships of the sea, where,
after a day of breakfasting, lunching, dining off five courses,
chatting, playing whist, and drinking champagne-punch, it was your hard
lot to be shut up in little cabinets of mahogany and maple, and sleep
for ten hours, with nothing to disturb you but 'those good-for-nothing
tars, shouting and tramping overhead',--what would ye say to our six
months out of sight of land?

Oh! for a refreshing glimpse of one blade of grass--for a snuff at the
fragrance of a handful of the loamy earth! Is there nothing fresh around
us? Is there no green thing to be seen? Yes, the inside of our bulwarks
is painted green; but what a vile and sickly hue it is, as if nothing
bearing even the semblance of verdure could flourish this weary way from
land. Even the bark that once clung to the wood we use for fuel has been
gnawed off and devoured by the captain's pig; and so long ago, too, that
the pig himself has in turn been devoured.

There is but one solitary tenant in the chicken-coop, once a gay and
dapper young cock, bearing him so bravely among the coy hens.

But look at him now; there he stands, moping all the day long on that
everlasting one leg of his. He turns with disgust from the mouldy corn
before him, and the brackish water in his little trough. He mourns no
doubt his lost companions, literally snatched from him one by one, and
never seen again. But his days of mourning will be few for Mungo, our
black cook, told me yesterday that the word had at last gone forth, and
poor Pedro's fate was sealed. His attenuated body will be laid out upon
the captain's table next Sunday, and long before night will be buried
with all the usual ceremonies beneath that worthy individual's vest. Who
would believe that there could be any one so cruel as to long for the
decapitation of the luckless Pedro; yet the sailors pray every minute,
selfish fellows, that the miserable fowl may be brought to his end. They
say the captain will never point the ship for the land so long as he
has in anticipation a mess of fresh meat. This unhappy bird can alone
furnish it; and when he is once devoured, the captain will come to his
senses. I wish thee no harm, Pedro; but as thou art doomed, sooner or
later, to meet the fate of all thy race; and if putting a period to
thy existence is to be the signal for our deliverance, why--truth to
speak--I wish thy throat cut this very moment; for, oh! how I wish to
see the living earth again! The old ship herself longs to look out upon
the land from her hawse-holes once more, and Jack Lewis said right the
other day when the captain found fault with his steering.

'Why d'ye see, Captain Vangs,' says bold Jack, 'I'm as good a helmsman
as ever put hand to spoke; but none of us can steer the old lady now. We
can't keep her full and bye, sir; watch her ever so close, she will fall
off and then, sir, when I put the helm down so gently, and try like to
coax her to the work, she won't take it kindly, but will fall round off
again; and it's all because she knows the land is under the lee, sir,
and she won't go any more to windward.' Aye, and why should she, Jack?
didn't every one of her stout timbers grow on shore, and hasn't she
sensibilities; as well as we?

Poor old ship! Her very looks denote her desires! how deplorably she
appears! The paint on her sides, burnt up by the scorching sun, is
puffed out and cracked. See the weeds she trails along with her, and
what an unsightly bunch of those horrid barnacles has formed about her
stern-piece; and every time she rises on a sea, she shows her copper
torn away, or hanging in jagged strips.

Poor old ship! I say again: for six months she has been rolling and
pitching about, never for one moment at rest. But courage, old lass, I
hope to see thee soon within a biscuit's toss of the merry land, riding
snugly at anchor in some green cove, and sheltered from the boisterous
winds.

        . . . . . .

'Hurra, my lads! It's a settled thing; next week we shape our course to
the Marquesas!' The Marquesas! What strange visions of outlandish things
does the very name spirit up! Naked houris--cannibal banquets--groves
of cocoanut--coral reefs--tattooed chiefs--and bamboo temples; sunny
valleys planted with bread-fruit-trees--carved canoes dancing on
the flashing blue waters--savage woodlands guarded by horrible
idols--HEATHENISH RITES AND HUMAN SACRIFICES.

Such were the strangely jumbled anticipations that haunted me during our
passage from the cruising ground. I felt an irresistible curiosity to
see those islands which the olden voyagers had so glowingly described.

The group for which we were now steering (although among the earliest of
European discoveries in the South Seas, having been first visited in
the year 1595) still continues to be tenanted by beings as strange
and barbarous as ever. The missionaries sent on a heavenly errand, had
sailed by their lovely shores, and had abandoned them to their idols of
wood and stone. How interesting the circumstances under which they were
discovered! In the watery path of Mendanna, cruising in quest of some
region of gold, these isles had sprung up like a scene of enchantment,
and for a moment the Spaniard believed his bright dream was realized.

In honour of the Marquess de Mendoza, then viceroy of Peru--under whose
auspices the navigator sailed--he bestowed upon them the name which
denoted the rank of his patron, and gave to the world on his return
a vague and magnificent account of their beauty. But these islands,
undisturbed for years, relapsed into their previous obscurity; and it is
only recently that anything has been known concerning them. Once in the
course of a half century, to be sure, some adventurous rover would break
in upon their peaceful repose, and astonished at the unusual scene,
would be almost tempted to claim the merit of a new discovery.

Of this interesting group, but little account has ever been given, if
we except the slight mention made of them in the sketches of South-Sea
voyages. Cook, in his repeated circumnavigations of the globe, barely
touched at their shores; and all that we know about them is from a few
general narratives.

Among these, there are two that claim particular notice. Porter's
'Journal of the Cruise of the U.S. frigate Essex, in the Pacific,
during the late War', is said to contain some interesting particulars
concerning the islanders. This is a work, however, which I have never
happened to meet with; and Stewart, the chaplain of the American sloop
of war Vincennes, has likewise devoted a portion of his book, entitled
'A Visit to the South Seas', to the same subject.

Within the last few, years American and English vessels engaged in the
extensive whale fisheries of the Pacific have occasionally, when short
of provisions, put into the commodious harbour which there is in one of
the islands; but a fear of the natives, founded on the recollection of
the dreadful fate which many white men have received at their hands, has
deterred their crews from intermixing with the population sufficiently
to gain any insight into their peculiar customs and manners.

The Protestant Missions appear to have despaired of reclaiming these
islands from heathenism. The usage they have in every case received from
the natives has been such as to intimidate the boldest of their number.
Ellis, in his 'Polynesian Researches', gives some interesting accounts
of the abortive attempts made by the ''Tahiti Mission'' to establish a
branch Mission upon certain islands of the group. A short time before
my visit to the Marquesas, a somewhat amusing incident took place in
connection with these efforts, which I cannot avoid relating.

An intrepid missionary, undaunted by the ill-success that had attended
all previous endeavours to conciliate the savages, and believing much
in the efficacy of female influence, introduced among them his young and
beautiful wife, the first white woman who had ever visited their shores.
The islanders at first gazed in mute admiration at so unusual a prodigy,
and seemed inclined to regard it as some new divinity. But after a short
time, becoming familiar with its charming aspect, and jealous of the
folds which encircled its form, they sought to pierce the sacred veil
of calico in which it was enshrined, and in the gratification of their
curiosity so far overstepped the limits of good breeding, as deeply
to offend the lady's sense of decorum. Her sex once ascertained, their
idolatry was changed into contempt and there was no end to the contumely
showered upon her by the savages, who were exasperated at the deception
which they conceived had been practised upon them. To the horror of
her affectionate spouse, she was stripped of her garments, and given to
understand that she could no longer carry on her deceits with impunity.
The gentle dame was not sufficiently evangelical to endure this, and,
fearful of further improprieties, she forced her husband to relinquish
his undertaking, and together they returned to Tahiti.

Not thus shy of exhibiting her charms was the Island Queen herself, the
beauteous wife of Movianna, the king of Nukuheva. Between two and three
years after the adventures recorded in this volume, I chanced, while
aboard of a man-of-war to touch at these islands. The French had
then held possession of the Marquesas some time, and already prided
themselves upon the beneficial effects of their jurisdiction, as
discernible in the deportment of the natives. To be sure, in one of
their efforts at reform they had slaughtered about a hundred and fifty
of them at Whitihoo--but let that pass. At the time I mention, the
French squadron was rendezvousing in the bay of Nukuheva, and during an
interview between one of their captains and our worthy Commodore, it
was suggested by the former, that we, as the flag-ship of the American
squadron, should receive, in state, a visit from the royal pair. The
French officer likewise represented, with evident satisfaction, that
under their tuition the king and queen had imbibed proper notions of
their elevated station, and on all ceremonious occasions conducted
themselves with suitable dignity. Accordingly, preparations were made to
give their majesties a reception on board in a style corresponding with
their rank.

One bright afternoon, a gig, gaily bedizened with streamers, was
observed to shove off from the side of one of the French frigates, and
pull directly for our gangway. In the stern sheets reclined Mowanna and
his consort. As they approached, we paid them all the honours due to
royalty;--manning our yards, firing a salute, and making a prodigious
hubbub.

They ascended the accommodation ladder, were greeted by the Commodore,
hat in hand, and passing along the quarter-deck, the marine guard
presented arms, while the band struck up 'The King of the Cannibal
Islands'. So far all went well. The French officers grimaced and smiled
in exceedingly high spirits, wonderfully pleased with the discreet
manner in which these distinguished personages behaved themselves.

Their appearance was certainly calculated to produce an effect. His
majesty was arrayed in a magnificent military uniform, stiff with gold
lace and embroidery, while his shaven crown was concealed by a huge
chapeau bras, waving with ostrich plumes. There was one slight blemish,
however, in his appearance. A broad patch of tattooing stretched
completely across his face, in a line with his eyes, making him look as
if he wore a huge pair of goggles; and royalty in goggles suggested some
ludicrous ideas. But it was in the adornment of the fair person of his
dark-complexioned spouse that the tailors of the fleet had evinced the
gaiety of their national taste. She was habited in a gaudy tissue of
scarlet cloth, trimmed with yellow silk, which, descending a little
below the knees, exposed to view her bare legs, embellished with spiral
tattooing, and somewhat resembling two miniature Trajan's columns. Upon
her head was a fanciful turban of purple velvet, figured with silver
sprigs, and surmounted by a tuft of variegated feathers.

The ship's company, crowding into the gangway to view the sight, soon
arrested her majesty's attention. She singled out from their number an
old salt, whose bare arms and feet, and exposed breast, were covered
with as many inscriptions in India ink as the lid of an Egyptian
sarcophagus. Notwithstanding all the sly hints and remonstrances of the
French officers, she immediately approached the man, and pulling further
open the bosom of his duck frock, and rolling up the leg of his wide
trousers, she gazed with admiration at the bright blue and vermilion
pricking thus disclosed to view. She hung over the fellow, caressing
him, and expressing her delight in a variety of wild exclamations and
gestures. The embarrassment of the polite Gauls at such an unlooked-for
occurrence may be easily imagined, but picture their consternation, when
all at once the royal lady, eager to display the hieroglyphics on her
own sweet form, bent forward for a moment, and turning sharply round,
threw up the skirt of her mantle and revealed a sight from which the
aghast Frenchmen retreated precipitately, and tumbling into their boats,
fled the scene of so shocking a catastrophe.

 The whaling ship on which the narrator works, the Dolly, has been out to sea for six months without seeing land. Almost all of the fresh food has disappeared, with the exception of one chicken. With a crew longing for land, the captain, Captain Vangs, decides that they will head towards the Marquesas Islands and determines that they should be there in about a week. Unlike many of the other islands in the South Pacific, Europeans have rarely visited the Marquesas. Even the overzealous missionaries have generally stayed away. The reason for their avoidance lies with the reputation of barbaric cannibalism that the natives of those islands enjoy. Despite the possibility of danger, the narrator looks forward to reaching the "Cannibal Islands," and to seeing bamboo temples, coconut trees, and tattooed chiefs

