A JULY OUTING IN TAHITI.
By Elliott C. Chapman
THE island of Tahiti is not a country of rolling plains and extensive wheat fields and vineyards, but for the most part consists in rugged mountains, deep gorges, rushing streams, thickly wooded hillsides, and fertile valleys, that everywhere have the appearance of a well-watered garden. The Creator has granted to this beautiful island a rich soil, with plenty of rain and sunshine, which everywhere make the face of nature wear a crown of green, and give to this part of the old world a little of the Eden beauty. There is along the sea a fine level tract, which furnishes homes for most of the population and makes a very useful roadway around the greater part of the island. Back from Papeete about eight miles there rises a cluster of lofty peaks, which, from their appearance, have acquired the name of the Diadem. As this is a place of historic note as well as of natural beauty, we determined to visit the region and see for ourselves some of the handiwork of the Creator, and also become better acquainted with the island and people in whom we are so deeply interested. Accordingly, the morning of July 10 found Elder Read and myself, with our wives, and four native children, en route for the interior of Tahiti. After going about two miles in a wagon, we came to the end of the wagon road, where we unhitched our puaa-horo-fenua, as they call a horse in this country. Two native women were sitting by the side of the road, with whom we conversed. One of these women had lost most of her fingers with leprosy and was gradually dropping to pieces with that dread disease. There are a great many of these miserable sufferers scattered all over the islands, and as no effort is made to prevent its spread, the disease is ever gaining its victims. After packing our provisions and luggage on the horse, we all started on foot up the trail toward the mountain tops. The day was cool for Tahiti. As the sun was away north of the equator, ripening the wheat and watermelons of America, we enjoyed comparative comfort in our July outing. Our route lay up one of the beautiful cañons by the side of a sparkling stream. There were no birds chirping among the trees, as Tahiti has but few of the feathered beauties. As we made our way up the mountain trail, there was an ever changing panorama of tropical beauty unfolding before our wondering gaze. The dense thickets of the purau (hibiscus tiliaceus) in some places formed an almost impenetrable jungle by our side, while climbing over the tops of the trees were squash vines and the climbing barbadine, with their large fruit suspended below, while the leaves pressed upward in the struggle to keep on top. In some places the mountain fei, or upright banana, appeared in their beauty with their load of healthful fruit. Oranges especially do their best in the mountains, and in many places they hang in beauty and plenty upon the trees, or lie rotting on the ground. After fording the stream in two places, and pressing on until we were hungry, we halted for breakfast. A fire was soon blazing and a bunch of fei picked and roasting upon the coals, while we all dried ourselves and made ready for the repast. After resting awhile and persuading the ladies to both ride the horse, we continued our journey, and, after a lively climb, we came to the top of a ridge, where a749scene met our view that was picturesque in the extreme. At our feet lay a beautiful little valley, several hundred feet below, which was almost entirely surrounded by a wall of abrupt and lofty rock. Directly in front of us was a beautiful waterfall. From a lofty cliff on the opposite side of the valley the stream went whirling down till little was left but spray. Though not so terribly grand, nor accompanied with so deafening a roar, as some of the larger falls of Yosemite, yet there is a natural beauty in the surroundings of this cataract that far excels in loveliness the beautiful valley of the Sierra Nevadas. As our trail lay around the side of a lofty mountain in full view of the fall and the majestic peaks beyond, we were filled with rapture and wonder by the beauty of the scene. On the brow of the mountain near where the dashing torrent bids adieu to the rocks above, is an old fort, to which we made our way. Though deserted and overgrown with weeds and rosebushes, the silent fortifications had a peculiar charm to us, and, as we walked about those deserted bulwarks, we thought of the days gone by, when the natives struggled to maintain their independence on that spot, and of the results of the downfall of that stronghold, and the subsequent history of the native people. All around us nature lavishes in a profusion of thrifty foliage and beauty. Roses bloom in abundance, only to be admired by the passing visitor. Bananas grow to maturity and fall to the ground to enrich their own roots. The natives prefer to live in the lower valleys and only visit the mountains in quest of fruit. As the hours of day were fast passing, we filled a grain sack with fine sweet oranges, loaded them on our horse, and started home, with thankful hearts and cheerful faces, and a better knowledge of the isle on which we live. In due time we reached our home, at Hamuta. ELLIOTT C. CHAPMAN.