Читать книгу Lolóma, or two years in cannibal-land. A story of old Fiji онлайн

44 страница из 65

It seemed that the foot of man had never before entered the gloomy chamber. This abode was admirably suited to me; I was always sure of a safe retreat when the natives appeared in view, for the cave was only to be discovered by climbing a high tree, and the dainties of the primeval orchard, with an occasional wild yam, would always suffice for the necessaries of life. (My yams I roasted at a small fire, which I kindled with sparks produced by laboriously rubbing the point of one stick in the grooved side of another, in the manner copied from the method of the South Sea Islanders, which had often been shown to me on the schooner. My cooked esculent was equal to the best floury potato I had ever tasted.) For the rest, I could walk to the hill-tops every day and keep a careful look-out for the arrival of some European ship on the coast, when I would stealthily descend and once more regain my liberty.

I made frequent excursions from my subterranean dwelling. As I ascended the high peaks of Viti Levu I noticed that the forests differed greatly in appearance from those of the lowlands. The trees were densely covered with mosses, lichens, and deep orange-coloured orchids. Some of the ferns were of vast dimensions, and the deep silence and repose which reigned in these sylvan retreats gave to them an air of impressive solemnity. Sometimes on topping an eminence a large part of the archipelago came into view. The sea was gemmed with islands and islets, which lay on its bosom, adding beauty to beauty, like pearls strung on a lovely woman’s neck, and the refreshing trade wind came across the spangled mirror of the ocean, fanning the heights with its delicious coolness, which was especially grateful after the steaming heat of some of the valleys and air-excluded copses.