A VANISHING PEOPLE OF THE SOUTH SEAS 



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Mendoza, Viceroy of Peru. Hanavave, 

 the bay in which the voyagers first 

 dropped anchor, Mendana called Bay of 

 the Virgins, and, being a keen observer 

 of savage habits and customs, his choice 

 of a designation for a Marquesan village 

 leads me to believe the doughty captain 

 had a well-developed sense of humor. 



Only the three lower islands were 

 visited by the Spaniards. These were 

 christened Santa Magdalena, Dominica, 

 and Santa Christina. The northern units 

 of the group, "discovered" at various 

 times during the ensuing two centuries 

 by half a dozen voyagers, including our 

 own Admiral Porter, in 1813, were given 

 "Christian" names, as were many of the 

 fifty-odd bays which indent their shores. 



The attempt to replace the native terms 

 proved futile in almost every instance, 

 and today the individual islands are 

 known by their original designations. 

 The only name to stand the acid test of 

 time was the record of Mendana's gal- 

 lantry, and this was shortened to "Mar- 

 quesas" for actual service. Even this 

 long accepted and generally used title has 

 been altered by the French, who indicate 

 their ownership by giving the Spanish 

 name a Gallic flavor. The group is now 

 charted as lies Marquises. The Bay of 

 the Virgins, though sometimes mentioned 

 as Baie des Vierges in the charts, is 

 known officially and unofficially as Hana- 

 vave. 



AN EARTHLY PARADISE, SAID THE 

 SPANIARDS 



Those old Spanish chroniclers, Men- 

 dana, Figueroa, and Ouieros, were en- 

 thusiastic to the verge of vehemency over 

 this discovery. To them the islands 

 seemed nothing short of an earthly para- 

 dise — a paradise marred somewhat, it is 

 true, by the cannibal tendencies of the 

 fierce, cruel warriors who swarmed by 

 thousands in every bay and valley ; but 

 the marvelous beauty of the women and 

 the tropical splendor of the islands evi- 

 dently outweighed the ever-present possi- 

 bility of becoming "long pig," — pua oa — 

 the Marquesan's somewhat startling de- 

 scription of the human victim intended to 

 grace his feast. 



The approach to Hanavave, which gave 

 the Spaniards their first glimpse of the 



Marquesas, hardly prepared them for the 

 wonders they were soon to witness. 



From afar Fatuhiva looms a dim, mys- 

 terious mass on the horizon, bleak and 

 forbidding; nor does a near approach 

 soften the grim contour of the coast line. 

 Sheer from the ocean's depths rise huge 

 masses of towering, storm-worn basalt, 

 seamed and riven by a thousand tem- 

 pests. Here and there a gnarled and 

 twisted ironwood has driven its tenuous 

 roots into the scarred face of the cliff, 

 the scanty, wind-blown foliage white 

 with encrusted salt from high-tossed sea. 

 Below, into the black mouths of gloomy 

 caverns, the ceaseless waves fling their 

 white-crested battalions with a monoto- 

 nous roar, to be spumed forth again in 

 froth and spray. 



In the distance, its jagged, cloud-pierc- 

 ing peaks unrelieved by tree or shrub, 

 rises the broken rim of a great crater, 

 standing today, as it has stood through 

 the centuries, a monument to the volcanic 

 fires which thrust that molten mass above 

 the hissing sea, to cool and crack into a 

 fantastic jumble of serrated ridges, 

 mighty precipices, and impassable gorges. 



SCENES OP CAPTIVATING CONTRASTS 



The amazement and delight of Men- 

 dana as his ship passed the towering black 

 cliffs guarding the entrance to Hanavave 

 is easily comprehended. The narrow bay 

 was formed by the falling away of a sec- 

 tion of the crater's wall, and through this 

 opening, framed by gigantic, grotesque 

 pillars and domes of black rock towering 

 hundreds of feet skyward, one looks di- 

 rectly into the great bowl of the moun- 

 tain whose bare, broken rim was visible 

 from beyond the coast. 



But what a contrast ! Where once tel- 

 luric fires burned, the luxuriant verdure 

 of the tropics now overruns the immense 

 amphitheater in riotous profusion. It is 

 as if Nature in repentant mood were 

 pouring out her gifts with unstinted hand 

 to cover the scars and desolation wrought 

 by volcanic fury. 



Tree and vine, flower and shrub, cover 

 the abrupt, almost vertical sides of the 

 huge basin and clamber high over ridge 

 after ridge of knife-like hills ; choke the 

 deep ravines and valleys with their pro- 

 lific mass of bloom and foliage, and, 



