THE CALABOOZA BERETANEE

ABOUT a mile from the village we came to a halt.

It was a beautiful spot. A mountain stream here flowed at the foot of
a verdant slope; on one hand, it murmured along until the waters,
spreading themselves upon a beach of small, sparkling shells,
trickled into the sea; on the other was a long defile, where the eye
pursued a gleaming, sinuous thread, lost in shade and verdure.

The ground next the road was walled in by a low, rude parapet of
stones; and, upon the summit of the slope beyond, was a large, native
house, the thatch dazzling white, and in shape an oval.

"Calabooza! Calabooza Beretanee!" (the English Jail), cried our
conductor, pointing to the building.

For a few months past, having been used by the consul as a house of
confinement for his refractory sailors, it was thus styled to
distinguish it from similar places in and about Papeetee.

Though extremely romantic in appearance, on a near approach it proved
hut ill adapted to domestic comfort. In short, it was a mere shell,
recently built, and still unfinished. It was open all round, and
tufts of grass were growing here and there under the very roof. The
only piece of furniture was the "stocks," a clumsy machine for
keeping people in one place, which, I believe, is pretty much out of
date in most countries. It is still in use, however, among the
Spaniards in South America; from whom, it seems, the Tahitians have
borrowed the contrivance, as well as the name by which all places of