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Updated: June 8, 2025
I have had occasion several times to name the late bishop, Father Dordillon, 'Monseigneur, as he is still almost universally called, Vicar-Apostolic of the Marquesas and Bishop of Cambysopolis in partibus. Everywhere in the islands, among all classes and races, this fine, old, kindly, cheerful fellow is remembered with affection and respect. His influence with the natives was paramount.
Twenty-two years ago he had left everything called civilization, he had never been out of the Marquesas since that time; he lived in a lonely valley in which there was no other man of his tastes and education, and he was content. "I have everything I want; I grow it or I make it.
Then they gave in. As promptly I grew better. And here we are, out of water and heading soon most likely for the Marquesas to fill our barrels. Then they will return and try for it again!" "You think so, sir?" "I shall remember even more important data, steward," the Ancient Mariner smiled. "Without doubt they will return. Oh, I know them well. They are meagre, narrow, grasping fools."
"Hey!" he called with sudden forethought across the widening stretch of sea to Captain Doane. "What's the course to the Marquesas? Right now? And how far away, sir?" "Nor'-nor'-east-quarter-east!" came the faint reply. "Will fetch Nuka- Hiva! About two hundred miles! Haul on the south-east trade with a good full and you'll make it!"
Y' are aware, I suppose, Misther Heller or Professor Heller av sich islands as Owyhee an' the Marquesas, famous a'ready in the history av the Propaganda Fide. Jist suppose me havin' me episkepal raysedence on wan av 'um, an' makin' me progresses to the others. There be great devoshin to a spiritual father among thim simple people, I'm thinkin. I'd be a god to 'um, like.
"Smell it," said Emmeline, expanding her small nostrils. "That's what I smelt last night, only it's stronger now." The last reckoning taken on board the Northumberland had proved the ship to be south by east of the Marquesas; this was evidently one of those small, lost islands that lie here and there south by east of the Marquesas. Islands the most lonely and beautiful in the world.
Heat-waves quivered in the moist air. This was the beach that had witnessed the strange career of John Howard, a Yankee sailor who had fled a Yankee ship fifty years before and made his bed for good and all in the Marquesas. Lying Bill Pincher had told me the story.
And it come about that a fortnight after my arm had jined, and I could haul shrouds agin, we sighted the Marquesas, and bein' near about out o' water, the cap'en laid his course for the nearest land, and by daybreak of the second day we lay to in a small harbor, on the south side of an island where ships wa'n't very prompt to go commonly.
Any bar in 'Frisco or Sydney will give you tales of seamen who slipped ashore in Samoa or Tahiti or the Marquesas for a month's holiday, five, ten, or twenty years ago. Their wives and families await them yet. They are compound, these islands, of all legendary heavens. They are Calypso's and Prospero's isle, and the Hesperides, and Paradise, and every timeless and untroubled spot.
They have taken possession of Tahiti; and have established colonies there, on the coast of New Guinea, and in the Marquesas. At Tahiti, the English Protestant missionaries were for a time prohibited from preaching, and compelled to leave the island.
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