ssed about, still
unwilling to disturb my slumbering companion, from whose side I removed
two or three yards. I chanced to push aside a branch, and by so doing
suddenly disclosed to my view a scene which even now I can recall with all
the vividness of the first impression. Had a glimpse of the gardens of
Paradise been revealed to me, I could scarcely have been more ravished
with the sight.

From the spot where I lay tranfixed with surprise and delight, I looked
straight down into the bosom of a valley, which swept away in long wavy
undulations to the blue waters in the distance. Midway towards the sea,
and peering here and there amidst the foliage, might be seen the
palmetto-thatched houses of its inhabitants, glistening in the sun that
had bleached them to a dazzling whiteness. The vale was more than three
leagues in length, and about a mile across at its greatest width.

On either side it appeared hemmed in by steep and green acclivities,
which, uniting near the spot where I lay, formed an abrupt and
semi-circular termination of grassy cliffs and precipices hundreds of feet
in height, over which flowed numberless small cascades. But the crowning
beauty of the prospect was its universal verdure; and in this indeed
consists, I believe, the peculiar charm of every Polynesian landscape.
Everywhere below me, from the base of the precipice upon whose very verge
I had been unconsciously reposing, the surface of the vale presented a
mass of foliage, spread with such rich profusion that it was impossible to
determine of what description of trees it consisted.

But perhaps there was nothing about the scenery I beheld more impressive
than those silent cascades, whose slender threads of water, after leaping
down the steep cliffs, were lost amidst the rich herbage of the valley.

Over all the landscape there reigned the most hushed repose, which I
almost feared to break, lest, like the enchanted gardens in the fairy
tale, a single syllable might dissolve the spell. For a long time,
forgetful alike of my own situation, and the vicinity of my still
slumbering companion, I remained gazing around me, hardly able to
comprehend by what means I had thus suddenly been made a spectator of such
a scene.

CHAPTER VII

The important question, Typee or Happar?--A wild-goose chase--My
sufferings--Disheartening situation--A night in the ravine--Morning
meal--Happy idea of Toby-