{"id":"01KG8AKMH9WA7H00VKQSXGR3WG","cid":"bafkreidarjyfh2nk7jxzwebfwe5iztfgbdjc2mo5mrio6hytfnejs2jqg4","type":"chunk","properties":{"end_line":1535,"extracted_at":"2026-01-30T20:48:09.927Z","extracted_by":"structure-extraction-lambda","label":"Chunk 1","source_file":"01KG89J1954N2G0NAERBNJXEX9","start_line":1458,"text":"CHAPTER XII.\r\nLanding To Visit Hivohitee The Pontiff, They Encounter An Extraordinary\r\nOld Hermit; With Whom Yoomy Has A Confidential Interview, But Learns\r\nLittle\r\n\r\n\r\nGliding on, suddenly we spied a solitary Islander putting out in his\r\ncanoe from a neighboring cove.\r\n\r\nDrawing near, the stranger informed us, that he was just from the face\r\nof the great Pontiff, Hivohitee, who, having dismissed his celestial\r\nguests, had retired to his private sanctuary. Upon this, Media resolved\r\nto land forthwith, and under the guidance of Mohi, proceed inland, and\r\npay a visit to his Holiness.\r\n\r\nQuitting the beach, our path penetrated into the solitudes of the\r\ngroves. Skirting the way were tall Casaurinas, a species of cypress,\r\nstanding motionless in the shadows, as files of mutes at a funeral. But\r\nhere and there, they were overrun with the adventurous vines of the\r\nConvolvulus, the Morning-glory of the Tropics, whose tendrils, bruised\r\nby the twigs, dropped milk upon the dragon-like scales of the trees.\r\n\r\nThis vine is of many varieties. Lying perdu, and shunning the garish\r\nsun through the day, one species rises at night with the stars;\r\nbursting forth in dazzling constellations of blossoms, which close at\r\ndawn. Others, slumbering through the darkness, are up and abroad with\r\ntheir petals, by peep of morn; and after inhaling its breath, again\r\ndrop their lids in repose. While a third species, more capricious,\r\nrefuse to expand at all, unless in the most brilliant sunshine, and\r\nupon the very tops of the loftiest trees. Ambitious flowers! that will\r\nnot blow, unless in high places, with the bright day looking on and\r\nadmiring.\r\n\r\nHere and there, we passed open glades in the woods, delicious with the\r\nincense of violets. Balsamic ferns, stirred by the breeze, fanned all\r\nthe air with aromas. These glades were delightful.\r\n\r\nJourneying on, we at length came to a dark glen so deftly hidden by the\r\nsurrounding copses, that were it not for the miasma thence wafted, an\r\nignorant wayfarer might pass and repass it, time and again, never\r\ndreaming of its vicinity.\r\n\r\nDown into the gloom of this glen we descended. Its sides were mantled\r\nwith noxious shrubs, whose exhalations, half way down, unpleasantly\r\nblended with the piny breeze from the uplands. Through its bed ran a\r\nbrook, whose incrusted margin had a strange metallic luster, from the\r\npolluted waters here flowing; their source a sulphur spring, of vile\r\nflavor and odor, where many invalid pilgrims resorted.\r\n\r\nThe woods all round were haunted by the dismal cawings of crows; tap,\r\ntap, the black hawk whetted his bill on the boughs; each trunk stalked\r\na ghost; and from those trunks, Hevaneva procured the wood for his\r\nidols.\r\n\r\nRapidly crossing this place, Yoomy’s hands to his ears, old Mohi’s to\r\nhis nostrils, and Babbalanja vainly trying to walk with closed eyes, we\r\ntoiled among steep, flinty rocks, along a wild, zigzag pathway; like a\r\nmule-track in the Andes, not so much onward as upward; Yoomy above\r\nBabbalanja, my lord Media above him, and Braid-Beard, our guide, in the\r\nair, above all.\r\n\r\nStrown over with cinders, the vitreous marl seemed tumbled together, as\r\nif belched from a volcano’s throat.\r\n\r\nPresently, we came to a tall, slender structure, hidden among the\r\nscenic projections of the cliffs, like a monument in the dark, vaulted\r\nways of an abbey. Surrounding it, were five extinct craters. The air\r\nwas sultry and still, as if full of spent thunderbolts.\r\n\r\nLike a Hindoo pagoda, this bamboo edifice rose story above story; its\r\nmany angles and points decorated with pearl-shells suspended by cords.\r\nBut the uppermost story, some ten toises in the air, was closely\r\nthatched from apex to floor; which summit was gained by a series of\r\nascents.\r\n\r\nWhat eremite dwelleth here, like St. Stylites at the top of his\r\ncolumn?—a question which Mohi seemed all eagerness to have answered.\r\n\r","title":"Chunk 1"},"relationships":[{"peer":"01KG8AJQ13BDK91849MWT5SA42","peer_type":"chapter","predicate":"in"},{"peer":"01KG89J1954N2G0NAERBNJXEX9","peer_type":"file","predicate":"extractedFrom"},{"peer":"01KG89HMDZKNY753EZE1CJ8HZW","peer_type":"collection","predicate":"collection"},{"peer":"01KG8AKMH9A2BA7GH4VHWG7E77","peer_type":"chunk","predicate":"next"}],"ver":2,"created_at":"2026-01-30T20:48:10.793Z","ts":"2026-01-30T20:48:20.258Z","edited_by":{"method":"manual","user_id":"01KFF0H3YRP9ZSM033AM0QJ47H"}}