ame night in an outrigger, daring
the deep with these young-ladyish treasures. The gross of the native
passengers were more ill-favoured: tall, powerful fellows, well
tattooed, and with disquieting manners. Something coarse and jeering
distinguished them, and I was often reminded of the slums of some great
city. One night, as dusk was falling, a whale-boat put in on that part
of the beach where I chanced to be alone. Six or seven ruffianly fellows
scrambled out; all had enough English to give me "good-bye," which was
the ordinary salutation; or "good-morning," which they seemed to regard
as an intensitive; jests followed, they surrounded me with harsh
laughter and rude looks, and I was glad to move away. I had not yet
encountered Mr. Stewart, or I should have been reminded of his first
landing at Atuona and the humorist who nibbled at the heel. But their
neighbourhood depressed me; and I felt, if I had been there a castaway
and out of reach of help, my heart would have been sick.

Nor was the traffic altogether native. While we lay in the anchorage
there befell a strange coincidence. A schooner was observed at sea and
aiming to enter. We knew all the schooners in the group, but this
appeared larger than any; she was rigged, besides, after the English
manner; and, coming to an anchor some way outside the _Casco_, showed at
last the blue ensign. There were at that time, according to rumour, no
fewer than four yachts in the Pacific; but it was strange that any two
of them should thus lie side by side in that outlandish inlet: stranger
still that in the owner of the _Nyanza_, Captain Dewar, I should find a
man of the same country and the same county with myself, and one whom I
had seen walking as a boy on the shores of the Alpes Maritimes.

We had besides a white visitor from shore who came and departed in a
crowded whale-boat manned by natives; having read of yachts in the
Sunday papers, and being fired with the desire to see one. Captain
Chase, as they called him, an old whaler-man, thickset and
white-bearded, with a strong Indiana drawl; years old in the country, a
good backer in battle, and one of those dead shots whose practice at the
target struck terror in the braves of Haamau. Captain Chase dwelt
farther east in a bay called Hanamate, with a Mr. M'Callum; or rather
they had dwelt together once, and were now amicably separated. The
captain is to be found near one end of the bay, in a wreck of a house,
and waited on