morning in
my mind, when I chanced to be abroad by moonlight, and saw all the town
lightless, but the lamp faithfully burning by the missionary's bed. It
requires no law, no fire, and no scouting police, to withhold Maka and
his countrymen from wandering in the night unlighted.

CHAPTER IV

A TALE OF A TAPU

On the morrow of our arrival (Sunday, 14th July 1889) our photographers
were early stirring. Once more we traversed a silent town; many were yet
abed and asleep; some sat drowsily in their open houses; there was no
sound of intercourse or business. In that hour before the shadows, the
quarter of the palace and canal seemed like a landing-place in the
"Arabian Nights" or from the classic poets; here were the fit
destination of some "faery frigot," here some adventurous prince might
step ashore among new characters and incidents; and the island prison,
where it floated on the luminous face of the lagoon, might have passed
for the repository of the Grail. In such a scene, and at such an hour,
the impression received was not so much of foreign travel--rather of
past ages; it seemed not so much degrees of latitude that we had
crossed, as centuries of time that we had re-ascended; leaving, by the
same steps, home and to-day. A few children followed us, mostly nude,
all silent; in the clear, weedy waters of the canal some silent damsels
waded, baring their brown thighs; and to one of the maniap's before the
palace gate we were attracted by a low but stirring hum of speech.

The oval shed was full of men sitting cross-legged. The king was there
in striped pyjamas, his rear protected by four guards with Winchesters,
his air and bearing marked by unwonted spirit and decision; tumblers and
black bottles went the round; and the talk, throughout loud, was general
and animated. I was inclined at first to view this scene with suspicion.
But the hour appeared unsuitable for a carouse; drink was besides
forbidden equally by the law of the land and the canons of the church;
and while I was yet hesitating, the king's rigorous attitude disposed of
my last doubt. We had come, thinking to photograph him surrounded by his
guards, and at the first word of the design his piety revolted. We were
reminded of the day--the Sabbath, in which thou shalt take no
photographs--and returned with a flea in our ear, bearing the rejected
camera.

At church, a little later, I was struck to find the throne unoccupied.
So nice a Sabbatarian m