e scrub.

_The Ta~nifa of Samoa_

Many years ago, at the close of an intensely hot day, I set out from
Apia, the principal port of Samoa, to walk to a village named Laulii, a
few miles along the coast. Passing through the semi-Europeanised town of
Matautu, I emerged out upon the open beach. I was bound on a
pigeon-shooting trip to the mountains, but intended sleeping that night
at Laulii with some native friends who were to accompany me. With me was
a young Manhiki half-caste named Allan Strickland; he was about
twenty-two years of age and one of the most perfect specimens of
athletic manhood in the South Pacific.[15] For six months we had been
business partners and comrades in a small cutter in which we traded
between Apia and Sava'ii--the largest island of the Samoan group; and
now after some months of toil we were taking a week's holiday together,
and enjoying ourselves greatly, although at the time (1873) the country
was in the throes of an internecine war.

A walk of a mile brought us to the mouth of the Vaivasa River, a small
stream flowing into the sea from the littoral on our right. The tide was
high and we therefore hailed a picket who were stationed in the trenches
on the opposite bank and asked them in a jocular manner not to fire at
us while we were wading across. To our surprise, for we were both well
known to and on very friendly terms with the contending parties, half a
dozen of them sprang up and excitedly bade us not to attempt to cross.

"Go further up the bank and cross to our _olo_ (lines) in a canoe,"
added a young Manono chief whose family I knew well, "there is a
_ta~nifa_ about. We saw it last night."

That was quite enough for us--for the name _Ta~nifa_ sent a cold chill
down our backs. We turned to the right, and after walking a quarter of a
mile came to a hut on the bank at a spot regarded as neutral ground.
Here we found some women and children and a canoe, and in less than five
minutes we were landed on the other side, the women chorusing the
dreadful fate that would have befallen us had we attempted to cross at
the mouth of the river.

"_E lima gafa le umi!_" ("'Tis five fathoms long!") cried one old dame.

"And a fathom wide at the shoulders," said another bare-bosomed lady,
with a shudder. "It hath come to the mouth of the Vaivasa because it
hath smelt the blood of the three men who were killed in the river here
two days ago."

"We'll hear the true yarn presently," said m