he
Marling-pike," shot up its verdant spire.

The planters were quite sociable. They had been sea-faring men, and
this, of course, was a bond between us. To strengthen it, a flask of
wine was produced, one of several which had been procured in person
from the French admiral's steward; for whom the planters, when on a
former visit to Papeetee, had done a good turn, by introducing the
amorous Frenchman to the ladies ashore. Besides this, they had a
calabash filled with wild boar's meat, baked yams, bread-fruit, and
Tombez potatoes. Pipes and tobacco also were produced; and while
regaling ourselves, plenty of stories were told about the
neighbouring islands.

At last we heard the roar of the Imeeo reef; and gliding through a
break, floated over the expanse within, which was smooth as a young
girl's brow, and beached the boat.

CHAPTER LII.

THE VALLEY OF MARTAIR

WE went up through groves to an open space, where we heard voices, and
a light was seen glimmering from out a bamboo dwelling. It was the
planters' retreat; and in their absence, several girls were keeping
house, assisted by an old native, who, wrapped up in tappa, lay in
the corner, smoking.

A hasty meal was prepared, and after it we essayed a nap; but, alas! a
plague, little anticipated, prevented. Unknown in Tahiti, the
mosquitoes here fairly eddied round us. But more of them anon.

We were up betimes, and strolled out to view the country. We were in
the valley of Martair; shut in, on both sides, by lofty hills. Here
and there were steep cliffs, gay with flowering shrubs, or hung with
pendulous vines, swinging blossoms in the air. Of considerable width
at the sea, the vale contracts as it runs inland; terminating, at the
distance of several miles, in a range of the most grotesque
elevations, which seem embattled with turrets and towers, grown over
with verdure, and waving with trees. The valley itself is a
wilderness of woodland; with links of streams flashing through, and
narrow pathways fairly tunnelled through masses of foliage.

All alone, in this wild place, was the abode of the planters; the only
one back from the beach--their sole neighbours, the few fishermen and
their families, dwelling in a small grove of cocoa-nut trees whose
roots were washed by the sea.

The cleared tract which they occupied comprised some thirty acres,
level as a prairie, part of which was under cultivation; the whole
being fenced in by a stout palisade of trun