now in torrents, there was no dance that night.

Mr. M. and I attempted a few excursions, but bad weather interfered
with our plans, and a rainy period of three weeks followed. One squall
chased the other, rattling on the roof, forming swamps everywhere,
and penetrating everything with moisture. I was glad when the Southern
Cross came back for me, especially as this was to be the beginning
of my homeward journey.

This time we touched at a small island called Tucopia, where
a primitive Polynesian population still exists, probably the only
island where this is the case. When the steamer approached we saw the
people running about on the reef in excitement, and soon countless
canoes surrounded us. The appearance of these islanders was quite new
to me. Instead of the dark, curly-haired, short Melanesians, I saw
tall, light-coloured men with thick manes of long, golden hair. They
climbed aboard, wonderful giants, with soft, dark eyes, kind smiles
and childlike manners. They went everywhere, touched everything,
and flattered and caressed us. We were all eager to go ashore, and at
the edge of the reef an excited crowd awaited our arrival impatiently
and pulled our boat violently on the rocks in their eagerness. Two
tall fellows grabbed me under the arms, and, willy-nilly, I was
carried across the reef and carefully deposited under a shady tree
on the beach. At first I did not quite trust my companions, but I
was powerless to resist, and soon I became more confident, as my
new friends constantly hugged and stroked me. Soon a missionary was
brought ashore in the same way, and then, to our greatest surprise,
a man approached us who spoke biche la mar. He asked if we had no
sickness on board, for some time ago the same ship had infected the
island with an epidemic that had caused many deaths. We assured him
that we had none, and he gave us permission to visit the island,
telling us, too, that we were to have the great honour of being
presented to one of the four chiefs. This was indeed something to
be proud of, for in Polynesian islands the chieftainship, as I have
said, is hereditary, and the chiefs are paid honours almost divine. We
took off our hats and were led before the chief, a tall, stout man,
who sat in a circle of men on a sort of throne, with his ceremonial
spear leaning against a tree beside him. His subjects approached him
crouching, but he shook hands with us and smiled kindly at us. A noble
gesture of the hand gav