oking tobacco. On each
canoe with paddles were over thirty men, and on the bridge adjoining the
canoes were armed men and a large supply of sago and betel-nuts. They
were going to Lese to purchase _uros_. They came alongside of our boat,
received and gave presents, and then an order was given by one from the
bridge, and away they went at full speed. It was a pretty sight in the
moonlight to see the canoe move swiftly on, when nearly eight paddles as
one touched the water. We rolled ourselves up again for another hour or
two's sleep.

At sis a.m. we weighed anchor, and were off to Motumotu. There was a
great crowd on the beach; but it was all right, as boys and girls were to
be seen there, as noisy as the grown-up folks. A chief rushed into the
water, and called on us to come. "Come, with peace from afar; come,
friends, and you will meet us as friends." We went round and entered the
river in deep water, close to eastern bank near to the village. Until we
had a talk, I would allow none but Piri's friend and my friends, Semese
and Rahe, near the boats. They had been told that we were going to fight
if they visited us, and that all women and children were to be sent back
to the Keiara, and the Keiari fighting men were to be in league with all
the foreigners about. Then they heard that I had been murdered, and were
terribly sorry; but now they saw I was alive, and had come a long way in
a "moon" in which neither they nor their forefathers had ever travelled.
So now they must make peace.

I said, "You must not again go near Kabadi, and all along the coast we
must have peace."

"It is right, we shall not again visit Kabadi. Lealea feasted us with
pigs, and pressed us to attack Kabadi, to pay off an old attack on them.
It suited us, because Kabadi thought themselves strong; but now it is
peace."

I landed with them, and went up through the villages, then returning to
the boats we were told to remain there. Shortly three pigs were brought,
and our return presents of _uros_, etc., were carried off. Bob's
calabash has brought him a host of friends. Piri is with his friends at
one end of the village, and in the opposite I am to reside in my friend
Rahe's _dubu_. Semese is his father, and a very old man. The number of
old men and old women and children is astonishing. No enemy dare come
near their villages, and their houses have never been burnt down. The
Boera chief--a capital fellow to have--speaks this dia