s vagabonds drifting about these islands at the mercy of
the natives.

CHAPTER XLVIII.

On the 28th of September, the well-used chains and anchors were raised
from their beds, and with a light wind we drifted slowly from the lonely
bay of Anna Maria. The sun arose the next morning, and a dim blue haze
alone pointed to the spot on the ocean where lie the Marquesas.

The fifth day after sailing from Nukeheva, we approached the
north-western clusters of the Society group, and passed a number of low
coralline islands, appearing like a raft of upright spars adrift upon
the sea. One was Kruzenstein's--named by Kotzbue, in compliment to his
old commander.

At sunrise of the following day, we were before Tahiti. The land rises,
grand and imposing, to the elevation of seven thousand feet. One
core-like ridge runs along the summit, branching off into numberless
steep valleys and acclivities, down to the water's edge. The peaks
pierce the sky bold and strikingly--thrown up into the most fantastic
and grotesque shapes--while more singular than all, cradled between a
great gap of the heights, is the Diadem of Faatoar, having a dozen
pointed elevations circling around a crown, like the serrated teeth of a
saw. Nearer towards the bases of these ridges are low points jutting
into the ocean, crowded with cocoanut trees--then a narrow belt of
lagoon, and the whole girdled by a snow-white wreath of foam,
embroidered on the coral reefs.

The morning was cloudless. To the southward, rising clearly and bright,
tinged by the glorious sun, undraped by a single atom of mist or vapor,
was the Island of Aimeo, equally varied and novel in its strange
formations; and when at a later day we sailed around it, while the
different phases were brought in clear relief against the heavens--we
discovered battlements, embrasures, pyramids--ruined towers with
terraces and buttresses--a cathedral with domes and spire--all so
fantastically blended in one beautifully verdant picture, as to leave
the imagination in doubt as to its reality!

We hove to in sight of the harbor of Papeetee. The French ships of war,
with chequered rows of ports, were lying with drooping flags and not a
breath of air, whilst with us the loud trade-wind was tearing crests
from the waves, and the frigate trembling under her top-sails.

A gun, and jack at the fore, and shortly there came dancing over the
waves, in a whale-boat, an officer, Monsieur le Pilot! Two hours we