ea-side,
surrendered in December, 1846.

In the great losses sustained by the French in this warfare, it struck
us very forcibly that there must have been great ignorance and
inexperience in the knowledge of what we call bush-fighting. The
Tahitians do not compare with the North American Indian in either
courage, hardihood, or sagacity; and without any disparagement to French
valor or gallantry, in our innocence we sincerely believed that two
hundred of our back-woods men would have hunted every copper-colored
warrior into the ocean.

After a toilsome struggle we gained the lateral ridge that joined the
two acclivities, and entered an artificial aperture, cut through the
rocks, which was the portal to the native fortress.

The well-defined diadem of Fatoar rose in clear relief against the blue
sky above our heads, and looking around we were in the midst of a
multitude of gullies and ravines, with the bed of the same rivulet we
had left below rolling rapidly at our feet towards its fearful plunge in
a gap of the precipice. A number of wicker-basket osier-built huts for
soldiers were perched about the elevations; the vegetation was rich and
beautiful, wherever a foot of soil gave nourishment; and there were
little gardens, too, with many kinds of vegetables, irrigated by narrow
aqueducts, formed by gutters of canes or bamboos, and fed from adjacent
springs.

The scenery was quite Swiss, could we change tropical suns, running
streams, and unceasing verdure into frosts, glaciers, and avalanches.
But yet it was a romantic solitude, despite the remark of the French
officer in command, who assured me, with a most expressive gesture, that
it was _terriblement mauvais_.

We continued our walk some distance beyond the fort, and coming to a
shaded, smooth tier of rocks, where the stream was bubbling noisily
along, with little sleeping pools half hidden amid the crags, and
opposite a pointed slender peak like a fishing-rod--well nigh punching a
hole in the blue expanse of heaven--we spread our rural banquet on the
rocky table, plunged the bottles in the icy water, and then reclined
luxuriously around, with full resolve to do justice to the feast,
incited by our long tramp and fast.

"Flow of wine, and flight of cork,
Stroke of knife, and thrust of fork;
But, where'er the board was spread,
Grace, I ween, was never said."

Wings of chickens, slices of ham, roasted bananas, huge loaves of bread,
pres