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ment stands there in the shape of a lighthouse, so that the infrequent ships that pass in the night may be reminded of Captain Cook's landing, while avoiding an untimely one for themselves.

We soon made Point Venus, and then headed for Papenoo, five miles farther on. Right from the start we came upon many tiny streams. As far as Point Venus we found them bridged. After that bridges became rare, and soon dropped away altogether, so we had to ford the streams. We had gone only a short distance from Lovina's when it began to rain, and with occasional intermissions, it kept up all day. Once there was a veritable cloudburst. As a result, the streams quickly filled from the nearby mountains, and assumed respectable proportions. But if the footing and our clothing were somewhat wet, there were equivalent advantages. The rain cooled the air, making walking comfortable. The road was such a good one that our footing continued solid. The French Government may well be proud of this splendid road, away off in the middle of nowhere!

We very soon discovered appetites, and pondered on the question of "ma-a." A native climbed a tree and brought down a cocoanut apiece for us. We drank the delicious milk and ate the soft pulp. However, we were not in a mood to be satisfied with ambrosia and nectar. We wanted solid earthly food and hot coffee. At Papenoo we found not indeed a "hotera," but a general store where, amidst a varied assortment of native millinery, cigarettes and canned goods, we were able to procure bread and coffee. "Mine host" proved to be a sunny Celestial, nor was this a strange fact in Tahiti. All the way around we were to find that if we were to eat and pay our way we must seek the "Chinos." In. fact, the only retail business along the road is carried on by the Chinese. White men may own or rent an occasional cocoanut plantation, and natives will gather fruit, make copra, fish if in the mood, but the real businessman is that great globetrotter, "John Chinaman." No sign is necessary to distinguish his place of business. Wherever one sees a long, one-story shack, made of unpainted boards, not of cane or bamboo, there one may enter, and if bread and coffee be lacking, he can be

sure of sardines and canned meat.

This Chinaman and the native loiterers after many gesticulations made us understand that the Papenoo river, on account. of the rains, was too deep and swift to be forded. But we resolved to put it to proof -although others told us the same story and laughed at us good-naturedly when we went on. The word was passed around, and a goodly portion of the village came out to watch our trial. We reached a stream preceding the real river, and had removed our scant apparel before the crowd came. Our nakedness did not trouble us, for that sort of thing matters not in the South Seas. There was matter enough when we tried to ford that tiny, twenty-foot stream! It was so swift that we were unable even to stand up in it, and it was over our heads. We might have crossed it, but it was unlikely that we could get the cameras across in safety; besides, a real river was beyond! So we dressed, joked with the natives, and called a halt on the day's march.

We found a Frenchman at the Gendarmerie who sent a boy to show us where we might obtain a night's lodging. The house was not a "hotera," but the home of a native family. The Maori housewife understood my "to-oto," but explanations seemed to be in order. We got the accommodations after half an hour's gesticulations. But it was clear that a more extended vocabulary would facilitate progress, so I resolved to rehabilitate my French, as the natives seemed to know it. Twelve years ago I had a year of French at college, but I so thoroughly took it for granted that I had forgotten all I ever knew that I had not tried to use it in Tahiti, or even to understand it. In the course of an hour or two my meagre recollection, plus such words as I picked up in conversation, enabled me both to understand and be understood. I began by talking with a French woman, Mme. Holozel. She and her husband and their six tiny daughters were driving around the island. They were stopping at the Maori's where we were lodging. That evening in far away Tahiti we held a conversation on the Jeffries-Johnson prize fight! That fight had taken place nearly two weeks before, but news of the result had not vet reached us. M. Holozel asked me all sorts of questions

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about the fighters, and interpreted my answers to his eagerly-attentive Maori ser


After our failure to cross the little Papenoo, we had found some time in the afternoon in which to stroll about the village. It is like every other town about the island in general features, Papeete excepted. The village proper is one long string of houses lining the road, with no side streets. Expansion in a Tahitian village is along the road, almost necessarily so because of nearness of mountain and sea. Papenoo strings itself out for about a mile. There is no village center, for there is no business district requiring it. The long village is extended in the Tahitian mind even beyond the populous part, as the Tahitian thinks in terms of the district. Often we would ask how far it was to the next village, and would be told that we had reached it. But it might prove to be several miles to the "Chinos."

There is always plenty of room in a Tahitian village, each native having a goodsized plot of land. The native never cultivates this, but nothing can tempt him to sell it. Perhaps he has learned that the white man takes the life of a people when he takes that people's land. The result is that the natives, although a dying race, occupy a position as good, perhaps, as that of any subject race in the world.

The sun came out for a time in the afternoon, and we took some pictures of Papenoo. Both here and elsewhere the children showed an exceptional eagerness to be photographed. Several times when I set up my camera I would hear a shout a hundred yards or so away, and turn to see children tearing down the street to get in the picture. Grown people, while less forward, were quite as pleased to be taken. This pleasure in being photographed is only one form in which the inborn Maori sociability expresses itself. There is the pleasant "Iaorana," which is frequently accompanied by a question asking where you came from and where you are going. One might be disinclined to satisfy that curiosity in some lands, but it is an honest curiosity in Tahiti. When we told the natives that we were walking around the island, how they laughed! Such energy is incomprehensible to the native, accustomed as he is to spend his days in happy

leisure. They frequently asked us if we were from the Mariposa. Our affirmative answer lent us distinction in their eyes, for the Mariposa is the greatest boat afloat to them.

There is no especial reason why the native should work. Nature has furnished him an abundant food supply; his house is simple in construction; and he is not extravagant in dress, as he wears only a pareu around the middle of his body. This pareu is a piece of cotton cloth about a yard wide by two yards long, manufactured in England. In color it is usually bright red, covered with white or occasionally conventional figures or flowers. In hot weather this is all the native, man, woman or child, wears, leaving the legs and breast exposed. July is mid-winter in Tahiti, when the native often puts on a shirt. We saw many with nothing but the pareu, while children often got along with nothing at all. The women usually wore the Mother Hubbard instead of the pareu. There is a vast difference in the quality of the goods used in these Mother Hubbards. The dress of the poorer women is of the plainest material, while the more well-to-do, especially of Papeete, have their Mother Hubbard of the finest stuffs with the most expensive Parisian embroideries.

As proof that lack of occupation is not incompatible with strong bodies, one has only to look at these Maoris. They average much larger and more powerful than whites, having the muscular legs and arms of a Sandow. But strong as they are, it seems as if their race is doomed. When: Captain Cook came to Tahiti there were over one hundred thousand natives in the island. To-day the total population is eleven thousand, of whom perhaps five hundred are whites. Most of this decrease in population is directly chargeable to diseases introduced by the white man. Of these the most powerful reaper has been consumption, to which the natives are peculiarly subject. One disease not chargeable to the white man is elephantiasis. We saw several men affected by this disease, one in particular with a gigantic flabby leg of equal width throughout its length.

Talking to some one after my walk I was asked if I did not think conditions

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