he ship rises and falls
on the huge waves. They wheeled in a barrow a mate whose mispoise
made self-locomotion impossible. The trio danced on the wharf, sang a
chantey about "whisky being the life of man," and declared they would
stay all their lives in Tahiti; that the "bloody hooker could bleedin'
well" go without them. They were ordered on board by M. Lontane,
with two strapping Tahitian gendarmes at his back.

If there are any foreigners the average British roustabout hates it
is French gendarmes, and the ruffians were of a mind to "beat them
up." They raised their fists in attitudes of combat, and suddenly
what had been a joyous row became a troublesome incident.

Sacre bleu! those scoundrels of English to menace the uniformed
patriots of the French republic! The second in command drew a revolver,
and pointing at the hairy breast of the leader of the Noa-Noans,
shouted: "Au le vapeur! Diable! What, you whisky-filled pigs, you
will resist the law?"

He took off his helmet and handed it to one of the native policemen
while he unlimbered the revolver more firmly in the direction of the
seamen. The sailor shrank back in bewilderment. Guns were unknown in
shore squabbles.

"I'll 'ave the British Gov'ment after ye," roared the leader. "I'll
write to the Sydney papers. Ye've pulled a gun in me face."

Steadily and with some good nature the Tahitian officers pushed
the trio toward the gangway and up it. Once aboard, the gangway was
hoisted, the pilot clambered up the side, and it seemed as if the liner
was away. But no; the three recalcitrants jumped on the bulwarks, and
joined by a dozen others, yelled defiance at the authorities. As the
Noa-Noa gradually drew out these cries became more definite, and the
honor of France and of all Frenchmen was assailed in the most ancient
English Billingsgate. Gestures of frightful significance added to the
insults, and these not producing retorts in kind from the second in
command and the populace, a shower of limes began to fall upon them.

Sacks of potatoes, lettuce-heads, yams, and even pineapples,
deck cargo, were broken open by the infuriated crew to hurl at the
police. The crowd on the wharf rushed for shelter behind posts and
carriages, the horses pranced and snorted, and M. Lontane leaped to the
fore. He advanced to the edge of the quay, and in desperate French,
of which his adversaries understood not a word, threatened to have
them dragged from their perches and sent to