hiti, a silver belt of reef took the rough caresses of
the lazy rollers, and let the glistening surf break gently on the
beach. Along this wall of coral, hidden, but charted by its crown of
foam, we ran for miles until we found the gateway--the blue buckle
of the belt, it appeared at a distance.

Within the lagoon the guise of the island was more intimate. Little
bays and inlets bounded themselves, and villages and houses sprang
up from the tropic groves. The band, which so far as I knew had not
been silent a moment to awaken me from my adoration of the sculpture
and painting of nature, now poured out the "Himene Tatou Arearea" in
token of our approaching landing, which was at Faatoai, the center
of population. All its hundred or two inhabitants were at the tiny
dock to greet us, except the Chinese, who stayed in their stores.

Headed by the pipe and accordion, the brass and wood, now playing
"Onward, Christian Soldier,"--which, if one forgot the words,
was an especially carnal melody,--we tramped, singing a parody,
through the street of Faatoai, and into a glorious cocoanut grove,
where breakfast was spread.

A pavilion had been erected for our feasting. It was of bamboo and
pandanus, the interior lined with tree ferns and great bunches of
scarlet oleander, and decorated with a deep fringe woven of hibiscus
fiber. The roof was a thatch of pandanus and breadfruit leaves, the
whole structure, light, flimsy, but a gamut of golds and browns in
color and cool and beautiful.

A table fifty feet or longer was made of bamboo, the top of twenty
half sections of the rounded tubes, polished by nature, but slippery
for bottles and glasses. A bench ran on both sides, and underfoot
was the deep-green vegetation that covers every foot of ground in
Moorea except where repeated footfalls, wheels, or labor kills it,
and which is the rich stamp of tropic fertility.

The barrels of beer were unheaded, the demi-johns from Bordeaux were
uncorked, and from the opened bottles the sugary odor of Tahiti rum
permeated the hot air. The captain of the Potii Moorea and the hired
steward began to set the table for the dejeuner and to prepare the
food, some of which was being cooked a few feet away by the steward's
kin. The guests disposed themselves at ease to wait for the call
to meat, the bandsmen lit cigarettes and tuned their instruments or
talked over their program, while they wetted their throats with the
rum, as admonished by the "Himen