ain we passed the idyllic shores of Moorea, glimpsed
the grove of Daphne and McTavish's bungalow at Urufara, and saw the
heights, the desolated castle, the marvels of light and shade upon
the hills and valleys, left the silver circlet of the reef, and made
the open sea.

The glory of the Diadem, a crown of mountain peaks, stood out above
the mists that cover the mountains of Tahiti, and the green carpet
of the hills fell from the clouds to the water's-edge, as if held
above by Antaeus and pinned down by the cocoanut-trees.

At landing I discovered that the bandsmen had stolen away the sleeping
Mamoe, and had carried her aboard the Potii Moorea, and deposited her
in the hold. She emerged fresh from her nap, and apparently ready
for an upaupa that night. We marched to the Cercle Bougainville to
recall the incidents of the excursion over a comforting Dr. Funk.

Chapter X

The storm on the lagoon; Making safe the schooners--A talk on
missing ships--A singular coincidence--Arrival of three of crew of
the shipwrecked El Dorado--The Dutchman's story--Easter Island.

It blew a gale all one day and night from the north, and at break
of the second day, when I went down the rue de Rivoli from the Tiare
Hotel to the quay, the lagoon was a wild scene. Squall after squall
had dashed the rain upon my verandas during the night, and I could
faintly hear the voices of the men on the schooners as they strove to
fend their vessels from the coral embankment, or hauled at anchor-ropes
to get more sea-room.

The sun did not rise, but a gray sky showed the flying scud tearing
at the trees and riggings, and the boom of the surf on the reef was
like the roaring of a great steelmill at full blast. The roadway was
littered with branches and the crimson leaves of the flamboyants. The
people were hurrying to and from market in vehicles and on foot,
soaked and anxious-looking as they struggled against the wind and
rain. I walked the length of the built-up waterfront. The little
boats were being pulled out from the shore by the several launches,
and were making fast to buoys or putting down two and three anchors
a hundred fathoms away from the quays.

The storm increased all the morning, and at noon, when I looked at
the barometer in the Cercle Bougainville it was 29.51, the lowest,
the skippers said, in seven years. The William Olsen, a San Francisco
barkentine, kedged out into the lagoon as fast as possible, and
through the tearing shee