man, quickly; "music would make them
liberals."

A little farther on, in the valley of Punaruu, the amiable violinist
and pianist showed me the ruins of defense works thrown up by the
French to withstand the attacks of the great chieftain, Oropaa of
Punaauia, who with his warriors had here disputed foot by foot the
advance of the invaders. These Tahitians were without artillery,
mostly without guns of any sort, but they utilized the old strategy
of the intertribal wars, and rolled huge rocks down upon the French
troops in narrow defiles.

We saw from our seats through the shadows of the gorge of Punaruu
two of the horns of Maiao, the Diadem. In the far recesses
of those mountains were almost inaccessible caves in which the
natives laid their dead, and where one found still their moldering
skeletons. M. Brault touched my shoulder.

"Rumor has it that the body of Pomare the Fifth is there," he said;
"that it was taken secretly from the tomb you have seen near Papeete,
and carried here at night. There are photographs of those old skeletons
taken in that grotto of the tupapaus, as the natives call the dead
and their ghosts. The natives will not discuss that place."

It was from Punaauia that Teriieroo a Teriierooterai had gone to
Papenoo to be chief. This was the seat of his ancienne famille. Here
he had been a deacon of the church, as he was in Papenoo, because
it meant social rank, and was possible insurance against an unknown
future. The church edifice was the gathering-place, as once had been
the marae, the native temple. This was Sunday, and I passed a church
every few miles, the Roman Catholic and the Protestant vying. They
had matched each other in number since the French admiral had exiled
the British missionary-consul, and compelled the queen to erect a
papal church for every bethel.

Along the road and in the churchyards the preachers and deacons were
in black cloth, sweating as they walked, their faces beatudinized as
in America.

Many carried large Bibles, and frowned on the merry, singing crew
who went by on foot, in carriages and automobiles. Everywhere, in
all countries, the long, black coat and white or black cravat are
the uniforms of evangelism. In Tahiti I saw ministers of the gospel,
white and brown, appareled like circuit-riders in Missouri; hot,
dusty, and their collars wilted, but their souls serene and sure in
their mission. They associated God and black, as night and darkness.

The sound o