smile like them
on meeting, but the smile would not be scornful.

I had occasion to see much of this excellent man. He sailed with us from
Tai-o-hae to Hiva-oa, a dead beat of ninety miles against a heavy sea.
It was what is called a good passage, and a feather in the _Casco's_
cap; but among the most miserable forty hours that any one of us had
ever passed. We were swung and tossed together all that time like shot
in a stage thunder-box. The mate was thrown down and had his head cut
open; the captain was sick on deck; the cook sick in the galley. Of all
our party only two sat down to dinner. I was one. I own that I felt
wretchedly; and I can only say of the other, who professed to feel quite
well, that she fled at an early moment from the table. It was in these
circumstances that we skirted the windward shore of that indescribable
island of Ua-pu; viewing with dizzy eyes the coves, the capes, the
breakers, the climbing forests, and the inaccessible stone needles that
surmount the mountains. The place persists, in a dark corner of our
memories, like a piece of the scenery of nightmares. The end of this
distressful passage, where we were to land our passengers, was in a
similar vein of roughness. The surf ran high on the beach at Taahauku;
the boat broached-to and capsized; and all hands were submerged. Only
the brother himself, who was well used to the experience, skipped
ashore, by some miracle of agility, with scarce a sprinkling.
Thenceforward, during our stay at Hiva-oa, he was our cicerone and
patron; introducing us, taking us excursions, serving us in every way,
and making himself daily more beloved.

Michel Blanc had been a carpenter by trade; had made money and retired,
supposing his active days quite over: and it was only when he found
idleness dangerous that he placed his capital and acquirements at the
service of the mission. He became their carpenter, mason, architect, and
engineer; added sculpture to his accomplishments, and was famous for his
skill in gardening. He wore an enviable air of having found a port from
life's contentions and lying there strongly anchored; went about his
business with a jolly simplicity; complained of no lack of
results--perhaps shyly thinking his own statuary result enough; and was
altogether a pattern of the missionary layman.

CHAPTER VIII

THE PORT OF ENTRY

The port--the mart, the civil and religious capital of these rude
Islands--is called Tai-o-hae, and lies