drew near the door he heard the
snap of a gun cocking from within, and in sheer self-defence--there
being no other escape--sprang into the house and grappled Timau. "Timau,
come with me!" he cried. But Timau--a great fellow, his eyes blood-red
with the abuse of kava, six foot three in stature--cast him on one side;
and the captain, instantly expecting to be either shot or brained,
discharged his pistol in the dark. When they carried Timau out at the
door into the moonlight, he was already dead, and, upon this
unlooked-for termination of their sally, the whites appeared to have
lost all conduct, and retreated to the boats, fired upon by the natives
as they went. Captain Hart, who almost rivals Bishop Dordillon in
popularity, shared with him the policy of extreme indulgence to the
natives, regarding them as children, making light of their defects, and
constantly in favour of mild measures. The death of Timau has thus
somewhat weighed upon his mind; the more so, as the chieftain's musket
was found in the house unloaded. To a less delicate conscience the
matter will seem light. If a drunken savage elects to cock a fire-arm, a
gentleman advancing towards him in the open cannot wait to make sure if
it be charged.

I have touched on the captain's popularity. It is one of the things that
most strikes a stranger in the Marquesas. He comes instantly on two
names, both new to him, both locally famous, both mentioned by all with
affection and respect--the bishop's and the captain's. It gave me a
strong desire to meet with the survivor, which was subsequently
gratified--to the enrichment of these pages. Long after that again, in
the Place Dolorous--Molokai--I came once more on the traces of that
affectionate popularity. There was a blind white leper there, an old
sailor--an "old tough," he called himself--who had long sailed among the
eastern islands. Him I used to visit, and, being fresh from the scenes
of his activity, gave him the news. This (in the true island style) was
largely a chronicle of wrecks; and it chanced I mentioned the case of
one not very successful captain, and how he had lost a vessel for Mr.
Hart; thereupon the blind leper broke forth in lamentation. "Did he lose
a ship of John Hart's?" he cried; "poor John Hart! Well, I'm sorry it
was Hart's," with needless force of epithet, which I neglect to
reproduce.

Perhaps, if Captain Hart's affairs had continued to prosper, his
popularity might have been different. S