aning of the dance. Though no
word had been uttered, the motions of the women would have clearly
told the tale.

When they began again, the sea grew more agitated. Now the wail of
the men reproduced the sound of waves beating on the canoe, and the
whistling of the wind. The canoe was tossed high by the pounding sea;
it slid dizzily down into the troughs of waves and rocked as the
oarsmen fought to hold it steady. The squall had grown into a gale,
roaring upon them while they tried to hold it steady. The canoe
began to fill with water, it sank deeper and deeper, and in another
moment the boatsmen were flung into the ocean. There they struggled
with the great seas; they swam; they regained the canoe; they
righted it, climbed into it. The storm subsided, the seas went down.

Again the women rested, their arms and bodies shining with
perspiration. All this time they had remained immobile from the
waist downward; their naked legs folded under them like those of
statues. The chant of the men was quieter now, expressing a memory
of the old gaiety now crushed by the inhibitions of the whites, by
ridicule of island legends, and by the stern denunciations of
priests and preachers. Yet it was full of suggestion of days gone by
and the people who had once sailed the seas among these islands.

Again the dancers raised their arms, and the canoe sailed over sunny
waters. At length it touched at an isle, it was carried through the
breakers to a resting place on the sand. Its oarsmen rejoiced, they
danced a dance of thanksgiving to their gods, and wreathed the
_ti_ leaves in their hair.

At this moment Haabunai, master of ceremonies, gave a cry of dismay
and ceased to beat his drum. With an anguished glance at the
assembled spectators, he dashed around the corner of the house, to
reappear in an instant with his hands full of green leaves.

"_Mon dieu!_" cried the governor. "_Mon salade! Mon salade!_"

Haabunai, busied with his duties, had forgotten to provide the real
and sacred _ti_. In despair at the last moment he had raided and
utterly destroyed the governor's prized lettuce bed, the sole
provision for salad-making in Atuona. He hastily divided the precious
leaves among the dancers, and with wilting lettuce enwreathed in
their tresses the oarsmen launched the canoe once more in the waves
and returned to their own isle, praising the gods.

All relaxed now, to receive the praises of the governor and the
brimming glasses once