ut these islanders think nothing of
loads, and for hours the company sat to windward or on the thwart
while we took advantage of every puff of wind that blew. The six
oarsmen took turns in bailing, using a heavy carved wooden scoop,
but in the frequent flurries the waves poured over the side.

The island of Fatu-hiva faded behind us, and raised Moho-Tani, the
Isle of Barking Dogs, a small, but beautifully regular, islet, like
a long emerald. No soul dwells there. The Moi-Atiu clan peopled it
before a sorcerer dried up the water sources. A curse is upon it,
and while the cocoanuts flourish and all is fair to the eye, it
remains a shunned and haunted spot.

Tahuata, that lovely isle of the valley of Vait-hua, rose on our left,
with the cape _Te hope e te keko_, a purple coast miles away, which
as the dusk descended grew darker and was lost. The shadowy
silhouettes of the mountains of Hiva-oa projected themselves on the
horizon.

Night fell like a wall, and nothing was to be seen but the glow of
the pipe that passed as if by spirit hands around our huddled group.
The head of Ghost Girl was on my knees, and among the sons and
daughters of cannibals peace enveloped me as at twilight in a grove.
More in tune with the moods of nature, the rhythm of sea and sky,
the breath of the salt breeze, than we who have sold our birthright
for arts, these savages sat silent for a little while as if the
spirit of the hour possessed their souls.

Then the stars began to take their places in heaven to do their duty
toward the poor of earth, and I saw the bright and inspiring faces
of many I knew. The wind shifted and freshened, the sail was drawn
nearer, and our speed became perilous. The waves grew, but
Tetuahunahuna, seeing nothing, but feeling with sheet and helm the
temper of changing air and water, kept the canoe's prow steady, and
the men, in emergencies, threw themselves half over the starboard
gunwale. I was on the edge of the steersman's perch, enjoying the
mist of the flying spray and watching the stars appear one by one.

Tetuahunahuna pointed toward the northern sky.

"_Miope!_ I steer by the star the color of the rosewood tree," he
said. There was our own Mars, redder than the sunsets over Mariveles.
Northwest he was, this god of war and fertility, and our bow beacon.
Turning and gazing toward Fatu-hiva I saw the Southern Cross, low in
the sky, brilliant, and splendid.

"_Mataike fetu!_" Ghost Girl named the constellati