e French flag was their
flag; the French people loved them. The Marquesans listened without
interest, as if he spoke of some one in Tibet who wanted to sell a
green elephant.

In the South Seas a meeting out-of-doors means a dance. The
Polynesians have ever made this universal human expression of the
rhythmic principle of motion the chief evidence of emotion, and
particularly of elation. Civilization has all but stifled it in many
islands. Christianity has made it a sin. It dies hard, for it is the
basic outlet of strong natural feeling, and the great group
entertainment of these peoples.

[Illustration: Andre Bauda, Commissaire]

[Illustration: The public dance in the garden]

The speeches done, the governor suggested that the national spirit
be interpreted to him in pantomine.

"They must be enlivened with alcohol or they will not move," said
Guillitoue.

"_Mon dieu!_" he replied. "It is the 'Folies Bergere' over again!
Give them wine!"

Bauda ordered Flag, the native gendarme, and Song of the Nightingale,
a prisoner, to carry a demijohn of Bordeaux wine to the garden. With
two glasses they circulated the claret until each Marquesan had a
pint or so. Song of the Nightingale was a middle-aged savage, with a
wicked, leering face, and whiskers from his ears to the corners of
his mouth, surely a strange product of the Marquesan race, none of
whose men will permit any hair to grow on lip or cheek. While Song
circulated the wine M. Bauda enlightened me as to the crime that had
made him prisoner. He was serving eighteen months for selling
cocoanut brandy.

When the cask was emptied the people began the dance. Three rows
were formed, one of women between two of men, in Indian file facing
the veranda. Haabunai and Song of the Nightingale brought forth the
drums. These were about four feet high, barbaric instruments of skin
stretched over hollow logs, and the "Boom-Boom" that came from them
when they were struck by the hands of the two strong men was
thrilling and strange.

The dance was formal, slow, and melancholy. Haabunai gave the order
of it, shouting at the top of his voice. The women, with blue and
scarlet Chinese shawls of silk tied about their hips, moved stiffly,
without interest or spontaneous spirit, as though constrained and
indifferent. Though the dances were licentious, they conveyed no
meaning and expressed no emotion. The men gestured by rote,
appealing mutely to the spectators, so that one might