ause
the native population to sit up and respect us as men of more than
ordinary intelligence and patriotism.

On the evening of the 24th, three whale-boats, attended by a flotilla of
small native canoes, sailed into the little sandy-beached nook upon the
shores of which the trading station was situated. The three boats were
steered by the Messrs Peter Huysmans, Charles de Buis and Thomas Devine,
who were accompanied by their wives, children and numerous female
relatives, all of the latter being clad in their holiday attire of new
mats, and with their hair excessively anointed with scented coco-nut
oil, scarlet hibiscus flowers behind their ears, and necklaces of
sweet-smelling pieces of pandanus drupes.

MacBride, Mrs MacBride and I received them the moment they stepped out
of the boats, and then Ludwig Wolfen, who was disposed in the background
with an accordion, and seated on a gin case, played 'The Star Spangled
Banner,' to the accompaniment of several native drums, beaten by his
wife and her sister and brothers. Then my boatman--a stalwart Maori
half-caste--advanced from out the thronging crowd of natives which
surrounded us, and planted in the sand a British red ensign attached
to a tall bamboo pole, and called for three cheers for the Queen of
England, and three for the President of the United States. This at once
gave offence to Ludwig Wolfen, who asked what was the matter with the
Emperor of Germany; whereupon Bill Grey (the Maori) took off his coat
and asked him what he meant, and a fierce encounter was only avoided by
half a dozen strapping natives seizing Billy and making him sit down on
the sand, while the wrathful Ludwig was hustled by Donald MacBride and
Mrs Ludwig and threatened with a hammering if he insulted the gathering
by his ill-timed and injudicious remarks about a foreign potentate.
(Ludwig, I regret to say, had begun his Christmas on the previous
evening.)

But we were all too merry, and too filled with right good down
comradeship to let such a trifle as this disturb the harmony of our
first Christmas foregathering; and presently Bill Grey, his dark,
handsome face wreathed in a sunny smile, came up to the sulky and
rightly-indignant trader with outstretched hand, and said he was sorry.
And Wolfen, good-hearted German that he was, grasped it warmly, and said
he was sorry too; and then we all trooped up to the house and sat down,
only to rise up again with our glasses clinking together as we dr