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The jollity of the arearea was already apparent, and the father vainly whipped his horse to outspeed the automobile. All the vehicles raced along the road and into the yard of the Protestant church of Mataiea at top gait.
Little bays and inlets bounded themselves, and villages and houses sprang up from the tropic groves. The band, which so far as I knew had not been silent a moment to awaken me from my adoration of the sculpture and painting of nature, now poured out the "Himene Tatou Arearea" in token of our approaching landing, which was at Faatoai, the center of population.
When Kelly played American or English airs and the Tahitians sang their native words, he gave the I. W. W. version in English. Some of these songs were transpositions or parodies of Christian hymns, and one in particular was his favorite. Apparently he had made it very popular with the natives of the band, for it vied with the "Himene Tatou Arearea" in repetition.
But they all cheered enthusiastically except Llewellyn. He was an Anglican by faith or paternal inheritance, and though he knew nothing of the real hymns, they being for Dissenters, whom he contemned, he was religious at soul and objected to making light of religion. He called for the "Himene Tatou Arearea." He took his pencil and scribbled the translation I have given.
Tati said that when the church was dedicated it was a box-like structure of wood and coral, whitewashed and red-roofed three thousand Tahitians had feasted in a thatched house erected for the arearea. The himene-chorus was made up of singers from every district in Tahiti and Moorea. Tati had presided. "We ate for three days," he related to me.
The Arearea in the pavilion Raw fish and baked feis Llewellyn, the Master of the Revel; Kelly, the I.V.W., and His Himene The Upaupahura Landers and Mamoe prove experts The return to Papeete. The company was assembled in the pavilion when I walked through the streets of Faatoai again, and the food was on the bamboo table.
The ideal mode of travel in Tahiti in the cool of the day would be a donkey, a slow, patient beast, who might himself take an interest in the scenery, or at least the shrubbery. But the white must ever go at top speed, and we dashed through the streets of Papeete, the accordions playing "Revive us again!" the "Himene Tatou Arearea," and other tunes, and we singing, "Hallelujah!
Lovaina was, as always, barefooted, and she took me into her garden, one of the few cultivated in Tahiti, where nature makes man almost superfluous in the decoration of the earth. "This house my father give me when marry," said Lovaina. "My God! you just should seen that arearea! Las' all day, mos' night. We jus' move in.
"Let us sing and make merry, For we journey over the sea!" It was the Himene Tatou Arearea. Kelly, the wandering I.W.W., self-acclaimed delegate of the mythical Union of Beach-combers and Stowaways, was at the valves of the accordeon, and about him squatted a ring of joyous natives. "Wela ka hao! Hot stuff!" they shouted.
The guests disposed themselves at ease to wait for the call to meat, the bandsmen lit cigarettes and tuned their instruments or talked over their program, while they wetted their throats with the rum, as admonished by the "Himene Tatou Arearea." I strolled down the road along the shore of the lagoon. Here was erected the first Christian church in this archipelago.
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