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Updated: May 6, 2025
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.
"Go on, Tetuahunahuna. Tell me more." "There came the great day of the blessed Joan," said Tetuahunahuna, after tasting a fresh cigarette. "There were drums and chants, and rum for all. Père Simeon took away the rum, alas! and only the Menike sailors on the ships could have enough.
"Mako!" she cried. "Puaa hae!" She pointed to starboard. A gray fin moved slowly through the water twenty feet away. "A shark, and a wicked beast he is!" She reached to pick up an opened cocoanut and tossed some of the milk over her shoulder to appease the demon. "Mako!" she repeated. "Puaa hae!" "Requin!" echoed Tetuahunahuna in French. "The devil of the Marquesas!"
With difficulty my luggage was added to the cargo, and we found cramped places for ourselves and bade farewell to Grelet, while the oarsmen held the boat steady at the edge of the lapping waves. Tetuahunahuna, watching the breakers, gave a quick word of command, and we plunged through the foam. The boat leaped and pitched in the flying spray.
Against the blinding glimmer of it the half-naked boatsmen, bearing bunches of bananas, dozens of drinking nuts, bread, and wine, the gifts of my host, were dark silhouettes outlined against the blue sea. Behind them walked Tetuahunahuna.
Tetuahunahuna ran to the nearest house for a lantern and poles, and while two remained in the boat to hold it off the rocks, the others carried my luggage to Atuona. I took the lead in a drizzling rain, carrying the light, mighty glad to stretch my legs after more than a dozen hours of cramp. Passing the house of the chief-of-police, I heard laughter and the clink of glasses. Bauda halted me with a leveled revolver, thinking we were a rum-smuggling gang. That brave African soldier was ever dramatic, and D'Artagnan could not have struck a finer attitude as he thrust the gun in my face and called out, "Halte l
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