The Annexe was decaying fast. In the great storm of 1906 it was
partly blown down, and was poorly restored. It was the prey of rat
and insect, dusty, neglected, but endearing. It had had a season
of glory. It was built for the first modern administration office
of the French Government, over sixty years before, and was painted
white with blue trimmings. In its bare and dusty entrance-hall hung
two steel engravings entitled, "The Beginning of the Civil War in the
United States" and "The End of the Civil War in the United States." The
former showed Freedom in the center; Justice with a sword and balance;
the Stars and Stripes being torn from a liberty-tree, with a snake
winding about it; an aged man labeled Buchanan asleep on a big book;
and a gentleman named Floyd counting a bag of money; on the other side
Abraham Lincoln exhorted a white-haired general who commanded a file of
soldiers, and some rich-looking men were throwing money on the floor.

The other picture was indeed florid. It represented three ladies,
Freedom, Justice, and Mercy, disputing the center, slaves being
unshackled, the army of victory led by Grant claiming honors,
Lee handing over a sword, an ugly fellow toting off a bag of gold
(graft?) and a gang of conspirators egging on the madman Booth to
slay Lincoln. In both these engravings there were scores of supposed
likenesses, but I could not identify them. They were published by
Kimmel & Forster in New York in 1865, and had probably decorated
Papeete walls for half a century. There were large, ramshackle
chambers on the first floor, and an exquisite winding staircase,
with a rosewood balustrade, led to the second story, where I lived.

In this building all the pomp and circumstance of the Nations in Tahiti
had been on parade, kings and queens of the island had pleaded and
submitted, admirals and ensigns had whispered love to dusky vahines,