Lamentation and wailing followed the brown sailors as they came over
the side and slowly began to cast the moorings that held the _Morning
Star_. Few are the ships that sail many seasons among the Dangerous
Islands. They lay their bones on rock or reef or sink in the deep,
and the lovers, sons and husbands of the women who weep on the beach
return no more to the huts in the cocoanut groves. So, at each sailing
on the "long course" the anguish is keen.

"_Ia ora na i te Atua!_ Farewell and God keep you!" the women cried
as they stood beside the half-buried cannon that serve to make fast
the ships by the coral bank. From the deck of the nearby _Hinano_
came the music of an accordeon and a chorus of familiar words:

"I teie nie mahana
Ne tere no oe e Hati
Na te Moana!"

"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.

Suddenly Caroline of the Marquesas and Mamoe of Moorea, most
beautiful dancers of the quays, flung themselves into the _upaupahura_,
the singing dance of love. Kelly began "Tome! Tome!" a Hawaiian hula.