aloud from the Bible in French with Tahitian parallels. The glow of
a pipe and the solace of tobacco aided the rhythm of the prophets in
dispelling the ghosts of the gloom, but never shipwrecked mariner
greeted the dawn with greater joy than I.

In its pale light I peered through the barred windows--the windows
of the Chinese the world over--and saw four men who had set down a
coffin to rest themselves and smoke a cigarette. They sat on the
rude box covered with a black cloth and passed the pandanus-wrapped
tobacco about. Naked, except for loin-cloths, their tawny skins
gleaming wet in the gray light, rings of tattooing about their eyes,
they made a strange picture against the jungle growth.

They were without fire for they had got into a deep place crossing
the stream and had wet their matches. I handed a box through the bars,
and by reckless use of the few words of Marquesan I recalled, and
bits of French they knew, helped out by scraps of Spanish one had
gained from the Chilean murderer who milked the cows for the German
trader, I learned that the corpse was that of a woman of sixty years,
whose agonies had been soothed by the ritual of the Catholic church.
The bearers were taking her to Calvary cemetery on the hill.

Their cigarettes smoked, they rose and took up the long poles on
which the coffin was swung. Moving with the tread of panthers, firm,
noiseless, and graceful, they disappeared into the forest and I was
left alone with the morning sun and the glistening leaves of the
rain-wet breadfruit-trees.

On the beach an hour later I met Gedge, who asked me with a
quizzical eye how I had enjoyed my first night among the Kanakas. I