breathless suspense.

The site of Noumea seems to be the most unfortunate that could be
chosen. It is a barren, rocky spot, divested of all luxuriance of
vegetation, and the nearest water, a brook called Pont des Français, is
ten miles away. The appearance of the town, which fronts the harbor in
the form of an amphitheatre, the houses and gardens rising higher and
higher as they recede from the sea, tended somewhat to reassure the
explorer, who had been wondering that human stupidity should have been
equal to selecting in a tropical country, and in one of the best-watered
islands of the world, such a situation for its capital. Wells are of
little account, for the water thus obtained is at the level of the sea,
and always salt. The population has to depend upon the rain that falls
on roofs, and as the cleanliness of these is of prime importance,
domesticating pigeons is strictly forbidden. This might not be much of a
deprivation in most places, but in New Caledonia, of all the world,
there is a kind of giant pigeon as large as a common hen! This is the
_noton_, (sic) the _Carpophage Goliath_ of the naturalist.

The hotel at Noumea was a kind of barracks, with partitions so slight
that every guest was forced to hear every sound in his neighbors' rooms.
M. Garnier, to escape this inconvenience, purchased a garden-plot, had a
cottage built in a few days, and so became a proprietor in Oceanica.
Before setting out on his exploring expedition into the interior he
tried to interest the government in a plan for cisterns to supply the
city with water--a project easy of execution from the natural
conformation of the locality. But his scheme received no encouragement
from the old-fogyish authorities. They were at that moment entertaining
one which for simplicity reminded Garnier of the egg problem of
Columbus. This was to distill the sea-water. He made a calculation of