again our mountains and heard the joyful cries of welcome from my tribe.
About that time your people came. I paid little attention to them at
first, but because one of my men killed a Kanacka who was a protégé of
the missionaries there came a great ship (the Styx) into my port. The
captain sent for me. I went on board without fear, but my confidence was
betrayed. I was made a prisoner and transported to Tahiti. It was six
years before I saw my tribe again: they had already mourned me as dead.
I will tell you what happened in my absence. My people prepared for
vengeance: the French were apprised of the fact. They came again. And as
my people, filled with curiosity, flocked to the shore, the French fired
their cannon into the crowd. My people were frightened and fled into the
woods. Your soldiers landed, and for three days they burned our huts,
destroyed our plantations and cut down our cocoa trees. And all this
time," added the old chief with a heavy sigh, "I was a prisoner at
Tahiti, braiding baskets to gain a little food, and the grief that I
suffered whitened my head before the time."

[Illustration: A KANACKA FAMILY TRAVELING.]

After a long pause, during which the old Bourarte seemed lost in
thought, he said, "It is true that my people revenged themselves. They
killed a good many, and among them one of your chiefs. What is most
strange about this war is, that three English colonists, who lived
peacefully among us by their commerce and fishing, were taken by the
French and shot. Another Englishman, Captain Paddon, to whom I had sold
many a cargo of sandal-wood, on learning the fate of his compatriots,
fled on board a little boat with one Kanacka and a few provisions, got
out to sea, and, as I have been told, actually gained the port of
Sydney." This, it seems, is a historical fact. It was a boat without a
deck, and the distance is three hundred and sixty marine miles!