which a footpath leads to the waterfall and fort of Faataua. Here we
found horses waiting for us, on which we rode, accompanied by the
gentlemen on foot, through a thick growth of palms, orange-trees,
guavas, and other tropical trees, some of which were overhung and
almost choked by luxuriant creepers. Specially noticeable among the
latter was a gorgeous purple passion-flower, with orange-coloured
fruit as big as pumpkins, that covered everything with its vigorous
growth. The path was always narrow and sometimes steep, and we had
frequently almost to creep under the overhanging boughs, or to turn
aside to avoid a more than usually dense mass of creepers. We crossed
several small rivers, and at last reached a spot that commanded a view
of the waterfall, on the other side of a deep ravine. Just below the
fort that crowns the height, a river issues from a narrow cleft in the
rock, and falls at a single bound from the edge of an almost
perpendicular cliff, 600 feet high, into the valley beneath. First one
sees the rush of blue water, gradually changing in its descent to a
cloud of white spray, which in its turn is lost in a rainbow of mist.
Imagine that from beneath the shade of feathery palms and broad-leaved
bananas through a network of ferns and creepers you are looking upon
the Staubbach, in Switzerland, magnified in height, and with a
background of verdure-clad mountains, and you will have some idea of
the fall of Faataua as we beheld it.

[Illustration: Waterfall at Faataua]

After resting a little while and taking some sketches, we climbed up
to the fort itself, a place of considerable interest, where the
natives held out to the very last against the French. On the bank
opposite the fort, the last islander killed during the struggle for
independence was shot while trying to escape. Situated in the centre