Right in the middle of Papeetee harbour is a bright, green island, one
circular grove of waving palms, and scarcely a hundred yards across.
It is of coral formation; and all round, for many rods out, the bay
is so shallow that you might wade anywhere. Down in these waters, as
transparent as air, you see coral plants of every hue and shape
imaginable :--antlers, tufts of azure, waving reeds like stalks of
grain, and pale green buds and mosses. In some places, you look
through prickly branches down to a snow-white floor of sand,
sprouting with flinty bulbs; and crawling among these are strange
shapes:--some bristling with spikes, others clad in shining coats of
mail, and here and there, round forms all spangled with eyes.

The island is called Hotoo-Otoo; and around Hotoo-Otoo have I often
paddled of a white moonlight night, pausing now and then to admire
the marine gardens beneath.

The place is the private property of the queen, who has a residence
there--a melancholy-looking range of bamboo houses--neglected and
falling to decay among the trees.

Commanding the harbour as it does, her majesty has done all she could
to make a fortress of the island. The margin has been raised and
levelled, and built up with a low parapet of hewn Hocks of coral.
Behind the parapet are ranged, at wide intervals, a number of rusty
old cannon, of all fashions and calibres. They are mounted upon lame,
decrepit-looking carriages, ready to sink under the useless burden of
bearing them up. Indeed, two or three have given up the ghost
altogether, and the pieces they sustained lie half buried among their
bleaching bones. Several of the cannon are spiked; probably with a
view of making them more formidable; as they certainly must be to