With all our light sails wooingly spread, we held on our way, until,
with the doctor's glass, Papeetee, the village metropolis of Tahiti,
came into view. Several ships were descried lying in the harbour, and
among them, one which loomed up black and large; her two rows of
teeth proclaiming a frigate. This was the Reine Blanche, last from
the Marquesas, and carrying at the fore the flag of Rear-Admiral Du
Petit Thouars. Hardly had we made her out, when the booming of her
guns came over the water. She was firing a salute, which afterwards
turned out to be in honour of a treaty; or rather--as far as the
natives were concerned--a forced cession of Tahiti to the French,
that morning concluded.

The cannonading had hardly died away, when Jermin's voice was heard
giving an order so unexpected that everyone started. "Stand by to
haul back the main-yard!"

"What's that mean?" shouted the men, "are we not going into port?"

"Tumble after here, and no words!" cried the mate; and in a moment the
main-yard swung round, when, with her jib-boom pointing out to sea,
the Julia lay as quiet as a duck. We all looked blank--what was to
come next?

Presently the steward made his appearance, carrying a mattress, which
he spread out in the stern-sheets of the captain's boat; two or three
chests, and other things belonging to his master, were similarly
disposed of.

This was enough. A slight hint suffices for a sailor.