the side of the lagoon, walking through long-drawn forest aisles of
palm, and on a floor of snowy sand. No life was abroad, nor sound
of life; till in a clear part of the isle we spied the embers of a
fire, and not far off, in a dark house, heard natives talking
softly. To sit without a light, even in company, and under cover,
is for a Paumotuan a somewhat hazardous extreme. The whole scene--
the strong moonlight and crude shadows on the sand, the scattered
coals, the sound of the low voices from the house, and the lap of
the lagoon along the beach--put me (I know not how) on thoughts of
superstition. I was barefoot, I observed my steps were noiseless,
and drawing near to the dark house, but keeping well in shadow,
began to whistle. 'The Heaving of the Lead' was my air--no very
tragic piece. With the first note the conversation and all
movement ceased; silence accompanied me while I continued; and when
I passed that way on my return I found the lamp was lighted in the
house, but the tongues were still mute. All night, as I now think,
the wretches shivered and were silent. For indeed, I had no guess
at the time at the nature and magnitude of the terrors I inflicted,
or with what grisly images the notes of that old song had peopled
the dark house.



CHAPTER V--A PAUMOTUAN FUNERAL



No, I had no guess of these men's terrors. Yet I had received ere
that a hint, if I had understood; and the occasion was a funeral.