the whole island. I was all in by that time, too, and if I'd been a praying sort, I guess I'd have prayed just then for something to come and get me clear of those seas and carry me into that quiet lagoon where it all looked so calm and safe. But I got in all rightwithout having to do any praying either. For my luck was in. The tide was on the flood; and when the current got hold of me it just sucked me through that entrance at the rate of knots. One minute I was being knocked about by the seas outside, and the next there I was, floating in the calm water, all safe and comfortable, with the land and the cocoa-nut trees closing in all round me. And you can bet your sweet life I was mighty pleased to be there.

Well, there you are. That's how I discovered the island. It's a low island, and just like every other atoll you've ever seen, except that there isn't a trader or a tin roof, or even a missionary or a bottle of good liquor in the whole place. So, you can see, it was a real savage island I'd come across that'd never been civilised, and I saw at once I was the first white man who'd ever been there. There was a canoe with some Kanakas in it fishing, and they spotted me as soon as I drifted in. Great big, hefty, smiling beggars they were, and one of them lifted me into that canoe as if I was a baby. And I weigh pretty near 200 pounds, which'll

show you the strength of the brutes. They made all manner of fuss over me. Rubbed me down to get the blood running again, and knocked off the top of a green nut and gave me a swig at it. They seemed pleased, too, about finding me, but I could see my white skin surprised them some. They couldn't seem to get over the colour of me, and I think it was my red hair that puzzled the beggars most. Anyhow, it was plain they'd never seen any one like me before. When they got me ashore all hands was lined up on the beach, shouting; and they laughed and patted me on the back and carried on generally as if I was welcome and they was glad to see me. All but the kids, that is. It's funny, but if I as much as looked at a kid it'd give a squeal and clear out of there as if it thought I was going to eat it. The men weren't bashful, though, by a long chalk. They all handled me and stroked me down as if they thought I wasn't real; but when they began to feel my hair and pat me on the head, I hauled off and showed 'em pretty quick I didn't want any of that. You see, I thought I'd better show them right off it wouldn't do for any darned natives to make free that way with a white man.

The thing that struck me most at first was the size of the beggars. I'm a big man myself, as you can see, but the most of that crowd were a long way bigger than I am. It's a

or weak-looking nigger amongst the lot; and none of that damned coughing or even a sign of any of those nastylooking sores on 'em like you see all over the rest of the islands now. They had a look about them as though they might have been some sort of Samoans once; but they were all much bigger and more cheerful and healthy than any Kanaka you'll find round about Apia or Pango Pango these days. And I remember I thought to myself then that, if I could only get some of that crowd on to a plantation, they'd make the finest lot of labour a man could wish to have the handling of. Well, we'll handle the beggars yet, you and I will, partner. I guess we'll show 'em. don't forget I've got a thirst that's over two years in the pickling. Give that bottle a fair wind.

And

Well, as I'm telling you, there I was, marooned on an island that wasn't even down on the charts, and with a darned slim chance of ever getting off the place again. The chap who'd picked me up -Falapa his name was-he took charge of me. And he seemed to like the job. took me to his hut, and from the way he went on it was easy to see he meant me to make myself at home there. So I did. I had a good feed, and then I turned in on his pile of mats and slept like a dead man. Next morning I walked round

He

island to see if there was anything left of the schooner. There wasn't a sign of her. She'd broken up on that offshore reef and gone altogether. There wasn't a splinter of her left, not even a bit of wreckage drifted up on the beach. And none of the hands had come ashore either. They was all drowned but me. Or else the sharks got 'em, because none of them ever showed up-not even as stiff 'uns. Well, they weren't much good, anyway; none of 'em, but it broke me up a bit to think I'd seen the last of the old Tropic Bird. I'd had that schooner pretty nigh ten years, and I was kind of fond of her. She handled as easy as a bird, too—but what's the use of talking?

I sat on the beach for a goodish bit, thinking things out, with that big fool of a Falapa rubbing my back-that being his way, I suppose, of trying to show he was sorry. So I cleared him to blazes out of that, and then I did some hard thinking. I felt kind of down on my luck for a bit, and it looked as if there I was, properly cast away and done for; but it wasn't so long before I'd got it figured out that the best thing I could do was to make the most of things for myself on the island. I took a walk round to see what was doing. It's a smallish atoll, about 12 feet high at most, and, except for a stretch of half-tide reef on the west, it's all covered over with cocoa

So

nut palms. It's only two or three hundred yards across it from beach to beach; but all the same it must be nearly fifteen miles long, because it's bent round the lagoon like a frame around a looking-glass, and the lagoon's about five miles long by three wide. There's two villages-Falapa's, and one on the other side of the lagoon, and between the two of them there's a couple of hundred niggers all told. And they're the queerest lot of Kanakas I've ever seen. What strikes you first is the size and healthy looks of the brutes. And, though you won't hardly believe me, I couldn't find a sick or an undersized nigger on the whole island. Nor any very old ones either, which seemed queer; but I found out afterwards why that was. They didn't seem to know what sickness meant, and it seems the only way they ever did die was by accident, like getting drowned or falling out of a tree or something. And when that happened, they'd put the corpse in a canoe with a lot of green cocoa-nuts and the chap's fishing-gear and cooking-pots and so on. They'd rig up a small square sail in the bows of the thing, and then launch the whole business, corpse and all, from the loo'ard side of the island. It'd go sailing off down wind, of course, right out to sea before the Trade wind, and that'd be the end of that funeral. Well, that was all right. That was as handy a

way of getting rid of a corpse as burying it; but what got me was to find that those blame savages would do the same thing to any one who happened to get hurt bad, such as breaking a leg or anything like that. If he didn't heal up or the chap looked like pegging out, then adrift he'd have to go, just as if he was dead already. There was a girl, too-a bit after I got there that was,who cut her foot on the reef, and and the coral must have poisoned it. Her leg swelled up big, and I guess maybe she was booked anyway; but she wasn't dead by a long shot when they triced her up and sent her sailing off in a canoe to the west'ard. I raised a fuss about that, because I'd been kind of keeping my eye on that girl-Fa'ala was worth looking at. But for all I could do it wasn't any good. She had to go. The queer thing was that all of them, including the girl herself, seemed mighty surprised at me kicking up a row about that business. Their notion was, as far as I could make out from Falapa's jabbering, that if you were sick or dying, the natural place to get on with the job was out at sea by yourself, and not on the island. Because the island, according to them, was a place made for good things only, and not for anything bad or rotten. But as they use the same word for sick and "bad," it wasn't easy to make out what it was exactly they were getting at.

that'll fair turn the stomach of a white man to think of.

They're a lazy bunch, too. They won't work unless they have to. They're happy enough as they are, so why worry That seems to be the way they see it. About all they eat is fish and cocoa-nuts, and all they've got to do when they want some grub or anything is just to reach out and get it. It's a soft life all right, and when I got there first I didn't even have to reach. When I wanted anything a dozen of 'em would run off quick and fetch it. I lived in Falapa's hut, and the fool couldn't seem to do enough for me. You might say he turned himself out of his hut to make room for me, and he and his women looked after me as though I was some blame baby. It was all right; but after two or three months of that I began to get restless. It wasn't the grub, because I had plenty of that, and what I had was good. Fish and cocoa-nuts don't sound much, I know, but the different ways they'd cook the stuff made it seem as if I had something different to eat every blessed meal. No, the grub was all right. What I needed was some baccy, and I'd have given my bally soul and welcome for one good swig of any drink that had a bit of a kick to it. Water and cocoanut milk was all they drank, and the water was salty anyway. And while cocoa-nut milk's all right at first, it doesn't take you long to get sick of the

sight of it. If there's any other strong liquor within range, I naturally wouldn't walk across the road to get a drink of cocoa-nut toddy; but when toddy's all there is to be got it ain't so bad. A man can get cheerful on it anyway. So I tackled Falapa to see if he could get hold of some, or knew how to make it. Не didn't understand what I was driving at, though, so I had to bear a hand myself. I got some green nuts and fermented the juice, and the brew was coming on fine, when Falapa got on to what I was up to. And you should have seen the fuss the beggar made then! He actually tried to stop me. He was scared stiff, too, because it turns out there's a mighty strict taboo against making toddy at all. Can you beat it? Those blame niggers had got it into their thick skulls that a man with a drink or two inside him is as bad as if he's broken his leg or got some sickness. And what's more, it turns out that, if any one did get drunk, he was for it. I mean, they'd lash him up as I've told you, and set him adrift the same as if he was dead. Well, when I heard that I'll admit it made me a bit thoughtful. I've never let any blame silly taboo stop me from doing anything I wanted to do yet, but all the same I saw I'd have to be careful. After that I'll own I judged it wise to make my bit of a brew on the quiet, and I only drank at night when all hands was