scarcely a week went by after the julia's sailing, when, with the proverbial restlessness of sailors, some of the men began to grow weary of the calabooza beretanee, and resolved to go boldly among the vessels in the bay, and offer to ship.

the thing was tried; but though strongly recommended by the commodore of the beachcombers, in the end they were invariably told by the captains to whom they applied that they bore an equivocal character ashore, and would not answer. so often were they repulsed that we pretty nearly gave up all thoughts of leaving the island in this way; and growing domestic again, settled down quietly at captain bob's.

it was about this time that the whaling-ships, which have their regular seasons for cruising, began to arrive at papeetee; and of course their crews frequently visited us. this is customary all over the pacific. no sailor steps ashore, but he straightway goes to the "calabooza," where he is almost sure to find some poor fellow or other in confinement for desertion, or alleged mutiny, or something of that sort. sympathy is proffered, and if need be, tobacco. the latter, however, is most in request; as a solace to the captive, it is invaluable.

having fairly carried the day against both consul and captain, we were objects of even more than ordinary interest to these philanthropists; and they always cordially applauded our conduct. besides, they invariably brought along something in the way of refreshments; occasionally smuggling in a little pisco. upon one occasion, when there was quite a number present, a calabash was passed round, and a pecuniary collection taken up for our benefit.

one day a newcomer proposed that two or three of us should pay him a sly, nocturnal visit aboard his ship; engaging to send us away well freighted with provisions. this was not a bad idea; nor were we at all backward in acting upon it. right after night every vessel in the harbour was visited in rotation, the foragers borrowing captain bob's canoe for the purpose. as we all took turns at this—two by two—in due course it came to long ghost and myself, for the sailors invariably linked us together. in such an enterprise, i somewhat distrusted the doctor, for he was no sailor, and very tall; and a canoe is the most ticklish of navigable things. however, it could not be helped; and so we went.

but a word about the canoes before we go any further. among the society islands, the art of building them, like all native accomplishments, has greatly deteriorated; and they are now the most inelegant, as well as the most insecure of any in the south seas. in cook's time, according to his account, there was at tahiti a royal fleet of seventeen hundred and twenty large war canoes, handsomely carved, and otherwise adorned. at present, those used are quite small; nothing more than logs hollowed out, sharpened at one end, and then launched into the water.

to obviate a certain rolling propensity, the tahitians, like all polynesians, attach to them what sailors call an "outrigger." it consists of a pole floating alongside, parallel to the canoe, and connected with it by a couple of cross sticks, a yard or more in length. thus equipped, the canoe cannot be overturned, unless you overcome the buoyancy of the pole, or lift it entirely out of the water.

now, captain bob's "gig" was exceedingly small; so small, and of such a grotesque shape, that the sailors christened it the pill box; and by this appellation it always went. in fact, it was a sort of "sulky," meant for a solitary paddler, but, on an emergency, capable of floating two or three. the outrigger was a mere switch, alternately rising in air, and then depressed in the water.

assuming the command of the expedition, upon the strength of my being a sailor, i packed the long doctor with a paddle in the bow, and then shoving off, leaped into the stern; thus leaving him to do all the work, and reserving to myself the dignified sinecure of steering. all would have gone on well, were it not that my paddler made such clumsy work that the water spattered, and showered down upon us without ceasing. continuing to ply his tool, however, quite energetically, i thought he would improve after a while, and so let him alone. but by and bye, getting wet through with this little storm we were raising, and seeing no signs of its clearing off, i conjured him, in mercy's name, to stop short, and let me wring myself out. upon this, he suddenly turned round, when the canoe gave a roll, the outrigger flew overhead, and the next moment came rap on the doctor's skull, and we were both in the water.

fortunately, we were just over a ledge of coral, not half-a-fathom under the surface. depressing one end of the filled canoe, and letting go of it quickly, it bounced up, and discharged a great part of its contents; so that we easily baled out the remainder, and again embarked. this time, my comrade coiled himself away in a very small space; and enjoining upon him not to draw a single unnecessary breath, i proceeded to urge the canoe along by myself. i was astonished at his docility, never speaking a word, and stirring neither hand nor foot; but the secret was, he was unable to swim, and in case we met with a second mishap, there were no more ledges beneath to stand upon. "crowning's but a shabby way of going out of the world," he exclaimed, upon my rallying him; "and i'm not going to be guilty of it."

at last, the ship was at hand, and we approached with much caution, wishing to avoid being hailed by anyone from the quarter-deck. dropping silently under her bows, we heard a low whistle—the signal agreed upon—and presently a goodly-sized bag was lowered over to us.

we cut the line, and then paddled away as fast as we could, and made the best of our way home. here, we found the rest waiting impatiently.

the bag turned out to be well filled with sweet potatoes boiled, cubes of salt beef and pork, and a famous sailors' pudding, what they call "duff," made of flour and water, and of about the consistence of an underdone brick. with these delicacies, and keen appetites, we went out into the moonlight, and had a nocturnal picnic.