A Tahitian

Interlude

HE stood on the sidewalk in Papeete, across from the noisy bars on the “Quai de Commerce”. He was old and seemed to be of pure Tahitian blood.

There he stood, watching with fascin ation the crow 7 d that seemed to have gone mad.

Drunken people staggered out of the bars. A fight was in full progress. Two men, with blood streaming down their faces and their eyes swollen, were led back to the ship. A tipsy youth ran after a frightened native girl, seizing her by the hair, which she wore long and falling down her back. Hell seemed to have broken loose all over the place.

The native watched with an amazed expression. He walked over to me and asked in good French; “These ships, when do they go, monsieur?”

“To-morrow”, I answered. “How quiet and lonely this place will be after we have left.”

“Quiet, but not lonely”, he answered.

“You see, lonely we are never, and we really do not have to find our ‘escape’ m beer halls.”

“You do not seem to approve of the way we are having a good time.”

“A good time?” He looked at me in astonishment. “A good time, monsieur.

Do you really call this a good time? Ex cuse me for saying so, but I have never in all my life seen and heard so many shocking things. But then, I have nevei seen so many white people together in Tahiti.”

He spoke with bitterness, and he assured me several times that he did not mean to be rude. I felt that he spoke for the whole Tahitian race, a race that is

dying fast to make room for the white man with his “civilisation”.

“I am an old man”, he added. “I am not sorry to die. I have known Tahiti when it was almost unsnoilt. Then life was simple, and we did not buy content ment in gin bottles.

“I have two lovely daughters. They are now at home in my hut near the beach.

They watched the ships arrive yesterday.

For days they have been flushed with excitement, they wanted to meet some of the nice white friends. They stood arouna the streets for hours, and then came home disappointed and sad. They have seen their white friends at their worst and do not care if they never see them again. I am rather glad for that, as they will appreciate Tahiti and Tahitians in the future.”

The old man tried to smile: “Bon nuit!

I must not bore you with my story. It really is the story of all the rac-s in the South Seas. But then ‘le temns passe’.

Bon nuit, forgive me.” and so lie walked away.

I walked back to the ship, passing groups of silent and watching Tahitians —watching the white man going a-muck in the dance halls, finding no time to watch the most beautiful sunset I have ever seen.—J, Mr. W. it. Huntley, who has had charge of the Methodist Mission’s Vunakambi Plantation in New Britain for some years, has resigned in order to accept a post in the New Guinea Administration Service.

Mr. H. Carpenter, eldest son of Mr. W.

H. Carpenter, manager of the Rabaul branch <pf W. R. Carpenter and Co., Ltd., New Guinea, arrived in New Britain from Sydney by plane in September to spend a short holiday with his parents.