“Take my advice and never go to Tahiti.  It is a lovely place, and so are the natives.  But the white people!  Now Barabbas lived in Tahiti.  Thieves, robbers, and lairs—­that is what they are.  The honest men wouldn’t require the fingers of one hand to count.  The fact that I was a woman only simplified matters with them.  They robbed me on every pretext, and they lied without pretext or need.  Poor Mr. Ericson was corrupted.  He joined the robbers, and O.K.’d all their demands even up to a thousand per cent.  If they robbed me of ten francs, his share was three.  One bill of fifteen hundred francs I paid, netted him five hundred francs.  All this, of course, I learned afterward.  But the Miele was old, the repairs had to be made, and I was charged, not three prices, but seven prices.

“I never shall know how much Ericson got out of it.  He lived ashore in a nicely furnished house.  The shipwrights were giving it to him rent-free.  Fruit, vegetables, fish, meat, and ice came to this house every day, and he paid for none of it.  It was part of his graft from the various merchants.  And all the while, with tears in his eyes, he bemoaned the vile treatment I was receiving from the gang.  No, I did not fall among thieves.  I went to Tahiti.

“But when the robbers fell to cheating one another, I got my first clues to the state of affairs.  One of the robbed robbers came to me after dark, with facts, figures, and assertions.  I knew I was ruined if I went to law.  The judges were corrupt like everything else.  But I did do one thing.  In the dead of night I went to Ericson’s house.  I had the same revolver I’ve got now, and I made him stay in bed while I overhauled things.  Nineteen hundred and odd francs was what I carried away with me.  He never complained to the police, and he never came back on board.  As for the rest of the gang, they laughed and snapped their fingers at me.  There were two Americans in the place, and they warned me to leave the law alone unless I wanted to leave the Miele behind as well.

“Then I sent to New Zealand and got a German mate.  He had a master’s certificate, and was on the ship’s papers as captain, but I was a better navigator than he, and I was really captain myself.  I lost her, too, but it’s no reflection on my seamanship.  We were drifting four days outside there in dead calms.  Then the nor’wester caught us and drove us on the lee shore.  We made sail and tried to clew off, when the rotten work of the Tahiti shipwrights became manifest.  Our jib-boom and all our head-stays carried away.  Our only chance was to turn and run through the passage between Florida and Ysabel.  And when we were safely through, in the twilight, where the chart shows fourteen fathoms as the shoalest water, we smashed on a coral patch.  The poor old Miele struck only once, and then went clear; but it was too much for her, and we just had time to clear away in the boat when she went down.  The German mate was drowned.  We lay all night to a sea-drag, and next morning sighted your place here.”