I drew the mat curtain across the sitting-room window so that we could not be seen by prying eyes, and put two cups, a gourd of water, and some brandy on the table.  Except my own man, Temana, the rest of the natives were intensely jealous of the poor old ex-sailor and wanderer in many lands, and they very much resented his frequent visits to me—­partly on account of the occasional glass of grog which I gave him, and partly because he was suspected of still being a tagata po-uriuri, i.e., a heathen.  This, however, he vigorously denied, and though Mareko, the Samoan teacher, was a kind-hearted and tolerant man for a native minister, the deacons delighted in persecuting and harassing the ancient upon every possible opportunity, and upon one pretext or another had succeeded in robbing him of his land and dividing it among his relatives; so that now in his extreme old age he was dependent upon one of his daughters, a woman who herself must have been past sixty.

I poured some brandy into the cups; we clicked them together and said, “May you be lucky” to each other.  Then he told me of Solepa.

* * * * *

“There were many whaleships came to anchor in the three harbours of Ponape in those days.  They came there for wood and water and fresh provisions, before they sailed to the cold, icy seas of the south.  I was then a boat-steerer in an English ship—­a good and lucky ship with a good captain.  When we came to Ponape we found there six other whaleships, all anchored close together under the shelter of the two islets.  All the captains were friends, and the few white men who lived on shore were friends with them, and every night there was much singing and dancing on board the ships, for, as was the custom, every one on board had been given a Ponape girl for wife as long as his ship stayed there; and sometimes a ship would be there a long time—­a month perhaps.

“The trader who lived in the big house was one of the first to come on board our ship; for the captain and he were good friends.  They talked together on the poop deck, and I heard the trader say that he had been away to Honolulu for nearly a year and had brought back with him a young wife.

“‘Good,’ said my captain, ’to-night I shall come ashore and drink manuia![3] to ye both.’

“The trader was pleased, and said that some of the other captains could come also, and that he had sent a letter to the other trader, Frank, who lived on the other side of the island, bidding him to come and greet the new wife.  At these words the face of Stacey—­that was my captain’s name, became dark, and he said—­

“’You are foolish.  Such a man as he is, is better away from thy house—­and thy wife.  He is a manaia, an ulavale[4].  Take heed of my words and have no dealings with him.’