“Oundo,” said M. Garnier, “I expect that you will once more show your well-tried friendship for the French people by rendering me a great service.  Do you think you can recover these things for me?”

“Oundo will try,” replied the chief simply.  He then addressed his people and gave his commands.  In a moment, and with a loud cry of approbation and good-will, they dashed into the water and swam out to the scene of disaster.

It is a fine sight to see these natives of Oceanica, the best swimmers in the world, darting under the water like bronze tritons.  They generally swim beneath the surface, coming up from time to time to breathe, and shaking the water from their thick curly hair.  M. Garnier followed the natives on the log that had served as a lifeboat, and to encourage them by example undressed and threw himself into the water.  The work commenced.  Twenty or thirty feet is not much of a dive for a South Sea Islander.  Every minute the divers brought up some object with a shout of triumph.  They were in their element, and so spiritedly did they undertake the task that women, and even the children, dived to the bottom and constantly brought up some small object.  The three guns of the men, their trappings, the heavy box of zoological specimens, all the instruments, were brought up in succession.  Even the sole cooking-pot of the expedition and the tin plates were recovered.  The work occupied some six hours.  M. Garnier thanked the chief and his brave people, who when the work was finished returned to their huts as quietly as they came.  And this chief was the man who had sold his daughter for a keg of brandy!

Another chief, named Bourarte, the head of a great tribe near Hienguene, deserves a few words.  He was a chief of very superior experience and intelligence.  He had studied civilization diligently, enjoyed the society of Europeans and knew that his people were barbarians.  His story is a most touching one.  He said:  “I always loved the English.  They treated me as a chief, and paid me honestly for all they received.  One day I consented to go with them to their great city of Sydney.  It was there that I learned the weakness of my people.  I was well received everywhere, but I longed to return.  It was with pleasure that I saw again our mountains and heard the joyful cries of welcome from my tribe.  About that time your people came.  I paid little attention to them at first, but because one of my men killed a Kanacka who was a protege of the missionaries there came a great ship (the Styx) into my port.  The captain sent for me.  I went on board without fear, but my confidence was betrayed.  I was made a prisoner and transported to Tahiti.  It was six years before I saw my tribe again:  they had already mourned me as dead.  I will tell you what happened in my absence.  My people prepared for vengeance:  the French were apprised of the fact.  They came again.  And as my people, filled with curiosity, flocked to the shore, the French fired their cannon into the crowd.  My people were frightened and fled into the woods.  Your soldiers landed, and for three days they burned our huts, destroyed our plantations and cut down our cocoa trees.  And all this time,” added the old chief with a heavy sigh, “I was a prisoner at Tahiti, braiding baskets to gain a little food, and the grief that I suffered whitened my head before the time.”