Our chief at Anaho was always called, he always called himself, Taipi-Kikino; and yet that was not his name, but only the wand of his false position.  As soon as he was appointed chief, his name—­ which signified, if I remember exactly, prince born among flowers—­ fell in abeyance, and he was dubbed instead by the expressive byword, Taipi-Kikino—­Highwater man-of-no-account—­or, Englishing more boldly, beggar on Horseback—­a witty and a wicked cut.  A nickname in Polynesia destroys almost the memory of the original name.  To-day, if we were Polynesians, Gladstone would be no more heard of.  We should speak of and address our Nestor as the Grand Old Man, and it is so that himself would sign his correspondence.  Not the prevalence, then, but the significancy of the nickname is to be noted here.  The new authority began with small prestige.  Taipi has now been some time in office; from all I saw he seemed a person very fit.  He is not the least unpopular, and yet his power is nothing.  He is a chief to the French, and goes to breakfast with the Resident; but for any practical end of chieftaincy a rag doll were equally efficient.

We had been but three days in Anaho when we received the visit of the chief of Hatiheu, a man of weight and fame, late leader of a war upon the French, late prisoner in Tahiti, and the last eater of long-pig in Nuka-hiva.  Not many years have elapsed since he was seen striding on the beach of Anaho, a dead man’s arm across his shoulder.  ‘So does Kooamua to his enemies!’ he roared to the passers-by, and took a bite from the raw flesh.  And now behold this gentleman, very wisely replaced in office by the French, paying us a morning visit in European clothes.  He was the man of the most character we had yet seen:  his manners genial and decisive, his person tall, his face rugged, astute, formidable, and with a certain similarity to Mr. Gladstone’s—­only for the brownness of the skin, and the high-chief’s tattooing, all one side and much of the other being of an even blue.  Further acquaintance increased our opinion of his sense.  He viewed the Casco in a manner then quite new to us, examining her lines and the running of the gear; to a piece of knitting on which one of the party was engaged, he must have devoted ten minutes’ patient study; nor did he desist before he had divined the principles; and he was interested even to excitement by a type-writer, which he learned to work.  When he departed he carried away with him a list of his family, with his own name printed by his own hand at the bottom.  I should add that he was plainly much of a humorist, and not a little of a humbug.  He told us, for instance, that he was a person of exact sobriety; such being the obligation of his high estate:  the commons might be sots, but the chief could not stoop so low.  And not many days after he was to be observed in a state of smiling and lop-sided imbecility, the Casco ribbon upside down on his dishonoured hat.