“‘I am here,’ said a voice, stern and menacing, and the chief broke from the throng and advanced toward the governor.
“The latter drew his revolver. ‘You have permitted this breaking of the law, after I sent you word that I would kill you if you ate human flesh?’
“‘E!’ replied the chief in a high voice. ‘I am the master in Hatiheu. Do you wish to be eaten?’
“The war-drums sounded and the grim warriors began to surround the party. My friend, who was, for safety, an adopted son of the chief, and thus taboo, seized the governor and led him to the boat. They got away by sheer courage on the priest’s part. He described this to Louis, who wrote it down. I recall it clearly, because the poor martyr died the next week. Did Louis write of the Marquesas much?”
I said that he had. I should have liked to stay and gain from Père Siméon all I could of his memories of the poet, but a boy came running up the road to say that the Saint François was to leave very soon.
I embraced Père Siméon. He kissed me on both cheeks, and gave me his blessing. It had been worth a voyage to know him.
Jerome Capriata, the eater of cats, was outside his house. He invited me in to meet his wife, a barefooted Frenchwoman who sat in a scantily-furnished room, musing over a bottle of absinthe. I could stay only a minute, as the Saint François whistled insistently. His wife set out the bottle and glasses before us, and we drank the farewell goutte.
Photo from Underwood and Underwood
Throwing spears at a cocoanut on a stake
