As far as the eye could reach stretched the crowd. Under a gorgeous dais of panjandrus leaves respondent with alova blossoms sat Baahaabaa, on his right Captain Triplett, on his left Hanuhonu, the ranking visitor, and all about retinues of nobles, with their superb families, groups of dancers, slim and straight as golden birches, singers, orators and athletes. It was grand opera on a titanic scale, with the added distinction of really meaning something.
Baahaabaa spoke first—in fact I think I may say that he spoke first, last and all the time. I can conscientiously claim that he is the champion long-distance orator of the world. Ever and anon he gave way to a guest but only for a moment.
"We are met," he said—I translate freely—"we are met to witness the emulation of friends." Could anything be more delicate?
"We have with us tonight, in this corner, Wanooa-Potonopoa (Whinney), the Man with his Eye in a Box" (this was plainly a reference to Whinney's camera)—"while in this corner, we have Mainaue Ahiiahi, Tattooer-of-Rainbows. Both boys are members of this island."
The applause was enormous but Swank had the grace to rise and kiss his finger-tips toward the audience which immediately put him on a friendly footing.
After a few more speeches by Baahaabaa the exhibits were unveiled. Of course, the result was foregone. I must admit that Whinney's was not hung to advantage. The two pictures were placed against tufts of haro at forty yards distance where, naturally, the detail of the photograph lost something of its effectiveness. Swank's picture on the contrary blazed like a pin-wheel. The further you got from it the better it looked.
A characteristic point in the competition was that Swank had introduced figures into his composition where no figures had existed. "What do I care?" he said to my objection. "I was there, wasn't I? And you were there? There may have been others."
A mighty roar followed the unveiling, a shout of such force that tons of breadfruit and thousands of cocoanuts fell from the adjacent trees. But it was plain to see whom the shouting was for. Then Baahaabaa made the awards and—the prizes were identical—two royal rigolos of mother-of-pearl, elaborately trimmed with corals and pendants of limpid aquamarine. What tact, what grace and charm in these identical rewards!
I am fortunate in being able to reproduce both masterpieces, so that my readers may form their own decision. Personally, Whinney's photograph seems to me to reproduce more completely my memories of "The Lagoon at Dawn." But I may be wrong. Modern artists will probably back up the popular judgment and on that memorable day in the Filberts I would certainly have been in the minority.