368 MYSTIC ISLES 



The clams and oysters were small, except the fur- 

 belowed clam, whose shell is fluted, and who grows to 

 an immense size in the atolls of the Paumotus. I al- 

 ways ate my fill of these delicacies raw as I walked along 

 the reef, smashing the shells to get at the inmates. 



When the tide was approaching high or when it be- 

 gan to ebb I had immortal experiences upon the reef. 

 I went with Tiura or with the chief and a party, and 

 found the waves dashing and foaming upon the natural 

 mole, sweeping over it with the noise of thunder, crash- 

 ing upon the sloping front, and riding their white steeds 

 over the solid flagging to the lower lagoon. In this 

 smother of water we stood knee-deep, receiving its buf- 

 fets upon our waists and the spray upon our faces, and 

 watched for the fish that were carried upon its crests. 

 With spears couched, we waited the flying chance to ar- 

 rest them upon the points, a hazardous game, for often 

 they were powerful creatures, and were hurled against 

 us with threatening impact. 



But inspiring as was this sport at sunset or by moon- 

 light, it was even more exciting when we trod the reef 

 with torches of dried reeds or leaves or candlenuts 

 threaded upon the spines of cocoanut-leaves, and lanced 

 the fish that were drawn by the lure of the lights, or 

 which we saw by their glare passing over the reef. The 

 gleam of the torches, the blackness all about, the master- 

 ful figures of the Tahitians, the cries of warning, the 

 laughter, the shouts of triumph, and the melancholy 

 himenes, the softness and warmth of the water, the un- 

 canny feel of living things about one's feet and body, 

 the imaginative shudder of fear at shark or octopus or 

 other terrible brute of the sea, the singing journey home 



