OF THE SOUTH SEAS 447 



Before a day of sacrifice a victim was selected by the 

 high priest. The victim had no knowledge of his ap- 

 proaching end. He must not be informed, and though 

 his father and mother and family were told in advance, 

 they never warned their unfortunate loved one. No 

 hand was lifted to avert his fate, for he was tabu to the 

 gods. Though no excuse could be offered for the slay- 

 ing of their own clansman except the direful hold of re- 

 ligion, which in Tahiti, as in Europe not so long ago, put 

 Protestant and Catholic on the pyre in the name of 

 Christ, yet so soft-hearted were these people that they 

 could not disturb the peace of mind of the offering, and 

 until the moment when he was struck down from be- 

 hind he was as unconcerned as any one. They never 

 tortured as the English and French tortured Joan of 

 Arc, and as the police of America torture thousands of 

 Americans every day. 



I looked long at this ruined pagan tabernacle, this 

 arc of the covenant for Oberea and Oamo, and for 

 Tetuanui's fathers. The chief said that his grandfather 

 had seen it in its palmy period. Oberea was an an- 

 cestress of my host of Papara, Tati Salmon, who had 

 the table-ware of Stevenson, and who was of the clan of 

 Teva, as she. 



Wrecked, battered by the surf, torn to pieces by pick- 

 axes, undermined by the sea, and overgrown by the rank 

 foliage of the tropics, the marae preserved for me and 

 for Brooke, too, a solemnity and reminiscent grandeur 

 that brought a vision of the beauty and might of the 

 passionate Oberea, who had commanded it to be built. 

 Though different in environment as the sea from the 

 desert, and in size and aspect, materials and history, I was 



