482 MYSTIC ISLES 



and Tahitua received it in his bag. All but he then 

 began in earnest the quest of the bonnes bouches. We 

 separated a hundred feet or so, and treading slowly the 

 pebbled or bouldered and often slippery floor of the 

 river, keeping to the shallow places, we hghted the 

 rippling waters with our torches, and sought to spear 

 the agile and fearful prey. The oura lances were five 

 feet long, not thicker than a fat finger, and fitted with 

 three slender prongs of iron — nails filed upon the basalt 

 rock. One saw the faintest glimpse of a shrimp on the 

 bottom, or a red shadow as the animal darted past, and 

 only the swiftest coordination of mind and body won 

 the prize. Whereas Raiere and even Matatini secured 

 most of those they struck at, I made many laughable 

 failures. I missed the still body through the deceptive 

 shadows of the water, or failed to strike home because 

 of the lightning-like movements of the alarmed shrimp. 

 The sport was fascinating. The water was as warm 

 as fresh milk, transparent, and with here a gentle and 

 there a rapid current. A million stars glittered in a 

 sky that was very near, and the trees and vegetation 

 were in mysterious shadows. Only when our torches 

 lit the darkness did we perceive the actual forms of the 

 cocoanuts, mango- and purau-irees which bordered the 

 banks and climbed the hills into the distance. The 

 puraus often seemed like banians, stretching far over 

 the water in strange and ghostlike shapes, with twisting 

 branches and gnarled trunks that in the obscurity gave 

 a startling suggestion of the fetish growths of the an- 

 cients. I felt a faint touch of fear as I groped through 

 the stream, now and again falling into a deep hole or 

 stumbling over a stone or buried branch, and I looked 



