The Potii Morea had taken on her passengers when we returned, and we put off from the sea-wall at once, with two barrels of bottled beer, and half a dozen demi-johns of wine prominent on the small deck.  Often the sea between Tahiti and Moorea is rough in the daytime, and passage is made at night to avoid accident, but we were given a smooth way, and could enjoy the music.  We sat or lay on the after-deck while the bandsmen on the low rail or hatch maintained a continuous concert.

During the several days between our first planning the trip and the going, a song had been written in honor of the junketing, and this they played scores of times before we set foot again in Papeete.  It was entitled:  “Himene Tatou Arcarea,” which meant, “Our Festal Song.”

One easily guessed the meaning of the word himene.  The Polynesians’ first singing was the hymns of the missionaries, and these they termed himenes; so that any song is a himene, and there is no other word for vocal music in common use.  The words of the first stanza of the “Himene Tatou Arearea” and the refrain were: 

    I teie nei mahana
    Te tere no oe e Hati
        Na te moana
    Ohipa paahiahia
        No te au
    Tei tupi i Moorea
        tamau a
    Tera te au
    Ei no te au
    Tamua a—­aue

    Ei reo no oe tau here
    I te pii raa mai
    Aue oe Tamarii Tahiti te aroha e
    A inu i te pia arote faarari

    Faararirari ta oe Tamarii Tahiti
    La, Li.

Llewellyn put the words into approximate meaning in English, saying it was as difficult to translate these intimate and slang phrases as it would be to put “Yankee Doodle” into French or German.  His translation, as he wrote it on a scrap of paper, was: 

    Let us sing joyful to-day
    The journey over the sea! 
    It is a wonderful and agreeable thing to happen in Moorea,
    Hold on to it!  That is just it;
    And because it is just it,
    Why hold on to it!

    Your voice, O, Love, calls to us. 
    O Tahitian children,
    Love to you! 
    Let us all drink beer,
    And wet our throats! 
    And wet them again
    To you, Tahitian Children!

The bandsmen were probably all related to Llewellyn, or at least they were of his mother’s clan.  His own son and nephew by unmarried mothers were among them; so that they were of our party, and yet on a different footing.  They were our guests, we paying them nothing, but they not paying their scot.  They did not mingle with us intimately, although probably all the whites except myself knew them well, and at times were guests at their houses outside Papeete.

The air to which the himene was sung eluded me for long.  It was, “Oh, You Beautiful Doll!” They had changed the tune, so that I had not recognized it.  The Tahitians have curious variations of European and American airs, of which they adapt many, carrying the thread of them, but differentiating enough to cause the hearer curiously mixed emotions.  It was as if one heard a familiar voice, and, advancing to grasp a friendly hand, found oneself facing a stranger.