 there for hours went through all
sorts of military evolutions, surrounded by flocks of the natives, who looked on
with savage admiration at the show, and as savage a hatred of the actors. A
regiment of the Old Guard, reviewed on a summer's day in the Champs Élysées,
could not have made a more critically correct appearance. The officers'
regimentals, resplendent with gold lace and embroidery, as if purposely
calculated to dazzle the islanders, looked as if just unpacked from their
Parisian cases.
    The sensation produced by the presence of the strangers had not in the least
subsided at the period of our arrival at the islands. The natives still flocked
in numbers about the encampment, and watched with the liveliest curiosity
everything that was going forward. A blacksmith's forge, which had been set up
in the shelter of a grove near the beach, attracted so great a crowd, that it
required the utmost efforts of the sentries posted around to keep the
inquisitive multitude at a sufficient distance to allow the workmen to ply their
vocation. But nothing gained so large a share of admiration as a horse, which
had been brought from Valparaiso by the Achille, one of the vessels of the
squadron. The animal, a remarkably fine one, had been taken ashore and stabled
in a hut of cocoa-nut boughs within the fortified enclosure. Occasionally it was
brought out, and, being gaily caparisoned, was ridden by one of the officers at
full speed over the hard sand beach. This performance was sure to be hailed with
loud plaudits, and the puarkee nuee (big hog) was unanimously pronounced by the
islanders to be the most extraordinary specimen of zoology that had ever come
under their observation.
    The expedition for the occupation of the Marquesas had sailed from Brest in
the spring of 1842, and the secret of its destination was solely in the
possession of its commander. No wonder that those who contemplated such a signal
infraction of the rights of humanity should have sought to veil the enormity
from the eyes of the world. And yet, notwithstanding their iniquitous conduct in
this and in other matters, the French have ever plumed themselves upon being the
most humane and polished of nations. A high degree of refinement, however, does
not seem to subdue our wicked propensities so much after all; and were
civilisation itself to be estimated by some of its results, it would seem
perhaps better for what we call the barbarous part of the world to remain
unchanged.
    One example of the shameless subterfuges under which the French stand
prepared to defend whatever cruelties they may hereafter commit in bringing the
Marquesan natives into subjection is
