_Fakarava_, _Low Archipelago_, _September_ 21_st_, 1888.
MY DEAR COLVIN,—Only a word. Get out your big atlas, and imagine a
straight line from San Francisco to Anaho, the N.E. corner of Nukahiva,
one of the Marquesas Islands; imagine three weeks there: imagine a day’s
sail on August 12th round the eastern end of the island to Tai-o-hae, the
capital; imagine us there till August 22nd: imagine us skirt the east
side of Ua-pu—perhaps Rona-Poa on your atlas—and through the Bondelais
straits to Taaka-uku in Hiva-Oa, where we arrive on the 23rd; imagine us
there until September 4th, when we sailed for Fakarava, which we reached
on the 9th, after a very difficult and dangerous passage among these
isles. Tuesday, we shall leave for Taiti, where I shall knock off and do
some necessary work ashore. It looks pretty bald in the atlas; not in
fact; nor I trust in the 130 odd pages of diary which I have just been
looking up for these dates: the interest, indeed, has been _incredible_:
I did not dream there were such places or such races. My health has
stood me splendidly; I am in for hours wading over the knees for shells;
I have been five hours on horseback: I have been up pretty near all night
waiting to see where the _Casco_ would go ashore, and with my diary all
ready—simply the most entertaining night of my life. Withal I still have
colds; I have one now, and feel pretty sick too; but not as at home:
instead of being in bed, for instance, I am at this moment sitting
snuffling and writing in an undershirt and trousers; and as for colour,
hands, arms, feet, legs, and face, I am browner than the berry: only my
trunk and the aristocratic spot on which I sit retain the vile whiteness
of the north.
Please give my news and kind love to Henley, Henry James, and any whom
you see of well-wishers. Accept from me the very best of my affection:
and believe me ever yours,