Before us lay the land, and as we watched, a light twinkled on the shore nearly five miles away in answer to our signal.

Slowly we steamed toward it, the signal lights flashing their messages at short intervals through the darkness until we reached the harbor, where we lay about half a mile from the land until a sloop and a dory reached us with the mail and passengers for Auckland.
Of both the land and the natives we had but a glimpse, one of the latter, a red-headed and stalwart specimen of his race, clambering to the steamer's deck in order to get a receipt for the mail and a glassful of gin, both of which were given him by the purser.

The former he stowed away somewhere in his scanty clothing and the latter he gulped down as though it were water, after which he swung himself over the rail and disappeared from sight in the darkness.

A few moments later we had left Samoan Islands behind us and were again tossing on the foam-topped waves.

Samoa was left not far behind, however, when the weather turned colder and before many hours had passed we were all glad to change our clothing of a tropical weight for garments that were much heavier, and to seek comfortable places in the cabin at night rather than the open deck.