With a loud blast of the horn, the Matson Liner Sierra, slowly backed away from the dock until the cries of goodbyes and loved faces faded from sight and sound. My husband and eighteen months old son and I stood by the ships railing waving until the beautiful city of San Francisco was just a dream in the vast horizon. We were off for a South Sea adventure. The ship was small, as modern liners go, and our stateroom, first class but at water level, contained two bunks on one side of the room and a bunk or couch under the porthole. We also had our own shower, lavatory and wash basin. When we finally left the ship's rail and wended our way thru a maze of ships corridors to our stateroom, we found it filled to the top with trunks, suitcases, boxes and gifts. The basin was full of flowers, and the wall light brackets held stuffed monkeys, dogs and teddy bears. Who could make order out of such a chaos! Well I was not to be the chosen one, for suddenly everything turned upside down, and I seemed to be revolving at increasing speed, while a terrific upheaval was taking place inside of me. Little Peter, my son, was following my example. With the help of the stewardess my husband got us both in the lower bunk, where we struggled in our misery most of the night. When we came to the next morning the cabin was in order, clothes needed for the trip unpacked, and the trunks, suitcases and extra boxes taken to the storeroom. We slowly showered, dressed and went up on deck.

The children on the ship had a table of their own, in one corner of the dining salon. It was a merry group and Peter ate his first meal with great gusto, apparently completely forgetting the misery of the night before. The children were well supervised and behaved in the approved fashion. I was not ready for a meal, so the deck steward brought me tea and unbuttered toast. By dinner time the next night I was enjoying the delicious food with the rest of my shipmates. We were seated at a table with an Australian, his daughter and a friend of his daughter, a young lady, all about six feet tall, raw boned, and returning from six weeks visit to the United States. They thought they had learned all about us in six weeks, and made many criticisms of our customs and way of life. I had no idea that we, as a nation, were so crude. It was all I could do to hold my tongue, but my husband kept such an eagle eye on me, that I didn't dare say what was in my mind. They also floored me with the amount of food they could stash away during the day. At breakfast they started out with fruit, fish, eggs and bacon or ham, probably steak and french fried potatoes, jam, and plenty of it with toast or rolls and tea. They never missed mid-morning snack, a huge luncheon, mid-afternoon snack, cocktails before dinner and an eight course dinner. After two or three days of watching this procedure, and trying to keep back unladylike retorts when they started on their harrangue about our shortcomings as a Nation, I requested to be moved to another table. This proved to be a wonderful change for us, as we were seated at the table with the original cast of Abie's Irish Rose, going on tour to Australia. They kept us in hysterics with their wit, happy-go-lucky attitude and tall tales. My husband had a delightful sense of humor, and my particular type, inherited Irish, as stimulated to even surprise myself.

On board ship it doesn't take long for everyone to know everyone else. Although the first class passengers and second class passengers were supposed to stay on their respective decks, we did have ship parties and entertainments which brought us all together. We were very fortunate in having an unusually interesting group of people. Never a dull moment. Among our distinguished fellow travelers was a famous Judge from San Francisco, a fascinating anthropologist from England, and a former Governor from California with his wife and daughter. We also had a "Sadie Thompson" aboard which added a little zest to the situation. She seemed to have a free ticket to all decks. Our shipmates were all seaworthy and entered into the dancing, ship stunts and entertainment with gusto.

Our trip was particularly blessed with many unusual and strange incidences. One day, between San Francisco and Honolulu, we passed thru a school of whales, which were so close to the ship, we thought they could roll the ship over. The Judge held Peter, my son, up on the rail for him to see. Peter looked with great concentration, but no emotion and when the Judge asked him if he wasn't excited, Peter turned around and in the most matter-of-fact manner asked "Where is Jonha?" That became the password of the ship. Where's Jonha? His paternal grandmother would be glad to know he had absorbed the Bible stories she had read to him. One morning we passed another liner, near enough for the Captains to salute each other. It looked like a modern Flying Dutchman's ghost, silently drifting away in the distance. We had one very terrifying experience about three days after leaving San Francisco. Our cabin contained two bunks on the far side of the stateroom, and a couch underneath the porthole. this porthole opened up directly over the ocean, with no deck beneath. We made up Peter's bed on this couch, thinking that it would be easier for him to get in and out of it, when necessary, and not once believing it possible for him to climb up such a distance to the porthole. Well children, as we learned by experience, seem to have a residual monkey dexterity in climbing and balance. Our deck stewardess had her stateroom across the passage from us, which was most convenient. When we went to dinner, and for our evening entertainment, we would open our door and the stewardess would open hers so she could watch Peter, and look in on him every so often. It was my habit to go to the stateroom after finishing dinner, and before the evening events, to peek in on him and see if all was well.

One evening I slipped down and poked my head around the door to see the butt end of my child filling the porthole, so I took my shoes off and without breathing, I am sure, moved across the stateroom and grabbed the seat of his well padded Dr. Denton's sleeper. He looked a little surprised but extremely innocent of any wrong doing, and when I asked him what he was doing, he said "watching the sishes!" The commotion brought the stewardess who when told of what happened, immediately fainted. My husband, wondering why I was taking so long to return to the dance deck, arrived on the scene in time to help bring the stewardess to, and to help change Peter's resting place to the lower bunk, and mine to the one under the porthole. Peter, with the unconcerned attitude of the very pure at heart, went right to sleep. I was thru for the night and with a good mystery story, climbed into the offending bunk and read until the wee hours of the morning.

After six glorious days at sea we rounded Diamond Head, and for most of us, our first sight of the Hawaiian Islands. We had eight hours, until about 6 p.m. to go sight seeing and stretch our legs. Another couple and ourselves hired a limozine (sic) to take us to all the interesting places we had heard about. We tasted our first sun ripened pineapple, cut from the plant. We visited Waikii, the Pali, the wonderful Aquarium and Museum and some of the native villages. We were invited in to one of the beautiful estates, owned by a friend of my husband's, who served us papaya juice. We did a little shopping in some of their very fine stores, and then enjoyed a delicious luncheon at the Royal Hawaiian Hotel. We spent most of the time from then on, watching the swimmers and surf board riders perform, while the children had a wonderful time playing in the sand. It was a memorable day but we were glad to go back to the ship and rest before dressing for dinner.

Upon leaving Honolulu, the ships swimming tank was put up. It was a large canvas affair on the lower deck, and used by all the passengers and crew but at different hours. Most of the young people disregarded this rule and stayed in the water most of the day. It was salt water and very bouyant. Little Peter, who turned out to be a waterdog, and had to be watched so he wouldn't sneak down and jump into the tank, clothes and all, when no one was watching. When crossing the Equator, we were all duly initiated. That is all of us who had never crossed the Equator before. My husband had, so he was excused from the tar and feathering. They were much easier on the women and children. Every one was a good sport and enjoyed the spoofing and all the discomfort that went with it. I was standing on the upper deck looking down on some of the activity, with Peter by my side, when one of the men came up and, without any by your leave, tossed Peter over the rail and down into the tank. I was horrified and terrified. He went down to the bottom of the tank, bobbed up like a cork and the next thing I knew he was standing beside me on the upper deck saying "Do it again." He was the youngest person on board ship, and being well behaved, quite the darling of the whole crew, even to the ship's Captain, who was seen having a tea party with Peter and a little girl friend. I had to realize that no harm could come to some one who was so closely watched as Peter.

My husband and I enjoyed the company of the very well known English Scientist more and more as the days went by. He was very quiet and aloof, typical Englishman's reserve, and yet we three were so companionable. We would take a blanket to the lower deck at the stern of the ship, and stretch out on our backs, to study the constellations. Near the equator, in the tropical evenings, the stars were so large and clear it seemed as though we could reach up and pluck them from the heavens. Our scientist friend had so much knowledge of astronomy and the early Greek myths, that we would lie there by the hour listening to him. It was such a wonderful way to see the Southern Cross for the first time, and was fascinating to realize that we were actually lying on the outside of this huge round ball, held on to the surface by gravity, while observing million and billions of miles away other planets and stars which might possibly be populated with other human beings. The space age was unknown to us laymen at that time.

A few days after leaving Honolulu, we had another awesome experience. The weather had been stormy with lightening and thunder, and rain fell in tremendous sheets, washing the waves over the upper deck. Great canvas sidings were put up to try and keep the promenade deck dry, but to no avail. The second day of the storm, when the rain and lightening had ceased, the Captain called all on board to look out one side of the ship and see a sight not very frequently seen by even the ships crew. There a huge great funnel-like object which whirled and twisted towards the heavens, becoming a great billow of dark clouds at the highest point. It was a water spout arising on the horizon, not too far from our path of progress, but far enough to be of no immediate danger to us. It was a terrifying sight and a perfect exhibition of Nature's fury.

The next few days were filled with the usual ships entertainment. The most fun was the Captain's party. Every one had to go in costume. It is wonderful what people can do on the spur of the moment, and with very little to work with. One lady came in a costume made out of tissue paper and ribbons off from gifts given to her when she left San Francisco. It was very colorful but exceedingly fragile and towards the end of the evening, she danced in her slip.

We were six days from Honolulu and Tutuila was only one day away. We spent most of the day packing, exchanging addresses and notes with our shipmates and preparing for early departure from our home on the Pacific Ocean. The Captain told us that we would arrive at Tutuila about six in the morning, so we were up very early to get our first glimpse of our South Sea Island home to be. As we dressed we kept peeking through the porthole until at last a dream Island appeared thru the early mist. As we drew closer we could see the white sandy beaches with palm trees and thickly wood (sic) hills arising abruptly behind. We circled the Island until we came to the most landlocked harbor in the world with the opening almost invisible from the ocean side. The view was breath takingly beautiful with a saphire (sic) blue bay, matching sky and the hills encircling the whole area the greenest green imaginable. The ship silently slid into position at the dock accompanied by many canoes with Samoans calling greetings. On the dock were what we believed most of the Samoan population on the Island. Many of the Navy and civilian personnel were there too. We soon learned that a ships arrival was the most interesting event, expecially (sic) when it was arriving from California and bringing mail from the United States. Because of probition (sic) in the United States no liquor was served in ships bar while in Pago Pago. To get around that inconvenience many parties were held in staterooms where plenty of cheers were given. Some officers even contrived to sneak some liquor thru the guards at the gangplanks.

The barber shop on board ship was the most popular place for all. It was well supplied with hose, cheap costume jewelry, candy, combs, brushes and all manner of articles the Polynesians wanted and were unable to buy in their own stores. The barber was kept busy also giving a more professional hair cut than the bowl and sissor (sic) type we were getting on the island. The Samoans always greeted the ship with Native songs and dances and passengers watched from the decks, would throw down to the dancers coins. A few weeks after our arrival, I was horrified to see my young son of two years happily dancing the Siva Siva with the rest of the Samoans, and being pelted with coins, he had no use for, but apparently his nursemaid had. I wanted to put a stop to this display but decided to let well enough alone as the other mothers who had their children performing too seemed so nonchalant about it. The children were enjoying themselves, wiggling and swaying in their minature (sic) grass skirts, with a hibiscus behind the ear.

We were met at the dock by the chief medical officer and his wife. We had chaperoned their lovely teenaged daughter while on board ship. She was returning home from school. The Captain and his wife escorted us to their home on Officer's Row where we were served our first Samoan meal, by Samoan servants. The Captain and his wife were very fortunate in having the Number I cookboy. We fell heir to the Number II cookboy and grew to love him as part of our family. After breakfast we were taken to our new home. It was not far from the dock and right next to the meli, or parade ground and bandstand. The beautiful boulevard which extended thru the navy base to the village of Pago Pago ran in front of our house with a well kept lawn on each side. Across the boulevard from our home the lawn sloped gentilly down to the waters edge. Palm trees stood guard over this area, and we eventually banked our paupau here.

Our new home was a one story bunglow (sic) type house with very wide varanda (sic) on all sides and set back form the boulevard by well kept lawns bordered by masses of hibiscus bushes of varied colors. There were palms, papaya and a huge mango tree in the front and side of the house. We had a large back yard where banana trees, more papayas, and a couple of pineapple plants were growing. It wasn't long before we had cotton, peanut and many more strange plants given us by members of the Morman (sic) Missionary. The land crabs and not gophers were our enemies. They not only nibbled on plants but stole our baby chicks as well. They only came out at night and were hard to catch. We were assigned a yard boy by the Navy, who kept our lawns cut and shrubs pruned. The rest of the gardening I enjoyed doing myself. We had sold or put in storage all of our furniture, best dishes and solid silver. The furniture we took to the islands with us was made to order in San Francisco. It was a combination of birch and rattan and we loved each piece of it.

With such large verandas we did not have enough furniture and none could be bought there. We decided to have what we needed made by the Samoans who were very clever in making anything if told just what was wanted.They made for us benches with backs which were covered with bright colored cretons (?). We also had made large planter boxes, about three feet high and six feet long which we placed at the ends of the front porch. These we filled with beautiful ferns which grew so tall they made a perfect screen separating the side porches from the front porch. We added a few ____ (?) tables, grass mats and a porch swing. Airplants hung in huge wire baskets at intervals along the front porch. With a few lamps and personal nicnacs we were very comfortable and received many compliments for our decor. The porches all around the house were screened and had canvas storm curtains. The porch on the left side of the house, and off from the bedroom was kept as a sleeping porch. Between our bedroom and our son's was a huge bathroom. The floor was cement and nice and cool, a delight in the tropics. There were high cupboards all around the room, which we found excellent to hide our bootleg liquor obtained from the ships coming from Australia and New Zealand. Our son's room was large and airy. It had a wash basin and toilet attached. The back porch ran across the whole of the rear of the house. It was very large and contained the maid's room, kitchen, store closets and cooler. The porch off the right side of the house was fixed as an outdoor breakfast room with French doors connecting it to the dining room inside. It looked out onto the garden and was the coolest spot in the house.

Every morning the Governor and other officers passed along the boulevard in front of our house to go to the Administration building where the raising of the flag was held. My two year old son whose little round tummy had no waist line, causing his lava lava, which he had adopted, to slip down around his hips, was dubbed the Navel Officer by the Governor, and saluted with proper respect, when the procession passed.

The view from our front porch was magnificent. The water in the bay was deep blue most of the time and without a ripple, but when a storm came the water became green with white ruffles. Across the bay the native villages snuggled near the beach with the heavily wooded hills rising abruptly behind. We could see the oneroom school house run by the Catholic Nuns. Further along at the entrance of the harbor was the mountain known as the Rain Maker. When a cloud hit the peak it would burst and rain would fall. Some times it would last only a minute or two, giving us time (sic) seek shelter until the sun would shine again. The Rain Maker was on the right side of the harbor going in, and the Governor's house on the left, slightly above the bay on a hill. Below the Governor's house was Officer's Row which consisted of bunglow (sic) type houses separated by well kept lawns and gardens. The golf course ran along in the rear. It was a very small and narrow course making it easy for amateurs like myself to blast the little white ball over the roof tops into the sami or bay. We played golf from 4:00 to 5:00 pm and then went in swimming. Our swimming area was protected by wire netting because of baracuda and other dangerous fish. It was very deep but the amount of salt in the water made it almost impossible to stay under water very long. It was also so clear one could see to great depths, and with water glasses, watch the beautiful tropical fish swimming in and out of the coral.

About the third day after arriving in Tutuila, the Navy people started to call. My husband and I were the youngest couple among the group of Americans sent there in government jobs. We were civilians, but because my husband who was sent to organize the bank as cashier, had an uncle, a retired Commondore (sic), who happened to be a classmate of the Governor's we were included in the Navy social life. We knew nothing about protocol, and blundered our way thru all the social taboos with the greatest of ease. In fact we soon learned that our blessed ignorance was our life savior (sic). At the time we were introduced to the Island society, there was feuding among the different ranking families. Mrs. Jones hated Mrs. Smith and the Governor couldn't abide Mrs. White and there were "affairs" going on and no one trusted any one. The different factions tried their level best to annex us as allies. We were dumb and played dumber, and in that way enjoyed every one. Most of the Navy people were thoroughly bored. They played bridge or poker, swam, had tea parties, went to the movies and played golf. Some didn't even have the energy for that, and just sat and gossiped. The same old life wherever they went. My husband and I couldn't understand that attitude. Everything about the island was very exciting to us. We loved the Samoans and tried to learn all about the way they lived, and their philosophy for such living. One of my husband's temporary jobs was to visit the native villages in order to estimate the amount of copra to be exported. I usually went with him, taking Peter, Marie his nursemaid and Iofi our cook. We took our own food for Peter, but enjoyed experimenting with the native dishes. A few things we could not bring ourselves to eat, such as fish eyes, hogs jaw and octopus. We never tired of breadfruit, taro, fish chowder made with cocoanut milk or many other staples in their diet. We always took plenty of sugar, butter, canned milk and chocolate candy, as well as costume jewelry and tobacco to the villages. The Samoans were unable to purchase these in our commissary and they were much too expensive in the island stores for most of the Samoans to buy. The Samoans themselves were most friendly and generous. If they liked you, they would give you anything they had. I found out very soon after our first visit not to praise any of their possessions, because they would want me to take it home. Too many visitors to the islands took advantage of this fact, and walked off with rare fine mats, beautiful tapas and carved bowls.

Not many of the Samoan children were taught the art of weaving the fine mats, or doing the native designs on the tapas. Most of the handcraft was made for tourists trade. We accepted very few gifts, and avoided hurting their feelings by asking them to keep the gifts until we sailed for home. We tried to encourage the very few older people who knew how, to teach the young the art of making tapas and mats with their symbolic patterns. When I left the island it was very sudden because of illness, and the Samoan friends did not know I was leaving, and did not have time to prepare going away gifts. They never forgot, for in about six weeks time I received many beautiful ones. Several were museum pieces and very old. One of the village chiefs sent a large kava bowl which had been in his family for generations.

When we first went to Tutuila one of the Chiefs from an outlying village, built me a paupau for my birthday. It was so slim and beautifully balanced it was a joy to paddle. Not only that, but in competition with other paupaus, it was the fastest and won all of the races. My husband would sometimes tie a sheet to a pole, making a sail, and take the paupau outside the harbor where the breeze would waft him back in with the speed of a humming bird, or so it seemed to me. I wasn't allowed to try that stunt. The paupaus are easily toppled and it is quite an art to turn them over again and swish out the water. I learned to do it after a while, but not very professionally. One time when I was paddling across the bay, a school of tortoises surrounded me. I really prayed hard for help for if one of those large turtles happened to get under the canoe, the canoe would surely topple over, and I would be at the mercy of the turtles as well as any baracuda nosing around.

Horseback riding had been one of my favorite sports at home, and after much inquiry, as horses were very scarce on the island, we were able to rent one from a native who enjoyed riding his horse in from a distant village to visit with relatives, twice a week. We always loaded his saddle bag with groceries and sweets for the children, which made me very popular when I visited their villages. My first ride was nearly disastrous. The horse was a large raw-boned creature that lived on cocoanut husks and very little else. Hay and oats were not obtainable, and it was too expensive to have it shipped it. I made a lasting friendship with him by feeding him a few large juicy carrots every time he took me for a ride. The first ride was almost my last. It was to be around the island, thru Pago Pago to the Catholic school, right across the bay from where we lived. I had paddled there many times, but never the trip on horseback. We started out slowly, jogging, and I mean jogging, enjoying the scenery until we came to a nice strip of road without a curve. The road was very narrow and at this spot ran along the water's edge with cliffs on one side and bay on the other. As there was no traffic in Samoa, I decided to let the horse gallop a little. A slight jab with my heel and away we went. Pegasus had nothing on us. What fun until I decided to stop, but pulling on the reins only made him go faster. The harder I pulled the faster he went. I stood up in the stirup (sic) and yanked with all my might, but he only went faster. He was puffing like a steam engine, and I was afraid he would have a heart attack, as well as killing me. We were nearing a village, and I knew that the children would be playing all over the place, and would be injured if the crazy horse didn't stop, so I yanked the reins as hard as I could to the side of the cliff and he had no place to go and had to stop. Both of us were weak and trembling. On reaching the village I dismounted. Suddenly we were surrounded by the whole village. The Chief came out to greet me and we were both royally entertained until it was time for us to make the trip home. I also learned that the horse was trained to run when you pulled on the reins, but would stop if the reins were slackened. The poor thing was doing his level best to please me, and when I realized this, he got extra carrots when we returned home. We were good friends from then on, and many happy trips were taken to the villages, where a red headed woman was quite a novelty, but one on horseback was thought to be extremely comical. However I was always treated with a great deal of respect and hospitality. Very few Natives in the outlying villages spoke English, and I knew only a few words in their language but we managed to express ourselves with facial contortions and fluttering hands. A smile will get you any place.

So much has been said about the indolence of people living in the tropics. That probably is due to the fact that most visitors to the islands sleep late in the morning, sauntering out not earlier than ten oclock, and observing that the natives are dozing or sitting around chatting with their friends, and practically doing nothing. We thought that too until we visited the villages and learned that the men, women, children got up before dawn to tend to their groves of bananas, cocoanut trees or papayas. They also grew taro and many other plants the missionaries had introduced into the island. Fishing was done by spearing or nets. They hunted tree crabs, lupi, a wild pigeon, which was considered a very great delicacy, and which could only be found in the mountains. Turtles were trapped, the meat eaten and the shells made into lovely bracelets, hair ornaments and rings. Wood carving and basket weaving is done during the heat of the day and usually accompanied by much chatter, laughter and singing. The Samoans are such happy people. As the sun sets the Polynesians come out of their villages like butterflies from their cocoons, dressed in their colorful lava lavas or mother hubbards, wearing bright colored flowers behind their ear. They stroll along playing ukelalies (sic) and singing with much laughter and talking.

On steamer day the Samoans would come in from all the villages bringing with them their handicraft, and carrying large black umbrellas. Each person or family would settle down at the edge of the meli, or parade ground, and display their wares. The tourists bought a great deal, without much knowledge of value. Some discriminating soul might find a beautiful tapa, or fine piece of carving, among the usual articles for sale. We also bought a good many things on steamer day, but sent most of them home to our friends as curios and not examples of the beautiful workmanship shown in the early tapas and carvings.

Between our house and the meli was the bandstand. The band leader was a Filipino sargent in the Marines, and the musicians members of the Fita Guard, the Samoan representatives of the Marines. They wore white T-shirts, black lava lavas with red sashes, red bands around the head and red stripes on the lower part of their lavas. The number of stripes were according to their rank. They were a handsome group of men and very proud of their position on the Island. All of the military exercises were done on the meli, right next to our home, so we had front seats to all of the events from military to Samoan Rugby games. The ball games lasted days, and many of the cook boys were too busy playing or watching the games, to find time to cook meals. The games were played to the rhythm of a monotonous beating on empty oil cans. That we dreaded and would try to hide all the oil cans possible.

The bandstand, which was next to our home, was wonderful. I tried to arrange my afternoon bridge parties, on the days when the band played and dinner with dancing on the evenings when we were furnished free music. Sousa would probably never recognize his marches, but we enjoyed them and the Samoans always had rhythm even if a few strange notes were heard. If we clapped we got an encore, so we clapped often enough to keep the dancing going as long as possible. At midnight the electricity was turned off, so we all had to end our parties at that time.

There was a movie house where, thanks to the Navy, we were able to see the very best films. The house was divided in half with benches on one side for the Navy personel (sic) and civilians. The Samoans preferred sitting on mats on the floor so they had the other side. I was more fascinated watching the Samoans reaction to the pictures than I was to the pictures themselves. They didn't understand half of what they saw and did a lot of giggling. News reals were particularly fascinating to them and they wondered if what they saw was really true. I feel the same way about outer space, but am too self-conscious to giggle about it.

One day I made a discovery which strange as it may seem, very few Samoans, if any, knew of. We had had a recent very heavy rain which left the trees and shrubs glistening. The coloring in the bark on the palm trees was beautiful and I was examining it in detail, and on pulling off a small piece of bark, found a tiny cluster of grayish white eggs. They looked like a minature (sic) bunch of grapes and were held to the tree by a stemlike aperature. I was very curious and carefully removed them from the tree and on arriving home, put them in a matchbox filled with cotton. Not knowing what was going to hatch out, and not too sure anything would, I placed the matchbox in an empty drawer. A few days later we opened the drawer and found to our consternation a dozen or so tiny little lizards wiggling out of their shells. They were so tiny we had a hard time catching them. One of our friends, a Samoan, said he thought they were baby singing lizards. We were delighted at that. The singing lizard, which never seemed to grow more than an inch or two, were very welcome guests in our homes. They kept us practically free of insects and mosquitoes and lived on the screens which enclosed our porches. They would come up and eat minute pieces of liver from my fingers and never seemed to be afraid. They had a soft little song which was friendly and as welcomed as a cricket on the hearth.

Wherever we go we seem to gather pets. My husband, who was glad to loan the Samoans a dollar or or two when needed, and knew at the time there was little chance of being paid back in kind, also knew they were a very proud people who met their obligations some way. On one of these occasions a young man brought a most bedraggled, skinny hen to the house in payment of a small loan. It was so pathetic without an ounce of meat on it, and the feathers were all growing the wrong way. Our nursemaid called it a Hurricane chicken. She volunteered to fatten it up so it would be edible. She tied a string on its leg and staked it out in the back yard near the house, then began the stuffing process. Day by day you could see a mirical (sic) take place. From a scrawny, dirty little hen she turned into a beautiful golden bantam Cinderella. We turned her loose with a few Rhode Island Reds we had, but it was a mistake. Tetrazzini, as she was called because of her constant singing, had forgotten she was a chicken, and refused to hobnob with her own kind. We fixed a box for her on the back porch and a small fenced - in space in the back yard.

It was not long after that that we were presented with a small puppy. He was covered with fleas and had sore eyes. His breed was questionable but appeared to have some fox terrier and black and tan. We bathed him, disinfected him and treated his sore eyes. He was a cute, friendly little puppy who refused to sleep anywhere but in the same box as Tetrazzini. She loved him and at night would try to cover him with her wings. They ate out of the same dish and the same food.

We had been given many kittens but as soon as they became fat enough would be stolen and eaten. Finally the Marine Sargent gave us a beautiful little gray and white kitten. We had had so many heartaches with kittens being stolen, that we decided to use every precaution and not to let it out of the house unless some one was there to guard it. After due course of time it grew into a rather large beautiful cat. Its ears were tuffed (sic) like a Manx and had the intelligence of a Siamese. It acted more like a dog than a cat; an insisted in sleeping with Tetrazzini and the puppy and also ate out of the same dish.

When the kitten was about four months old we missed her. The Samoans were having one of their long ball games on the parade grounds next to our house. It was always a terrifically noisy affair with the Natives from all the villages rooting, banging on oil cans, and in general blasting the sound barriers. On arriving home after a game of golf, we were greeted by our cook boy and nursemaid with the news that kitten had disappeared. She was in the habit of playing hide and seek with Peter, so we searched the house, opening every cupboard, closet and under the beds but no kitten. We suspected that she had been stolen for food. We asked every one if they had seen her but no one had. We went into the nearby villages calling and asking if she had been seen. About midnight we gave up the search, believing we had lost her the same way we had lost our other kittens. About 2 a.m. our nursemaid woke up saying she had heard a kitten crying so we put on our robes and with flash lights went in search. We could hear the crying coming closer and closer. It was such a pathetic little cry. At last we found her trying to drag herself home. Some Samoan, trying to kill her with a machete, missed and just cut off part of her tail, leaving a two inch stub. The kitten was very weak from loss of blood and we were afraid she would die, but that was only the first of her nine lives. She became more like a frolicking puppy than ever with her stubby tail.

Tetrazzini had made up her mind that she had laid us enough eggs, one a day for twenty six days, and would now keep some for herself. She insisted on setting in my best chair. Everyday she would lay an egg there and refuse to budge. This was awkward asking our guests to sit on other chairs so Tetrazzini could have the best, so we fixed a special box for her which after laying four eggs she decided to use. One of my Samoan friends said that the eggs probably were not fertile and no babies would hatch. This was about a week after the original four were laid. My friend was mistaken about Tetrazzini's sex life. She had a boy friend somewhere. She calmly walked out of her box one day with three baby chicks leaving one egg. There was signs of an embryo inside. What to do! Malia, our nurse maid came to the rescue. She opened a kapok pillow and placed the egg inside. The pillow was then put on a wire frame protecting a light globe in one of our closets. The heat from the globe kept our leather goods and good clothes from mildewing. Every so often I would take the clothes out and hang them in the sunshine and fresh air. We all forgot about the egg. One day I decided to air our clothes and nearly fainted with excitement on hearing a faint peep within the pillow. There inside was the most beautiful baby chick, a deep golden brown and full of pep. It hopped out of the pillow and started exploring around as if it had been doing it for weeks. We tried giving the baby to Tetrazzini but she would peck at it and chase it away from the other chicks. She wouldn't let it feed out of the same dish so we gave him one of his own (he turned out to be a rooster). As Tetrazzini's dish became quite crowded with her chicks, puppy, and kitten, the kitten decided to move over to the baby chick's plate so everyone was contented. They all ate bread and milk, mashed potatoes, vegetables and ice cream. No chicken feed for them. Eventually Tetrazzini's three chickens were put out with the Rhode Island Reds, and she started laying again. Our hot closet baby grew fast and it became a beautiful bantam rooster. It was all one big happy family.

Every Monday morning Iofi, our cook boy, and I would make out our menues and lists of food and articles needed for that week. We had commissary privileges so twice a week we paraded down the main street to the store. Peter, our son, loved to go too so Malia joined to watch the boy. The puppy followed us everywhere and when the little rooster was old enough he would swagger along in the rear. It was quite a sight and caused many a giggle from the on lookers. We never allowed the kitten out. She was too well fed and a temptation for those who enjoyed cat stew.