My Tahiti by Robert Dean Frisbie — Read

Nui-man, Atua, and I walked on in advance of the others to arrive at the himené house in time to see Toto opening the doors and lighting the lamps. Before long we took our places inside, among the dignified older people, while round the doorway and on the grassy plot in front of the Faré Putu-Putu-Ra gathered the tau-rearea--the husbandless girls and the wifeless youths, just as one sees them, or used to see them, loitering about church doors in small country towns at home. Here, too, seated on the steps, were the people of no social standing, and those who took only a nominal part in the singing, joining the choruses now and then, but for the most part sorting over the gossip for the week, picking out choice morsels of scandal for lengthy discussion. The children were everywhere, little Tomi among them, in the trees, rolling in the grass, running races along the road, holding impromptu choruses of their own when three or four of them rested for a moment from their play.

Within doors the singers arranged themselves as carefully as though they were members of an orchestra. Forming a large semicircle at the rear were the maru-haruru--the young men who did little singing, but who kept time for the rest by swaying their bodies and chanting in deep undertones: "Ugh! Ugh! Ugh! Ugh! Ugh! Ugh! Ugh! Aye, ah! Aye, ah! Aye, ah, ah, ah!"