Chapter 47

"There's Fanatea!" shouted my uncle, pointing to a long white house at the end of an avenue of palms. A path, bordered by ornamental palms, led from the pier to my uncle's house, set on a rise of land a quarter of a mile beyond. The plantation had a long frontage on the beach and extended inland, across the rich alluvial flat, up into the hills. More than two hundred acres were planted with coconuts--stately young palms in rows ten yards apart--and lines of fencing divided the land into paddocks, where I saw fat ca…