persons were on her decks; five thousand stood on the wharf. Up and
down the long gangway passed native princes and princesses, sugar
kings and the high officials of the Territory. Beyond, in long
lines, kept in order by the native police, were the carriages and
motor-cars of the Honolulu aristocracy. On the wharf the Royal
Hawaiian Band played "Aloha Oe," and when it finished, a stringed
orchestra of native musicians on board the transport took up the
same sobbing strains, the native woman singer's voice rising
birdlike above the instruments and the hubbub of departure. It was
a silver reed, sounding its clear, unmistakable note in the great
diapason of farewell.

Forward, on the lower deck, the rail was lined six deep with khaki-
clad young boys, whose bronzed faces told of three years'
campaigning under the sun. But the farewell was not for them. Nor
was it for the white-clad captain on the lofty bridge, remote as the
stars, gazing down upon the tumult beneath him. Nor was the
farewell for the young officers farther aft, returning from the
Philippines, nor for the white-faced, climate-ravaged women by their
sides. Just aft the gangway, on the promenade deck, stood a score
of United States Senators with their wives and daughters--the
Senatorial junketing party that for a month had been dined and
wined, surfeited with statistics and dragged up volcanic hill and
down lava dale to behold the glories and resources of Hawaii. It
was for the junketing party that the transport had called in at
Honolulu, and it was to the junketing party that Honolulu was saying
good-bye.

The Senators were garlanded and bedecked with flowers. Senator
Jeremy Sambrooke's stout neck and portly bosom were burdened with a