Start eastwards from Heath Island—Naroopoo—Trading with Natives—Landing at Roux Island—Interview with the Chief—The Man with the club—Effect of a gunshot on the natives—Ellengowan Bay—Narrow Escape—The steam-whistle useful—Attempt to go inland unsuccessful—Amazons—Women chief instigators of quarrels—Toulon Island—The real “Amazons’ Land”—How the report arose—Cloudy Bay—Interview with the Chief—Sandbank Bay—A hurried time—Dufaure Island—Attack on Mr. Chalmers by Aroma natives—Defended by some of the natives—Attack due to evil conduct of white men—Intentions of the natives—Heathen customs—Pigs—Planting—Trading—Sickness.

The Ellengowan had been thoroughly refitted at Sydney; and in the spring of 1878, accompanied by my wife, I embarked on a cruise from east to west along the south coast of New Guinea. The little steamer was commanded by Captain Dudfield, and manned by an efficient native crew. Communication was held with some two hundred villages, one hundred and five were personally visited, and ninety for the first time by a white man. Several bays, harbours, rivers, and islands were discovered and named; the country between Meikle and Orangerie Bays, together with that lying at the back of Kerepunu was explored, and the entire coast line from Keppel Point to McFarlane Harbour, traversed on foot.

In travelling through a new country, it is impossible not to have many experiences that may interest those at home, although to the traveller they may seem of little moment. In May, 1878, I began my journeys on New Guinea, in parts hereto unknown, and amongst tribes supposed to be hostile. I resolved, come what might, to travel unarmed, trusting to Him in whose work I was engaged, and feeling that no harm could come to me while in His care.

On leaving Heath Island, we really began on new and little-known seas and country, and we first anchored in a bay we called Inverary Bay. On landing, we were met by a few men, the others coming out with goods and chattels. We steamed round by the Leocadie, through what forms a good harbour for small vessels, and over by the sandbanks in Catamaran Bay. We called at Tanosina, to the east of the Leocadie, landing with caution, as these people had been rather troublesome on our first arrival at South Cape, and were very anxious to avenge the man shot on board the Mayri. They did not receive us heartily, and seemed inclined to be impudent, so I thought it best, after giving one or two presents, to get quietly to the boat and away. I may here say that in after-times these people were very friendly, and helped us much in our work. We visited all round the bay, returning to South Cape.

After getting a supply of water and fuel on board, we started again, going east round Rugged Head to Farm Bay, and well up to the head of the bay, anchoring opposite to Naroopoo. I landed, and soon had an admiring crowd round me. I was dressed in white, with black leather boots. Sitting on a verandah, some, more daring than others, would come up, touch my shirt and trousers, bite their fingers, and run away. Again and again this was done by the bold ones, who always eyed my boots. After consultation, one old woman mustered courage, came up, touched my trousers, and finally my boots. She was trembling all over, but horror of horrors, to add to her fear, lifting my foot, I pulled my boot off; she screamed and ran, some others setting out with her, and did not stop until quite out of sight.

After visiting several villages, and finding that the bay was thickly populated, I went on board. The following morning many canoes came alongside, and on our getting up steam were much afraid. It was evident they wanted to show us that they had confidence in us, but it was difficult with the steam up, the snorting and general commotion on board being so great. We warned them on getting up anchor to clear off. Why should they? There was no sail, nor were we going to move. A commotion aft, canoes with crews clearing away to a very safe distance. One canoe hanging on is pulled under, a wild shout, a moment’s silence, and then there is a loud roar of laughter, when they see canoe and paddlers appear astern at some distance. We rounded One Tree Point and could see no entrance to a bay, just a few miles beyond, but since explored and named Lawes Bay. Keeping on, we anchored outside of the Roux Islands, in a fine safe harbour. Before leaving our friends at South Cape, they were boasting of having visited some place on the coast, where, on showing their large knives, the natives all left, they helping themselves to a good many things.

We had some difficulty in getting a canoe to come alongside, and it was not until we had fastened a piece of red cloth to a stick and floated it astern, that the first canoe would come near. The natives approached, picked up the red cloth, and in showing them pieces of hoop-iron, they gradually came near enough to take hold of a piece, look well at it, and finally decide to come alongside. Once alongside we were soon fraternizing, and on seeing this other canoes came off, and trading for curios began. Asking the captain to keep on trading as long as possible, I hastened ashore, to see the chief of one of the villages. As long as trading canoes remain alongside, the parties landing are perfectly safe; care should be taken to get away as soon as possible after the canoes leave the vessel.

The tide was far out when our boat touched the beach. A crowd met us, and in every hand was a club or spear. I went on to the bow, to spring ashore, but was warned not to land. I told them I had come to see the chief, had a present for him, and must see him.

“Give us your present, and we will give it to him, but you must not land.”

“I am Tamate, from Suau, and have come as a friend to visit your old chief, and I must land.”

An elderly woman came close up to the boat, saying, “You must not land, but I will take the present, or,” pointing to a young man close by, “he will take it for his father,” he being the chief’s son.

“No; I must see the chief for myself; but the son I should also like to know, and will give him a present too.”

Springing ashore, followed by the mate, a fine, daring fellow, much accustomed to roughing it on the diggings, and not the least afraid of natives, I walked up the long beach to the village, to the chief’s house. The old man was seated on the platform in front of the house, and did not even deign to rise to receive us. I told him who I was, and the object of my coming. He heard me through, and treated the whole as stale news. I placed my present on the platform in front of him, and waited for some word of satisfaction; but none escaped the stern old chieftain. Presents of beads were handed to little children in arms, but indignantly returned. Loud laughing in the outskirts of crowd and little jostling.

“Gould,” said I to the mate, “I think we had better get away from here; keep eyes all round, and let us make quietly to the beach.”

To the chief I said, “Friend, I am going; you stay.” Lifting his eyebrows, he said, “Go.”

We were followed by the crowd, one man with a large round club walking behind me, and uncomfortably near. Had I that club in my hand, I should feel a little more comfortable. When on the beach we saw the canoes had left the vessel, and were hurrying ashore; our boat was soon afloat, still, we had some distance to go. I must have that club, or I fear that club will have me. I had a large piece of hoop-iron, such as is highly prized by the natives, in my satchel; taking it, I wheeled quickly round, presented it to the savage, whose eyes were dazzled as with a bar of gold. With my left hand I caught the club, and before he became conscious of what was done I was heading the procession, armed as a savage, and a good deal more comfortable. We got safely away.

From Fyfe Bay we went round to Meikle Bay, where I visited all the villages, and was well received. Before landing I decided to walk inland, and see for myself if there was no arm of the sea running up at the back. The charts showed no such thing, but I felt sure, from the formation of the land and the manner of clouds hanging over it, that there must be a lake or some large sheet of water, and that there must be considerable streams carrying off the water of the Lorne Range and Cloudy Mountains, as no stream of any size came to the sea on the coast-side. I got the chief of the village at the head of the bay and a large following to show us the way. We travelled for some miles through good country, and at last came out opposite a large sheet of water, stretching well up towards Cloudy Mountain and away towards the head of Milne Bay. Seeing the Stirling Range, I was able to take a few positions.

Our mate, who had his fowling-piece with him, saw a very pretty parrot on a cocoanut tree. He approached until close under—the natives, about forty in number, standing breathlessly round, and wondering what was going to happen. Bang! Down dropped the parrot; a wail, hands to ears, a shout, and we were left alone with the chief, who happened to be standing close by me. Those natives only ceased running when they reached their homes.

We visited several villages, and at sundown returned. In the dark we travelled along the bed of a creek, passing small villages, whose inhabitants were terribly alarmed, but none more so than our chief. Poor fellow, he was frightened. How nimbly he ascended his platform on our arrival at his house, where his two wives were crying, but now rejoiced to see him in the body. Long ago the escort had returned with a terrible tale, and they feared whether their husband could have lived through it all. But he was now considered a veritable hero, to be sung in song and shouted in dance. Friends gather round; he tells his tale; presents the bird; the wives examine it, then the crowd of relatives. He afraid! oh dear no! But he looked pale for a native, and no quantity of hoop-iron would induce him to move from that platform and the side of those dear wives that night. Enough for one day, one month, one year, so, “Good-bye, Tamate; I shall be off in the morning to see you.” Arriving on board late, we were welcome: they feared we had been spirited away.

The following day we got round to Ellengowan Bay. After visiting all the villages, I went right up to the head of the bay to see Silo and its chief. The tide was very low, and after pulling the boat some distance through mud we left her in charge of the two rowers, the mate and I going to the village. He had hoop-iron cut in seven-inch lengths in his pockets. The old chief received us graciously, and began giving me a long story of what he wished to do in the way of pigs and food, if I would only stay two days. It was a sickly looking hole, and not being quite rid of fever, I hoped to get on board and away in an hour. A large crowd gathered round, all under arms, very noisy, and certainly not gentle. A slight scuffle took place, but was soon over. The mate missed some of his hoop-iron, caught one young man with a piece, and took it from him. The crowd increased. I told the chief I should prefer his people unarmed, and not so noisy. He spoke to them, some put down their clubs and spears; but they were hidden in the bush close by. We bade the chief good-bye, but he expressed a great wish to see me in the boat. Apparently with great carelessness, we made towards the beach, attended by a noisy crowd, all arms now picked up. Remembering the difficulty we had in landing, and knowing savages preferred killing out of their own villages, hospitality having ended when friends left the precincts, I determined not to have that crowd near the boat. I asked the chief to send them back; but to him they would not listen, and still the noisy crowd followed on. I shouted to them to return, and not come troubling us, as we were getting into the boat. No use; on they followed, and the boat they meant to visit. I stood still, and not feeling particularly cheerful, I told them to go on, and go off to the vessel—that I should wait and return to the village. Stamping my foot, as if in a towering passion, I told the chief, “Go with all your people to the boat; as for me, I shall return.” It had the desired effect. The people fled, and the few who remained listened to the old man, and came no further. We got to the boat and away, glad to escape without any unpleasantness.

Entering Orangerie Bay, we anchored off the village of Daunai, from which the whole district takes its name. When here, our Chinese cook lost his knife, and, spotting the thief, determined to have it; but our captain prevented him from jumping into one of the canoes, and so avoided trouble. There were over one hundred canoes round the vessel, and altogether over four hundred men.

We stopped all trading, and frightened the canoes away by blowing the steam whistle—they were much afraid of it, and kept at a very respectful distance.

We went up the long sheet of water we saw when we crossed Meikle Bay, finding it in every way suited to its native name, Paroai, or piggish water, and quite useless as a harbour for anything larger than an ordinary boat. I went ashore in one of the canoes, to be landed at Bootu, and walk across to Milne Bay. Before leaving the vessel I engaged with the natives to take me right away to the head of the lagoon, and when I had seen Milne Bay, to return me to the vessel, when they would be paid for all their trouble. So with our bags and a few eatables, we started; when about a mile away from the vessel, they headed the canoe more in towards the right shore, and no amount of talk in calmness or wrath would get them to do otherwise. We touched at a place not far from a village we visited overland—some left us, and we were certainly now too weak to proceed. We ran down to the village, where we landed with my bag, and away went my native canoe men. Love or money would not move the villagers, and they were exceedingly impudent, knowing well that we were quite in their hands. My friend the mate, who insisted on accompanying me, agreed with me that things were rather out of the common with us, and that a sharp eye, and quick ear, and quick action were of some importance. They at once went to get their clubs and spears, and begged and insisted on presents; but they were astonished, I doubt not, to find their begging of little avail.

“Go to the vessel, if you want presents.”

“Why are you anchored so far off?”

“Can’t get nearer, and only wish you would show me the way in close to here.”

Pointing to a passage close in shore, I suggested they had better take us off, and we would try and get her round when the tide rose; but to this they objected, and instead of becoming more friendly, it seemed to us they were just going the other way; but that may have been merely as we thought, looking at them through coloured glasses, suspicion, and a certain mixture of doubt if ever we should again see the vessel. A few men came running along the beach. I met them, and hurriedly asked them to take us off when they would have hoop-iron and beads.

“Yes.”

“Quick! do not let them think! Into the nearest canoe.”

Away in the distance those in the village were shouting and gesticulating.

“Come back! Come back, at once.”

“Oh no, my friends; pull, you must pull!” and while they are discussing we are paddling. I tell them it would be dangerous to attempt going back. On we go, beyond small islands in sight of vessel, and now they give up speaking of returning. We got off, and I paid the fellows well. Anxious to get in, we tried in many places at high tide to enter the shore channel, but all was useless. For several miles we were sailing deep in mud, unable to work the engine. A canoe came near, and I told them to inform those ashore that we could not get in.

At Port Glasgow, the people cleared out, bag and baggage, leaving us in quiet possession. At Port Moresby, I had heard of a woman’s land, a land where only women—perfect Amazons—lived and ruled. These ladies were reported to be excellent tillers of the soil, splendid canoeists in sailing or paddling, and quite able to hold their own against attacks of the sterner sex, who sometimes tried to invade their country. At the East End they knew nothing of this woman’s land, and nowhere east of Hula have I ever heard it spoken of.

To find so interesting a community was of great moment, and everywhere we went we inquired, but only to be laughed at by the natives; sometimes asked by them, “How do they continue to exist?” But that, too, puzzled us. As no part of the coast from East Cape to Port Moresby would be left unvisited by us, we were certain to come across the Amazonian settlement, and when we did, it would be useful to keep a sharp look-out, as I have noticed that the instigators of nearly all quarrels are the women. I have seen at South Cape, when the men were inclined to remain quiet, the women rush out, and, as if filled with devils, incite them. Just after the attack on the Mayri, and when I was going about the settlement attending to the wounded, I heard the women call loudly for vengeance, and, because the men would not at once heed them, throw their shields on the ground and batter them with stones, then pull their hair, and tell the men they were only poor weak cowards.

We heard that Mailiukolo (Toulon) canoes with women were more numerous, and some very large ones with women alone. In the early morning we were off the island, and soon ready to land. On crossing the reef we met two canoes, one with men and one with women. We signed to them to go to the vessel, whilst we pulled up to the large village on the north side. As the boat touched the fine hard sandy beach, a man, the only being in sight, ran down and stood in front. I went forward to spring ashore, but he said I must not. Finding he knew the Daunai dialect, I said to him, I must land; that I was a friend, and gave him my name, which he already knew from the east. I gave him a strip of red cloth and stepped ashore, when he ran away into the bush. At our first approach I could only see this one man, but now I saw hundreds of grass petticoats on women standing under the houses. I could not see the upper parts of their bodies, only the petticoats and feet. They were indeed quiet until I advanced nearer, when one wild scream was given that would try stronger nerves than mine, and signs to keep away. It required more inquisitiveness than I possessed to proceed. I retired a few paces, warning the boat’s crew to keep a good look-out, and especially from the bush end of the village, where the man ran to. I invited the dusky damsels to come to me, if they objected to my visiting them; but no, I must return whence I came; they had seen me, that was enough.

“No, my friends; we must meet, and you will have some presents.”

I held up beads and red cloth, but, strange to say, they seemed to have no effect on that curious crowd. I never saw so many women together. How were we to meet? was now the question; to be baulked by them would never do. I threw on the beach a piece of red cloth and a few beads; walked away quite carelessly, and apparently not noticing what was taking place. A girl steals out from the crowd, stops, turns, eyes fixed on me; advances, stops, crosses her hands, pressing her breast. Poor thing! not courage enough; so, lightning speed, back. It is evident the old ladies object to the younger ones attempting, and they are themselves too frightened. Another young damsel about nine or ten years old comes out, runs, halts, walks cat-like, lest the touch of her feet on the sand should waken me from my reverie; another halt, holds her chest, lest the spirit should take its flight or the pattering heart jump right out. I fear it was beyond the slight patter then, and had reached the stentorian thump of serious times. On; a rush; well done! She picks cloth and beads up.

I have gained my point, and will soon have the crowds—no need to wait so long to have the baits picked up now, and, after a few more such temptings, it is done. I am besieged by the noisest crowd I have ever met, and am truly glad to escape on board the boat. We went to the vessel, and brought her round to the west side, where we anchored, and I again landed. Crowds met me on the beach, but no men. I gave my beads indiscriminately, and soon there was a quarrel between the old ladies and young ones. The latter were ordered off, and, because they would not go, I must go. The old ladies insisted on my getting into the boat, and, being now assisted by the few men we met in the canoe, I thought it better to comply. Long after we left the beach we heard those old cracked, crabbed voices anathematizing the younger members of that community. I suppose I was the first white mortal to land on that sacred shore, and I must have been to them a strange object indeed.

I am fully convinced that this is the Woman’s Land, and can easily account for its being called so by stray canoes from the westward.

After leaving the island, we steamed round to the westward of the small islands in Amazon Bay, where we intended to spend a quiet Sabbath after a hard week’s work, and previous to beginning another. After anchoring, canoes with men and boys kept crossing from the mainland, and all day Sunday it was the same. They halted at the islands, and with the next tide went on to Toulon. Landing on the Saturday evening to shoot pigeons, we met several natives, and learned that their plantations were on the mainland, and that they crossed to plant and fight, taking their boys with them. Afterwards at Aroma, they told me they left their wives and daughters at home in charge of a few men, whilst the majority crossed to the main, and stayed away for some time, returning with food, to spend a few days at home on the island. During their absence, the women sail about and trade, going as far as Dedele in Cloudy Bay, being one and the same people. Canoes from the westward might have called at Toulon when the men were on the mainland fighting and planting, and seeing only women, would soon report a woman’s land. Many years ago an Elema canoe was carried away there. They were kindly treated by the Amazons, but at Dedele on returning, were attacked and several killed; they naturally reported a woman’s land too.

The following week we visited Dedele in Cloudy Bay, which had been visited two years previously by Messrs. Lawes and McFarlane. The village was barricaded with high and thick mangrove sticks, with a narrow opening to the sea. They objected to my landing, and formed a crescent in front of the boat. I sprung ashore and asked for the chief. I held out a piece of hoop-iron, and a rather short, well-built man, dressed with boar’s tusks and other ornaments, stepped forward and took my present. He took me by the hand, and led me to the village, just allowing me to peep in at the opening. I could see the women rushing out by an opening at the other side; pigs, dogs, nets, and other valuables were being carried off; they were rushing off wildly away into the bush. I was very anxious to get right in, and meant to before I went to the boat. My beads were all done up in small parcels, so I could throw them about easily. A poor old woman was sitting under the nearest house, bewailing her sad lot, with an infant, the mother of which had very likely gone off to the bush to hide the valuables and to return for the child, or perhaps she was upstairs packing up. I threw the poor old dame a packet of beads for herself and another for the child. Spying another old lady close by on the opposite side, I threw her one. It had the desired effect; my friend, the chief, who stood guard at the opening, now conceived the “happy thought” that something could be made out of me.

“Would you like to walk round and look at the village?”

“Yes, I should.”

“Come, then;” and, giving me his hand, he led me, attended by an armed crowd, to every house, on the verandahs of which I deposited a packet of beads. He was the chief, and was named Gidage. When going round he said—

“You are no longer Tamate, you are Gidage.”

“Right, my friend; you are no longer Gidage, you are Tamate.”

I gave him an extra present, and he gave me a return one, saying, “Gidage, we are friends; stay, and I, Tamate, will kill you a pig.”

“No, Tamate. Gidage must go; but hopes to re-return, and will then eat Tamate’s pig.”

“No, stay now; we are friends, and you must be fed!”

“No, I cannot stay; but when I return, then pig-eating”—not a very pleasant employment when, other things can be had.

Pigs are very valuable animals here, and much thought of, and only true friends can be regaled with them. The women nurse the pig. I have seen a woman suckling a child at one breast and a small pig at the other; that was at South Cape. I have seen it also at Hula and Aroma. Proceeding to the beach, we parted, old and well-known friends.

“Gidage, must you go?”

“Yes; I cannot now stay, Tamate.”

“Go, Gidage; how many moons until you return?”

“Tamate, I cannot say; but hope to return.”

“Kaione (good-bye), Tamate.”

“Kaione, Gidage;” and away he started, leaving Tamate on the beach, surrounded by an interesting crowd of natives.

It was near here, a few years after, that a bÊche-de-mer party of seven were murdered; and on the opposite side of the bay two cedar-seekers were waylaid, and lost their lives. We went into Sandbank Bay, and I landed at the village of Domara. What a scene it was! The women rushed into the long grass, and I was led, after a good deal of talk, up to the village—only to see, at the other end, grass petticoats disappearing, the wearers hidden by the quantity of stuff they were carrying. One poor woman, heavily laden with treasures, had perched above all her child, and away she, too, was flying. Never had white man landed there before, and who knows what he may be up to?

The following incident illustrates the shocks a traveller must put up with in New Guinea.

It was resting-day at a village, far away from the coast, and, spreading my chart out on the middle of the floor in the small native house in which we were camping, several sitting round, I was tracing our journey done, and the probable one to do, when strange drops were falling around, a few on the chart. They came from a bulky parcel overhead. Jumping up quickly, I discovered that they were grandmother’s remains being dried. Our chart was placed on the fire, and the owner was called lustily, who hurriedly entered and walked away with the parcel. It was altogether a hurried time, and spoiled our dinner. Feeling convinced that a suitable locality for the settlement of teachers might be found in the neighbourhood of Orangerie Bay, I resolved on returning thither, and we anchored at Kuragori, on the east side of Dufaure Island, on April 25th, 1879. I went ashore, and found the people delighted to meet me. The chief, Tutuaunei, seems a fine young fellow. The people are good-looking, clear-skinned, and very few suffering from skin disease. They were quite at home with us, and a number accompanied me inland. In strong trade winds, the vessel could lie under the lee of the mainland opposite. We got on board, and steamed round to the north side, anchoring off Bonabona.

I went ashore, and was met on the beach by Meaudi, the chief. He is the chief of four villages, some distance from one another, and all a good size. I visited all four. They have good houses, and all looks clean. I saw no mangroves whatever, and no appearance of swamp. The villages are on the beach, and I believe in good healthy positions. We walked from Bonabona to Sigokoiro, followed by a large number of men, women, and children, who were much interested in my boots, clothes, and hat. The chief lives in Gokora, and when on the platform in front of his fine large house I gave the present, and we exchanged names. By adopting his name, it meant I was to visit all his very special friends, and give them also presents. I called an old woman sitting by to come to me. Very hesitatingly she came, and stretched forth her arm to receive a present. I asked her to come nearer, which she did, when assured by the chief it was all right, and I put her present of beads round her neck. Then all the people shouted, clapped their hands, and danced with delight. After that, all the old women were produced. We were well known by report to them, and so Tamate passed as a great taubada (chief).

Dufaure is a fine island, quite equal to any I have seen in the South Pacific—plantations on all sides, right up to the mountain tops. They know nothing of firearms, for, on inquiring if there were birds on the island, they asked if I had a sling. The people are a much finer race, and freer than any I have seen further east. The two races seem to meet here—that from the Kerepunu side, and that from the east. We are anchored some distance from the shore in three fathoms, and further out it is shallower. The opposite shore on mainland looks low and unhealthy.

There are ten villages on the island, five of which we have visited.

After visiting the Keakaro and Aroma districts, our journeyings were nearly brought to a sudden termination. When we got halfway between the point next to McFarlane Harbour, and Mailu, where there is a boat entrance, we saw the boat, and waved to them to approach. They came near to the surf, but not near enough for us to get on board. The native of Hula, from Maopa, got on board. The Hula boy got on board early in the day, leaving us to go on alone. I called out to them to proceed to the boat entrance at Mailu. Great numbers of natives were with us; we saw, in the distance, numbers more sitting on the beach, and armed. Some of those following us were armed. When within two miles of where the boat was to await us, we came upon a crowd of men and women; the former carried spears, clubs, or pieces of hard wood, used in opening cocoa nuts; the women had clubs. Some time before this, I said to the teacher and Loyalty islander, “Keep a good look-out; I fear there is mischief here.” When we came upon the last group, I asked for a cocoanut in exchange for beads; the man was giving it to me, when a young man stepped forward and sent him back. We hastened our steps, so as to get to the village, where the strangers from Mailukolo and Kapumari might help us. The teacher heard them discussing as to the best place for the attack; and, not knowing that he knew what they said, he heard much that left no doubt in our minds that murder was meant. I carried a satchel, which had beads and hoop-iron in it; they tried to get it. I gave presents of beads; some were indignantly returned. I was in front, between two men with clubs, who kept telling me I was a bad man. I held their hands, and kept them so that they could not use their clubs. The Loyalty islander had a fowling-piece—thinking we might be away some days, and we might have to shoot our dinners. They tried hard to get him to fire it off, and twice tried to wrest it from him. They know what guns are, and with reason. They tried to trip us; they jostled us. On we went.

Two men, when near the village, came close up behind me with large wooden clubs, which were taken from them by two women, who ran off to the village. Things looked black, and each of us prayed in silence to Him who rules over the heathen. Soon a man came rushing along, seized the club, and took it from the man on my left, and threw it in the sea. He tried to do the same with the one on my right; but he was too light a man, and did not succeed. An old woman, when at the point, came out and asked them what they meant, and followed us, talking to them all the way, so dividing their thoughts. An old chief, whom we saw on our way up, came hurriedly along to meet us, calling out, “Mine is the peace! What have these foreigners done that you want to kill them?” He closed up to the teacher, and took him by the hand. Another chief walked close behind me. They began to talk loudly amongst themselves. Some were finding fault that we should have been allowed to get near the village, and others that there was yet time. The boat was anchored some distance off: we got her nearer; and, when ready to move off to the boat, I opened my satchel, gave hoop-iron to our friends the chiefs, and threw beads amongst the crowd. I shouted for Kapumari, and a sturdy young fellow fought his way through the crowd. I gave him a piece of hoop-iron, and, with our friendly chiefs, he forced the crowd back, calling on us to be quick, and follow. So into the water we got, the chiefs calling, “Go quick; go quick!” We got on board; our Chinamen got flustered, and very nearly let the boat drift broadside on the beach; we, with poles and oars, got her round and off, sails set, and away for Kerepunu. Before changing clothes, we thanked God our Father for His protection and care over us. We felt He alone did all; unsettled their thoughts as to who first, where, and when; and it was He who gave us friends.

Why should they want to kill us? It was surely never for the small satchel I carried. I believe it was revenge. Some years ago, a vessel called off Aroma; trading for food was done on board; thieving went on; food was sold twice; revolvers and rifles were brought out; the natives were fired on, several were wounded, and very likely some were killed. Natives on the beach were fired upon, and some were wounded who were hiding in the bush close by. We land—the first foreigners to visit them—and on us they will be revenged. What a pity that the same foreigners who fire on the natives do not return the following week, and so receive their deserts! The wretches steer clear of such parts. I have asked the teacher to find out, if possible, why Aroma wished to kill Tamate and Taria.

When in the boat, we asked the Hula boy why he left us and took to the boat. He said he had heard some say we should be killed, and that we would make a fine feast. He did not tell us, because he had not an opportunity, and was afraid the people might hear him if he told, and so he would be killed.

A week later a chief from Maopa came with a Kerepunu chief to see me. I recognised him as the one who kept back the crowd the other day at Aroma, and opened the way for me to get into the water, and so into the boat. He says, from our landing in the morning they had determined to kill us, but the suitable time did not arrive. When we arrived at the place where the large canoes from Toulon and Daunai were lying, it was there arranged by the Aroma people and those from the canoes that Aroma should kill us and have all they could get, and those from the canoes should have the bodies to eat. He says they kept putting it off, until, finally, it was to be done when we were at the boat, then they would have boat and all; but he and two other chiefs arrived just in time. He says it was not revenge, and, turning to the Kerepunu chief, he said, “You know Aroma from of old, and how all strangers are killed.” I gave him a present, and told him that I hoped to see him soon.

The inhabitants of the inland villages are probably the aborigines, who have been driven back to the hills by the robuster race now occupying their plantations on the coast. Their habits and customs are curious and interesting. They cook the heads of their slain enemies, to secure clean skulls to put on sacred places.

They have one great spirit—Palaku Bara, who dwells in the mountains. They worship him unitedly in one place. Each family has a sacred place, where they carry offerings to the spirits of deceased ancestors, whom they terribly fear. Sickness in the family, death, famine, scarcity of fish, etc.—these terrible spirits are at work and must be propitiated.

Pigs are never killed but in the one place, and then they are offered to the spirit. The blood is poured out there, and the carcase is then carried back to the village, to be divided, cooked, and eaten.

Pigs’ skulls are kept and hung up in the house. Food for a feast, such as at house-building, is placed near the post where the skulls hang, and a prayer is said. When the centre-post is put up, the spirits have wallaby, fish, and bananas presented to them, and they are besought to keep that house always full of food, and that it may not fall when the wind is strong. The great spirit causes food to grow, and to him presentations of food are made.

Spirits, when they leave the body, take a canoe, cross the lagoon, and depart to the mountains, where they remain in perfect bliss; no work, and nothing to trouble them, with plenty of betel-nuts. They dance all night long, and rest all day. When the natives begin planting, they first take a bunch of bananas and sugar-cane, and go to the centre of the plantation, and call over the names of the dead belonging to their family, adding, “There is your food, your bananas and sugar-cane; let our food grow well, and let it be plentiful. If it does not grow well and plentiful, you all will be full of shame, and so shall we.”

When they go on trading expeditions, they present their food to the spirits at the centre post of the house, and ask the spirits to go before them and prepare the people, so that the trading may be prosperous.

No great work and no expedition is undertaken without offerings and prayer.

When sickness is in the family, a pig is brought to the sacred place of the great spirit, and killed. The carcase is then taken to the sacred place of the family, and the spirits are asked to accept it. Sins are confessed, such as bananas that are taken, or cocoanuts, and none have been presented, and leave not given to eat them. “There is a pig; accept, and remove the sickness.” Death follows, and the day of burial arrives. The friends all stand round the open grave, and the chief’s sister or cousin calls out in a loud voice, “You have been angry with us for the bananas we have taken (or cocoanuts, as the case may be), and you have, in your anger, taken this child. Now let it suffice, and bury your anger.” The body is then placed in the grave, and covered over with earth.