Some days later I left Talamacco for Wora, near Cape Cumberland, a small station of Mr. D.’s, Mr. F.’s neighbour. What struck me most there were the wide taro fields, artificially irrigated. The system of irrigation must date from some earlier time, for it is difficult to believe that the population of the present day, devoid as they are of enterprise, should have laid it out, although they are glad enough to use it. The method employed is this: Across one of the many streams a dam of great boulders is laid, so that about the same amount of water is constantly kept running into a channel. These channels are often very long, they skirt steep slopes and are generally cut into the earth, sometimes into the rock; sometimes a little aqueduct is built of planks, mud and earth, supported by bamboo and other poles that stand in the valley. In the fields the channel usually divides into several streams, and runs through all the flat beds, laid out in steps, in which the taro has only to be lightly stuck to bring forth fruit in about ten months. Taro only grows in very swampy ground, some varieties only under water, so that it cannot be grown in the coral region, where there is plenty of rain, but no running water. In these districts yam is the principal food, while we find taro in the mountains of primary rock. Both are similar in taste to the potato.

My next journey led me across the peninsula to the west coast of Santo. As usual, it was a very rainy day when we started, but once across the divide the air became much drier. The clouds, driven by the south-east trade-wind, strike the islands on the east side, and this is the reason why the east coast is so much damper than the west, and why the vegetation is so immoderately thick on the one side, and much less luxuriant on the other. On the west side the bush is thinner and there are wide stretches of reed-grass, but there is plenty of water, bright creeks fed by the rainfall on the mountains. Here, on the coast, it was much warmer than where we had come from, but the air was most agreeable, dry and invigorating, quite different from the damp, heavy air on the other side.

Late at night, after a long walk on the warm beach sand, we reached the village of Nogugu. Next day Mr. G., a planter, was good enough to take me with him in his motor-boat, southward along the coast. High mountains came close to the shore, falling in almost perpendicular walls straight down into the sea. Deep narrow valleys led inland into the very heart of the island. Several times, when we were passing the openings of these valleys, a squall caught us, and rain poured down; then, again, everything lay in bright sunshine and the coast was picturesque indeed with its violet shadows and reddish rocks. The only level ground to be seen was at the mouths of the valleys in the shape of little river deltas.

The village to which we were going was on one of these deltas. Hardly had we set foot on shore than a violent earthquake almost threw us to the ground. The shock lasted for at least thirty seconds, then we heard a dull rumbling as of thunder, and saw how all along the coast immense masses of earth fell into the sea from the high cliffs, so that the water boiled and foamed wildly. Then yellow smoke came out of all the bays, and hung in heavy clouds over the devastated spots, and veiled land and sea. Inland, too, we saw many bare spots, where the earth and trees had slipped down. The shocks went on all night, though with diminished violence, and we continually heard the thunderous rattling of falling rocks and earth.

Next day we stopped at the village of Wus, and I persuaded a dainty damsel (she was full-grown, but only 134.4 cm. high) to make me a specimen of pottery. It was finished in ten minutes, without any tool but a small, flat, bamboo splinter. Without using a potter’s wheel the lady rounded the sides of the jar very evenly, and altogether gave it a most pleasing, almost classical shape.

When we returned south we could see what damage the earthquake had done. All the slopes looked as if they had been scraped, and the sea was littered with wood and bushes. We also experienced the disagreeable sensation of an earthquake on the water. The boat suddenly began to shake and tremble, as if a giant hand were shaking it, and at the same time more earth fell down into the water. The shocks recurred for several weeks, and after a while we became accustomed to them. The vibrations seemed to slacken and to become more horizontal, so that we had less of the feeling of being pushed upwards off our feet, but rather that of being in an immense swing. For six weeks I was awakened almost every night by dull, threatening thunder, followed some seconds later by a shock.

Another village where pottery was made was Pespia, a little inland. The chief obligingly gathered the scattered population, and I had ample opportunity to buy pots and watch the making of them. The method is different from that at Wus, for a primitive wheel, a segment of a thick bamboo, is used. On this the clay is wound up in spirals and the surface smoothed inside and out. This is the method by which most of the prehistoric European pottery was made. The existence of the potter’s art in these two villages only of all the New Hebrides is surprising. Clay is found in other districts, and the idea that the natives might have learnt pottery from the Spaniards lacks all probability, as the Spaniards never visited the west coast of Santo. The two entirely different methods offer another riddle.

I made my way back along the coast, round Cape Cumberland. One of my boys having run away, I had to carry his load myself, and although it was not the heaviest one, I was glad when I found a substitute for him. This experience gave me an insight into the feelings of a tired and discontented carrier.

At Wora I found that my host had returned to his station near Talamacco. So I returned to Talamacco by boat; the earthquake had been very violent there, and had caused the greatest damage, and I heard that all the new houses of the Messrs. Thomas at Hog Harbour had been ruined.

Times had been troublous in other respects at Talamacco; the natives, especially the Christians, were fighting, and one Sunday they were all ready, looking very fierce, to attack each other with clubs and other weapons, only neither side dared to begin. I asked them to do the fighting out in the open, so that I could take a picture of it, and this cooled them down considerably. They sat down and began a long palaver, which ended in nothing at all, and, indeed, no one really knew what had started the excitement.

In spite of the supercargo’s announcement that the steamer would arrive on the twentieth, she did not come till the first of the following month. This kept me constantly on the look out and ready for departure, and unable to do anything of importance. At last we sailed, touching the Banks Islands on our route; and after enjoying a few days of civilization on board, I went ashore at Tassimaloun, on the south-west corner of Santo, where I had the pleasure of being Mr. C.’s guest. My object there was to follow the traces of the pygmy population, but as the natives mostly live inland, and only rarely come to the coast, I had to go in search of them. At that time I was often ill with fever, and could not do as much as I could have wished. Once I tried to reach the highest mountain of the islands, Santo Peak, but my guides from the mission village of Vualappa led me for ten days through most uninteresting country and an unfriendly population without even bringing me to the foot of the mountain. I had several unpleasant encounters with the natives, during one of which I fully expected to be murdered, and when our provisions were exhausted we had to return to the coast. But every time I saw the tall pyramid of Santo Peak rising above the lower hills I longed to be the first European to set foot on it, and I tried it at last from the Tassiriki side.

After long consultations with the natives, I at last found two men who were willing to guide me to the mountain. I decided to give up all other plans, and to take nothing with me but what was strictly necessary. On the second day we climbed a hill which my guides insisted was the Peak, the highest point of the island. I pointed out a higher summit, but they said that we would never get up there before noon, and, indeed, they did everything they could to delay our advance, by following wrong trails and being very slow about clearing the way. Still, after an hour’s hard work, we were on the point in question, and from there I could see the real Santo Peak, separated from us by only one deep valley, as far as I could judge in the tangle of forest that covered everything. The guides again pretended that we were standing on the highest mountain then, and that it would take at least a fortnight to reach the real Peak. I assured them that I meant to be on its top by noon, and when they showed no inclination whatever to go on, I left them and went on with my boys. We had to dive into a deep ravine, where we found a little water and refilled our bottles. Then we had to ascend the other side, which was trying, as we had lost the trail and had to climb over rocks and through the thickest bush I ever met. The ground was covered with a dense network of moss-grown trunks that were mouldering there, through which we often fell up to our shoulders, while vines and ferns wound round our bodies, so that we did our climbing more with our arms than with our feet. After a while one of the guides joined us, but he did not know the way; at last we found it, but there were many ups and downs before we attained the summit. The weather now changed, and we were suddenly surrounded by the thick fog that always covers the Peak before noon. The great humidity and the altitude combine to create a peculiar vegetation in this region; the tree-ferns are tremendously developed, and the natives pretend that a peculiar species of pigeon lives here.

I was surprised to find any paths at all up here; but the natives come here to shoot pigeons, and several valleys converge at Santo Peak, so that there are important passes near its summits. One of my boys gave out here, and we left him to repose. The rest of the way was not difficult, but we were all very tired when we reached the top. There was another summit, a trifle higher, separated from the first by a long ridge, but we contented ourselves with the one we were on, especially as we could see absolutely nothing. I was much disappointed, as on a clear day the view of Santo and the whole archipelago must be wonderful. I deposited a bottle with a paper of statistics, which some native has probably found by this time. We were wet and hungry, and as it was not likely that the fog would lift, we began the descent. Without the natives I never could have found the way back in the fog; but they followed the path easily enough, and half-way down we met the other guides coming slowly up the mountain. They seemed pleased to have escaped the tiresome climb; possibly they may have had other reasons for their dislike of the Peak. They were rather disappointed, I thought, that I had had my way in spite of their resistance. They now promised to lead us back by another route, and we descended a narrow valley for several hours; then came a long halt, as my guides had to chat with friends in a village we passed. At last I fairly had to drive them away, and we went down another valley, where we found a few women bathing in a stream, who ran away at the sight of us. We bathed, and then enjoyed an excellent meal of taro, which one of the guides had brought from the village. Before leaving, one of my boys carefully collected all the peelings of my food, and threw them into the river, so that I might not be poisoned by them, he said. A last steep climb ended the day’s exertions, and we entered the village where we were to sleep. While the guides bragged to the men of their feats, the women brought us food and drink, and I had a chance to rest and look about me.

I was struck by the great number of women and the very small number of men in this place; after a while I found out the reason, which was that ten of the men had been kidnapped by a Frenchman while on their way to a plantation on the Segond Channel, where they meant to work a few days. The women are now deprived of their husbands for at least three years, unless they find men in some other village. If five of the ten ever return, it will be a good average, and it is more than likely that they will find a deserted and ruined village if they do come back.

This is one of many illustrations of how the present recruiting system and the laxity of the French authorities combine to ruin the native population. (I have since heard that by request of the British authorities these men were brought back, but only after about nine months had passed, and without receiving any compensation. Most kidnapping cases never come to the ears of the authorities at all.)

As our expedition was nearly at an end, and I had no reason to economize my provisions, I gave some to the villagers, and the women especially who had hardly ever tasted rice or tinned meat, were delighted. One old hag actually made me a declaration of love, which, unfortunately, I could not respond to in the same spirit.

Night crept across the wide sea, and a golden sunset was followed by a long afterglow. Far away on the softly shining silver we saw a sail, small as a fly, that drifted slowly seaward and was swallowed up by the darkness, from which the stars emerged one by one. The women had disappeared in the huts; the men were sitting outside, around the fires, and, thinking I was asleep, talked about me in biche la mar.

First they wondered why a man should care to climb up a mountain simply to come down again; and my boys told them of all my doings, about my collecting curios and skulls, of my former wanderings and the experiences we had had, and how often the others had tried to shoot me, etc. In short, I found out a great many things I had never known, and I shivered a little at hearing what I had escaped, if all the boys said was true. At last, when I had been sufficiently discussed, which was long after midnight, they lay down, each beside a small fire, and snored into the cool, clear night.

The following morning was brilliantly fine. We took a hearty leave of our hosts, and raced, singing and shouting, down the steep hills, and so home. The fine weather was at an end. The sky was cloudy, the barometer fell and a thin rain pierced everything. Two days later the steamer arrived, and I meant to go aboard, but a heavy swell from the west set in, such as I had never seen before, although not a breath of wind was stirring. These rollers were caused by a cyclone, and gave us some idea of its violence. I despaired of ever reaching the steamer, but Mr. B. was an expert sailor, and making the most of a slight lull, he brought me safely through the surf and on board. His goods, however, could not be loaded on to the steamer, which immediately sailed. We passed New Year’s Eve and New Year’s Day at anchor in South-West Bay, Malekula, while a terrific gale whipped the water horizontally toward the ship and across the deck. We spent gloomy holidays, shut up in the damp, dark steamer, unable to stay on deck, restless and uncomfortable below. How one learns to appreciate the British impassiveness which helps one, in such conditions, to spend a perfectly happy day with a pipe and a talk about the weather!

On the morning of the third day we lay off the east coast of Malekula, on a blue, shining sea, with all the landscape as peaceful and bright as if there were no such thing as a cyclone in the world.

I landed, packed my collections, which I had left in Vao, and, with the help of a missionary, I reached Bushman Bay, whence Mr. H. kindly took me to Vila. There H.B.M. Resident Commissioner, Mr. Morton King, did me the honour of offering me his hospitality, so that I was suddenly transplanted to all the luxuries of civilized life once more. I spent the days packing the collections awaiting me at Vila, and which I found in fairly good condition; the evenings were passed in the interesting society of Mr. King, who had travelled extensively and was an authority on matters relating to the Orient. He inspired me with admiration for the British system of colonial politics with its truly idealistic tendencies. The weeks I spent at Port Vila will always be a pleasant memory of a time of rest and comfort and stimulating intercourse.

In February I left for NoumÉa, where I hoped to meet two friends and colleagues, Dr. Fritz Sarasin and Dr. Jean Roux, who were coming to New Caledonia in order to pursue studies similar to mine. The time I spent with them was rich in interest and encouragement, and in March I returned to the New Hebrides with renewed energy.