The position of women in Santa Cruz is peculiar, although the Suque does not exist, and therefore no separation of fires is enforced. Masculine jealousy seems to have reached its climax here, for no man from another village even dares look at a woman. The women's houses are a little inland, away from the gamal and separated by high walls from the outer world. Most of the houses are square, but there are some circular ones, a type very rare in these regions. To my regret I was never able to examine one of these round houses, so that I have no idea how they are built. To enter the women's quarters, or to approach nearer than 100 metres to any woman, is a deadly offence, and such breaches of etiquette are the cause of frequent feuds. Only once I was taken by one of my boys through the lanes of his village, and this was considered very daring, and the limit of permissible investigation. However, with the help of Mr. M., who was practically a "citizen" of one of the villages, I succeeded in taking some photographs of women; but only the oldest dowagers and some sick girls presented themselves, and among them I saw the most repulsive being I ever met,—an old shrivelled-up hag. At sight of such a creature one cannot wonder that old women were often accused of sorcery.

It is surprising how much inferior physically the women of Nitendi are to the men. The men are among the best made people I ever saw, while the women are the poorest. The dress of the women consists of large pieces of tapa, worn around the hips and over the head, and a third piece is sometimes used as a shawl. Tapa is not made at Graciosa Bay, but inland; it is often painted in simple but effective geometrical designs.

The majority of the population lives near the sea; I was credibly informed that there are hardly any people inland. The Santa Cruzian is a "salt-water man," and there is a string of villages all along the coast. The inhabitants of the different villages keep very much to themselves, and their territories are separated by a strip of forest, and on the shore by high stone walls leading far out into the sea. On the whole, the two thousand people in the bay live very quietly, certainly more so than the same number of whites would without any police. It is not quite clear in what respect our civilization could improve them, as, like most aborigines, they have a pronounced sense of propriety, justice and politeness. There is very little disputing or quarrelling, and differences of opinion are usually settled by a joke, so that in this respect the savages show a behaviour far superior to that of many a roaring and swearing white.

I found neither drums nor statues here, and of the local religion I could learn nothing. There is a skull-cult, similar to that on Malekula: a man will paint the skull of a favourite wife or child yellow, shut all the openings with wooden stoppers and carry the relic about with him. Towards the end of my stay I obtained possession of some of these interesting skulls. The idea in shutting the holes is doubtless to preserve the spirit of the dead inside the skull.

One evening I crossed the bay to attend a dance. The starless sky shone feebly, spotted with dark, torn clouds. A dull silver light lay on the sea, which was scarcely lighter than the steep shores. In the silence the strokes of our oars sounded sharp and energetic, yet they seemed to come from a distance. In the darkness we felt first the outrigger, then the canoe, lifted by a heavy swell, which glided away out of sight in monotonous rhythm. Then light began to play around us, indistinct at first, then two silver stripes formed at the bow and ran along the boat. They were surrounded by bright, whirling sparks, and at the bow of the outrigger the gayest fireworks of silver light sprang up, sparkling and dying away as if the boat had been a meteor. The oars, too, dripped light, as though they were bringing up fine silver dust from below. The naked boy in front of me shone like a marble statue on a dark background as his beautiful body worked in rhythmic movements, the light playing to and fro on his back. And ever the sparks danced along the boat in hypnotizing confusion, and mighty harmonies seemed to echo through the night air. The feeling of time was lost, until the opposite shore rose to a black wall, then, through the silence, we heard the cold rush of the surf beating moodily on the reef. We slackened speed, the fairy light died and the dream ended. We kept along the shore, looking for the entrance, which the boys found by feeling for a well-known rock with their oars. A wave lifted us, the boys bent to their oars with all their might, we shot across the reef and ran into the soft sand of the beach.

But as the rain fell now in torrents, there was no dance that night.

Mr. M. and I attempted a few excursions, but bad weather interfered with our plans, and a rainy period of three weeks followed. One squall chased the other, rattling on the roof, forming swamps everywhere, and penetrating everything with moisture. I was glad when the Southern Cross came back for me, especially as this was to be the beginning of my homeward journey.

This time we touched at a small island called Tucopia, where a primitive Polynesian population still exists, probably the only island where this is the case. When the steamer approached we saw the people running about on the reef in excitement, and soon countless canoes surrounded us. The appearance of these islanders was quite new to me. Instead of the dark, curly-haired, short Melanesians, I saw tall, light-coloured men with thick manes of long, golden hair. They climbed aboard, wonderful giants, with soft, dark eyes, kind smiles and childlike manners. They went everywhere, touched everything, and flattered and caressed us. We were all eager to go ashore, and at the edge of the reef an excited crowd awaited our arrival impatiently and pulled our boat violently on the rocks in their eagerness. Two tall fellows grabbed me under the arms, and, willy-nilly, I was carried across the reef and carefully deposited under a shady tree on the beach. At first I did not quite trust my companions, but I was powerless to resist, and soon I became more confident, as my new friends constantly hugged and stroked me. Soon a missionary was brought ashore in the same way, and then, to our greatest surprise, a man approached us who spoke biche la mar. He asked if we had no sickness on board, for some time ago the same ship had infected the island with an epidemic that had caused many deaths. We assured him that we had none, and he gave us permission to visit the island, telling us, too, that we were to have the great honour of being presented to one of the four chiefs. This was indeed something to be proud of, for in Polynesian islands the chieftainship, as I have said, is hereditary, and the chiefs are paid honours almost divine. We took off our hats and were led before the chief, a tall, stout man, who sat in a circle of men on a sort of throne, with his ceremonial spear leaning against a tree beside him. His subjects approached him crouching, but he shook hands with us and smiled kindly at us. A noble gesture of the hand gave us leave to taste a meal prepared to welcome us, which looked most uninviting, but turned out to be beautifully cooked sago and cocoa-nut cream. We could not finish the generous portions, and presently signed that we were satisfied; the chief seemed to regret that we did not do more honour to his hospitality, but he gave us permission to walk about. While all the other natives ran about in great excitement over our visit, the good old man sat on his throne all the time, quite solemnly, although I am convinced that he was fairly bursting with curiosity. We hurried through the village, so as to get a general idea of the houses and implements, and then to the beach, which was a beautiful sight. Whereas on Melanesian islands the dancing-grounds only are kept cleared, and surrounded by thick shrubbery for fear of invasion, here all the underbrush had been rooted out, and the shore was like a park, with a splendid view through dark tree-trunks across the blue sea, while the golden, godlike forms of the natives walked about with proud, regal gait, or stood in animated groups. It was a sight so different in its peaceful simplicity from what I was accustomed to see in Melanesia, it all looked so happy, gay and alluring that it hardly needed the invitations of the kind people, without weapons or suspicion, and with wreaths of sweet-scented flowers around their heads and bodies, to incline us to stay. Truly, the sailors of old were not to blame if they deserted in numbers on such islands, and preferred the careless native life to hard work on board a whaler. Again and again I seemed to see the living originals of some classical picture, and more and more my soul succumbed to the intoxicating charm of the lovely island.

But we could not stay; the steamer whistled, and we had to leave. A young native was going to Norfolk Island, and he took leave of his family and the chief in a manly way which was touching to witness. He bowed and laid his face on the knees of some old white-haired men with finely chiselled, noble faces. They seemed to bless him, then they raised his head and tenderly pressed their faces against his, so that their noses touched. The boy brushed away a tear and then jumped bravely on board.

When we came on board, the steamer was crowded with natives, and they refused to leave. We had to drive them away energetically, and as their canoes were soon overcrowded, many of them jumped into the water with shouts and laughter, and swam several miles to the shore, floating happily in the blue sea, with their long hair waving after them like liquid gold. Thus I saw the last of the dream-island, bathed in the rays of the setting sun. My regret was shared by the boy, who stood, still ornamented with flowers and wreaths, at the stern of the steamer, looking sadly back at his disappearing paradise.

Our good times, too, were over. We had a dull, rainy night, a heavy, broadside swell, and as the steamer had not enough ballast, she rolled frightfully. In this nasty sea we were afraid she might turn turtle, as another steamer had done some months ago. The storm became such that we had to lie at anchor for five days, sheltered by the coast of Gaua. It was with real relief that I left the Southern Cross at Port Vila; sorry as I was to leave my friends on board, I did not envy them the long voyage to New Zealand.

Two days later I took the mail steamer for Sydney. Although tired enough, and glad to return to the comforts of civilization, I felt real regret at leaving the places where I had spent so many delightful hours, and where I had met with so much kindness on all sides.

THE END