LENGTH OF LIMBS.

The points of measurement employed were:—

(a) For the upper extremity: (1) a point half an inch outside, and on the level with the apex of the coracoid process of the scapula; (2) the centre of the hollow of the elbow on a line drawn from the interspace between the head of the radius and the external condyle of the humerus (indicated by a dimple when the fore-arm is extended) to immediately below the internal condyle; (3) the centre of a line joining the apices of the styloid processes of the radius and ulna on the front of the wrist.

(b) For the lower extremity: (1) a point on the middle of the front of the thigh on a level with another point midway between the anterior superior spinous process of the ilium and the upper edge of the great trochanter; (2) a point on the “ligamentum patellæ” on a level with the upper edge of the external tuberosity of the tibia; (3) the centre of the front of the ankle on a level with the base of the internal malleolus.

(1) The intermembral index, or the ratio between the length of the upper and lower limbs, taking the latter as 100. From the table subjoined, it will be seen that the range of 26 indices is 64 to 73. Eleven of these lie between 67 and 68: and since the average of my numbers, which is 68, corresponds with the value of the median of the series, we will take this index of 68 as representing the average ratio of the lengths of the two limbs compared together.

Intermembral index.	Number of measurements.
64	1
65	2
66	3
67	6
68	5
69	3
70	1
71	3
72	1
73	1
Total, 26

(2) The index of the fore-arm and arm, or the ratio between the lengths of the fore-arm and arm, taking the latter as 100. The range of 27 indices is 79 to 100. Of these 16 are included between 87 and 91; and the average of the numbers is 88.

Indices.	Number of Measurements.
79	1
80	1
82	2
83	2
84	1
86	1
87	6
88	2
89	1
91	7
95	1
100	2
Total, 27

(3) The index of the leg and thigh, or the ratio between the lengths of the leg and thigh, taking the latter as 100. The range of 27 indices, as shown in the subjoined [table], is 68 to 97. Of these, two-thirds are included between 74 and 83: and since the value of the median, which is 80, corresponds nearly with the average of the numbers, we may take it as representing the average proportion which the leg bears to the thigh amongst these natives.

Indices.	Number of Measurements.
68	1
69	1
70	1
72	1
73[108]	1
74	2
75	2
78	1
79	1
80	3
81	2
82	2
83	4
88	3
92	1
97	1
Total, 27

(4) The index of the arm and thigh, or the ratio between the lengths of the arm and thigh, taking the latter as 100. The range of 27 indices is 56 to 73. Of these, three-fourths are grouped between 61 and 69. The average of the figures is 65, and the median of the series is 66.

Indices.	Number of Measurements.
56	1
57	1
60	1
61	2
62	2
63	3
64	2
65	1
66	3
67	4
69	3
70	1
71	1
73	2
Total, 27

(5) The proportion of the length of the upper limb to the height of the body, taking the latter as 100.

Indices.	Number of Measurements.
32	1
32-33	10
33-34	10
34-35	4
35-36	2
Total, 27

These 27 indices range between 32 and 36: three-fourths of them are included between 32 and 34. Since the average of the numbers, which is 33·3, nearly corresponds with the value of the median, we may take it as representing the proportion which the length of the upper limb bears to the height of the body amongst these natives.

(6) The proportion of the length of the lower limb to the height of the body, taking the latter as 100. The range of these 27 indices is 46·9 to 51·6. Two-thirds of the total number are included between 48 and 50; and since the average of the numbers, which is 49·1, corresponds nearly with the value of the middle index of the series, we may take it as representing the proportion that the lower limb usually bears to the height of the body amongst these natives.

Indices.	Number of Measurements.
46·9	1
47-48	4
48-49	8
49-50	10
50-51	3
51·6	1
Total, 27

(7) The span of the outstretched arms.—The following indices—69 in all—show the ratio of the span of the arms to the height of the body, taking the latter as 100:—

Indices.	Number of Measurements.
100-100	1
101-102	4
102-103	2
103-104	4
104-105	5
105-106	5
106-107	18
107-108	11
108-109	6
109-110	9
110-111	3
112·6	1
Total, 69

The range of these indices is 100 to 112·6; and the indices of greatest frequency are those included between 106 and 107. Placing all the indices in their order, I find that the value of the central of the series is 106·7, and of the quarter-points 105·2 and 108·6 respectively. Taking 106·7 as representing the average proportion which the span of the arms bears to the stature amongst these natives, I may compare it with similar results given for other races in Topinard’s Anthropology:—

American soldiers (10,876),	104·3
Solomon Islanders (69),	106·7
Negroes (2020),	108·1

(8) Distance of the tip of the middle finger from the upper edge of the patella.

Distance.				Number of Measurements.
		2	inches.	2
2	to	3	„	6
3	to	4	„	11	(9 of these at 3¹⁄₂ inches).
4	to	5	„	2
Total, 21

From this table it will be seen that amongst 21 natives the tip of the finger never approached the patella nearer than two inches, and was never farther removed than five inches. The value of greatest frequency is 3¹⁄₂ inches, and it may be taken as approximating to the average distance. Comparing it with the average stature (64 inches) taken as 100, we obtain the index 5·46; but by comparing the distance of the middle finger above the patella with the stature as 100 in each individual measurement, we obtain a more reliable average index somewhat smaller than the preceding.

Indices.	Number.
3·12-4·00	4
4·00-5·00	5
5·00-6·00	9
6·00-7·00	1
7·00-7·94	2
Total, 21

In this table the indices range between 3·12 and 7·94: nearly half are included between 5·00 and 6·00; the value of the median is 5·24, and the average of the numbers is 5·19. Accepting the value of the median as our average index for these natives, it may be compared with similar results for other races given in Topinard’s Anthropology:

American soldiers (10,876),	7·49
Negroes (2020),	4·37
Solomon Islanders (21),	5·24

I will conclude my remarks on the length of the limbs by giving from the preceding “data” the limb measurements of a Solomon Island native of average height:

		Height of body,	64		in.	-	Index of height, and length of upper limb, 33·3.
Intermembral index, 68.	-	Length of upper limb,	21	¹⁄₃	„
		Length of arm,	11	¹⁄₃	„	-	Index of arm and fore-arm, 88.
		Length of fore-arm,	10		„
		Length of lower limb	31	¹⁄₃	„		Index of height, and length of lower limb, 49.
		Length of thigh	17	¹⁄₃	„	-	Index of thigh and leg, 80.
		Length of leg	14		„

The form of the skull as indicated by the relation to each other of its length and breadth.—A hundred measurements, which I made of the heads of natives in this group,[95] in order to obtain their proportional breadth, taking the length as 100, gave indices varying between 69·2 and 86·2. The whole series, however, displays a tendency to grouping around different medians, and thus points to the important inference that we cannot accept one type of the skull as a distinctive character of the Solomon Islander. As shown in the subjoined [table], which gives the indices corrected to actual skull-measurements by subtracting two units as proposed by M. Broca, there would appear to be a marked preponderance of mesocephaly; but from my measurements being limited both in number and locality, the safest conclusion to draw will be the most general one, viz., that all types of skulls, brachycephalic, mesocephalic, and dolichocephalic, are to be found prevailing amongst the islands of the Solomon Group, the particular type being often constant in the same locality.[96] If my measurements had been five times as numerous, and had been spread equally over the group, I might somewhat narrow my conclusions; and in truth brachycephaly might have formed a more important factor in the series, if I had measured the heads of the same number of natives from the north coast of Malaita which I measured in the districts of St. Christoval and of Bougainville Straits. In the subjoined [table] I have accepted all indices below 75 as dolichocephalic, those between 75 and 80 as mesocephalic, and those above 80 as brachycephalic.

[95] The localities were—St. Christoval and the adjoining islands of Ugi and Santa Anna, Florida Islands, north coast of Malaita (Urasi and Uta Pass), Simbo or Eddystone Island, the islands of Bougainville Straits, including the west end of Choiseul.

[96] This conclusion is in accordance with the extensive observations of Miklouho-Maclay in New Guinea and in the Melanesian Islands. He found brachycephaly common in the New Hebrides, indices of 81, and even of 85, not being rare. The indices of several hundred measurements of New Guinea natives varied between 62 and 86. This eminent traveller therefore arrived at the conclusion that no classification of these natives can rest on the form of the skull. (“Nature,” xxvii., pp. 137, 185. Proc. Lin. Soc, N.S.W., vol. VI., p. 171.)

Cephalic indices which have been reduced to actual skull-measurements by the subtraction of two units.

Dolichocephalic indices	29
Mesocephalic	52
Brachycephalic	19
100

I now come to consider more in detail the series of measurements given [below]. In this series, which ranges from 69·2 to 86·2, there is a want of uniformity arising from the fact that the numbers tend to gather together around three centres, one between the indices 75 and 76, another between the indices 80 and 81, and the third between the indices 82 and 83. We have thus in this series of a hundred indices, obtained by measurement of the head of the living subject, evidence of different prevailing types of skull amongst the natives of the Solomon Group; and it will be subsequently shown that each locality has usually one prevailing type.

Cephalic Indices (Living Subject.)					Number of Measurements.
69	·2	to	70		2
70		„	71		1
72		„	73		3
73		„	74		3
74		„	75		6
75		„	76		8
76		„	77		6
77		„	78		6
78		„	79		11
79		„	80		12
80		„	81		16
81		„	82		7
82		„	83		10
83		„	84		7
85		„	86		1
86		„	86	·2	1
Total, 100

(1) St. Christoval and the adjoining islands of Ugi, Santa Anna, and Santa Catalina. As shown in the subjoined [table], this series of 35 indices has a wide range between 69·2 and 86·2. The value of the median index of the series is 75·9; and the average of the numbers is 76·6. Out of the 35 indices, 11 are included between 74 and 76. On the whole, however, I should take 76 as representing the average cephalic index in this part of the group, although even here, as shown in the series, there is some disturbing element.

Cephalic Indices.					Number of Measurements.
69	·2	to	70		2
70		„	71		1
72		„	73		2
73		„	74		2
74		„	75		6
75		„	76		5
76		„	77		3
77		„	78		2
78		„	79		4
79		„	80		3[113]
80		„	81		1
82		„	83		2
83		„	84		1
86		„	86	·2	1
Total, 35

(2.) The Islands of Bougainville Straits, which include Treasury Island, the Shortland Island, Faro Islands, and the western extremity of Choiseul.

The range of the subjoined forty indices is 75·9 to 85·2. The contrast between this and the preceding St. Christoval series, as shown in the grouping in the indices, well illustrates the prevalence of distinct types in these two regions of the group. The indices of greatest frequency are included between 80 and 81: the average of the figures is 80·6, and the value of the median index is 80·7, which may be accepted as the typical index.

Cephalic Indices.					Number of Measurements.
75	·9	to	76		2
76		„	77		1
77		„	78		2
78		„	79		6
79		„	80		3
80		„	81		9
81		„	82		5
82		„	83		5
83		„	84		6
85		„	85	·2	1
Total, 40

(3.) The North Coast of Malaita.—Through the kindness of the Hon. Curzon-Howe, government-agent of the labour schooner “Lavina,” I was enabled to measure ten natives who had been recruited from the districts of Urasi and the Uta Pass on the north coast of Malaita.

Cephalic Indices.				Number of Measurements.
79	·3	to	80	2
80		„	81	4
81		„	82	1
82		„	83	3
Total, 10

This series, though small, is compact, its range being 79·3 to 83. The average of the numbers is 81·2, which I will take as typical of these localities.

(4.) The Island of Simbo or Eddystone.—From the head-measurements of nine natives I obtained the following cephalic indices—72·9, 73·8, 75·8, 76·6, 77·0, 78·0, 78·7, 79·3, 80·4—the average of which just falls short of 77, which however may be taken as an approximation of the prevailing index.

(5.) The Florida Islands.—Measurements of six natives of Mboli Harbour gave the following cephalic indices,. . . . 77·2, 79·3, 79·3, 80·0, 80·7, 81·4,. . . . the average of the numbers being 79·6.

I will now proceed to sum up briefly the results of the foregoing hundred measurements of the head of the living subject. It will first be necessary to reduce them to the form of measurements of the actual skull by subtracting two units from the index, as proposed by M. Broca. The effect of this correction is shown in the following table:

	Number of Measurements.	Living Subject.	Skull.
St. Christoval and adjoining islands,	35	76·0	74·0
The islands of Bougainville Straits,	40	80·7	78·7
The north coast of Malaita,	10	81·2	79·2
The island of Simbo or Eddystone,	9	77·0	75·0
The Florida Islands,	6	79·6	77·6

Accepting all indices below 75 as dolichocephalic, those between 75 and 80 as mesocephalic, and those above 80 as brachycephalic, we find therefore that mesocephaly, as represented by an average index of 78·7, prevails amongst the natives of the islands of Bougainville Straits; whilst dolichocephaly, as represented by an average index of 74, prevails amongst the natives of St. Christoval and its adjoining islands at the opposite end of the group. On the north coast of Malaita exists a type of native with an almost brachycephalic index. The foregoing remarks refer only to the average in each locality. When we apply the same correction to the table of the hundred measurements as given on [page 112], we find, as stated on , that 29 are dolichocephalic, 52 are mesocephalic, and 19 brachycephalic. It would, therefore, appear from these observations that, whilst brachycephaly is not uncommon, dolichocephaly is more frequent, and mesocephaly prevails. Although this result may give an indication of the truth, at present it would be safer, for reasons given on [page 111], to accept the general conclusion that these three types of skulls prevail in the Solomon Group.

As confirmatory of the foregoing corrected measurements of the head of the living subject, I will add the indices of nine skulls procured amongst the eastern islands of the group.[97]

[97] I take this opportunity of expressing my indebtedness to my messmates Lieut. Leeper and Lieut. Heming, and to my friend Dr. Beaumont, staff-surgeon of H.M.S. “Diamond,” for the majority of the skulls in this small collection. The officers of the survey, whilst away in their boats, had more opportunities than I had of obtaining those specimens. As I was usually accompanied by natives, I was often unable to take advantage of occasions.

74·1	-	Rua Sura Islets, off north coast of Guadaleaner.
74·1
74·1		Ugi Island.
74·5		Port Adam, Malaita.
75·5	-	Ugi Island.
75·9
80·0
80·0
84·9		Kwahkwahru, Malaita.

Measurements of Women.—I was only able to obtain measurements of six women, all of them from the small islands of Ugi and Santa Anna, off the St. Christoval coast.

	Height.						Span of Arms. (Stature —100.)		Inter- membral Index.		Distance between middle finger and patella.
	4	ft.	8		in.		100·8		65		3	¹⁄₂	in.
	4	„	9		„		102·1		68		3	¹⁄₂	„
	4	„	9	³⁄₄	„		104·3		68		4		„
	4	„	10		„		104·7		71	Average,	3	²⁄₃	„
	5	„	0		„		106·9	Average,	68
	5	„	3		„		108·3
Average,	4	ft.	10	¹⁄₂	in.	Average,	104·5

	Arm and Height Index.			Leg and Height Index.		Cephalic Index.
	32	·5		48	·5	71
	33			48	·5	75
	33			50		76	·8
	33	·5		51	·5	76	·8
	34	·5	Average,	49	·6	79	·6
	35	·5				82	·1
Average,	33	·7

Considering the paucity of the observations, the average indices of the limb-measurements agree closely with those obtained for the men. The average height of the women would appear from these few measurements to be that which they ought to possess as compared with the height of the men. This conclusion is based on the rule given by Topinard in his “Anthropology” that for a race of this stature 7 per cent. of the man’s height must be subtracted to obtain the proportional height of the woman.

The Features.

The facial angle taken was that between a line dropt from the forehead to the alveolar border of the upper jaw, and another line drawn from the external auditory meatus through the central axis of the orbit, the angle being taken with a goniometer. Amongst eighty natives from different parts of the group, the angle varied between 87° and 98°. Seventy-five of the natives had facial angles between 90° and 95°; and the average of the whole number of angles was 93°. On applying the method for obtaining the facial angle of Cloquet to two large photographs of the faces in profile of two typical natives, I find the angles to be 63° and 67° respectively.

The common characters of the features may be thus described: face rather angular, with often a beetle-browed aspect from the deeply sunk orbits and projecting brows; forehead of moderate height and breadth, and somewhat flattened; middle of face rather prominent on account of the chin receding; moderate subnasal prognathism as indicated by Cloquet’s facial angles of 63° and 67°; lips rather thick and often projecting; nose usually coarse, short, straight, and much depressed at the root, with broad nostrils and extended alæ; in about one man out of five the nose is arched in a regular curve, giving a Jewish cast to the face.

The Hair, Colour of Skin, Powers of Vision, &c.

Amongst the natives of the Solomon Group, there are four common styles of wearing the hair, which I may term the woolly, the mop-like, the partially bushy, and the completely bushy: these prevail with both sexes, the fashion varying in different islands. From frequent observations of the different modes of wearing the hair, I am of the opinion that their variety is to be attributed more to individual caprice than to any difference in the character of the hair. According to his taste, a man may prefer to wear his hair close and uncombed, when the short matted curls with small spiral give it a woolly appearance,[98] somewhat resembling that of the hair of the African negro. Should he allow his hair to grow, making but little use of his comb, the hair will hang in narrow ringlets three to eight inches in length, a mode which is more common amongst the natives of the eastern islands of the group, and which is best described as the “mop-headed” style. More often, from a moderate amount of combing, the locks are loosely entangled, and the hair-mass assumes a somewhat bushy appearance, the arrangement into locks being still discernible, and the surface of the hair presenting a tufted aspect.[99] The majority of natives, however, produce by constant combing a large bushy periwig in which all the hairs are entangled independently into a loose frizzled mass, the separate locks being no longer discernible. Of these four styles of wearing the hair, I am inclined to view the “mop-headed” style as the result of the natural mode of growth, it being the one which the hair would assume if allowed to grow uncombed and uncut. The native of these islands unfortunately makes such a constant use of his comb that one rarely sees his hair as nature intended it to grow. When, however, a man with bushy hair has been diving for some time, the hairs, disentangling themselves to a great extent, gather together into long narrow ringlets, nature’s “coiffure” of the Solomon Islander. I was pleased to find that Mr. Earl [100] and Dr. Barnard Davis,[101] in writing on the subject of the hair of the Papuans, also consider that the hairs would naturally arrange themselves in long narrow ringlets if left uncombed, and that the bushy frizzled periwig is produced by teasing out the locks by means of the comb. This bushy frizzled mass of hair is sometimes referred to, as if it were one of the natural characters of the Papuans: but since it is also characteristic of other dark races of Africa and South America, and may be produced in Europeans, it has but little distinguishing value.[102] Mr. Prichard in his “Physical History of Mankind” (vol. v. p. 215), expresses himself to be in doubt whether the bushy frizzled hair affords any racial distinction, but he seems to have lost the point of the remarks of Mr. Earl (to whom he refers) concerning the natural mode of growth of the hair in long narrow ringlets. The term “mop-headed” is often applied to the Papuan with a bushy frizzled periwig: but since a mop is neither bushy nor frizzly, the term is more appropriately employed as I have used it, and as I see Dr. Barnard Davis uses it, in connection with that style in which the hair hangs in long drawn-out ringlets. The tendency of the hair to roll itself into a spiral of small diameter is attributed to the thin flattened form of the hair in section. According to Dr. Pruner-Bey, the hair in the Papuan is implanted perpendicularly and not obliquely, as in the great majority of the races of man.[103]

[98] With the bushmen of the interior, the hair appears to be permanently woolly (vide [p. 121]).

[99] My experience, however, goes to prove that of Miklouho-Maclay that the hair grows uniformly over the scalp and not in little tufts separated by bald patches as described by Topinard.

[100] “The Papuans” by G. W. Earl (page 2). London, 1853.

[101] Vide a paper by Dr. J. Barnard Davis in vol ii. (p. 95), of Journ. of Anthrop. Inst.

[102] These bushy periwigs are found also among the Kaffirs in Africa and among the Cafusos of South America. Dr. Pruner-Bey, who appears to view these bushy periwigs as resulting from the natural growth of the hair, remarks that he has met in Europe three individuals whose hair had the same aspect. I have seen a characteristic Papuan periwig produced in England in the case of a fair-haired girl. (Anthropological Review: Feb. 1864.)

[103] The Anthropological Review for February 1864 (p. 6).

The hue of the hair in adults varies usually in accordance with the changes in the colour of the skin. Amongst the St. Christoval natives it agrees with the numbers 35 and 42 of the colour-types of M. Broca: whilst amongst the darker-hued natives of the islands of Bougainville Straits the hair is of a deeper hue, corresponding with the colour-types 34 and 49. The average thickness of eleven samples of hair from the former locality is from ¹⁄₂₆₀ to ¹⁄₂₇₀ of an inch; whilst in the latter locality, where the hair is of a darker hue, the hairs are individually coarser, ten samples giving an average thickness of ¹⁄₂₁₀ to ¹⁄₂₂₀ of an inch. The diameter of the spiral, when measurable, varies between 5 and 10 millimètres,[104] its usual range throughout the group; but on account of the practice of combing, it is often difficult to measure it with any degree of accuracy. These measurements, however, are double the size of the curl (2 to 4 mm.) which Miklouho-Maclay [105] has determined to be characteristic of the Papuan. The difference may be due to the greater intermingling of the eastern Polynesian element amongst the Solomon Islanders.

[104] In young boys in different parts of the group, the hair sometimes grows in larger flat spirals having a diameter of from 12 to 15 millimètres.

[105] “Nature.” Dec. 21st, 1882.

The natives of the eastern islands of this group frequently stain their hair a light-brown hue by the use of lime, a practice which frees the hair of vermin. The passing visitor might easily carry away with him the impression that such light-brown hair was a permanent character; but on examining adults, he would usually find that the hair is much darker at the roots. The natives (women and boys) of the islands of Bougainville Straits, and according to Labillardière,[106] those of the adjacent island of Bouka, stain the hair by the use of a red ochreous earth, the colour of which, blended with the deep colour of the hair, produces a striking magenta hue.

[106] Labillardière’s “Voyage in search of La Pérouse,” vol. i. p. 246. London 1800.

With regard to the amount of hair on the face, limbs, and trunk, great diversity is observed even amongst natives of the same village. Epilation is commonly employed, a bivalve shell being used as a pair of pincers; but there can be no doubt that the development of the hair varies quite independently of such a custom. Out of ten men taken promiscuously from one of the villages on the north coast of St. Christoval, perhaps, five would have smooth faces; three would possess a small growth of hair on the chin and upper lip; the ninth would possess a beard, a moustache, and whiskers of moderate growth; whilst the tenth would present a shaggy beard, and a hairy visage. With the majority of the Solomon Islanders, the surfaces of the body and limbs are comparatively free from hair; but hairy men are to be found in most villages, and in rare and exceptional cases, the hairy-bodied, hairy-visaged men are the rule. It would appear that in this group, the qualities of treachery and ferocity are possessed in a greater degree by those communities in which hairy men prevail. Hairy-visaged men are commonly found amongst the natives of the Florida Islands. In Bougainville Straits, the great majority of the men keep their faces and chins free from hair, which the chiefs and the older men usually permit to grow.

With age the hair generally assumes an iron-grey hue, as if the decoloration was incomplete. In one old man, however, who was the patriarch of Treasury Island, the hair was completely grey. Baldness usually commences over the fore-head; and is not uncommonly observed beginning amongst middle-aged men. The old women apparently regard hair as an unnecessary encumbrance, the little that remains in later life being generally removed.

I have not yet referred to an almost straight-haired element which has been infused amongst the inhabitants of Bougainville Straits. The individuals, thus characterised, have very dark skins, the hair being even darker, and corresponding in hue with the colour-types 34 and 49. With such natives the face is flatter, and the nose is more écrasé than usual. The hair may be almost straight: and, if not very long, it is often erect, giving the person a shock-headed appearance; whilst in some cases it tends to gather into curls of a large spiral. Other natives possess hair which combines the straight and frizzly characters, giving the whole mass, when combed out, an appearance partly wavy and partly bushy. Small boys in this part of the group have frequently curly heads of hair with large flattened spirals. Traders tell me that straight-haired individuals are found amongst the hill-tribes of St. Christoval at the opposite end of the group. I have seen two such natives, one a woman, and the other a man whom I met near Cape Keibeck on the north coast of the island.

A few remarks with reference to the prevailing hues of the skin may be here interesting. It would seem to be a general rule that the darker-skinned natives occur in the western islands of the group, such as New Georgia, Bougainville Straits, and Bougainville; whilst the lighter-coloured natives are more restricted to the eastern islands such as St. Christoval, Guadalcanar, &c. In different parts of the Solomon Group, the colour of the skin, as may have been already inferred, varies considerably in shade from a very deep brown, exemplified by colour-type 42 of M. Broca, to a copperish hue, best typefied by colour-type 29. The prevailing darker hue of the western islands is represented by type 42, and the prevailing lighter hue of the eastern islands by type 35. Where there is no means of comparison, the darker hues of the skin might be called black. The lightest hues, such as would appear to characterise natives in isolated localities, as in Santa Catalina, and on the north coast of Guadalcanar opposite the Rua Sura Islets, would be best exemplified by colour-type 28. The elderly natives are, as a rule, more dark-skinned than those of younger years, the difference in shade being attributable partly to a longer exposure by reason of their age to the influence of sun and weather, and partly to those structural changes in the skin which accompany advancing years. The colour is usually fairly uniform over the person, but in the case of the Malaita natives, before referred to, the colour of the face and chest was of a lighter hue than that of the limbs and body, as exemplified by contrasting the colour-types 28 and 35.[107]

[107] Vide page for remarks on the effect of the prevailing skin-disease, an inveterate form of body-ringworm, on the colour of the skin.

I would draw attention to the circumstance that my observations were confined to the coast tribes of these islands. The larger islands, which may be compared in size to the county of Cornwall, are but thinly populated in their interior by tribes of more puny physique and less enterprising character, who are ill-suited to cope with their more robust and more war-like fellow-islanders of the coast. These “bushmen,” as they are called, are accredited by the coast-natives with inferior mental capabilities as compared with their own. To call a man of the coast a “bushman” is equivalent to calling him a stupid or a fool, a taunt which is commonly employed amongst the coast-natives. The stone adzes and axes, which have been discarded by the inhabitants of the coast, are said to be still employed by the bushmen. I was unable to make any measurements of these natives; but those I saw were usually of short stature and of a more excitable and suspicious temperament. The hair is worn in the woolly style, is short like that of the African Negro, and its surface has often a peculiar appearance from the hairs arranging themselves in little knobs. I believe that these bushmen, and at the present time I am recalling to my mind those of the interior of Bougainville, have naturally shorter hair than those of the coast, and that the peculiar character of the hair just described is a permanent one.[108] These bushmen probably represent the original Negrito stock of these islands, which, at the coast, often loses many of its characters on account of the intermingling with Eastern Polynesian and Malayan intruders.

[108] Mr. Earl, who well describes this knobby appearance of the surface of the hair of some Papuan tribes, also believes that these tribes may sometimes have naturally short hair. (“Papuans,” p. 2.)

With the object of testing the powers of vision possessed by the natives of these islands, I examined the sight of twenty-two individuals who were in all cases either young adults or of an age not much beyond thirty. For this purpose I employed the square test-dots which are used in examining the sight of recruits for the British army, and I obtained the following results. Two natives could distinguish the dots clearly at 70 feet, one at 67 feet, two at 65 feet, three at 62 feet, four at 60 feet, two at 55 feet, three at 52 feet, four at 50 feet, and one at 35 feet. I roughly placed the average distance at which a native could count the dots at about 60 feet, which is a little beyond the standard distance for testing the normal vision of recruits, viz., 57 feet; but I laid no stress on this difference, and briefly noted in my journal that these natives possessed the normal powers of vision. The quickness of the natives in perceiving distant objects, such as ships at sea, was a matter of daily observation to us; and I was often much surprised by their facility in picking out pigeons and opossums, which were almost concealed in the dense foliage of the trees some 60 or 70 feet overhead. I was therefore impressed with the greater discriminating power possessed by these savages; but the results of my observations on their far-seeing powers were not such as would justify the conclusion that they excelled us very greatly in this respect.

Having read an interesting correspondence in “Nature” during February and March, 1885, on the subject of “civilisation and eyesight,” I forwarded the results of my observations to that journal (vide, April 2nd). A fortnight afterwards there appeared a communication from Mr. Charles Roberts, in which he added greatly to the value of my observations by comparing them with results obtained by the use of the army test-dots in the case of English agricultural and out-door labourers, results which were extracted from the Report for 1881 of the Anthropometric Committee of the British Association. After making this comparison Mr. Roberts remarked that the figures gave no support to the belief that savages possess better sight than civilised peoples; and he pointed out that my average of 60 feet, which, however, I had only roughly estimated, was somewhat excessive and should have been 57·5 feet, which is only half a foot more than the distance at which Professor Longmore has determined these test-dots ought to be seen by a recruit with normal powers of vision. My observations were comparatively few, but, as above shown, they give no support to the view that savages possess superior powers of vision as compared with civilised races.

In the correspondence in “Nature,” above referred to, Mr. Brudenell Carter supported the “commonly received view” that the savage possesses greater acuteness of vision; but Lord Rayleigh held that it would be inconsistent with optical laws to hold that the eyes of savages, considered merely as optical instruments, are greatly superior to our own; and he observed that it appeared to him that the superiority of the savage is a question of attention and practice in the interpretation of minute indications. The same opinion was expressed by Mr. Roberts, when he referred to the common mistake of travellers in confounding acuteness of vision with the results of special training or education of the faculty of seeing, results which, as he remarked, are quite as much dependent on mental training as on the use of the eyes.

There is a circumstance which may influence the powers of vision possessed by these islanders; and it is this. With the object, I believe, of excluding flies and other insects from their dwellings, the natives keep the interiors dark, the door being usually the only aperture admitting light. Coming in from the direct sunlight, I have often had to wait a minute or two before my eyes became accustomed to the change; but the natives do not experience this inconvenience. Some hours of the day they commonly spend in their houses; whilst at night they use no artificial light except the fitful glare of a wood fire. It would seem probable that the influence of the opposite conditions presented by the darkness of their dwellings and the bright sunlight, would be found in the increased rapidity of the contraction and dilation of the pupil with the enlargement, perhaps, of the retinal receiving area. It is, however, a noteworthy circumstance that these natives are able to pass from the bright tropical glare outside their dwellings to the dark interiors, and vice versâ, without showing that temporary derangement of vision which the white man experiences whilst the iris is adapting itself to the new condition.

My attention was not attracted by the size of the pupils; but I paid no especial attention to this point. Mr. J. Rand Capron in the correspondence in “Nature,” above alluded to, refers to the circumstance that the pupil varies in size in individual cases; and he instances the case of one of his assistants possessing unusually large pupils who had a singularly “sharp” eye for picking up companions to double stars, small satellites, &c., and who could read fine print with a light much less bright than is usually required. “The peculiarity affecting my assistant’s eyes,” as Mr. Capron writes, “may be more common with the savages than with us.” I am inclined myself to believe that, on a careful comparison being made, the pupils of the savage will be generally found to be larger. If such should be the case, we shall have a ready explanation of his better discriminating powers of vision.

The eyes of these natives have usually a soft, fawn-like appearance with but little expression. Of the twenty-two individuals whose sight I examined, I came upon only one whose powers of vision seemed at all defective. In this instance—that of a man about thirty years old—the nature of the cause was sufficiently indicated by the prominence of the eyes and the nipping of the lids, especially when the sight was strained by trying to count the test-dots at a distance. The limit of distance at which this man could count the test-dots was 35 feet. The question which presented itself to my mind in this case was, whether a white man, who could count the dots at the same limit of distance, would exhibit to the same degree the external signs of myopia.

I also made some observations on the colour-sense of the inhabitants of Bougainville Straits. Although able to match the seven colours of the spectrum, viz., red, orange, yellow, green, Prussian blue, indigo, and violet, they have only, as far as I could ascertain, distinctive names for white, red, yellow, and sometimes blue; whilst all the other colours, including black, indigo, dark blue, violet, green, &c., are included under one or more general names for dark hues, as shown in the [list] below. Some of the names of the colours have been suggested by the colours of objects with which the natives are familiar. Thus, one of the names of dark hues is evidently taken from that of charcoal (sibi). Again, one of the names for red is but the native term for blood (masini); whilst the commonest word for yellow (temuli) is also the name of a scitamineous plant, the bulbous root of which possesses a yellow juice. Yellow must be a familiar colour to these natives, as they sometimes decorate their persons with the yellow juice that exudes from incisions into the fruits of Thespesia populnea, one of the commonest of littoral trees. They possess also the Morinda citrifolia, the roots of which supply a bright yellow dye that is employed in other Polynesian groups, such as in the Society Islands, for staining purposes. The circumstance that different men often applied different names to the same test-colour, shows that they have no recognised list of colour-names; and it would appear probable that all the names are of a suggestive nature, or in other words that they are derived from the names of objects with the conspicuous hues of which the natives are familiar.

NATIVE NAMES FOR COLOURS.
White,	Anaa; Ana-anaa.
Red, Orange,	Alec; Masi-masini; Loto.
Yellow,	Temuli; Samoi; Latili.
Blue,	Totono.
Black, Indigo, Violet, Green (dark), Blue (dark),	Söipa; Kia; Sivi-sivi; Malai.

The pigments employed in decorating the posts of houses, canoe-ornaments, carved clubs, &c., are white, red, and black. Blue is a favourite colour with the natives of Bougainville Straits when choosing beads and other articles of trade; and, in fact, blue is the favourite colour for beads in most of the islands.

In the eastern islands, pigments of white, red, and black are also those which are commonly employed for decorative purposes. In the island of Ugi, as Mr. Stephens informed me, the same word is used to indicate all the dark colours. A native of this island cannot distinguish the different colours in the rainbow: and it should be here remarked that he views the appearance of a bow with a large arc as a warning of the approach of hostile canoes, and he retires accordingly to his house.

The following notes on the gestures and the expressions of the emotions of the Solomon Islanders, which I was led to make after a perusal of Mr. Darwin’s well-known work on these subjects, occur scattered about the pages of my journals; and I must crave the indulgence of my reader if they are, from this reason, of a somewhat disconnected character.

The natives of Bougainville Straits and of other parts of the group beckon with the hand, in a manner almost the reverse of our own. Instead of holding out the hand with the palm uppermost and motioning with the forefinger, they beckon with the palm downwards, and motion with all the fingers. On several occasions, when motioning a native to approach by means of our own gesture, I have had to adopt his own mode of beckoning before he could understand me. . . . . Clapping the hands is a common means of evincing astonishment and delight, the hands being usually held up before the face as in the attitude of prayer, but little noise being made. Mule, the Treasury chief, clapped his hands before his face, when Lieutenant Leeper showed him some of his paintings; and surprise was exhibited in a similar manner by the men of Alu, whilst I was taking a sample of hair from the head of one of their number. Some young lads of Fauro clapped their hands noiselessly during their laughter when I gave them a tune on the Jews-harp: whilst a party of Treasury boys, who accompanied me on one of my rambles, thus evinced their pleasure when some matches for lighting our pipes were unexpectedly found in my bag.

The following mode of signifying hunger was often adopted by my youthful native companions in my excursions, when the sun was near its meridian altitude, in order to remind me of the biscuit I generally carried for them; and the little imps used to repeat the gesture in an exaggerated form for my amusement. The belly is drawn in to a surprising degree by the powerful contraction of the abdominal muscles; and, assuming a dismal expression of countenance, the hungry individual points with his finger to this unmistakeable sign of the apparently empty condition of his stomach, and says “kai-kai, muru” (food for stomach). Labillardière tells us that the natives of New Caledonia signified their hunger in a similar manner by pointing to their bellies, and contracting the abdominal muscles as much as they could.[109] . . . . The natives of Bougainville Straits make use of the exclamation, “Agai,” to indicate pain and suffering. This cry often rang pitifully in my ears when, from the prejudices of the natives, I was unable to render much surgical aid in the case of the severe gunshot injuries, which resulted from the conflicts between the Treasury and Shortland islanders.

[109] “Voyage in search of La Pérouse” (Eng. edit.: London 1800) vol. ii., p. 213.

Elevation of the eyebrows with a slight throwing backward of the head is the gesture of assent. A native sometimes raises his eyebrows slightly to indicate caution or reticence under circumstances in which we should employ a cough or a wink; and, by the same sign, a question may be asked, and as silently answered by a similar movement of the eyebrows, accompanied by a throwing up of the head. A native of Simbo, on one occasion, because I would not give him tobacco, signified his contempt for me by spitting on the ground. A woman of Alu informed me that she was the mother of two girls standing near, by first pointing to her daughters, and then touching her breasts. When puzzled, a native sometimes adopts our sign of perplexity by frowning, and scratching his head.

On one occasion, I was much amused by the behaviour of some of the Treasury boys, lively young imps who used frequently to accompany me on my excursions. One of their number had been offended by his companions, who immediately began to caper round him, distorting their faces in a peculiar manner by drawing the eyes and mouth towards each other with their fingers, and producing an appearance reminding me of the human faces on the dance-clubs of Bougainville Straits and New Ireland. Sometimes they would only go through the motions by scraping their fingers down their cheeks. The object was evidently to create terror, but only in a mimic fashion.

But little gesticulation is used in ordinary conversation. A native of Cape Keibeck, on the north coast of St. Christoval, who went through the motions of throwing a spear in time of battle, assumed a hideous expression of countenance with eyes starting and knitted brows, much as Mr. Mosely describes in the instance of a native of Humboldt Bay, New Guinea.[110] A native, who is planning the performance of an act of treachery, usually exhibits during his conversation an excited, restless manner, with a slight trembling of the limbs and a partial loss of control over the facial muscles. It is in this manner that white men, resident in the group, when approaching a village with which they are unacquainted, often find an indication of the hostility or friendliness of the inhabitants by observing the unconscious bearing of the first men they meet.

[110] “Naturalist on the Challenger,” p. 441.

These islanders converse in a low, monotonous voice; and are unaccustomed to loud, stentorian tones, such as those in which words of command are given. I was told a story of a white man who had engaged some natives to take him out in a canoe to the site of a sunken rock, which he intended to blow up with dynamite as it obstructed the channel. Immediately on dropping the charge, he shouted out to his crew to paddle away as quickly as possible and at the same time gesticulated wildly. The men opened their eyes wide and stared at him with astonishment, but never moved; and before they could recover themselves, off went the charge, and the canoe and its occupants were blown into the air. However, but little damage was caused except to the canoe. My informant told me that if the men had been told quietly to paddle away, the accident would never have happened.

I now come to the subject of the disposition of these islanders. There is a generosity between man and man, which I often admired, although it was easy to perceive that there was a singular relation between the giver and the recipient. A native rarely refuses anything that is asked; but, on the other hand, he is not accustomed to offer anything spontaneously except when he expects an equivalent in return. His generosity is, in truth, constrained by the knowledge of the fact that by a refusal he will incur the enmity of the person who has made the request. Often when during my excursions I have come upon some man who was preparing a meal for himself and his family, I have been surprised at the open-handed way in which he dispensed the food to my party of hungry natives. No gratitude was shown towards the giver, who apparently expected none, and only mildly remonstrated when my men were unusually voracious. I was often amused at noticing how a native’s friends would gather around when there was a sago palm to be felled.

But there is one occasion when the existence of friends must be very trying to a Solomon Islander, and that is when he returns to his island after his term of service in the plantations of Fiji or Queensland has expired. He brings with him his earnings of three years in the shape of a musket, a couple of American axes, and a large box filled with calico, coloured handkerchiefs, tobacco, pipes, knives, beads, &c. On landing at the beach, he is greeted by the greater portion of the village. The chief at once appropriates the musket, as his way of welcoming the wanderer on his return. His father selects, with due deliberation, the best tempered of the axes. The chief’s son relieves him of one of the largest knives. His numerous relations and friends assist themselves to some of the more valuable articles in the box; whilst the calico and beads are evenly appropriated by the different ladies of the village, as their manner of evincing their pleasure at his safe return. The unhappy man dares not refuse, and he finally leaves the beach for his own house with a very light box and a heavy heart. But his friends in the neighbourhood think it their duty to convey their congratulations in person; and in a few days the box alone remains, which it is very likely that the chief has already secured “in prospectu.” The foregoing is by no means an exaggerated account of the reception which awaits a Solomon Islander when he returns from his term of service in the colonies.

The natives of this group have obtained for themselves the reputation of being the most treacherous and bloodthirsty of the Pacific Islanders. Here, however, as in other groups, the inhabitants have been judged according to the circumstances attending the visit of the navigator. If he has come into collision with them, he paints their conduct in the darkest colours; but if, as has rarely been the case, there has been nothing to interrupt the harmony of his intercourse, he is apt, in his description of the peaceful character of the natives, to reflect on the want of humanity which marked the dealings of his predecessors. But for us a middle course would seem preferable; and in approving the mild measures of the one, we must not forget that the harsh treatment of the other may have arisen in circumstances over which he had little control. The early intercourse between civilized and savage peoples must of necessity be fraught with peril, until the latter cease to look upon every stranger as a probable foe. It is not often that we have the pleasure of reading such accounts as are given by Kotzebue and Chamisso of their intercourse with the Radack Islanders; yet we must remember that the humane principles of La Pérouse led, unfortunately, to the massacre of M. de Langle and eleven others in the Navigator Islands. Here again the middle course is to be followed; and the traveller most successful in his dealings with these races will be he who obtains for himself their fear as well as their affection.

The early intercourse of the Solomon Islanders with the Spaniards, and with the first French navigators, was too often marked by bloodshed to enable us to form a correct estimation of the disposition of these natives. We therefore turn without regret to the more pleasing experience of a later voyager in these seas. In his account of his intercourse with the natives of Isabel in 1838, D’Urville thus refers to these islanders: “Nous sommes les premiers à inscrire dans l’histoire des habitants de ces îles, une page en faveur de leur caractère: ils auraient pu, presque sans dangers, massacrer ceux de nos officiers qui sont allés chercher l’hospitalité aux villages d’Opihi et Toitoi, et j’aime à croire qu’ils n’auraient pas résisté à la tentation, si dans leur caractère il n’y avait pas eu quelques sentiments d’affection ou de probité.”[111]

[111] “Voyage au Pole Sud,” etc. Vol. V., p. 106.

In recalling my own experiences, I can scarcely remember a single instance in which I was aught but kindly treated by a race of savages who have been so often characterised as the most treacherous and bloodthirsty in the Pacific. I was constantly in their power, since, in my excursions, I very rarely had any other companions. I will, therefore, frame my estimate of their character in the words of the French navigator, that they would not have been able to resist the temptation of harming me, if there was not in their disposition something of the sense of honour and affection.

CHAPTER VII.
DRESS—TATTOOING—SONGS, ETC.

The dress worn by the men of these islands is generally of the scantiest description. A narrow band of cloth, worn like a T bandage, often constitutes their only garment. In some islands visited by traders, waist-cloths are worn. Often, however, and especially amongst the bush tribes, the Solomon Islander presents himself as guiltless of clothing as did our original parents. The dress of the women varies considerably in different islands of the group. The married women of St. Christoval and the adjacent small islands wear the scantiest of fringes, which cannot be dignified by the name of dress: whilst the unmarried girls dispense with clothing altogether. In the Florida Islands, the women are more decorously clad, and wear a longer fringe. In the eastern islands, however, the influence of the missionary and the trader have caused a more general employment by the women of the “sulu” (a large coloured handkerchief), which is fastened around the waist, and is very becoming. The women of the islands of Bougainville Straits commonly wear the “sulu;” but they frequently discard it for a time, as when they are wading on the reefs, and then they are content with an improvised apron of long leaves (“bassa”), the stalks of which are passed under a narrow waist-band. On one occasion at Alu, when arriving at the beach after one of my excursions into the interior of the island, I came upon a party of women who were bathing in the sea. They at once came out of the water, and began to interrogate my guides, having first provided themselves in the most unabashed manner with temporary aprons of fern fronds and the leaves of trees. They then gathered round me to learn where I had been, and what I had been doing; and after I had satisfied their curiosity, I sent them away, highly pleased with some tobacco and beads.

The men of these islands are always very anxious to become the possessors of European articles of clothing, such as shirts, coats, hats, etc.; but the happy owners seldom don them except during the visit of a ship, when they strut about clad in some solitary garment, such as a shirt or a waistcoat, or often only a hat. I had often some difficulty in preserving my gravity when I met some sedate individual, as naked as on the day when he was born, wearing a round hat on his head, and carrying his shirt on his arm. The fortunate possessor of a shirt usually regards it as a kind of light overcoat, to be worn on especial occasions; and in some islands the possessors seem to prefer carrying their shirts on their arms wherever they go. A few men, who have these articles of clothing, never take them off after they have begun to wear them. Such a practice, however, is quite opposed to the usual cleanly habits of these islanders. Whilst we were in Bougainville Straits, three natives were employed on board as interpreters, who were dubbed by the men, Jacket, Waistcoat, and Trousers, as they used to wear a suit between them. On one occasion, when I had induced some Faro men to take me in their canoe to an island some distance away, I was amused at the appearance of my crew, to whom I had previously given shirts. We were, for all the world, like a party of nigger-minstrels. Following the waggish advice of the quartermaster, the natives turned up their large collars. Off we started, and the sight of their serious countenances, half buried in their collars, was too much for my gravity: but when we landed, and my men proceeded in a dignified manner to disembark, they looked so ludicrously sedate in their long-tailed shirts, that I roared with laughter.

The most picturesque of the personal ornaments of the natives of the eastern islands is a frontlet of the handsome white cowries (Ovulum ovum). About a dozen of these shells, rather small in size, are strung together, and bound across the forehead. A single shell is sometimes worn on the front of the leg just below the knee. Many men possess large crescent-shaped plates of the pearl shell found in these seas, and which they wear on the breast. Resident traders, such as Captain Macdonald at Santa Anna, have largely supplied the natives with these ornaments. Necklaces made of the teeth of dogs, porpoises, fruit-bats, and phalangers (Cuscus), are commonly worn. The seeds of the Coix Lachryma are also employed for this purpose. Various articles are used as necklace-pendants, such as Bulla shells, the pretty Natica mamilla, beans, the hard palate of a fish (probably a ray), and other things. One native was very proud of a fragment of a willow-pattern plate, which he had smoothed off and ground down to a convenient size for his necklace.

Shell armlets [112] are in general use, and their number and size frequently denote the rank of their owner. Those most prized are fashioned out of the thickest part of the shell of Tridacna gigas towards the hinge. On one occasion, in the island of Simbo, I had an opportunity of observing the tedious process of making these Tridacna armlets: A hole is first bored through the solid thickness of the shell, and in it is inserted a piece of hoop iron, with one edge roughly jagged, after the fashion of a saw. This is worked with the hands, and after much labour the ring is sawn out of the shell. It is then rubbed down and polished with sand. On account of the tedious nature of the process of making them, these Tridacna armlets are much prized by their possessors. Amongst the numerous articles employed in trading with these natives is a very good imitation of this armlet made of tough white porcelain, and valued at about half a dollar. Smaller armlets are also cut out of large shells belonging to the genera Trochus and Turbo. The shell armlets of these islanders are often first placed on during youth, or at the first attainment of manhood; and, as the wearer grows older these ornaments become too small to pass over the elbow, and are permanently worn. Armlets are also made of native shell-money worked into patterns. Sometimes a couple of curved boar’s-tusks are joined together for this purpose. Excluding the shell armlets, those most frequently worn are made of what is commonly known as “dyed grass.” This material, however, consists, for the most part, of the strips of the vascular tissue of ferns, belonging to Gleichenia and other genera, which are neatly plaited together in patterns (vide [page 281].) The prettiest specimens of this work are to be obtained at Savo. The same plaited armlets are worn by the Admiralty Islanders.[113] In some parts of New Guinea, strips of rattan are worked in with this material.[114] . . . In the Solomon Islands, armlets are usually worn on the left arm. The native usually carries his pipe or his tobacco tucked inside them. They are often worn very tight, especially in the case of the plaited armlets, which actually constrict the limb.

[112] By “armlet,” I mean an ornament encircling the arm above the elbow.

[113] There is a chromo-lithograph of these ornaments in the “Narrative of the Cruise of the ‘Challenger.’”

[114] Specimens in British Museum collection.

Nose ornaments are not commonly worn in the eastern islands, though the nasal septum is generally pierced by a hole for the appendage which may be of tortoise-shell, bone, shells, &c. Youths keep the hole patent by retaining in it a small piece of wood of the thickness of a lead pencil, and between one and two inches in length. The tip of the nose is frequently pierced by a small hole about half an inch deep, in which a small peg of wood is sometimes placed which projects beyond the nose and gives the face an odd appearance.

The lobes of the ears are perforated by holes, which by continual distension become of the size of a crown-piece and often larger. In some islands, as in Santa Anna, a disc of white wood 1¹⁄₂ to 2 inches in diameter is placed in these holes. Sometimes they are kept in shape by the insertion of a shaving of wood rolled into a spiral; but more frequently they are left empty. Singular uses are made of these holes in the lobes of the ear, pipes and matchboxes being sometimes placed in them. On one occasion, Taki, the Wano chief, came on board with a heavy bunch of native shell-money hanging from each ear, a sign of mourning, as he informed us, for a recently deceased wife. In some instances, more particularly amongst the elder men, the pendulous loop formed by the distended hole in the lobe becomes severed and hangs in two pieces. I am told that when these loops break, the two parts are readily joined by paring the torn surfaces obliquely and binding them together.

The natives of the islands of Bougainville Straits pay less attention to personal decoration than do those of St. Christoval and the adjacent islands. The large Tridacna armlets are not often worn, the small shell armlets being those generally preferred, and as in the case of those worn in the eastern islands, their number indicates the rank and wealth of the wearer. The plaited arm-bands described on [page 132] are frequently worn. Armlets made of trade beads are favourite ornaments of the women: when visiting the houses of the chiefs, I have sometimes found their wives employed in this kind of fancy-work, small red, blue, and white beads being tastefully worked together in the common zig-zag pattern. Here, as in the eastern islands, the septum of the nose is pierced by a hole, but I rarely saw any ornament suspended from it. The women of Treasury Island, however, sometimes wear in this aperture a tusk-like ornament, 1¹⁄₂ to 2 inches long, which is made from the shell of the giant clam. Occasionally I have observed clay pipes carried in this perforation in the nasal septum. Here, also, the lobes of the ears are pierced by large holes, and in the older men they hang in loops 2 to 3 inches in length.

The men of Simbo (Narovo Island) streak their countenances with lime, whilst the boys of Treasury Islands sometimes paint their faces around the eyes with the red ochreous earth that they employ for staining the hair. The young lads of Faro occasionally adorn their faces with silvery strips of a fish’s swimming-bladder which they plaster on their cheeks.

In the matter of personal decoration I should observe that the men usually wear the plumes, not that the women dislike decorations, but because they do not often have the opportunity of wearing them. If a trade necklace or some similar ornament is given to a woman, it will very soon be observed adorning the person of her husband. An incident of this sort particularly annoyed me on one occasion in the island of St. Christoval; but I might as well have tried to persuade a pig that it was a glutton as have attempted to convince a native that such a transaction was ungallant. In some islands it is the custom for the husband on the occasion of a festival to load his favourite wife with all his worldly wealth in the form of the native bead money; and, as at Santa Anna, the wives of the headmen parade about the village thus heavily attired and presenting such a picture of “portable property” as would have gladdened the heart of Mr. Wemmick himself. This shell-money, to which I have frequently referred in this work, and which is so often employed in personal decoration, consists of small pieces of shells of different colours shaped and strung together like beads. In the eastern islands, this money is largely derived from the natives of Malaita. Six fathoms of it are said to be sufficient for the purchase of a pig. The same kind of money is used by the inhabitants of the Admiralty Islands, New Ireland, New Guinea, and the New Hebrides. In the last two localities it is worked into armlets.[115]

[115] The natives of the Solomon Islands also occasionally employ as money the teeth of fish, porpoises, fruit-eating bats (Pteropidæ), and of other animals.

The men of the Solomon Islands are very fond of placing in their hair a brightly-coloured flower such as that of Hibiscus tiliaceus, or a pretty sprig, or the frond of a fern. My native companions in my excursions rarely passed a pretty flower without plucking it and placing it in their bushy hair; and they were fond of decorating my helmet in a similar fashion. Sometimes one individual would adorn himself to such an extent with flowers, ferns, and scented leaves, that a botanist might have made an instructive capture in seizing his person. In addition to the flowers placed in his bushy mass of blackish-brown hair, he would tuck under his necklace and armlets sprigs and leaves of numerous scented plants, such as Evodia hortensis and Ocymum sanctum. He would take much pleasure in pointing out to me the plants whose scented leaves are employed in the native perfumery, most of which are of the labiate order, and are to be commonly found in the waste ground of the plantations. The women seldom decorate themselves in this manner. Those of Bougainville Straits make their scanty aprons of the leaves of a scitamineous plant named “bassa” which, when crushed in the fingers, have a pleasant scent.

The fondness for decorating the person with flowers and scented herbs has been frequently referred to by travellers in their accounts of the natives of other parts of the Western Pacific. Mr. George Forster tells us that the people of Tanna and Mallicolo in the New Hebrides place inside their shell armlets bunches of the odoriferous plant, Evodia hortensis, together with the leaves of crotons and other plants.[116] We learn from Mr. Macgillivray,[117] and from Mr. Stone,[118] that the natives of the south-east part of New Guinea are similarly fond of decorating themselves with flowers and scented leaves which they place in the hair and inside their armlets and necklaces.

[116] “A Voyage round the World,” by George Forster, London, 1777; (page 276.)

[117] “Voyage of H.M.S. ‘Rattlesnake,’” by John Macgillivray; London, 1852.

[118] “A few months in New Guinea,” by O. C. Stone; London, 1880.

Tattooing is practised amongst both sexes in many islands; but the process differs from that ordinarily employed in the circumstance that the pigment is frequently omitted, and for this reason the marks are often faint and only visible on a close inspection. In this manner the natives of St. Christoval and the adjacent islands have their cheeks marked by a number of shallow grooves arranged in a series of chevron-lines, and differing but little if at all from the general colour of the skin. On the trunk the lines are of a faint blue hue, and here a pigment is more frequently used. The process, as employed in the island of Santa Anna, consists in deeply abrading the skin with such instruments as a piece of a shell, the flinty edge of the bamboo, the tooth of a large fruit-eating bat (Pteropidæ), or even by the long finger-nails. The older lads have to submit themselves to this operation before they obtain the rights of manhood; and I was informed that during its progress they are kept isolated in a house and fed on the blood of a certain fish (?). After it is completed, they are at liberty to marry, and they are allowed to take part in the fighting and in the fishing expeditions.

Tattooing is not generally practised amongst the people of the islands of Bougainville Straits. I only observed it in a few instances, more particularly amongst the women, when it resembles that which has been above described. A party of men from the village of Takura on the coast of Bougainville, whom I met on one occasion, had their faces marked with shallow linear grooves of much the same colour as the skin, which commenced at the “alæ nostri,” and, curving over the cheek-bones, terminated above the eyebrows. These lines were more distinct than those which mark the faces of the natives in the eastward islands, although they were probably produced in a similar manner. Another pattern of tattooing, which may be described as a branching coil, is to be found in the representation of the head of a native of Isabel Island, which was obtained from a mould taken in D’Urville’s expedition in 1838.[119] Some men of the districts of the Uta Pass and Urasi on the north coast of Malaita, whom I met on one occasion, had their faces marked with a double or a single row of blueish dots commencing on the cheek-bones and meeting on the forehead.

[119] Plate vi.: Atlas Anthropologie; “Voyage au Pole Sud et dans l’Océanie.”

In the place of tattooing, the inhabitants of the islands of Bougainville Straits ornament their bodies with rows of circular and somewhat raised cicatrices which are usually about the size of a fourpenny piece and about a third of an inch apart. In the case of the men, the shoulders, upper arms, and chest are thus marked: a double row of cicatrices commences on the shoulder-blade of either side, and crossing the upper arms near the apex of the insertion of the deltoid muscle these rows arch over the armpits and meet at the lower part of the sternum. The chiefs and their sons often have an additional row of these marks. Although this is the common fashion, one sometimes meets men who have the cicatrices confined to the chest or to the shoulders, or to only one side of the body. Amongst the women, the shoulders, upper arms, and breasts are similarly marked as shown in the engraving here given, and in addition they have these rows of cicatrices across the inside of the thigh. A triple row across the left breast distinguished the principal wife of the chief of Treasury Island. This method of ornamenting the body with raised cicatrices, which I also observed in the case of the party of Takura natives above referred to, would appear to be a sign of manhood and womanhood, as it is not to be found amongst the younger of either sex. With regard to the mode of producing these marks, I could only ascertain that they were made by placing the powdered dust of touchwood on the skin and then igniting it. To produce such a permanent and indelible cicatrix, I should think it probable that means were employed to convert the burn into a festering sore. The light colour of these scars would appear to indicate that no pigment is used in the process. I should remark that this custom of raising the skin in cicatrices, especially on the shoulders, breasts, and thighs, is very prevalent among the Papuans of the south and south-west coasts of New Guinea.[120] Mr. Mosely describes the same method of ornamenting the body as he observed it amongst the men of the Admiralty Islands.[121]

[120] “Papuans” by G. W. Earl; (p. 5.)

[121] Journ. Anthrop. Inst. vol. vi., p. 379.

It may be here noticed, that the practice of circumcision is apparently not to be met with in these islands, except, as observed by Dr. Codrington, in the pure Polynesian settlements,[122] with which, however, I did not come into contact.

[122] Ibid., vol. x., p. 261.

I have previously described the modes of wearing and of decorating the hair ([pages 116], [134]), and can only make a few remarks here. In some islands, as at Ugi, the young boys have the entire scalp shaven with the exception of two tufts on the top of the head. Then again, at the other extreme of life, it is often the custom for old women to assist the natural falling-off of the hair and remove it altogether. As a sign of mourning, the hair may be trimmed, cut close, or shaved off.

The Solomon Islander often carries his comb stuck in his bushy hair. As shown in the [figure] in this work, the comb in common use throughout this group resembles very much in pattern and mode of workmanship that which is in use in parts of New Guinea, the Admiralty Islands, the Tonga Group, and other islands of the Western Pacific. The combs of different islands may vary somewhat in details, but they belong all to this pattern, being usually made of a hard dark wood, the teeth consisting of separate pieces either bound tightly or glued together by a kind of resin. The handles and upper parts are often prettily decorated with the plaited “dyed grass,” so-called (vide, [page 132]). An excellent coloured illustration of an Admiralty Island comb is to be found in the official narrative of the cruise of the “Challenger.” In the islands of Bougainville Straits, the native often carries in his hair an instrument of three prongs rudely fashioned out of bamboo, as shown in one of the figures. It is used as much for scratching the head as for combing the hair.

Head-coverings are rarely to be found in this group, except in Bougainville and Bouka. A native of Treasury showed me a singular conical hat which he had brought from Bouka. It really was a double hat, one inside the other, the inner hat being made of the leaf of the “kiari,” a species of Heliconia, and the outer of the fan-shaped leaf of the “firo,” a palm of the genus Licuala. A band of the so-called plaited “dyed grass” encircles the base and keeps the hat on the head. A similarly shaped hat but smaller and shorter, and made of the leaf of the “kiari,” was worn by some Bougainville natives from the village of Takura, whom I met in Fauro Island. It was placed towards the back of the head; and as it covered only a small portion of the crown, it was evidently more ornamental than useful. In addition, these natives wore a little bunch of feathers on each temple. Their appearance in this grotesque head-dress was rather ludicrous.

It is a remarkable circumstance that although the Solomon Islanders, as a rule, wear no protective covering for the head, the carved figures of their tambu-posts are usually represented with very European-looking hats. These carved tambu-posts have various uses (vide, [page 32]). In a similar manner in Bougainville Straits, the hat is to be noticed in the case of the little wooden figures which are fastened on the stems of canoes as protective deities. . . . . . . Where these islanders first obtained their idea of a hat of this shape is a matter for speculation. It may have been originally suggested by the hats of the Spanish soldiers three centuries ago, who by means of their musketry seldom failed to make a lasting impression of their visit during the six months spent by the expedition in the group.

Hanging-hook.Comb.

Fish-float.

Series of patterns, derived from the chevron or zig-zag line, which are used for decorative purposes by the Solomon Islanders. The principal steps in the series are alone indicated, the intermediary stages being often exemplified in the ornamental designs of these natives. (The dotted lines are my own).

Sunshades in the form of a peak of plaited grass bound to the forehead and projecting over the eyes are occasionally worn by the natives of Bougainville Straits, whilst fishing in canoes, in order to protect their eyes from the sun’s glare on the water. In Ugi, these sunshades are sometimes worn on gala days. They did not, however, appear to be in constant use in any part of the group which we visited.

The common decorative pattern employed by the natives of the islands that we visited was the chevron line. It is the pattern used in tattooing the face in the eastern islands; and it is represented in alternating hues of red, white, and black, on the fronts of tambu-houses. It is rudely cut on the outer border of the small shell armlets of St. Christoval, and ornaments the cooking-pots and drinking-vessels of Bougainville Straits. (See [Illustration].) In some of the shell armlets a continuous lozenge or diamond-shaped design is produced by the arrangement of the chevron lines as shown in the [woodcut]. The advance from this design to the disconnected lozenge pattern is then but an easy gradation. These chevron lines are often curiously transformed. The Z pattern of inlaid mother-of-pearl, which is shown in the [illustration] of the canoe-god, is apparently but a broken chevron line. On the heads of the Treasury spears fantastic patterns are cut out in which the chevron design is adapted to the human skeleton (See [illustration]). . . . . . I may here add that the bamboo boxes used for the betel lime are ornamented with rectilinear patterns (scratched on their surfaces) which resemble those used in ornamenting the similar lime boxes of New Guinea, Borneo, and Sumatra.[123] The ornamental dance-clubs of Bougainville Straits exactly resemble the clubs from New Ireland and possess those singular distorted representations of the human face which characterise New Ireland ornamentation.

[123] Exhibited in the British Museum Ethnological collection.

Caution is required in studying the modes of ornamentation of these islanders. The remark made by the Rev. Mr. Lawes, in reference to the women of the Motu tribe in New Guinea,[124] that they are glad to get new tattooing patterns from the printed calicoes, is equally applicable to some of the Solomon Island natives. On one occasion I was gravely informed by a native, as a fact likely to add to their interest, that some designs I was copying had this origin.

[124] Journ. Anthrop. Inst. vol. VIII., p. 369.

The Solomon Island songs, although often monotonous to the cultivated ear, appeared to me to be in consonance with the wild character of these islanders. Often when I have stopped to rest and enjoy a pipe in the midst of my excursions, it may have been beside a stream in the wood or on the edge of a tall cliff overlooking the sea, my native companions have sat down and commenced their monotonous chanting, which, discordant as it may have sometimes seemed to me, appeared to be in unison with my surroundings. Now raised to a high key, now sinking to a low, subdued drone, now hurried, now slow and measured, these rude notes recalled to my mind rather the sounds of the inanimate world around me, such as the sighing of the wind among the trees or the shrill whistle of the gale, the noise of the surf on the reef or the rippling of the waves on the beach, the rushing of a mountain torrent or the murmuring of a rivulet in its bed. My thoughts at such times recurred to those unpolished ages in the history of nations when the bard attuned his melody to the voices of the waves, the streams, and the wind, and found in the mist or in the cloud his expression for the shadowy unknown. At no time have the poems of Ossian appeared to my mind to be invested with greater beauty than when I have been standing in solitude in some inland dell or on some lofty hill-top in these regions. The song of the bard of Selma, despite its ruggedness, on such occasions, appealed more powerfully to my imagination than many more finished verses, and seemed more in keeping with scenes that owed to man nothing, remaining as they had been for ages, Nature’s handiwork.

Frequently whilst descending some steep hill-slope or whilst following the downward course of a ravine, my natives were wont to make the woods echo with their shouts and their wild songs. The natural impulse to make use of the vocal organs whilst descending a mountain is worth a moment’s remark. Often I found myself involuntarily shouting with my savage companions, when their loud peals of laughter attracted my attention. Some years ago, when visiting the Si-shan Mountains which lie behind the city of Kiukiang on the south bank of the Yang-tse, I remember listening to the cries of the Chinese wood-cutters as they returned in the evening down the narrow gorges that led to their homes. As their shouts died away in the higher parts of the mountain, the echo was caught by the wood-cutters below, and was answered back in such a manner that the men further down the gorges took up the cry.

WAR DANCE and CANNIBAL SONG.

[Play music.]

No. 2.

[Play music.]

No. 3.

[Play music.]

Note.—The vowels to be pronounced as follows: a as in “tar,” e as in “obey,” i as in “ici,” o as in “so,” u as in “rule.”

The training of natives of these islands by the Melanesian Mission at Norfolk Island has shown that the compass of their voices and their ear for music are capable of much cultivation. When staying with Bishop Selwyn at Gaeta in the Florida Islands, I heard familiar hymn-tunes sung with as true an appreciation of harmony as would be found in the Sunday School of an English village, and sung by a congregation of natives of both sexes, who, with the exception of their teachers, had never left their island.

During our lengthened sojourn in Bougainville Straits, we became very familiar with the popular tunes of the natives; and through the exertions of Mr. Isabell, I have been able to reproduce in this work three of the commonest [airs].[125] The songs are usually sung in chorus, and a droning accompaniment is often introduced by some of the men which is especially well given in the second tune. There appear to be four or five common airs. All are short and most of them have refrains which are repeated over and over again. The first tune is a cannibal song and is sung at the war dances. Its words, as I learned from Gorai, the Shortland chief, are the address of a man to his enemy, in which he informs him of his intention to kill and eat him. The second tune, though not possessing words, is often sung or rather chanted by the men. When sung by a number of persons, its wild music is to an imaginative mind very suggestive of the savage life. I have heard it sung by about forty men whilst passing the night with them in the village of Sinasoro in Faro Island. The tambu-house, in which we were, was dimly lighted, and the natives were squatting around a wood-fire chanting their wild song in chorus, and terminating it in a fashion that sounded very abrupt to the white man’s ear. The third tune is a pretty air which the men of the “Lark” used to play with the concertina in waltz time. The words, accompanying it, have a music of their own. I learned from the natives of Treasury Island that this tune was brought from Meoko (Duke of York Islands) not long since.

[125] Mr. Isabell was indebted for assistance to Mr. Tremaine of Auckland, N.Z.

The Pandean pipe is the musical instrument in common use amongst the natives of the Islands of Bougainville Straits. I did not notice it in St. Christoval and the adjacent islands at the other end of the group, where it is either not known or but rarely used. The distribution of this instrument in the Pacific is interesting. It is figured by D’Albertis in his work on New Guinea, and there are specimens in the British Museum Collection from Brumer’s Island off this coast, as well as from the Admiralty Islands, the New Hebrides, the Tonga Group, and New Zealand. The instruments from all these localities are distinguished from the Solomon Island pan-pipe by the reeds being arranged in a single row and being of a much smaller size. They are also more neatly made. Those used by the Treasury and Shortland natives are composed of a double row of from 6 to 8 reeds, the second row being merely added to give support to the instrument. The longest reed is usually a foot in length and three quarters of an inch in bore; whilst the shortest reed is about 5 inches long and rather less than half an inch in bore. Some natives prefer instruments having twice this length. The Pandean pipes, played at the public dances of Alu, are of very large size, the length of the longest reed of one which I measured being between 3¹⁄₂ and 4 feet. At such performances, the air is given by the smaller pipes; whilst the bass notes of the larger pipes form a droning but harmonious accompaniment. The music of these instruments, being in the usual contracted compass, is of a somewhat monotonous character. Those of Treasury Island are said to be only adapted for playing one tune, which is the second [air] given on the page. I learn from Mr. Isabell, who was interested in this matter, that the natives vary the number of reeds in the instrument according to the air it is intended to play. The musician accompanies his melody with a nodding of the head and a swaying of the body on the hips, movements which are anything but expressive and are in fact rather ludicrous.

Jew’s harps of foreign manufacture are much in demand amongst persons of both sexes and all ages throughout the Solomon Group. In the eastern islands they fashion them of bamboo, as in the New Hebrides and New Guinea;[126] but I did not observe any native-made instruments amongst the people of Bougainville Straits. The women of Treasury Island produce a similar though softer kind of music by playing, somewhat after the fashion of a Jew’s harp, on a lightly made fine-stringed bow about 15 inches long. This is held to the lips and the string is gently struck with the fingers, the cavity of the mouth serving as a resonator. . . . That school-boy’s delight, the “paper-and-comb instrument,” finds its counterpart in these islands. On one occasion, when I was enjoying a pipe and watching the surf on the south coast of Stirling Island, a young lad, who accompanied me, amused himself with some rude music by holding in front of his lips, as he hummed a native air, a thick leaf in which he had made a hole about half an inch wide, leaving the thin transparent epidermis intact on one side; the vibration of this thin membrane gave a peculiar twang to his voice.

[126] Mr. Mosely in his “Notes by a Naturalist” gives an illustration of a Jew’s harp from the New Hebrides.

The drum in common use in the different islands we visited was made of a portion of the trunk of a tree, 8 to 10 feet long, hollowed out in its interior and possessing a slit in the middle. It is placed lengthways on the ground, and is struck by two short sticks. Similar drums are employed by the inhabitants of the New Hebrides [127] and the Admiralty Islands.[128] This pattern may therefore be described as the Melanesian drum. A kind of sounding-board, placed in a pit in the ground and struck by the feet of the dancers, is described in my account of the dances of these islanders (vide [page 144]).

[127] “A year in the New Hebrides” by F. A Campbell, p. 108. The drums are placed erect in the earth.

[128] Mosely’s “Notes by a Naturalist on the ‘Challenger,’” p. 471.

As conches, the two large shells, Triton and Cassis are commonly used. For this purpose, a hole is pierced for the lips on the side of the spire.

Dancing is performed on very different occasions in these islands. Besides the war, funeral, and festal dances, there are others which partake of a lascivious character both in the words of the accompanying chant and in the movements of the hands and body. Whilst visiting the small island of Santa Catalina, I saw one of these dances performed by young girls from 10 to 14 years of age. An explanation of their reluctance to commence, which at first from my ignorance of what was to follow I was at a loss to understand, soon offered itself in the character of the dance, and evidently arose from a natural sense of modesty that appeared strange when associated with their subsequent performance. There are, however, other dances, purely sportive in their nature. Of such a kind were some which were performed for my benefit at the village of Gaeta in the Florida Islands. About twenty lads, having formed a ring around a group of their companions squatting in the centre, began to walk slowly round, tapping the ground with their left feet at every other step, and keeping time with a dismal drone chanted by the central group of boys. Every now and then the boys of the ring bent forward on one knee towards those in the middle, while at the same time they clapped their hands and made a peculiar noise between a hiss and a sneeze: the chant then became more enlivening and the dancing more spirited. On the following day the women of the village took part in a dance which was very similar to that of the boys, except that there was no central group, and that they wore bunches of large beans around the left ankle which made a rattling noise when they tapped the ground at every other step with the left foot. Bishop Selwyn, to whom I was indebted for the opportunity of witnessing these dances in the village of Gaeta, informed me that in the Florida Islands, dancing is often more or less of a profession, troupes of dancers making lengthened tours through the different islands of this sub-group.

During a great feast that was held in the island of Treasury, the following dance was performed. Between thirty and forty women and girls stood in a ring around a semi-circular pit, 5 feet across, which was sunk about 4 feet in the ground. A board, which was fixed in the pit about half way down, covered it in with the exception of a notch at its border. On this board stood two women, and as they danced they stamped with their feet, producing a dull hollow sound, to which the women of the circle timed their dancing, which consisted in bending their bodies slightly forward, gently swaying from side to side, and raising their feet alternately. All the while, the dancers sang in a spirited style different native airs. Now and then, a pair of women would dance slowly round outside the circle, holding before them their folded pandanus mats which all the performers carried.[129]

[129] The employment of a hole in the ground as a resonator does not appear to be common. Mr. Mosely in his “Notes by a Naturalist,” p. 309, refers to a somewhat similar use of holes in the ground by the Fijians who place a log-drum of light wood over three holes and strike it with a wooden mallet.

I was present at a dance given on one occasion at Alu, preparatory to a great feast which was about to be held. Soon after sunset the natives began to assemble on the beach, and when Gorai, the chief, arrived on the scene, between thirty and forty men arranged themselves in a circle, each carrying his pan-pipe. They began by playing an air in slow time, accompanying the music by a slight swaying motion of the body, and by alternately raising each foot. Then the notes became more lively and the movements of the dancers more brisk. The larger pipes took the part of the bass in a rude but harmonious symphony, whilst the monotonous air was repeated without much variation in the higher key of the smaller instruments. At times one of the younger men stopped in the centre of the ring, tomahawk in hand, and whilst he assumed a half-stooping posture, with his face looking upwards, the musicians dwelt on the same note which became gradually quicker and louder, whilst the dancing became more brisk, until, when the tip-toe of expectation was apparently reached, and one was beginning to feel that something ought to happen, the man in the centre who had been hitherto motionless, swung back a leg, stuck his tomahawk in the ground, and one’s feelings were relieved by the dull monotone suddenly breaking off into a lively native air. . . On another occasion, I was present at a funeral or mourning dance, which was held in connection with the death of the principal wife of the Alu chief. It will be found described on [page 48].

I will conclude this chapter by alluding to a favourite game of the Treasury boys which reminded me somewhat of our English game of peg-tops. An oval pebble about two inches long is placed on a leaf on the ground. Each boy then takes a similar pebble, around which a piece of twine is wound; and standing about eight feet away, he endeavours in the following manner to throw it so as to fall on the pebble on the ground. The end of the twine is held between his fingers; and as the twine uncoils, he jerks it backwards and brings his pebble with considerable force on top of the other.

CHAPTER VIII.
CANOES—FISHING—HUNTING.

In the eastern islands of the Solomon Group there is a considerable uniformity in the construction of the canoe. “Dug-out” canoes are rarely to be seen, except in the sheltered waters of some such harbour as that of Makira, when they are provided with outriggers. In the case of the built canoes, outriggers are not employed, and, in truth, the general absence of outriggers is characteristic of this group. The small-sized canoe, which is in common use amongst the natives of St. Christoval and the adjacent islands, measures fifteen or sixteen feet in length and carries three men. The side is built of two planks; whilst two narrower planks form the rounded bottom. Both stem and stern are prolonged upwards into beaks which are rudely carved; whilst the gunwale towards either end is ornamented with representations both of fishes, such as sharks and bonitos, and of sea-birds. The planks are sewn together, and the seams are covered over with a resinous substance that is obtained from the fruit of the Parinarium laurinum which is a common tree throughout the group. This resinous material takes some weeks to dry, when it becomes dark and hard.

Of the larger canoes, which are similarly constructed, I will take as the type the war-canoe. Its length is usually from 35 to 40 feet: its sides are of three planks; and the keel is flat, the stem and stern being continued upwards in the form of beaks. Native decorative talent is brought into play in the decoration of the war-canoe. Its sides are inlaid with pieces, usually triangular in form, of the pearl-shell of commerce (Meleagrina margaritifera); and the small and large opercula belonging to shells of the Turbinidæ with flat spiral discs produced by grinding down ordinary Cone-shells (Conidæ) are similarly employed. Along the stem and beak there is usually attached a string of the handsome white cowries (Ovulum ovum), or of the pretty white Natica (Natica mamilla). In the island of Simbo or Eddystone, where these shells are used in a similar manner to decorate the large canoes, the white cowry marks the canoes of the chiefs; whilst the Natica shell decorates those of the rest of the people.

The pretty little outrigger canoes of Makira on the St. Christoval coast are only nine inches across; and the native sits on a board, resting on the gunwales of his small craft. From one side there stretch out two slender poles four or five feet in length and supporting at their outer ends a long wooden float which runs parallel with the canoe.

The war-canoes have the reputation amongst resident traders of being good sea-boats. They frequently make the passage between Malaita and Ugi, traversing a distance of about thirty miles exposed to the full force of the Pacific swell. A similarly exposed but much longer passage of ninety miles is successfully accomplished by the war-canoes of Santa Catalina, when the natives of this small island pay their periodical visits to a friendly tribe on the coast of Malaita.

Skilfully managed, even the smaller canoes, which carry two or three persons, will behave well in a moderately heavy sea. I frequently used them and had practical experience of the dexterity with which they are handled. On one occasion I was coasting along the west side of the island of Simbo in an overladen canoe; and there was just enough “lop” and swell to make the chances even as to whether we should have to swim for it or not. It was astonishing to see the various manœuvres employed by my natives to keep our little craft afloat—now smoothing off with the blade of the paddle the top of the wave as it rose to the gunwale, now dodging the swell and taking full advantage of its onward roll, now putting a leg over each side to increase the stability of the canoe; by such devices, in addition to continuous baling, I managed to escape the unpleasantness of a ducking.

Although the larger canoes of the Solomon Islanders are apparently suited to the requirements of the natives, yet the want of an outrigger must be often felt, especially in making the unprotected sea passages from one island to another. The natives of Bougainville Straits who, as referred to below, occasionally fit their war-canoes, when heavy laden, with temporary outriggers of stout bamboo poles, must evidently be aware of the deficiencies of their canoes, unless thus provided: yet for some reason or other they make no general use of this contrivance. Bishop Patteson in 1866 was surprised to see on the St. Christoval coast an outrigger canoe which had been built by the natives after the model of a canoe that had been drifted over from Santa Cruz some years before.[130] He says that the natives found it more serviceable than their own canoes for catching large fish: yet in 1882 after a lapse of sixteen years, we found no signs of this style of canoe having been adopted by the St. Christoval natives. It seems to me that the explanation of the outrigger canoe not being generally employed by the natives of these islands lies in the arrangement of the larger islands of this group in a double line enclosing a comparatively sheltered sea 350 miles in length, which is, to a great extent, protected from the ocean swell. Thus, the head-hunting voyages of the New Georgia natives to the eastward, which may extend to Malaita 150 miles distant, are entirely confined to these sheltered waters. The passages between Malaita and the eastern islands, which I have referred to above, are, however, in great part exposed; but they are only undertaken in very settled weather.

[130] “Life of Bishop Patteson,” p. 126 (S.P.C.K. pub.).

On account of the frequent communication which is kept up between the different islands of Bougainville Straits, where open-sea passage of from 15 to 25 miles have to be performed, the larger canoes are in more common use and in greater number than in the eastern islands of the group. These large canoes vary in length between 40 and 50 feet, are between 3¹⁄₂ and 4 feet in beam, can carry from 18 to 25 men, and are paddled double-banked. They are stoutly built with three lines of side-planking and two narrow planks forming the bottom of the canoe: all the planks are bevelled off at their edges and are brought, or rather sewn, together by narrow strips of the slender stems of a pretty climbing fern (Lygonia sp.), the “asama” of the natives, which have the pliancy and strength of rattan. The seams are caulked with the same resinous material that is employed for this purpose in the eastern islands, and is obtained from the brown nearly spherical fruits of the “tita” of the native, the Parinarium laurinum of the botanist.[131]

[131] The resin of this fruit is used for the same purpose in Isabel and probably throughout the group. It is similarly used in the Admiralty Islands. Narrative of the “Challenger,” page 719.

The natives of Bougainville Straits do not decorate their canoes to any great extent; and in this they differ from those of St. Christoval, who, as I have remarked, ornament the prows and gunwales with carvings of fish and sea-birds, and inlay the sides with pearl-shell. The stems and sterns of the large canoes of Faro and of Choiseul Bay are continued up in the form of high beaks, which rise 12 to 15 feet above the water. I was at first at a loss to find the explanation of these high beaks, which give the canoes of Bougainville Straits such a singular appearance. In the narratives of the voyages of Bougainville and Surville who observed those high-beaked canoes, the former at Choiseul Bay in 1768,[132] and the latter at Port Praslin, in Isabel, in 1769,[133] we find the explanation required, which is, that these high prows, when the canoe is turned end on to the enemy, afford shelter against arrows and other missiles.

[132] “Voyage autour du Monde:” 2nd edit. augment. Paris, 1772; Vol. II., p. 187. In this work there is an engraving of one of these canoes.

[133] “Discoveries of the French to the South-East of New Guinea,” by M. Fleurieu. London, 1791 (p. 139).

For sea-passages, greater stability is sometimes given to the large canoes of the Straits, by temporarily fitting them with an outrigger on each side, in the form of a bundle of stout bamboos lashed to the projecting ends of three bamboo poles placed across the gunwales of the canoe. The large canoes, in crossing from one island to the other in the Straits, employ often a couple of small lug-sails which are made from calico or light canvas obtained from the traders. I never saw any sails of native material: but it was worthy of remark that in 1792, when Dentrecasteaux approached close to the west coast of the Shortland Islands, he noticed “large canoes under sail,” which, to quote directly from the narrative, “annonçoient une navigation active dans cet archipel d’îles extrêmement petites.”[134] Why the natives of these Straits no longer employ sails of their own manufacture, it is difficult to say. The very recent introduction of trade calico cannot have caused them to be set aside for those of the new material, since when a native wants to have a sail, and has no calico, he has no recourse to sails of his own manufacture. Rather, it would appear, that the canoes under sail, which navigated these Straits a century ago, belonged to a people more enterprising than the present inhabitants of these islands.

[134] “Voyage de Dentrecasteaux,” rédigé par. M. de Rossel, Paris, 1808: tom. I, p. 117.

To the stem of the canoe, just above the water-line, is sometimes attached a small misshapen wooden figure, which is the little tutelar deity that sees the hidden rock, and gives warning of an approaching foe. One of these figures is shown in the accompanying [illustration]. They are similarly employed by the natives of the adjacent island of Simbo, and of other islands in this part of the group. Often they are double-headed, so that the little deity may keep a watchful look-out astern as well as ahead; and then they are placed on the tops of the high beaks of the Faro canoes. Probably the Chinese custom of painting eyes on the sides of the bows of the junks, and the similar practice of the Maltese, in the case of their boats, may date back to the little gods of wood that were attached to the bows and stems of the canoes of their barbarous predecessors. The origin of the figure-heads of our ships may perhaps be traced back to times of savagery when a similar superstitious practice prevailed.

“Dug-out” canoes are only to be found in the sheltered waters of Treasury Harbour. They are from 16 to 18 feet long, are provided with an outrigger, and are so narrow that the occupant sits on a board placed on the gunwales with only his feet and legs inside the canoe. In the quiet waters of the anchorage at Simbo, the natives make use of a raft of poles lashed together somewhat after the manner of a catamaran, such as I have seen on the coast of Formosa.

A few remarks on the mode of paddling, and on the paddles employed, may be here fitting. The long tapering blade,[135] which is in common use in the eastward islands, gives place in Bougainville Straits to the oval and sub-circular blades. All the paddles which I saw had cross-handles. Those used by the women of the Straits are unusually light, more finished, and are sometimes decorated with patterns in red and black. According to the length of the journey, one or other of two styles of progression is adopted. In short distances, they often proceed by a succession of spurts with a stroke of 60 and more to the minute, each spurt lasting a few minutes, and being followed by a short interval of rest. In longer distances they employ a slower stroke of from 40 to 50 to the minute, which is varied by occasional spurts. On one occasion when taking a journey of 12 miles in a war canoe, I was much struck with the different kinds of strokes by which my crew of eighteen men varied their exertions. They usually paddled along easily at about 50 strokes to the minute: but every ten or fifteen minutes they began a series of spurts, each spurt beginning with a short sharp stroke of about 60 to the minute, and passing into a slow strong stroke of about 28 to the minute. After a succession of these spurts, which occupied altogether about five minutes, they settled down again into their previous easy stroke of 50 to the minute. Frequent stoppages occur during the course of a long journey, either for enjoying a chew of the betel-nut or for smoking a pipe; and the average speed, from this reason, would not exceed three miles an hour, whilst a day’s run, between daylight and dusk, in fine weather would be from 25 to 30 miles.

[135] See [illustration].

When a corpse is being transported in a canoe to its last resting-place in the sea by the natives of the Shortlands, they adopt a funeral stroke, pausing between each stroke of the paddle, and by a slight back-water movement partly arresting the progress of the canoe. I remember on one occasion, whilst watching a large canoe starting from Ugi to the opposite coast of St. Christoval, remarking their singular style of paddling. At every other stroke each man raised his arm and paddle much higher in the air, and gave a vigorous dig into the water, a very effective style as regards speed, and one likely to impress a timid enemy with fear. . . . . Before leaving this subject, I should refer to the paddling-posture of these natives. All of them in the different islands we visited squat down with their legs crossed, facing the bow. The New Guinea practice of standing up to paddle a canoe did not come under my observation except in the case of outrigger canoes, and in such canoes it was not the rule. I should infer that the posture of sitting or standing to paddle a canoe varies in accordance with the use of or non-employment of an outrigger. If, as in the case of the Solomon Island canoes, outriggers are rarely used, then the sitting posture will be found to be the one adopted, since the unaided stability of the canoe does not permit of the standing posture. If, on the other hand, outriggers are usually employed, it follows that, as in certain parts of New Guinea, the more effective posture of standing is preferred.

As fish form a staple diet of a large proportion of these islanders, much ingenuity is shown in the methods devised for catching them. In the eastern part of the archipelago, kite-fishing is commonly employed. A kite [136] is flown in the air from the end of a canoe, and to it a fishing-line is attached in place of the usual tail. Whilst the man in the canoe paddles slowly ahead, the movement of the kite whisks the bait about on the surface of the water; and when the fish bites, the kite goes down. Instead of a hook and bait, the natives usually employ for this mode of fishing some stout spider-web, which gets entangled around the teeth and snout of the fish, and can be used several times. The explanation of this plan of catching fish is probably as follows. The kite swaying in the air offers some resemblance to an aquatic bird hovering over the water where a shoal of small fish occurs. It thus attracts the larger fish, who are said to follow the movements of these birds, and are thus guided in the pursuit of the smaller fry. It is with this object that the natives of the Society Group tie bunches of feathers to the extremities of the long-curved poles which, projecting from the fore-part of the canoe, support the lines.[137] As bearing on this subject, I may remark that it is not uncommon in these seas to observe porpoises, large fish, and sea-birds joining together in the pursuit of small fry. On one occasion, when in my Rob Roy canoe, I got into the thick of the fray. A large number of sea-birds were hovering over the water, which was alive with fish, about a foot in length, which, in pursuit of small fry, were themselves pursued by a shoal of porpoises, and were pecked at by the birds as, in their endeavour to escape, they leapt out of the water. It was a lively spectacle. The fish jumped out of the water all around me, whilst the birds hovering within reach of my paddle swooped down on them; and the huge porpoises, joining lazily in the sport, rose quietly to the surface within a few feet of the canoe, showed their dorsal fins, and dived again in pursuit of their prey. I stupidly fired three shots with my revolver into the hovering flock of birds; but it was not until after the third report that they temporarily suspended the chase. . . . Another common method of fishing in the eastern islands, which resembles in its idea that of the kite-fishing, consists in the use of a float of wood about three feet in length and rather bigger than a walking-stick. It is weighted by a stone at one end, so that it floats upright in the water, a fishing-line with the spider-web bait being attached to its lower end. The upper end of the float, which is out of the water, is rudely cut in imitation of a wading-bird; and here we have the same idea exhibited which I have described above in the case of kite-fishing, the figure of the bird being supposed to attract the larger fish. There is, however, this difference. A glance at one of these floats, one of which is figured [elsewhere], will convince anyone that a fish is not likely to be deceived by such a sorry representation of a bird. Doubtless we have here an instance of the survival of a more effective method of fishing, in which the idea has been retained, but the utility has been lost. This plan is in fact nothing more than the employment of a float, which is thrown into the water by the fisherman, who follows it up in his canoe and looks out for its bob.

[136] Some of these kites, which I saw, had a form rudely representing a bird with expanded wings. Others had a squarish form and were made of palm leaf.

[137] Ellis’s “Polynesian Researches,” Vol. I., p. 149-50.

In the eastern islands the fishing spear is frequently employed. With this weapon in his hand, the native wades in the shallow water on the flats of the reefs, and hurls it at any passing fish. The night-time is often chosen for this mode of fishing. A party of natives provided with torches, spread themselves along the edge of the reef and stand ready to throw their spears as the fish dart by them. During the day, when the reef-flats at low-tide are covered only by a small depth of water, the fishermen advance in a semicircle until a fish is observed, when the two wings close in, and the fish is surrounded. The kind of fish-spear which they use much resembles that which Mr. Ellis describes in his account of the Society Islands.[138] As shown in the engraving ([p. 74]), the head of the fish-spear is composed of five fore-shafts of hard wood, notched at their sides, and arranged around a similar fore-shaft. These are bound together, and the whole is fitted into the end of a stout bamboo, giving the weapon a total length of about seven feet. . . . . The fish-spear does not appear to be so commonly used by the natives of Bougainville Straits. There, its place is often taken by the bow and arrow, which are weapons that are not in use amongst the natives of St. Christoval and the adjacent islands at the eastern end of the group.

[138] “Polynesian Researches,” vol. I., p. 143.

I should here remark that, when fishing on the reefs, natives are sometimes struck by the gar-fish with such force that they die from the wound. The possibility of this occurrence has recently been doubted. But that such is the case, we incidentally learned from the natives of the Shortlands. The people of Wano, on the north coast of St. Christoval, believe that the ghosts which haunt the sea, cause the flying-fish and the gar-fish to dart out of the water and to strike men in the canoes; and they hold that any man thus struck will die.[139] This superstitious belief could only have arisen from the circumstance of natives having met their death in this manner; and it is probable that in this respect the larger flying-fish would be quite as much to be feared as the gar-fish. Mr. Moseley, in his “Notes by a Naturalist,” p. 480, refers to such an event as not of uncommon occurrence in some of the Pacific Islands.[140]

[139] “Religious Beliefs and Practices in Melanesia,” by the Rev. R. H. Codrington, M.A. Journal of Anthropological Institute, vol. X.

[140] Vide also “Nature,” index of vol. XXVIII., for some further correspondence on this subject.

The material, from which the natives of Bougainville Straits manufacture the twine for their fishing-nets and lines, is usually supplied by the delicate fibres lining the bark of the young branches of a stout climber, which is known to the natives as the “awi-sulu.” This climber, which is probably a species of Lyonsia, has a main stem of the size of a man’s leg, which embraces a tree, whilst it sends its offshoots for a distance of some 40 or 50 feet along the ground. It is the delicate fibres lining the inside of the skin of the young procumbent branches that the native selects for his purpose. By scraping the thin bark or skin with the edge of a pearl-shell, the fibres are first cleared of other material: they are then dried in the sun; and when dry, they are arranged in small strands, three of which are twisted together into a fine line by rolling them with the palm of the hand on the thigh. The natives sometimes obtain the material for their nets and lines from the common littoral tree, the Hibiscus tiliaceus, which they name “dakatako.”

In making their nets, our common netting-stitch is employed, the needle being of plain wood, 18 inches long, and forked at each end; whilst the mesh employed is a piece of tortoise-shell, having for a width of an inch a length of 2¹⁄₂ inches. The method of netting familiar to ourselves appears to be generally employed amongst the native races of this portion of the globe. We learn from the Rev. George Turner that in Samoa the same stitch and the same form of needle are employed which are in use in Europe.[141] The natives of Port Moresby, in New Guinea, net “so precisely in our mode that the seamen of H.M.S. “Basilisk” took up their shuttles and went on with their work.”[142] The needle employed at Redscar Bay, on the coast of the same island, is more like our own, the mesh being of tortoise-shell, two to three inches long.[143] When Captain Bowen, of the ship “Albemarle,” was visited in 1791 by some natives of the Solomon Islands who came off to him in their canoes, he thought he had found in the apparently European workmanship of their nets a clue to the fate of La Pérouse, a very pardonable error which receives its explanation from the above facts.[144]

[141] “Nineteen Years in Polynesia” (London, 1861), p. 272.

[142] Moresby’s “New Guinea” (1876), p. 156.

[143] These specimens are in the British Museum Ethnological collection.

[144] Dillon’s “Discovery of the Fate of La Pérouse” (1829), vol I., p. lxix.

Fishing on the reef-flats with large hand-nets is a common occupation of the men in the islands of Bougainville Straits. Some five or six men form a party, each man carrying a pair of long hand-nets in which the netting is stretched on a long bamboo some 20 feet in length and bent like a bow, as shown in the accompanying [figure]. The fishing party wade about on the flat near the edge of the reef, each man being about 20 paces apart, and dragging behind him a pair of these clumsy-looking nets, one in each hand. When a fish is perceived they close round; and every man spreads out his nets, one on each side like a pair of wings, thus covering an extent of some 40 feet. By skilfully dropping his nets, when it makes a rush in his direction, the native secures the fish, which, dashing head first against one of the nets, gets its snout caught in the meshes; and a couple of blows on the head complete the capture. I have seen fish of the size of an ordinary bass caught in this manner. Smaller nets, 4 to 6 feet in length, with a finer mesh, are used for catching fish of less size. The large hand-net is known as the “sorau,” and the small hand-net as the “saiaili.” Such is one of the commonest methods of fishing in the Straits. For this purpose, fishing parties often visit the uninhabited small islands and coral islets that lie off the coasts. There they erect temporary sheds and remain for one or two weeks. In the numerous uninhabited islets and small islands which I visited, I frequently came on the temporary habitations erected by fishing parties; whilst propped up against the trees were the long bamboo poles on which the nets are stretched. The natives of St. Christoval and the adjacent islands employ a similar method in fishing on the reef-flats. Fishing parties often spend a week or two on the small islands and reefs which lie off the St. Christoval coast; thus the men of Wano visit for this purpose the islet of Maoraha, about 12 miles down the coast; whilst those of Sulagina cross over to the Three Sisters, which are about the same distance away.

Dip-nets, such as I have seen in common use on the banks of the Chinese rivers, are here employed, though on a smaller scale, for catching small fish. They are usually 7 or 8 feet across, and are stretched on two crossed bamboos. Seine-nets, much prized by the natives on account of the labour expended in making them, and buoyed up with floats of the square fruits of the Barringtonia speciosa, are commonly employed. There are other modes of net-fishing, of which I am ignorant, some of which probably came under the notice of the officers of the survey: and I hope that in reading these remarks they may be induced to supplement them with additional information.

The fish-hooks employed vary in form and workmanship in different parts of the group. In the sheltered harbour of Makira, the natives whiff in small outrigger-canoes for a small fish of the size of a smelt, using very fine lines and small delicately made hooks of mother-of-pearl. During our stay at the island of Simbo or Eddystone, one of the principal articles of exchange between the natives and ourselves was a somewhat clumsy kind of fish-hook used for catching large fish. The shank is of pearl-shell cut in the shape of the body of a small fish, 2 to 2¹⁄₂ inches long, and rather less than half an inch wide. The hook itself, which is destitute of barbs and is made of tortoise-shell, is bound by strong twine to the tail-end of the shank. Considerable labour must be expended in making one of these hooks: but so eager were the natives for tobacco, that we were able to obtain them for small pieces of this article which could not have been worth more than half a farthing. It is worthy of note that in the island of Treasury, about 80 miles to the north-west, these hooks are not made by the natives, who were anxious to obtain from us those which we had brought from Simbo. Very similar, though larger, hooks are used by the natives of other Pacific groups; amongst them I may refer to those employed by the Society Islanders [145] for catching dolphins, albicores, and bonitos. These hooks, wherever they are used, as I need scarcely add, answer the purpose of both hook and bait. The fish-hooks of European manufacture, which are one of the articles used in trading with the natives, are in demand in many islands, though not in all. In some islands, in fact, the native fish-hook is preferred.

[145] Ellis’s “Polynesian Researches,” vol. I. p. 146.

The various ingenious methods of ensnaring and decoying fish, which are employed by the natives of this archipelago, would alone afford, to a true enthusiast in the sport of fishing, materials for a small volume. A plan which I saw employed at Ugi consisted in tying a living fish to the end of a bamboo float and using it as a decoy for other fish. The fisherman repairs to the reef when it is covered by a depth of between 2 and 3 feet of water. Placing the fish and bamboo float in the water, he follows them up either in his canoe or on foot. The fish swims along, drawing the bamboo float after it: it soon decoys some other fish from its retreat, when the fisherman watches his opportunity and catches his fish in a hand-net which he carries with him.

A singular mode of fishing, which Mr. Stephens of Ugi described to me as being sometimes employed in that part of the group, may be here alluded to. A rock, where fish resort, which lies 3 or 4 feet below the surface, is first selected. On the surface of the water is placed a ring of some supple stem so as to include within its circumference the rock beneath. No fish on the rock will pass under this ring, which is gradually contracted in size until the fish become crowded together, when they are scooped up with a hand-net.

The following ingenious snare was employed on one occasion by my natives in Treasury, when I was anxious to obtain for Dr. Günther some small fish that frequented one of the streams on the north side of the island. I was very desirous to have some of these fish, and my natives were equally anxious to display their ingenuity in catching them. They first bent a pliant switch into an oval hoop, about a foot in length, over which they spread a covering of a stout spider-web which was found in the wood hard by. Having placed this hoop on the surface of the water, buoying it up on two light sticks, they shook over it a portion of a nest of ants, which formed a large kind of tumour on the trunk of a neighbouring tree, thus covering the web with a number of the struggling young insects. This snare was then allowed to float down the stream, when the little fish, which were between 2 and 3 inches long, commenced jumping up at the white bodies of the ants from underneath the hoop, apparently not seeing the intervening web on which they lay, as it appeared nearly transparent in the water. In a short time one of the small fish succeeded in getting its snout and gills entangled in the web, when a native at once waded in, and placing his hand under the entangled fish secured the prize. With two of these web-hoops we caught nine or ten of these little fish in a quarter of an hour.

As in other Pacific groups, the natives sometimes catch fish by throwing small bits of some poisonous fruit on the water, when in a short time the fish rise dead to the surface. The crushed kernels of the fruits of the common littoral Barringtonia (B. speciosa) are thus employed by the natives. I tried them on one occasion in a fresh-water lake in Stirling Island, which abounded with fish, but after the lapse of two or three hours, no dead fish appeared at the surface.

The use of dynamite for destroying fish, by white men in the group, has led to its occasional employment for a similar purpose by the natives, whenever white men have been thoughtless enough to give them this substance. In August, 1882, I visited a village in the Bauro district on the north coast of St. Christoval, which had lost its chief, a few days before, from an injury to the hand, resulting from an accidental explosion of dynamite whilst fishing. Such occurrences must not be uncommon in these and other islands. In the previous April, we met with a native teacher at Mboli Harbour who had lost one of his hands from a similar cause.[146] At the end of May, 1884, I removed the left hand of Captain Smith, the master of the labour-schooner “Lavina,” who had received a very serious injury of the hand whilst fishing with dynamite on the coast of Malaita. Some of the fresh-water fish which I sent to Dr. Günther were obtained in this way through the kindness of Mr. Curzon-Howe, the Government agent of the “Lavina;” and as I witnessed the operation, I am in a position to pronounce on the hazardous nature of the mode in which the dynamite was employed. . . . . With reference to the natives, there are two very obvious reasons why this explosive substance should not be permitted to get into their hands, even if we disregard the hazard that would attend its use. In the first place, they might employ it against white men and against their fellows; and in the next place, its employment for obtaining fish would tend to encourage the already too indolent habits of these islanders.

[146] Since writing the above, I have learned from my friend, Dr. Luther, late of H.M.S. “Dart,” that he had to amputate on two occasions in the cases of natives who had sustained severe injuries of the hand whilst fishing with dynamite.

I pass on now to the subject of pig-hunting in these islands. Wild pigs occurred in most, if not all, of the islands which we visited. I was frequently warned by the natives, when undertaking a solitary excursion, to look out for the boars, who attain a ferocity which, on account of their powerful curved tusks, it would be dangerous to provoke unarmed. On more than one occasion when alone, I came unexpectedly in the bush on one of these boars, who are in appearance by no means despicable antagonists. When they stand their ground, it is necessary to be prepared for their onset; but as a rule they only indicate their presence by the noise which they make when scampering away. In the islands of Bougainville Straits, where there are numerous plantations of sago palms, the wild pigs are very fond of the fruit of this palm before the albumen of the seed attains its stony hardness. They often select as their retreats the hollow trunks of the palms which have been felled and emptied of the sago. Their habit of frequenting the plantations of sago palms, and of feasting on the remains of the palms that have been lately cut down and the pith removed, was observed by Captain Thomas Forrest in the island of Gilolo, in the Indian Archipelago.[147] On the approach of any special occasion of feasting, pig-hunting becomes a necessary sport with the natives; but in addition, they frequently take to it for the sake of replenishing their larders. With his spear and a couple of dogs, a man is usually successful in getting his pig. The dogs bring the animal to bay, when he is speared by the hunter, who, if alone, at once sets to work to quarter and roast his quarry, and thus considerably lightens the weight he has to carry back. During my excursions, my natives used to frequently leave me when their dogs had roused a pig in the bush; and on one occasion, when, much to my indignation, they had been absent for an hour, they came back triumphantly with two large boars. Captain Forrest, in his account of his voyage to New Guinea, gives an illustration of “Papua men in their canoes hunting wild hogs”[148] off the island of Morty, near the large island of Gilolo. These men are represented with the spear, bow, and arrow, and a dog. Such a method of hunting pigs never came under my notice in the Solomon Islands and must necessarily be rarely employed.

[147] “A Voyage to New Guinea and the Moluccas.” London, 1779 (p. 39).

[148] Ibid., Plate XI. of book of plates.

Wild dogs are numerous in the bush in the interior of Alu. They never attack the natives or the pigs and, as they always slink away when alarmed, they are not often seen. They subsist on the opossums (Cuscus), waiting to catch them at the foot of the trunks of the trees as they descend to the ground at nightfall. When I was away on an excursion with Gorai the Alu chief, the native dogs that were with us ran down a wild dog and worried it to death. I came in at the death, and was not very much pleased with the spectacle which afforded much amusement to Gorai and his men. The unfortunate dog was apparently of the native breed. How these animals have come to prefer this mode of life I could not learn.

My native companions during my excursions rarely returned to their homes without bringing back an opossum (Cuscus). Usually this animal was caught without much trouble, as it slumbers during the day and may be then surprised amongst the foliage of the tree where it finds its home. Sometimes, however, when the keen eyes of my natives discovered an opossum amongst the leafy branches overhead, we were enlivened by an exciting hunt. On such occasions, one man climbs the tree in which the animal is esconced whilst three or four other men climb the trees immediately around. By dint of shouting and shaking the branches, the opossum is started from its retreat, and then the sport commences. This clumsy looking creature displays great agility in springing from branch to branch, and even from tree to tree. Suspended by its prehensile tail to the branch above, the Cuscus first tests the firmness of the branch next below, before it finally intrusts its weight to its support. It runs up and down the stouter limbs of the tree like a squirrel; but its activity and cunning are most displayed in passing from the branches of one tree to those of another. At length, scared by the shaking of the branches, and by the cries of the natives who have clambered out on the limbs as far as they can get with safety, the opossum runs out towards the extremity of the limb, proceeding cautiously to the very terminal branchlets, until the weight of its body bends down the slender extremities of the branch, and it hangs suspended by its tail in mid-air about ten feet below. The gentle swaying of the branches in the wind, aided probably by its own movements, swings the opossum to and fro, until it approaches within grasp of the foliage of the adjoining tree. Then the clever creature, having first ascertained the strength of its new support, uncoils its tail. Up goes the branch with a swish when relieved of its weight; and in a similar manner the opossum swings by its tail from the slender branches of the tree to which it has now transferred its weight. Finally the opossum reaches the ground, where its awkward movements render it an easy capture. It is then tied to a stick and carried home alive on the shoulder of a native.

The Cuscus is a common article of food with these islanders; and in some islands, as in Simbo or Eddystone, it is kept as a pet by the natives. Out of seven opossums that were kept as pets on board the “Lark,” all died within a few weeks, being apparently unable to withstand captivity. Most of them, however, were young. The cause of the death of one of them was rather singular. Immediately after its death the skin of the animal was literally covered with small ticks about the size of a pin’s head and distended with blood, whilst the body presented the blanched appearance of an animal bled to death. It had been ailing for a day or two before and was incessantly drinking all liquids it could get, even its own urine: but the ticks had not been sufficiently numerous to be observed; and in fact they appeared to have covered the animal in the course of a single night. As I was informed by the natives of Simbo, these animals subsist on the shoots and young leaves of the trees: on board the “Lark” they cared for little else than bananas. They make a curious clicking noise when eating, and often hold the substance in their fore-paws. When taken out in the day-time from their boxes they were half asleep, and at once tried to get out of the bright light into the shade. In the night-time they were very restless in their prisons, making continual efforts to escape between the bars, and as soon as they were let out they moved about with much activity. The older animals are sometimes rather fierce. One of them which belonged to the men used to spend a considerable portion of its time up aloft; and, when in want of food, it would descend the rigging and go down to the lower deck. Their naked tails have a cold clammy feeling; and with them they were in the habit of swinging themselves from any object. When the Cuscus was about to be taken up by its master, it moored itself to the nearest object by means of its tail. It always descended a rope head first, but kept its tail twined round the rope during its descent so as to be able to withdraw itself at once if necessary, the tail supporting the greater portion of its weight.

Although the natives, who accompanied me in my various excursions, usually displayed their skill in following a straight course through a pathless wood where they could only see a few yards on either side of them, yet on more than one occasion they were, to use a nautical phrase, completely out in their reckoning, and I had to bring my compass into use and become the guide myself in order to avoid passing the night in the bush. When in the interior of the north-west part of Alu accompanied by Gorai, the chief, and a number of his men, I was astonished at the readiness with which, in the absence of any tracks, they found their way to the coast. Gorai led the way; and on my asking him how he managed to know the right direction in a thick forest with neither sun nor trade-wind to guide him, he merely remarked that he “saveyed bush,” and pointing with his hand in a particular direction, he informed me that “Mono stopped there,” Mono being the native name for Treasury. There was a little uncertainty among the natives as to whether the old chief was guiding us aright; but there was no hesitation on the part of Gorai, whose course as tested by my compass was always in the same direction; he, however, disdained the use of the compass and ultimately brought us back to the coast. When passing through a district with which he is but little acquainted, the native frequently bends the branches of the bushes as he passes, in order to strike the same path on the way back. He must be frequently guided in his course through the forest by noticing the bearing of the sun and the swaying of the upper branches of the trees in the trade-wind, guides which were often employed by myself when alone in the bush: but when, as not uncommonly happens, there is such a dense screen of foliage overhead, that neither the sun nor the upper branches of the trees can be seen, he must employ other means of guidance. Rude tracks, usually traversed the least frequented districts of the islands which we visited; and their persistence appeared to be sometimes due to the fact that they were used by the wild pigs.

Fallen trees commonly obstruct the most frequented paths in the vicinity of villages: and there they remain until decay removes them, for the native has no idea of doing an act for the public weal: with him, in such and kindred matters, what is everybody’s business is nobody’s. Captain Macdonald, in his capacity as a chief in Santa Anna, adopted the serviceable method of employing natives, who had committed petty offences, in making good walks in the vicinity of the houses of the white residents. The example however was not followed by the natives for the approaches to their own village of Sapuna. Being quite content with their narrow footpaths, they probably could not understand that whatever contributed to the public good was also to the advantage of the individual.

CHAPTER IX.
PREVALENT DISEASES.

I have previously remarked that in these islands the duties of the sorcerer and the medicine-man are frequently combined. The same man, who can remove a disease by exorcism and by ill-wishing can bring sickness and death upon any obnoxious individual, may also be able in the estimation of the people to procure a fair wind for an intended voyage, or to bring about rain in a season of drought. I had more than one opportunity of satisfying myself of the fact that the medicine-man often trades upon the credulity of his patients, and that he is himself aware that all his charms and incantations are mere trickery. In Santa Anna his services are often employed to procure the recovery of a sick man, and by some form of incantation he pretends to appease the anger of the offended spirit to whom the illness is attributed. Captain Macdonald, who has long resided in this island, informed me that when on one occasion he had relieved by medicine the sufferings of a native who had in vain employed the exorcisms of the village physician to effect his cure, the success of his treatment did not detract in any way from the reputation of the medicine-man, who, having informed himself of the progress of the patient, after Captain Macdonald had given his remedy, foretold his recovery and took to himself the whole credit of the cure.

In the island of Ugi chunam (burnt lime) is one of the domestic remedies employed in sickness, being rubbed into the skin of the patient by his friends. The chunam of some men is supposed to be more efficacious than that of others, and messengers may be sent from one end of the island to the other to procure it. One of our Treasury natives, who was employed on board, had a reputation as medicine-man. His method of treatment in the case of one of his own comrades consisted in tying a particular leaf around the limbs and joints to localize the pain, and in striking the affected part with the same leaf. On one occasion this man was himself laid up with a large abscess in the buttock, which he attempted to cure by tying a strip of the leaf around the thigh and by placing another for a few moments over the seat of the abscess. He would not let me do much for him; and from absorption of the purulent matter into the blood, a number of abscesses began to form in other parts of the body which brought him into a serious hectic condition. The poor fellow’s cries of “Agai” “Agai,” corresponding to our exclamations of pain, made me feel acutely for him; but he placed little faith in our offices, his great desire, as intimated by his frequent cries of “Feli” (Fire), was to be placed beside a large wood fire. He was sent on shore and given in charge of his wife on our arrival off Treasury. When I landed to see him a few hours after, I found him with his wish at last gratified; there he lay beside a roasting fire, the very last condition that seemed likely to promote his recovery. However he slowly regained his health, and I did what I could for him in buying sago and other articles of food from his own people who were not very ready with their supplies for the sick man.

This brings me to the subject of the indifference often displayed towards the sick and invalids. The natives view these things in a very matter-of-fact way. On more than one occasion when in the house of sickness, the son or the brother of the sick man has remarked to me, in the coolest manner, “Him too much sick. I think by-and-by finish;” and it is astonishing to hear of the manner in which they allow the sick to shift for themselves. In the islands of Bougainville Straits the very aged, who are unable to get about or to be of any service to themselves, are placed in a house in which they are left alone although supplied with food; and there they remain until they die. Two old and decrepit men, who were both fast hastening to their ends, being the subjects of chronic lung affections, were placed together in a house in Treasury where they were supplied with food but rarely if ever visited. They were placed there to die as the relations informed us; and there they remained day after day until the end arrived. Mr. Stephens told me that in his island of Ugi, if a cocoa-nut is placed by the side of the sick man, his friends consider they have done all in their power. No attempt is made to alleviate pain, or to soothe by companionship the tedious hours of the sick. He lies deserted on his roughly plaited mat of palm-leaves, in his wretched home where the sunlight rarely enters; and there he awaits, perhaps without regret, his approaching death. When consciousness leaves him, his friends regard him as already dead, attributing the spasmodic breathing and the convulsive efforts of the dying man to the agency of some evil spirit.

The influence of superstition probably explains the indifference which prevails as to the welfare of the sick and aged. Those afflicted with such an infirmity as blindness are kindly treated by their fellows. I was particularly struck, whilst looking on at a feast in the village of Treasury, by the attention that was paid to the wants of a young blind man who sat aloof from the rest. He was blind from his birth, and I particularly pleased him by sitting down beside him and giving him a stick of tobacco.

In the case of those who have received some severe injury, such as a gunshot wound, considerable care is shown by the friends in their welfare. I saw much of the natives who were wounded during the hostilities carried on between the natives of Treasury and the Shortlands, and was astonished at the ease with which they recovered from apparently hopeless injuries. My experience goes to support the opinion laid down by Professor Waitz in his “Anthropology of Primitive Peoples,”[149] that the healing power of nature is greater among savage than among civilized races. The principle of non-interference was literally carried out in defiance of the laws of hygiene and of the experience of modern surgery. After the unfortunate conflict on the islet of Tuluba, off the west coast of Alu, I visited the wounded man and woman who had been brought back to their homes. I found the woman lying in a dingy little house in which I had to stand still for a few minutes before I could see my patient. Five days had elapsed since the fight; and the condition of a wound, which has been left alone for this period in a tropical climate, may be well imagined. She had received a severe tomahawk wound just above the right knee, smashing the bone and implicating the joint. The parts were much swollen and there was profuse suppuration. No attempt had been made to wash the wound, and in consequence it stunk horribly. A few pieces of split bamboo, less than a foot in length, were lashed in a slack fashion around the joint by means of rattan; but they could have given little or no support. Under the couch, which was merely a layer of poles raised about a foot from the ground, were placed hot stones wrapped up in leaves, from which the warmth ascended to the injured limb which was left uncovered and exposed to the flies and other insects. The poor woman was moaning terribly; and her cries of “Agai” were painful to listen to, especially as I was permitted to do but little. They would neither wash nor cover the wound, and persisted in keeping up the hot air treatment by means of the hot stones wrapped in leaves, which were placed under the couch. I pronounced her recovery as hopeless; and was after a time obliged to discontinue my visits, upon being told by one of the medicine-men that as he could make her well, my presence was not required. I never saw the woman again, but sometime after I learned that she was nearly well.

[149] English edition: translated by J. F. Collingwood: London, 1863: p. 126.

The man who was wounded at the same time had received a rifle-bullet through the thigh without injuring the bone, and another through the groin. I found his wounds in the same horrible condition, with the wound of exit in the thigh as large as my fist. Nothing whatever had been done except placing hot stones in leaves under the limb on the ground beneath; and nothing more was done. There the man lay for several weeks with his wounds unwashed and exposed to the air. In course of time he recovered. One of the Treasury natives had been shot by one of his own party, the rifle-bullet passing through the right elbow from behind, and apparently disorganising the joint. I saw him a month after he had received the injury, lying in a very emaciated condition on his couch, with the wounded limb stretched out beside him quite unprotected and displaying an extensive flesh-wound in front of the joint. The hot-stone treatment had been the only one employed. In another month or five weeks he was up and about, but of course with a useless elbow. One of the Alu natives, who had been shot through the left shoulder from behind by the Treasury chief, had nearly recovered when I saw him six or seven weeks after, although the arm was useless.

Reflecting on the hot-stone treatment which the natives employed for these severe injuries, I came to think that it was really efficacious. They said themselves that the hot air eased the pain, and this was probably effected, as I hold, by the warmth relaxing the parts after suppuration had begun and thus assisting the escape of the purulent discharges. The surgeon of our own time may take a hint from this practice of the Solomon Islander. It would certainly scarcely accord with the principles of modern surgery if a gunshot injury of one of the larger joints was to be treated in one of our general hospitals by being constantly kept in a current of heated air, uncovered and even unwashed. The experiment, however, would be worth a trial in cases where amputation is unpracticable and where death is the probable result.

It is a common saying amongst white men who have had to deal with these natives, that when a man makes up his mind to die he assuredly will, even although apparently in robust health. Such cases are not unusual on board labour-ships on their way to the Queensland and Fiji plantations, and they may be regarded as of the nature of nostalgic melancholy or home-sickness. It is in truth hard to imagine the train of thoughts which must pass through the simple mind of a native when his island-home disappears below the horizon, and he is borne away to a strange land from which, it may be, some of his acquaintances have never returned. Even the attractions of the box of trade that his servitude will earn may be insufficient to keep down the undefined apprehensions which fill his breast; and the knowledge of the impossibility of seeking his friends or his island again for what must appear to him an indefinite period may only serve to strengthen his longing for home. Here we have that disease with which the army surgeons of Europe were familiar, and which has been most recently exhibited amongst the Italian troops stationed at Masowah on the coast of the Red Sea. It is that “strange disease” which Dr. Livingstone so pathetically describes in his “Last Journals,” as affecting the victims of the slave-trade in the lake region of Africa. I remember on one occasion, when visiting a labour-vessel that had arrived in Treasury Harbour, my attention was drawn by the mate to a native of New Ireland who had eaten little for some days and was looking over the side of the ship towards the shore in a depressed and moody manner. I saw that the thoughts of the poor fellow were in reality far away; and I passed on to see some of the other sick men. The next morning this New Ireland native was missing, and in the evening his body was found washed up on the beach. . . . I would refer my readers to some interesting remarks on this subject from the pen of Mr. Romilly,[150] whose official experience in the Western Pacific enables him to write with authority. The Solomon Islanders, according to this author, are less affected by this disease than those of other groups; whilst the New Hebrides natives appear to be most subject to it. Not only do natives often die of nostalgia before they are landed, but many die from this cause after their arrival in Fiji; and the only way to cure those affected is the one least likely to be followed, that is, “to send them home.”

[150] “The Western Pacific and New Guinea.” London, 1886: pp. 16,177.

In the eastern part of the Solomon Group, one commonly meets natives limping along with large ulcerous sores on the soles of the feet, seated usually near the base of the toes. They are often caused by stepping on the sharp corals when fishing on the reefs, or by splinters of wood piercing the skin of the soles of the feet when walking in the bush. As a rule, the native pays no attention to these sores, and from neglect the ulceration extends both on the surface and to the deeper tissues, exposing the tendons and the metatarsal bones. Ultimately some or all the toes may be lost, and an unshapely clubbed foot arises from the subsequent contraction of the cicatrised surface. At other times, where the ulceration has been superficial but has extended between the toes, adhesion and perfect union of the lateral surfaces of the toes ensue, and a continuous covering of skin bridges over the intervening spaces. Mr. Nisbet, the government agent of the labour-schooner “Redcoat” from Fiji, showed me a Solomon Island native with a foot of perfect form but with apparently no toes. A continuous covering of skin covered the whole foot like a thin sock, and the toes were only recognisable by the touch. The man appeared to be but little incommoded by this obliteration of the toes. Among the natives of New Britain, as we learn from Mr. Romilly,[151] “the toes are not unfrequently joined together by a tough membrane,” a defect which does “not seem to impair their activity.” This evidently results from superficial ulceration in the manner I have above described.

[151] “The Western Pacific and New Guinea.” London, 1886, p. 21.

These ulcerous sores, if left exposed to the irritation of sand, dirt, and flies, may last for years and may ultimately cause death. Dr. Livingstone in his “Last Journals” (vol. ii. chaps. 2 and 3) speaks of the ulcers of the feet from which many of the slaves die in the region west of Tanganyika. They eat through everything muscle, tendon, and bone, and often lame permanently. “The wailing of slaves tortured with these sores is one of the night sounds of a slave camp.” These ulcers, however, as they affect the Solomon Islanders, have a natural tendency to heal. When staying with Bishop Selwyn at Gaeta in Florida, I accompanied him on his morning round of visits to his patients, most of them being the subjects of these large ulcerous sores on the feet and legs. He tells me that with rest and cleanliness they soon take on a healing action. Carbolic oil was the application he used, and it seemed well suited for these discharging, loathsome sores. Several of the men of the “Lark” were laid up with these ulcers of the feet for many weeks. The ulcers in their case assumed a circular form with raised callous edges and an irritable inflamed surface, being attended by much pain in the surrounding parts. The free application of lunar caustic every two or three days followed by poulticing, I found to be the most effectual treatment. Dr. Livingstone, who was himself laid up with these sores for eighty days in the interior of Africa, found the best of all topical applications to be malachite rubbed down with water on a stone and applied with a feather. The natives of Treasury Island in the Solomon Group use an application prepared by pounding the fruit of the Cycas circinalis, which grows near the edge of the cliffs on the south coast of the adjacent Stirling Island.

There is a loathsome skin disease very prevalent amongst the inhabitants of this group, which is generally known as the Solomon Island or Tokelau ringworm. I should estimate that two-fifths of the total population of these islands are thus affected. We found it more prevalent in some islands than in others. In Treasury, for instance, four-fifths of the people are the subjects of this disease, and half of the chief’s wives who number about thirty are almost covered with it. In the southern large island of the Florida Islands, it appears to affect quite one half of the population. It ranges from one end of the group to the other, neither sex nor age affording any immunity. The chiefs and their families, however, seem to be less liable to this disease. The skin of every man does not appear to afford a suitable nidus for the growth of the fungus which is the cause of the eruption; and this is evident from the circumstance that one parent may be covered with the disease while the other is entirely free from it. This skin-eruption, although so repulsive in appearance in the eyes of the European when he first visits the group, is not viewed with any feelings of disgust by the natives; and even the European after spending some time in the group learns to disregard its repulsiveness. Those affected show no anxiety to be quit of it and evince great indifference when any offer is made to them to cure it. It is to them only an inconvenience; and apparently causes no irritation except when the skin is hot and perspiring, as after exertion.

When this disease first came under my notice in the early part of 1882, I was unacquainted with what had been previously written on the subject. I accordingly made a microscopical examination of the affected skin and arrived at the conclusion, previously formed by those far more competent to express an opinion than myself, that the eruption was an inveterate form of body-ringworm. As it is to be seen affecting the skin of young children in the form of limited circular patches, which usually commence on the belly, it displays all the essential characters of Tinea circinata or body-ringworm. Spreading all over the trunk and limbs, the eruption assumes a chronic character and its typical characters become obscured. The whole skin, with the exception of that of the face and scalp which are not attacked by the disease, is covered by a great number of wavy desquamating lines partly concentric in their arrangement; and on account of the intervals between the lines being of a paler hue, the whole skin obtains a singular marbled appearance.

To such a degree is the skin implicated in some cases of the disease that the rapid desiccation and desquamation of the epidermal cells lead to a partial decoloration of the deeper parts of the cuticle, as though the rate of the production of pigment was less rapid than the rate of its removal in the desquamative process. This disease, in other words, tends to decolorize the skin. From this cause, one occasionally meets with a native whose skin as compared with that of his fellows is of a pale sickly hue. The tendency to produce a lighter colour by the too rapid destruction of the pigment is especially noticeable in those cases where the body is only partially covered with the eruption, there being a marked contrast between the paleness of the affected surfaces and the dark hue of the healthy skin. The influence of this cutaneous disease on the colour was remarked by Commodore Wilkes amongst the natives of the Depeyster Islands in the Ellice Group. He refers to the skin of those affected as much lighter than in any Polynesian race he had hitherto met with.[152] The same effect of this disease was noticed by Mr. Wilfred Powell amongst the natives of New Britain.[153]

[152] “Narrative of the U.S. Exploring Expedition,” London, 1845; vol. V. p. 40.

[153] “Three years amongst the Cannibals of New Britain,” London, 1883, p. 86.

I have entered somewhat at length into the subject of the partial decoloration produced by this eruption, because it has a bearing on that “quæstio vexata,” the causes of race-colour. Pathology, in fact, affords more than one instance of changes, almost of a permanent character, produced in the colour of the skin through the influence of abnormal action. Dr. Tylor in one of his lectures [154] alludes to “the morbid appearance of race-character” produced by the bronzing of the skin in Addison’s disease, which is shown to be immediately due to a deposit of pigment in the rete mucosum closely resembling that of the negro. “The importance of the comparison,” he says, “lies in its bridging over the physiological differences of race, by showing that morbid action may bring about in one race results more or less analogous to the normal type in another.” To the partial decoloration of the skin in Tokelau ringworm and to the bronzing of the skin in Addison’s disease, these remarks equally apply.

[154] Delivered at Oxford on Feb. 15th, 1883: (“Nature” vol. xxviii., p. 9). Vide also Topinard’s “Eléments d’Anthropologie générale:” Paris 1885, p. 325.

This disease has been variously spoken of by different authors and travellers as Leprosy, Icthyosis, Psoriasis, Pityriasis versicolor, and Tokelau Ringworm, of which it is needless to remark that the last is the only name which is correct. The medical officers of the United States Exploring Expedition, under Commodore Wilkes in 1841, were the first to recognise the nature of the eruption in the case of the inhabitants of the Depeyster Islands in the Ellice Group.[155] In 1874 Dr. Tilbury Fox, after having examined some scrapings of the skin which had been sent to him from Samoa, published in the “Lancet” (August 29th) a paper on “Tokelau Ringworm and its Fungus,” in which he established the true character of the disease, and disposed of a view held by the Rev. Dr. G. Turner of the Samoan Medical Mission and by Dr. Mullen, R.N. of H.M.S. “Cameleon,” that its origin may have been connected with the occurrence of numerous dipterous insects found in scrapings of the skin after the use of sulphur ointment. This last he showed to be only an accidental feature of the eruption. Two years afterwards, Dr. Fox in connection with Dr. Farquhar wrote an account of “Certain Endemic Skin and other Diseases in India and Hot Climates generally” (London 1876), in which further reference was made to this disease. It was there shown that Tokelau ringworm, Burmese ringworm, Chinese ringworm, and the Indian ringworms known familiarly as “dhobie itch,” “washerman’s itch,” “Malabar itch,” etc., are all of them forms of Tinea circinata tropica variously modified by such circumstances as the personal habits, the nature of the apparel, and the character of the climate. A proof of the correctness of this conclusion came under my observation in the Solomon Islands, where the white men in taking this disease from the natives suffer from it frequently in the form of “dhobie itch.” The parasitic disease Tinea circinata tropica to which, as above shown, all tropical ringworms should be referred is, as Dr. Fox remarks in his work on “Skin Diseases” (3rd edit., 1873, p. 451), “nothing more or less than ordinary ringworm of the body (tinea circinata), such as we have in Europe, determined in its occurrence to certain parts of the body by peculiar circumstances, and assuming characters somewhat different from those observed in the disease as it exists in colder climates, in consequence of the greater luxuriance of the parasite consequent upon the presence in one case of a greater amount of heat and moisture, which are favourable to the development and speed the growth of fungi.”

[155] “Narrative of the U. S. Explor. Exped.”: vol. v., p. 40.

The particular form of the disease to which the name Tokelau Ringworm should be applied has a very wide distribution. Mr. G. W. Earl in his work on “The Papuans” (London, 1853; p. 37) speaks of this disease under the name of “icthyosis” as being very prevalent amongst all the coast tribes of the Indian Archipelago: but I gather from some references made by Mr. Wallace to this affection in his account of the Malay Archipelago (3rd edit., 1872, p. 449) that it is not to be found so much amongst the pure Malays as amongst the tribes of mixed origin. Mr. Marsden in his “History of Sumatra” (London 1811, p. 190) refers to it as being very common amongst the inhabitants of Pulo Nias, an island which lies off the west coast of Sumatra. His description of the disease leaves no doubt as to its true character, but he himself is uncertain as to whether it is an “impetigo” indicating a mild type of leprosy, or whether it is not ordinary “shingles” or a confirmed stage of ringworm. The same disease was recently observed by Mr. H. O. Forbes amongst the natives of Timor-laut and of the island of Buru, islands which lie at the opposite end of the Indian Archipelago.[156] Two centuries since, Dampier well described this disease in the case of the inhabitants of Mindanao in the Philippines and of those of Guam in the Ladrones.[157]

[156] “A Naturalist’s Wanderings in the Eastern Archipelago;” pp. 331, 402; London, 1885.

[157] “Voyage round the World.” London 1729, vol. i., p. 334.

Coming to New Guinea, I find that this disease prevails all along its coasts and in many of the off-lying islands, such as the Ki and Aru Islands, Teste Island, Woodlark Island, etc. The authorities on which I have founded this general statement are numerous and include, Modera, Bruijn Kops, Wallace, Mosely, Miklouho-Maclay, Comrie, W. Turner, Chalmers, Wyatt Gill, Romilly, Lyne, and others, whose descriptions, though they often did not recognise the true character of the eruption, leave no reasonable doubt on the matter.

This disease was observed by Mr. Wilfred Powell to be very frequent amongst the natives of New Britain and the Duke of York Islands, where it is called “buckwar.”[158] Dr. Comrie, R.N., when serving in H.M.S. “Dido,” found it to be very frequent amongst the natives of New Ireland.[159] Through the islands of the Solomon Group it is widely spread, as I have already shown: and from them it has extended to the different groups to the eastward, reaching the Gilbert, Ellice, Tonga and Samoa Groups.

[158] “Three years among the Cannibals in New Britain,” London, 1883, p. 54.

[159] Journal of the Anthropological Institute, vol. vi. p. 102.

In the Western Pacific we are able in some instances to trace the eastward extension of this disease during the last half century. Dr. G. Turner in his annual report of the Samoan Medical Mission, dated October, 1869, refers to the recent introduction of the Tokelau Ringworm amongst the Samoan Islanders as the introduction of a new disease. It was brought to Samoa from Bowditch or Tokelau Island where it had been also unknown until about ten years before, when it was introduced by a native of the Gilbert Group who had been landed by a whaler. The Gilbert or Kingsmill Islanders, according to the narrative of Commodore Wilkes, believed that the disease came from the south-west, and called it the “south-west gune,” the nearest islands in that direction being those of the Solomon and Santa Cruz groups, between 800 and 900 miles away. Commodore Wilkes, however, was of opinion that this disease had reached the Kingsmill Group from the Depeyster Islands in the Ellice Group to the south-south-east; and he refers to the circumstance that the disease was most prevalent in the southern islands of the Kingsmill Group, being apparently absent from Makin the northernmost island;[160] but this distribution of the disease may be also urged in support of the more probable view of the natives that it came from the south-west. We are thus able to trace one probable track of this disease from the Solomon Islands, or one of the groups immediately adjacent to them, across a wide tract of sea to the Gilbert and Ellice Groups, and from there to Tokelau Island, and thence to Samoa. The French navigator, Dentrecasteaux,[161] found the same disease to be very prevalent amongst the inhabitants of the Tonga Islands towards the end of last century; and it seems strange that it did not reach the Samoa Group until about seventy years after. The Tonga natives, however, may have derived it by another and more direct course from the westward, namely through the New Hebrides and the Fiji Groups.

[160] “Narrative of the U. S. Explor. Exped.” vol. v. p. 105.

[161] “Voyage de Dentrecasteaux,” par M. de Rossel, tom. I. p. 329, Paris 1808.

I may appear to have entered with unnecessary detail into this subject, but it is apparent that this fungoid skin disease, disseminated as it is by personal contact and other similar agencies, would have reached these sub-central Pacific Groups long ago if they had been occupied through ages by their present inhabitants. The same evidence, therefore, which can be brought forward to prove the recent appearance of this disease amongst the natives of these groups may also be advanced in support of the recent occupation of these islands by the eastern Polynesians.

From the previous remarks on the distribution of Tokelau Ringworm it may be inferred that in New Guinea and in the islands of the Malay Archipelago we have the home of the disease. From this region it has spread eastward towards the centre of the Pacific; and we may also infer that this eastward extension of the disease has occurred within the last three hundred years, since in the accounts which Gallego and Quiros give of the natives of the Solomon, Santa Cruz, and New Hebrides Groups at the time of their first discovery by the Spaniards, there is no reference to the prevalence of any cutaneous disease, which, if it had existed, would most certainly have attracted the notice of these early navigators.

I only had one opportunity of treating this affection, and that was in the person of a native of Guadalcanar, who was shipped on board as an interpreter, and who had been the subject of the disease for about five months. Partly from its obstinacy, and partly from the difficulty of ensuring that the remedies were regularly and thoroughly employed, my experience was not very satisfactory. Sulphur ointment, mercurial ointment, tincture of iodine, and a lotion of hyposulphite of soda (1 in 12) were severally used, and after about three weeks the skin was almost clean. Some weeks afterwards, the eruption re-appeared on the forearms in the form of the characteristic small circumscribed patches of body-ringworm. The local remedy, which I found most rapid in its effect as a parasiticide in the treatment of this case, was the tincture of iodine of which two applications completely removed the disease from the fore-arms. The lotion of the hyposulphite of soda and the mercurial ointment had apparently but little influence on the disease. The sulphur ointment, however, had a gradual curative action. To many of the vessels which leave Queensland and Fiji to recruit labour in the Solomon and New Hebrides groups, sulphur ointment is supplied; and the government-agents are instructed to use it in all cases of this disease amongst the natives recruited. I learned from some of these gentlemen that, when the remedy is applied thoroughly, and under superintendence, they usually succeed in thoroughly cleansing the skin from the eruption before the ships return to the colonies.

A pustular eruptive disease peculiar to children, which has been referred to by various authors as prevalent in the New Hebrides, Fiji, Tonga, and Samoa groups, affects many of the young children of the Solomon Islands, usually occurring about the age of five. A number of large papules, twice the size of a split pea, which subsequently become filled with a pustular fluid, appear on the face. These pustules by rupturing tend to unite and form unhealthy-looking sores of the size of a florin. The disease pursues a regular course of papule, pustule, and sore; and is said never to recur. As far as I could learn, the natives interfere but little with its progress; and, as in Fiji where it is known as coko,[162] they regard the disease as having a salutary influence on the future health of the child.

[162] “Fiji and the Fijians,” by Messrs T. Williams and J. Calvert. 3rd edit. 1870, p. 151.

That peculiar spinal disease, which produces so many hunch-backs in the Society and Samoan groups, and which is so well described by Mr. Ellis in his “Polynesian Researches” (2nd edit., 1831, vol. iii. pp. 39, 40), does not prevail among the Solomon Islanders. I can only recall one instance of spinal deformity which came under my observation. It was in the person of a little boy about ten or eleven years old, who was the subject of lateral and posterior curvature of the spine. The little fellow, who was a native of Simbo, apparently experienced no inconvenience from the deformity, since a firm ankylosis had occurred. He was able to accompany me in my ascents to the summit of his island, which is elevated about 1,100 feet above the sea.

An epidemic catarrhal disease, which is allied to influenza, is very prevalent amongst the natives of these islands. It is commonly followed by lung-complications, which not infrequently cause the death of the sufferer. Such an epidemic in running through a village sometimes carries off several of the inhabitants. The elderly natives are, in fact, very liable to pulmonary affections; such diseases usually terminate their lives.

From the occurrence of an epidemic of this catarrhal disease, a village often obtains an unhealthy reputation; and the natives abandon it for some other situation, which is selected rather for the convenience of its position than for its freedom from unhealthy influences. A generation ago, one of the principal villages in the island of Ugi was situated on the level summit of a hill overlooking Selwyn Bay on the west coast, a site which would have at once been chosen both for its salubrity and for its capability of defence. However, a number of deaths occurred in the village from epidemic catarrhal disease; and the inhabitants shifted their homes to the low-lying unhealthy situation where the village of Ete-ete now stands.

Epidemics of mumps occur occasionally amongst these islanders. In October, 1882, whilst we were taking to Ugi the crew of the “Pioneer,” a schooner which had been wrecked off the coast of Guadalcanar, some cases of this disease appeared among the natives belonging to that ship, affecting ten out of the twenty on board, and pursuing its usual course. It was evident that the disease had been originally brought from Brisbane, as the ship which was engaged in returning natives from the Queensland plantations, had had three cases previously, the first having occurred on her arrival at Makira harbour, just a week after she left Brisbane. That mumps is sometimes a fatal disease amongst these races, there is no reason to doubt. Mr. Stephens of Ugi informed me that a few years since, some natives of Lord Howe Islands, whom he was employing on his premises, rapidly succumbed to this disease.

Men who were the subjects of Elephantiasis arabum were occasionally seen in the different islands we visited. Instances of “lymph-scrotum” most frequently typify this disease, but now and then cases of “swollen leg” occur. In the island of Faro or Fauro in Bougainville Straits, the natives attribute this disease to the water of particular streams. There is a stream on the west side of the island, the water of which when drunk is said to produce “swollen legs.” For this reason the water is never employed; and the ban is even extended to the cocoa-nut trees on its banks.

Natives, who are the subjects of such congenital deformities as “hare-lip,” are rarely seen. Very probably in such cases life is destroyed by the parents soon after birth. I only observed one instance of “hare-lip” which occurred in the case of a man of Simbo. This malformation, which was of the single character, was associated with abnormal development of crisp hair on the body and more particularly on the back. As an instance of another kind of congenital deformity, which however came but rarely under my observation, I may refer to a man of Ugi who had six perfect toes on the right foot, both fifth and sixth toes being provided with nails and apparently arising from a common metatarsal bone. None of his family had the same deformity, which in his case was probably inconvenient in more ways than one, as the print of his foot was familiar to every native in the island.[163]

[163] Mr. Romilly, in the work referred to on [page 168], alludes to the strange prevalence of these congenital deformities of the hands and feet in New Britain.

Strabismus is not uncommon amongst the natives of these islands, and appears to occur with the same relative frequency as amongst more civilised people.

Venereal diseases, both constitutional and local, are said by traders to be very frequent in certain islands, as in Ugi, which have had most intercourse with the outer world. I rarely however came upon unequivocal evidence of the constitutional form of these diseases, those cases which came under my immediate observation being of the non-constitutional types which, as in other tropical regions, are often of a rapidly destructive character. The natives of Ugi assert that these diseases have not been introduced within the memory of any living man, and no tradition prevails with reference to their origin. I shall scarcely enter into the question of the introduction of these diseases into the more central groups of the Pacific, a subject which is discussed in most of the narratives of the early expeditions to those regions, but in a spirit of unfairness and mutual recrimination which goes far to invalidate the conclusions arrived at. Negative evidence, however, must be of a very exhaustive character before it would warrant the inference that to the licence, so freely permitted to the crews of the English and French expeditions during the latter half of the last century, must be attributed the presence of these diseases among the Polynesian races. M. Rollin, who, as surgeon of the frigate “Boussole,” accompanied La Pérouse on his ill-fated voyage, adduces evidence to show the probability of these diseases having existed in the Pacific before the discoveries of the French and English navigators in that region;[164] and La Pérouse himself approaches very near the truth when he suggests that the free intercourse, which prevailed between the natives and the crews during those expeditions, may have increased the activity and destructive tendency of the pre-existing diseases.[165] For, not only has M. Parrot of Paris demonstrated from an examination of the skulls of some South American aborigines the existence of Syphilis in the New World before Columbus set foot on its shores, but he affirms without hesitation, after examining three fragments of infant skulls from a dolmen in central France, that this disease existed in prehistoric times (“Lancet,” May 10th, 1879). We are not therefore surprised at finding references to venereal diseases in the ancient literature of China, India, Arabia, Greece and Rome (Aitken’s “Medicine,” 6th edit, 1872, vol i. p. 859); and having regard to the ethnological past of the Pacific, we can with some confidence assume that the original stock, derived in the first place from the Asiatic continent, brought with them these diseases.

[164] “Voyage round the World, by La Pérouse,” edit. by Milet-Mureau: London: vol. iii., p. 180.

[165] Ibid. vol. ii. p. 52.

The susceptibility of these islanders to comparatively small falls of temperature is an element in their predisposition to disease which should not be disregarded. This susceptibility was strikingly shown to me on one occasion, at the end of August 1882, when I was following up the course of a stream at Sulagina on the north coast of St. Christoval. Accompanied by a party of natives, I was wading up the stream for several hours, the water often reaching the waist, whilst a steady deluge of rain completed the wetting. Although the air was merely comparatively cool for this latitude (10° 30´ S.), the thermometer in the shade standing at 80° Fahr, my natives were shivering with the cold; whilst I myself felt only the inconvenience of having been soaked through for so many hours. As soon as we returned to the coast, all my party huddled themselves together around their wood-fires in a little hut and warmed their hands and feet as eagerly as we should in winter-time at home. As I stood in the hut looking comfortably on at my naked companions who, shivering and with their teeth chattering, were endeavouring to warm themselves around the fires, I recalled to my mind an incident which Mr. Darwin relates in his “Journal of the Beagle” (p. 220), which although analogous, illustrates the converse of these conditions. “A small family of Fuegians”—he writes—“soon joined our party round a blazing fire. We were well clothed, and though sitting close to the fire were far from too warm; yet these naked savages, though further off, were observed, to our great surprise, to be streaming with perspiration at undergoing such a roasting.”

Instances of mental weakness or of insanity amongst the natives of these islands rarely came under my notice. However, more than one of the chiefs whom we met had a half-witted individual on his staff, who made himself generally useful to his master. The chief’s fool, as we called him, was frequently my guide in the island of Santa Anna. He was the general butt of the village; and I was told the girls would sometimes seize hold of him and roll him about in the sand. Insanity would appear to be of uncommon occurrence amongst these islanders; but I suspect that such individuals are not permitted to live. Whilst the “Lark” was engaged in the survey of Faro Island in Bougainville Straits, I learned that there was a madman, who was partially dumb, living in the bush in the interior of the island. Having murdered his wife about five months before our visit, he had taken to the forest where he led a solitary life at enmity with his fellow-islanders, who would have killed him, as they told me, if they found him. He frequently used to steal from the plantations; and during our stay in the island he was observed by a woman near one of the yam patches. The chief’s son came up to me one afternoon, after I had returned to the coast from an ascent of one of the principal summits, to advise me to shoot this unfortunate being if ever I saw him; and he added that if this madman should see me, unobserved, he would either run away or take his opportunity of killing me. However, I made several excursions into the interior afterwards; but I never fell in with him.

CHAPTER X.
VOCABULARY OF THE ISLANDS OF BOUGAINVILLE STRAITS—TREASURY ISLAND, THE SHORTLAND ISLANDS, FARO OR FAURO ISLAND, WITH CHOISEUL BAY.

This vocabulary was formed in great part by Lieutenant A. Leeper, to whom I may take this opportunity of expressing my thanks for his kindness, in thus placing it at my disposal. I have supplemented this list from smaller vocabularies made by Lieutenant C. F. de M. Malan and by myself. It is to be regretted that, owing to Lieutenant Malan taking up a Colonial appointment in Fiji during the last year of the commission, we were unable to avail ourselves in a further degree of his knowledge of the Fijian tongue, and of his general acquaintance with the construction of the Polynesian languages. We are, however, especially indebted to him for the recognition of the pronominal suffixes.

The spelling follows to a great extent the mode adopted in the missionary alphabet of Professor Max Müller, as given on page 116 of the Anthropological Notes and Queries drawn up at the request of the British Association. The vowels and diphthongs are pronounced as in the following examples;—a as a in father, e as a in fate, i as i in marine, o as o in note, u as oo in moon, ai as ai in aisle, au as ou in proud. Where there has been an evident want of agreement in the three vocabularies, I have given the different words or the different spellings, as the case may have occurred. We have thus been, in some degree, “checks” to each other: and I hope we have avoided, in this manner, many of those errors into which the unassisted framer of a vocabulary is so liable to fall. The accented syllable is thus indicated (´) in most instances where it is needed, the accent being usually placed on the penultimate.

Miscellaneous Words

Afraid			Fulau.
Angry			Fangolu; Gafolu.
Armlet			Pago.
Arrow			Iliu.
Ashes			Oafu.
Awl			Nila.
Axe			Libba-libba; Levo-levo.
Back			Aro.
Bad			Paiténa.
Bag			Ko-isa.
Basket			Koko; Besa.
Beat (to)			Lapu.
Before			Gaga.
Behind			Arogu.
Big			Yolulla; Kana-kana.
Blood			Masíni.
Blow			Ifu.
Bow			Lili.
Boy			Taui.
Break (to)			Taposha.
Bring			Galómi.
Brother			Manai-ina.
Bury (to)			Nafu.
Buy			Fūna-aili.
Calico			Bauro.
Canoe			Obuna.
Cap			So-so.
Capsize (to)			Igomo.
Charcoal			Sibi.
Chew			Tatau.
Chief			Lálafa; Yolóna.
Chief’s eldest son			Natuna.
Clean			Lapu; Sapolu.
Club			Peko.
Club (dancing)			Toko; Toku.
Cold			Lulu-gulu.
Comb			Supi.
Cut			Ausi.
Dance			Gatu.
Dark			Lali.
Day			Boï.
Dead			Mate; Imati.
Deaf			Kipau.
Devil (i.e., bad spirit)			Nito paiténa.
Dig (to)			Eli.
Dirty			Mati.
Drift (to)			Ali.
Drink (to)			Atali aoa.
Drinking-vessel (a cocoanut).
with neck of bamboo			Dogo.
without neck			Droo.
Dry			Dūgga-dūgga.
Earthquake			Nono.
Eat (to)			A-am.
Egg			I-au.
Empty			Golu.
Enough			Sumána.
Fall			Kappa.
Fan			Etif.
Far			De-apína.
Fat			Hatutu.
Father			Apa.
Few			Alua-tapoína.
Fight			Tala.
Finish (end)			Egáfulu.
Finished			Sumána.
Fire			Feli.
Fish-hook			A-ili.
Flint			Kilifela.
Fly (to)			Lofu.
Food			Dorómi; Darámi.
Fo„d (cooked)			Selo-selo.
Full			Forna.
Gift			Teletafala.
God (i.e., good spirit)			Nito drékona.
Good			Drékona; Dékona.
Great			Yolulla; Kana-kana.
Half			Koputi.
Heaven			Lavia.
Heavy			Mamma.
Hot			Posella.
House			Numa; Fale-fale.
Ho„se (tambu)			Olatu.
Hungry			Belu.
Inside			Uni; Fakoria.
Jew’s harp			Mako-mako.
Jump (to)			Subolosa.
Kick (to)			Savulu.
Kill (to)			So-orti.
Kneel (to)			Fasiliki.
Knife			Papalana.
Know (to)			Atai.
Lick (to)			Damíti.
Lift (to)			Ikoti.
Light (in weight)			Dugga-dugga.
Live (to)			Peoka.
Long			Deapa.
Mad			Kipau.
Man			Kániga; Tium; Kániga-tium.
Many			Tapóina.
Mat			Sararang; Pota.
(The names of the two pandanus trees, from the leaves of which the mats are made.)
Match			Sararang (vide preceding).
Moon			Ilala; Ilella.
Mother			Unka.
Naked			Ampea-paiia.
Net (fishing)			Sorau (large).
			Sai-aili (small).
			Awi-sulu.
(The plant supplying the fibre is named awi-sulu, probably a species of “Lyonsia.”)
New			Faolu.
Night			Lali.
No			Api; Apea.
Noise			So-orli.
None			Ausaka.
Now			Ivai.
Old			Purafalu.
Open			Kapeta.
Outside			Ampapaluna.
Paddle (noun and verb)			Fosi; Fose.
Pay			Aili.
Path			Poa.
Pearl			Bor-otulu.
Pestle and mortar (wooden), used for pounding food			Tagero.
Plane (a)			Ketuma.
Plenty			Tapóina.
Pot (cooking)			Kore.
Present (a)			Teletafala.
Quarter			Totoli.
Queen			Mamaifi.
Quick			Fakare.
Rain			Laiti.
Resin	[166]	-	Anóga, for torches.
Re„in			Tita, for canoe seams.
Rope			Fili.
Run			Gágona.
Same			Umbilua.
Sea			Keno; Kelo.
Short			Papa.
Shut			Dakopi.
Sick			Mate; Sali.
Sing (to)			Gatu.
Sister			Fafini.
Sit			Ahotu.
Sky			Abu; Avu.
Sleep			Suéli.
Small			Kaidakína.
Smoke			Tula.
Speak			Arei; Selli-selli.
Spear			Portulu.
Spirit			Nito; Nitu.
Star			Bito-bito.
Stone			Patu.
Stop			Aru.
Sun			Feo; Isang.
Swim (to)			Usu.
Tail			Aukuna.
Tambu (forbidden)			Olatu.
Tear			Igati.
Thin			Morsu.
Thirsty			Fana-oa.
To-day			Ibai.
To-morrow			Boiwa
Town			Famaca.
Tray			Kisu; Kishu.
(The name of the palm supplying the material for making the trays is also “kisu.”)
Tree			Au; Ava.
Waist-cloth			Malioto.
Wait			Au.
Walk (to)			Dagona.
Wash (to)			Sisi.
Water			Ateli (fresh).
Wa„er			Kelo; Keno (salt).
Wet			Pu-un.
What?			Afana?
When?			Lefila?
Whistle (to)			Faso.
Wife			Ewa.
Wind			Oa.
Woman			Batafa; Bataha; Talai-ina.
Wood			Au.
Work			Karre.
Worn			Tualina.
Yes			O-o.
Yesterday			Lafi.

[166] These are also the native names of the trees supplying the resins, the anoga being probably a species of “Canarium,” the tita, “Parinarium laurinum.”

Numerals.

One	Ilia; Kala.
Two	Elua.
Three	Épisa; Ébisha.
Four	Efáte; Efatsi.
Five	Lima.
Six	Onomo; Onoma.
Seven	Fito; Fit.
Eight	Alu.
Nine	Ulia.
Ten	Láfulu.
Eleven	Láfulu kala.
Twelve	Láfulu élua.
Thirteen	Láfulu épisa
Fourteen	Láfulu efáte
Fifteen	Láfulu lima.
Sixteen	Láfulu ónomo.
Seventeen	Láfulu fito.
Eighteen	Láfulu alu.
Nineteen	Láfulu úlia.
Twenty	Tanuge; Tana oge.
Thirty	Pisa-vulu.
Forty	Fatia-vulu.
Fifty	Lima-hulu.
Sixty	Nomo-fulu.
Seventy	Fitua-fulu.
Eighty	Alua-fulu.
Ninety	Tia-fulu; Sia-fulu.
Hundred	Latu; Latu-u.

Parts of Body.

Ankle	Sapolu.
Arm	Pagolo.
Beard	Polu.
Cheek	Papala.
Chest	Ate.
Chin	Ali.
Ear	Tana.
Elbow	Tau.
Eye	Mata; Shoï.
Eyebrow	Metapolissi.
Face	Laia.
Finger	Kim.
Fist	Gogumu.
Foot	Toto.
Hair	Tawo; Uutu.
Hand	Imai; Ime.
Head	Alapatu; To-o.
Leg	Tatabua; Nanabu; Tato.
Lip	Ulu.
Mouth	Uruguru.
Neck	Lua.
Nose	Leo; Le-u.
Shoulder	Fali.
Stomach	Muru.
Thumb	Gagata.
Toe	Kuri-kurisi.
Tongue	Miata.
Tooth	Nifo; Nifa.
Trunk	Tia.
Waist	Buli.

Geographical and Nautical.

Cape			Manavo.
Drift			Ali.
Hill			Soma.
Island			Nua-nua; Pete.
Land			Mesola.
Mountain			Olo.
Passage			Ai.
Rain			Laiti.
Reef			Aru-oshe; Butulu.
River			Ateli; Atele; Sallile.
Rock			Pushai.
Sand			Mesola-lanun.
Sea			Keno; Kelo.
Shallow			Seala.
Sky			Abu.
Steep (to)			Suele.
Stream			Ateli; Atele; Sallile.
Tide			Tofala.
Wind			Oa.
Rowing	-	Pull	Fosi.
		Back	Palma.
		Stop	Atti-horsi.

Animal Kingdom.

Ant	Doku.
Bat (Pteropidæ)	Dramo.
Bird	Maraka; Maruka.
Butterfly	Bebe.
Cockatoo	Anau.
Crocodile	Umau.
Dog	Au-au.
Eel	Tolo.
Fire-fly	Bito-bito.
Fish	Ianna; Ienna.
Fly	Lau-au.
Fowl	Kokole.
Frog	Appa-appa.
Hornbill	Po-po.
Lizard	Kurru-rupu.
Opossum (Cuscus)	Mali.
Osprey	Manuella.
Parrot	Karro.
Pig	Boa.
Pigeon	Baólo.
Rat	Kuáki.
Shark	Bao.
Snake	Nifii.
Turtle	Palúsi.
Turtle-shell	Purai.

Pronouns.

My	Gu, as a suffix, e.g. Toto-gu, my foot.
Your	Ng, as a suffix, e.g. Toto-ng, your foot.
You	Maito.
Him	Ealai.
These	Ea.
Those	Oa.

Names of Natives.

Men.—Gorai; Mule; Kópana; Krepas; Kurra-kurra; Erosini; Tutu; Lawi; Sege; Fauli; Kiliusi; Gégora; Nito; Émara; Olega; Malakolo; Butiu; Igeti; Ki´kila; Totono; Gélesi; Dúkutau; Alisa; Iri-isa; Sahi; Oïsi; Karubo; Devi; Dansi; Kamo; Fulagi; Pilaisi; Maluka; Tokura; Misiki; Levo; Tunu; Biro.

Women.—Kaika; Bito; Siali; Évenu; Bose; Omakau; Domari; Duia.

Vegetables, Fruits,[167] &c.

[167] The native names of most of the common plants will be found in the list given on [pages 294]-[304]. Vide also remarks on [page 280].

Banana	Toitoi.
Wild Plantain	Kalula.
Breadfruit	Balia.
Betel-nut	Olega.
Cocoa-nut	Niu.
Sago	Nami; Bia.
Taro (small)	Koko.
Taro (large)	Karafai.
Tobacco	Brubush.

Short Sentences and Phrases.

Where have you come from?	Tiga fina?
I come from Alu.	Tiga Alu.
I want it.	Ai peko.
I do not want it.	Abu ai peko.
I give you.	Fantellao.
Give me.	Tellao.
Will you give me?	Tellao fa?
I do not give you.	Abu hanatellao.
Do I go this way?	Fina fanato?
What do you want?	Ahana pe-una? Ahampeo?
What do you do?	Ahana wussa?
What is this?	Mai-ito ahampeo?
I go.	Falalau.
Go away.	Fato.
He goes.	Onalau.
Let me see.	Fanaroro.
Take it.	Na.
I take it.	Nto.[168]

[168] This is an expression of acknowledgment rather than of thanks.

In a recent work on the Melanesian languages, the Rev. Dr. Codrington [169] deals with the languages of the islands of the Solomon Group which lie east of New Georgia. Some of them, as he observes, fall naturally into two divisions: those which belong to Ulaua, Malaita, Ugi, San Cristoval, and the part of Guadalcanar adjacent; and those of Florida, the parts of Guadalcanar opposite, and the nearest extremity of Ysabel. In the first region, the language of Fagani on the north coast of San Cristoval, is somewhat distinct; and in the second, that of Savo is strangely different in some respects.[170]

[169] “The Melanesian Languages,” by R. H. Codrington, D.D. Clarendon Press, 1885.

[170] For instance, the Savo notation forms an exception to the decimal system of counting which prevails in the Solomon Islands.

The languages of the large islands of Choiseul, Bougainville, and Bouka and of the numerous smaller islands in their vicinity, or, in other words, the languages of the western portion of the Solomon Group have hitherto scarcely come within the cognizance of the philologist, and are therefore not referred to by Dr. Codrington in his comprehensive work. It is probable that that of the islands of Bougainville Straits may form the centre of another group of the Solomon Island languages, as it is spoken by a dominant tribe of natives who have extended their raids to the island of Bouka. Yet, it is a singular circumstance that the natives of Takura, a village on the adjoining coast of Bougainville, cannot understand the language spoken by the inhabitants of the islands of Bougainville Straits. I met twelve of the Takura men visiting the island of Faro, who were only able to make themselves understood by the Faro people through the medium of an interpreter.

Little communication appears to take place between the natives of the Straits and those of the islands of Vella-la-vella, Ronongo, and Simbo (Narovo) to the eastward; and judging from a vocabulary obtained by Captain Cheyne [171] in 1844 from the inhabitants of Simbo, or Eddystone Island as it is also called, a native of this island would be scarcely able to make himself understood by the people of Treasury Island nearly eighty miles away. As shown in the foot-note [172] where the numerals up to ten are compared, all the Simbo numbers with the exception of those signifying five, seven, and eight are apparently distinct. Many of the common terms are equally different; so that it would appear that the inhabitants of this island speak a language referable to a distinct group of the Solomon Island languages, probably to be classed with those spoken by the natives of Ronongo, Vella-la-vella, Kulambangra, and perhaps New Georgia.

[171] “A Description of Islands in the Western Pacific Ocean.” London 1852.

[172]

		One	Two	Three	Four	Five	Six	Seven	Eight	Nine	Ten.
Simbo		Kamee	Karu	Kuay	Mantee	Leema	Wouama	Weetu	Kalu	Seang	Manosa.
Treasury	-	Ilia	Elua	Episa	Efate	Lima	Onomo	Fito	Alu	Ulia	Lafulu.
Treasury	-	Kala	Elua	Episa	Efate	Lima	Onomo	Fito	Alu	Ulia	Lafulu.

		Sun	Moon	Fire	Sleep	Spear	Bad	Star.
Simbo		Gawaso	Popu	Eku	Puta	Opuree	Ekarenah	Keenda.
Treasury	-	Feo	Ilella	Feli	Sueli	Portulu	Paitena	Bito-bito.
Treasury	-	Isang	Ilella	Feli	Sueli	Portulu	Paitena	Bito-bito.

I forbear from making many remarks on the general affinities of the language of the islands of Bougainville Straits, and prefer to leave such a comparison to those qualified to pronounce on the subject. There are, however, certain points to which I will briefly refer.

Professor Keane, to whom I sent a portion of this vocabulary, informs me that whilst the structure of the language and most of the words are distinctly Papuan, the numerals and several terms are Polynesian. However, whilst I was engaged in collecting plants and making general botanical notes in this locality, it occurred to me that by comparing the names of the common littoral trees with those of the same trees in other Pacific groups and in the Indian or Malay Archipelago, I might obtain some important additional clues as to the sources of the language. In so doing I have obtained some interesting results, to which I have briefly alluded on a previous page, and which go to show that the peoples who originally migrated from the Indian Archipelago to the various Pacific groups carried with them the names of several of their common littoral trees, some of which may still be found in the intermediate groups of islands, such as the Solomon Islands, which have served as stepping-stones or halting places along the line of migration. On [page 101] I have taken “Barringtonia speciosa” as an illustration. I will now refer to some other instances.

After examining the pages of Crawfurd’s Malay Dictionary, together with the extensive list of the native names of plants obtained by G. J. Filet, I have ascertained that the following names of pandanus-trees belonging to languages of the Indian Archipelago may be traced across the South Pacific to the Austral Islands, viz., Harassas, Haragh-hagh, Pudak, Putih.[173][174] In the islands of Bougainville Straits the four common pandanus-trees are known as Darashi, Sararang, Pota, and Samala. In the Sikyana or Stewart Islands off the eastern end of the Solomon Group, the pandanus is named Dawa.[175] The Fijians name the “Pandanus odoratissimus” Balawa.[176] In the Hervey Group and in the surrounding islands, as we learn from Mr. Wyatt Gill,[177] the “Pandanus odoratissimus” is the Ara of the natives, whilst the “Pandanus utilis” is the Rauara; the first being the Thatch-tree, and the last the Mat-tree. In the Austral Islands further to the eastward, the names of the pandanus-trees were ascertained by Dr. G. Bennett to be Hoshoa, Sahang, and Pauhuf (“Pandanus odoratissimus.”)[178]

[173] Pudak (Pandanus inermis), Pandan-pudak (P. moschatus), Pandan-putih (P. leucacanthus). Vide Crawfurd’s Malay Dictionary.

[174] Haragh-hagh (Pandanus moschatus) Sundaneesch, Harassas leutiek (P. humilis) Sundaneesch, Harrassas gedeh (P. caricosus) Sundaneesch. Vide “De Inlandsche Plantennamen,” by G. J. Filet, published in “Natuurkundig Tijdschrift voor Nederlandsch Indie.” Deel xix. vierde serie, deel v. Batavia, 1859. Another list by J. C. M. Radermacher occurs in “Bataviaasch Genootschap,” deel i. p. 87.

[175] Scherzer’s “Voyage of the Novara,” vol. ii. p. 617. London, 1861-63.

[176] Seemann’s “Mission to Viti.” London, 1862.

[177] “Jottings from the Pacific,” pp. 183, 188. London, 1885.

[178] “Gatherings of a Naturalist in Australasia,” p. 389. London, 1859.

Indian Archipelago	Haragh-hagh	Harrassas	Pudak, Putih.
Bougainville Straits	Sararang	Darashi	Pota.
Sikyana Islands		Dawa.
Fiji Group	Balawa.
Hervey Group, and vicinity	Rauara, Ara.
Austral Islands	Sahang	Hoshoa	Pauhuf.

By arranging these names as in the above list, the important bearings of such a comparison are at once seen; and I may here remark that I have attached no weight to the non-retention of the same native name for the same species of “Pandanus” in different localities, since as in the instance of “P. odoratissimus,” there is no evidence that would lead us to expect such a close agreement. Most of the common pandanus-trees have a very similar appearance, and there is often a general name given to them in addition to their distinctive names. Thus the natives of the Bougainville Straits often designate all the species by the term Sararang. In the Indian Archipelago, the general names are Pandan, Haragh-hagh, Harassas, Pudak, Rampai, &c. These are the names which would be applied to any new kind of pandanus-tree during the migration eastward of the races of this archipelago; and it is manifest that as the separate Pacific groups of islands came to be occupied by different offshoots of the main migration, the same tree might have received a different general name. Therefore, in investigating the nomenclature of the pandanus-trees throughout the Pacific, we should concern ourselves not with a comparison of the names of identical species in different groups, but with the general names for the whole genus of “Pandanus.” We desire, in fact, to find the equivalent of such terms as the Ara of the Hervey Group, and the Sararang of Bougainville Straits.

That the names of trees possessing such conspicuous characters as those of the genus “Pandanus,” can be traced from the Indian Archipelago eastward through the Solomon Islands, and across the Central Pacific to the Austral Islands, is a circumstance of considerable interest to the philologist and anthropologist. We have already seen ([page 101]) that in the instance of “Barringtonia speciosa,” the name may be similarly traced from the Indian Archipelago across the Pacific to the Society Islands. Another example is to be found in the case of “Morinda citrifolia,” the Indian mulberry, a common littoral tree in the Indian and Pacific regions; it supplies a yellow dye extensively used by the inhabitants. It is the Bangkudu or Mangkudu of the Indian Archipelago and the Wongkudu or Kudu of Java in particular.[179] In Bougainville Straits it is known as the Urati; in Fiji as the Kura;[180] and in Tahiti as the Aari;[181] names which are evidently different forms of the same word, probably the Kudu of the Indian Archipelago. Another tree, “Fagræa Berteriana,” the sacred tree of the South Central Pacific groups, is the Bubulata of Bougainville Straits, the Bua of Fiji,[182] and the Pua or Bua of the Hervey and Society Groups.[183] I have not yet found the original of this name in the Indian Archipelago, the only suggestive word being Büa or Buwah, the Malay word for fruit.

[179] Crawfurd’s Malay Dictionary. Raffles’ “History of Java.”

[180] Seemann’s “Mission to Viti.”

[181] Bennett’s “Gatherings of a Naturalist,” p. 399.

[182] Seemann. (Ibid.)

[183] Wyatt Gill’s “Life in the Southern Isles” (p. 275), and “Jottings from the Pacific.”

Before proceeding further I should observe that an inquiry into the names of the common littoral trees, such as “Barringtonia speciosa,” “Morinda citrifolia,” and the species of “Pandanus,” which are yet preserved in the languages of the islands of the Indian Ocean, might be productive of important results. Being unable to follow up this branch of the subject, I would recommend it to some of my readers. As an encouragement, I would point out that there appears to be a resemblance between the names for the pandanus-tree in northern Madagascar, and in the Pacific Islands. Thus the Hoshoa of the Austral Islands, the Darashi of Bougainville Straits, the Harrassas of the Indian Archipelago, and the Vua-tchirié[184] of North Madagascar, may be the same compound word in different forms. Vua, it should be remarked, is a prefix attached to many trees and plants in this part of Madagascar. With this digression, I will now proceed.

[184] Rochon’s “Voyage a Madagascar et aux Indes Orientales.” Paris, 1791, p. 319.

Amongst the native names of trees in the Indian or Malay Archipelago which are to be found in an altered form in the islands of Bougainville Straits, I may refer to Kanari, which is the common appellation of “Canarium commune,” in the former region.[185] The kernels of the fruits of this tree furnish a frequent source of food to the Malay races and also to the inhabitants of the Maclay coast of New Guinea, where the tree is known by the similar name of Kengar.[186] In the islands of Bougainville Straits, where the same or an allied species of “Canarium” is found, the fruits of which form a staple article of food, the Malay name of Kanari and the New Guinea name of Kengar have been contracted to Ka-i. . . . The sago-palm (“Sagus,” sp.) affords another instance. It is, according to Crawfurd, the Râmbiya of the Indian Archipelago.[187] Earl informs us that in Kisa, one of the islands of the Sarawati group in the Banda Sea, it is known as the Pihir.[188] On the Maclay coast of New Guinea it is the Buam.[189] In Bougainville Straits it receives two names, Bia and Nami, the former (I think) being applied to the tree and the latter to the sago. . . . Then again, the two similar names, the Katari of Bougainville Straits and the Gutur of the Maclay coast,[190] are applied in both regions to resin-yielding trees which belong, however, to different genera, the Katari being a species of “Calophyllum,” and the Gutur a species of “Canarium.” In both localities the name is also given to the resin itself, which is employed by the natives for various purposes. But the important point is that these two words are merely slightly altered forms of Gâtah, which is the general name for gums and resins in the Indian Archipelago;[191] and I need scarcely add that gutta-percha is but the gâtah of the Pârcha tree, the familiar “Isonandra gutta” of this region.[192] . . . . Some of the names of trees in Bougainville Straits I have been unable to trace further westward than New Guinea. Thus, the breadfruit-tree (“Artocarpus incisa”) is the Balia of Bougainville Straits and the Boli of the Maclay coast of New Guinea.[193]

[185] In the numerous works referring to the Indian Archipelago, this word is sometimes written kanary or kanarie.

[186] Miklouho-Maclay in Proc. Lin. Soc, N.S.W. Vol. X., p. 349.

[187] Crawfurd’s “Grammar and Dictionary of the Malay Language.”

[188] “Journal of the Indian Archipelago.” Vol. II., p. 695 (1848).

[189] Miklouho-Maclay Proc. Lin. Soc, N.S.W. Vol. X., p. 349.

[190] Miklouho-Maclay (Ibid., p. 353, 357).

[191] Crawfurd’s “Malay Dictionary.”

[192] By an easy transition from gâtah through katari to kauri we have the probable origin of the native name of the resin-yielding “Dammara australis” (Kauri Pine) of New Zealand.

[193] Miklouho-Maclay in Proc. Lin. Soc., N.S.W. Vol. X., p. 348.

The term Uri, which is applied in a slightly altered form to different fruits in the Melanesian Islands, would seem to be derived from the Indian Archipelago. Proceeding westward from the Banks Group where Ur is the name of the fruit of “Spondias dulcis,” we find that in New Georgia in the Solomon Islands Ure is a designation for fruit. In the neighbouring islands of Bougainville Straits, several species of “Ficus” and their fruits receive the name of Uri. To the westward of the Solomon Islands we come upon the same term in the Mafoor of New Guinea, where the breadfruit is known as Ur. Lastly, in the island of Ceram in the Indian Archipelago, the fruit of the banana is called Uri.[194]

[194] I am mainly indebted to Dr. Codrington’s “Melanesian Languages” for the distribution of this term.

On this unequivocal evidence of one of the sources of the languages of the islands of Bougainville Straits it is unnecessary to dilate. It should, however, be remembered that other words are distinctly Polynesian in their origin, and must be sought for in the languages of the Pacific groups. Thus, whilst numa, the word for “house,” finds its counterpart in the Malay rumah and the Javanese uma, fale-fale, which also signifies a house, is the vale of the New Hebrides (Lepers Island and Aurora Island), the vale of Fiji, the fale of Samoa and Tonga, and the whare of the Maori. According to Dr. Codrington, these two words signifying a house, fale and ruma, with their various forms, have an interesting distribution. The first belongs to the eastern Pacific, and the second to the western Pacific; but they overlap in the intermediate districts as in the New Hebrides and the Solomon Islands. It is, however, significant that both these words should be included in the language of Bougainville Straits.

I will conclude my remarks on this vocabulary with a reference to the imitative character of the names of some of the animals. In Bougainville Straits, the frog is known as appa-appa in imitation of its cry. For a similar reason it is known in New Britain as rok-rok,[195] in Australia as twonk,[196] and in the Malay Archipelago as codac.[197] The lizard is named kurru-rupu by the natives of these straits, an appellation which is suggested by its cry; in the Malay Archipelago it is known as kikia.[198] The hornbill is called po-po by the natives of Bougainville Straits in imitation of the rushing sound that it makes during its flight, which has been aptly compared by travellers to the noise of a locomotive. For this reason the natives of New Britain term it banga-banga;[199] whilst at Redscar Bay, New Guinea, it is called pawporo.[200] In a like manner the native dog of these straits is named au-au, and the bush-hen (Megapod) kokole; there is, however, no necessity to supplement these more familiar imitative names from the numerous examples in the languages of neighbouring regions. The native names, which the frog and the hornbill have received in the localities alluded to, will serve to show how varied may be the form of the name which has been suggested by the noise or cry of the animal. There would, thus, appear at first sight to be but little connection between the names po-po and banga-banga; yet those persons who have been familiar with the noise made by the hornbill during its flight will recognise these terms as distinctly imitative of such a sound. Again, few would guess that such different sounding names, as appa-appa, rok-rok, twonk, and codac, have been very naturally suggested by the cry of the frog.

[195] Wilfred Powell’s “Wanderings in a Wild Country,” &c.

[196] Tylor’s “Primitive Culture.”

[197] Labillardière’s “Voyage in search of La Pérouse.” (Vocabularies in Vol. II.)

[198] Labillardière. Ibid.

[199] Wilfred Powell. Ibid.

[200] Macgillivray’s “Voyage of H.M.S. ‘Rattlesnake.’”

CHAPTER XI.
THE JOURNAL OF GALLEGO—PREFATORY REMARKS.

A considerable interest was aroused in the minds of geographers, rather more than a century ago, by the recent discoveries of French and English navigators in that portion of the Western Pacific in which the Solomon Islands are now known to lie. M. M. Buache and Fleurieu ([pages 263]-[265]) endeavoured to show that the islands there discovered were none other than the mysterious Islands of Solomon discovered two centuries before by the Spaniards, the existence of which had been long treated as a myth, and in fact, had almost been forgotten. This view was opposed by Mr. Dalrymple, one of the foremost of the English geographers; and it laboured under the serious disadvantage that the only existing narrative of this Spanish voyage, on which such a conclusion could be based, was a very brief and imperfect account incorporated by Dr. Figueroa [201] in a work that was published at Madrid nearly half a century after the return of the voyagers to Peru. There were some reasons for believing that Hernando Gallego, the chief pilot of the expedition, had kept a journal of the voyage;[202] but the geographical writers of the close of last century failed to have access to such an account, and its existence was doubted by some of them. The only other account, worthy of the name, that was known to these writers was one included by Herrera in his “Descripcion de las Indias Occidentales,” a work which was published at Madrid about the year 1601, or more than thirty years after the Spanish voyagers had returned to Peru. But this account was a somewhat vague, general description of the Solomon Islands, which, although it contained a few additional particulars, was of little service to the cartographer.

[201] Hechos de Don Garcia Hurtado de Mendoza, Quarto Marques de Canete; por el Doctor Christoval Suarez de Figueroa. Madrid, 1613. Vide [Note I.] of the Geographical Appendix.

[202] A MS. journal of Gallego was referred to by Penelo as occurring in the Barcia Library. (Dalrymple’s Hist. Coll. Voy. and Disc.: p. 96.)

It appears to have been only in the second quarter of the present century that the existence of a journal written by Gallego became known to geographers. It may seem at first sight difficult to explain the reason of this narrative being so long unknown; but its author tells us in his prologue that it was through fear he did not publish it; and from other circumstances, referred to in the succeeding pages, it may be inferred that pressure was brought to bear on him, and that the journal was intentionally withheld in order to keep Drake, who had recently appeared in the South Sea, in ignorance of the position of these islands. The journal has for this reason always remained in manuscript. The original manuscript was a few years since in the possession of Mr. Amhurst. There is a copy in the library of the British Museum, which was purchased of M. Fr. Michelena y Roiss in 1848;[203] and it is a translation of this copy that is given in great part in the following pages. In undertaking this translation, I have been greatly assisted by my acquaintance with these islands; and I have thus been able to avoid the pitfalls into which the somewhat careless copyist might have led me.

[203] The British Museum Reference number is 17,623; and the title is as follows: “Descubrimiento de las Islas Salomon en el Mar del Sur: 1566,” by Hernando Gallego, native of Corunna.

If M. M. Buache and Fleurieu could have had access to this journal of Gallego, they would have been saved much laborious criticism, both on their own part and on the part of others. That they were able to employ the scanty data, furnished by Figueroa, for the identification of the lost Isles of Solomon with the recent discoveries of their own day, is an accomplishment concerning which any adulation on my part would be both unnecessary and unbecoming. Even with the comparative wealth of materials which the journal of Gallego affords, as contrasted with the account of Figueroa, all that remained to be done was to fill in the rude outline originally sketched by the French geographers.

The story of the gradual identification of the Isles of Solomon forms an interesting and instructive episode in the history of geographical discovery. In the sketch which I have given, I have, so to speak, raked up the ashes of a controversy which burnt itself out some generations ago; but the labour expended in its preparation will not have been unprofitable, if I have been successful in placing before my readers a clear and connected account of how the Isles of Solomon were discovered, lost, and found.

LENGTH OF LIMBS.

The Features.

The Hair, Colour of Skin, Powers of Vision, &c.

CHAPTER VII.DRESS—TATTOOING—SONGS, ETC.

CHAPTER VIII.CANOES—FISHING—HUNTING.

CHAPTER IX.PREVALENT DISEASES.

CHAPTER X.VOCABULARY OF THE ISLANDS OF BOUGAINVILLE STRAITS—TREASURY ISLAND, THE SHORTLAND ISLANDS, FARO OR FAURO ISLAND, WITH CHOISEUL BAY.

Miscellaneous Words

Numerals.

Parts of Body.

Geographical and Nautical.

Animal Kingdom.

Pronouns.

Names of Natives.

Vegetables, Fruits,[167] &c.

Short Sentences and Phrases.

CHAPTER XI.THE JOURNAL OF GALLEGO—PREFATORY REMARKS.

CHAPTER VII.
DRESS—TATTOOING—SONGS, ETC.

CHAPTER VIII.
CANOES—FISHING—HUNTING.

CHAPTER IX.
PREVALENT DISEASES.

CHAPTER X.
VOCABULARY OF THE ISLANDS OF BOUGAINVILLE STRAITS—TREASURY ISLAND, THE SHORTLAND ISLANDS, FARO OR FAURO ISLAND, WITH CHOISEUL BAY.

CHAPTER XI.
THE JOURNAL OF GALLEGO—PREFATORY REMARKS.