Monday, June 29, 1908.
All day canoes have come and gone, long, graceful, light, and strangely painted. Sometimes there would be fifty naked men on deck at one time, fierce-looking fellows, their ears full of rings and plugs and sticks. Some carry their pipes there. Some wore great shell nose-rings; others had porpoise teeth stuck in the ends of their noses. Their faces were tattooed and cut in strange designs. In their big bushy heads were feathers and bamboo combs. Of anklets and armlets we bought nearly all they had—two yards of calico would easily make breech-clouts for fifty of these men, so they effected rapid exchanges.
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