A little to the east of the Bismarck Archipelago are the Solomon Islands. The principal island in this group is Bougainville, which is bigger than Porto Rico. It is quite rugged, having two constantly active volcanoes and one mountain of an altitude of more than two miles above sea level. The natives here are of the same race as those on the adjoining islands, and equally as savage. In most cases the men go naked, and in some of the islands the women wear no clothing until they are married. Both men and women pierce their ears, the holes in the lobes being gradually stretched until they are as big around as a napkin ring. Among some tribes the nose is pierced and a long pin of bone or shell is stuck through it. There is some tattooing, and scars made by burning are considered fine ornaments.
The Solomon Islanders are barely out of cannibalism, and head-hunting was not long ago the profession and pleasure of most of the young men. Polygamy is practised, and some of the chiefs have as many as a hundred wives. The islanders do some farming, raising bananas, yams, and taro. They are good fishermen, and gather shells and pearls for sale.
Coconuts are the chief product of the Solomon Islands, although it has been proved that rubber, sugar cane, and cotton will flourish there. But expansion of the plantations cannot be undertaken without a large supply of labour.
Australia has introduced fairer labour conditions than she found throughout the islands she now administers. Special ordinances provide for a ten-hour day, a weekly day of rest, and observance of public holidays. Board, lodging, and medical attendance are free and minimum and maximum wages have been prescribed. There is neither slavery nor forced labour, and the recruiting of native labour is strictly regulated.
Missionaries, especially those of the Methodist Church, are at work in all the islands. Their faithful labour has gone on for many years, and there are now a large number of native evangelists. One of the missionaries tells me that the people are being slowly but surely civilized, and that a number of them are Christians.
CHAPTER XXIV
ACROSS THE TASMAN SEA TO WELLINGTON
I CAME from Australia to Wellington, the capital of New Zealand, on a vessel as well furnished, as well kept, and as well managed as any of the floating palaces that steam on our Great Lakes. But the voyage was far from being as smooth as a sail on the Lakes. The South Pacific Ocean is much like the North Atlantic. It is wild and stormy at times, and I found it a great contrast to the calm waters of the tropics through which I had passed on my way to Australia. The clear skies of the Equator and their golden stars had disappeared, and in their place were heavens plated with lead and heavy, low-hanging clouds full of wind.
How the steamer rolled! There were ladder-like racks on the table to hold the dishes at every meal, and we had to lift our soup plates to our chins, balancing the steaming liquid to the movement of the boat. One night a buxom young lady, who was strikingly décolleté, sat opposite me at the table. The ship gave a sudden lurch and her soup went down—outside. Another girl lost her coffee in my lap. In my cabin it made me almost seasick to watch my pajamas swing violently to and fro on their hooks. As I walked the deck I had to bend this way and that to keep my balance, and when I sat down the steward tied my chair to the rail outside the saloon wall to keep me from sliding down to the edge of the boat. The spray dashed over everything, and, as a New Zealand girl said, “It was really na-a-hsty!”
Still, the southern ocean is grand. Stand on deck beside me and take a look at a storm off the coast of New Zealand. The green water of the shallow sea rolls toward us in vast waves. It is a seething, boiling mass. Our steamer mounts sea-green hills spotted with foam, and plunges down into valleys blanketed with white. Great billows chase one another like racehorses over the roads of the sea. They roar as they run with a noise like the thunder of a thousand Niagaras.