not to have that crowd near the boat.  I asked the chief to send them back; but to him they would not listen, and still the noisy crowd followed on.  I shouted to them to return, and not come troubling us, as we were getting into the boat.  No use; on they followed, and the boat they meant to visit.  I stood still, and not feeling particularly cheerful, I told them to go on, and go off to the vessel—­that I should wait and return to the village.  Stamping my foot, as if in a towering passion, I told the chief, “Go with all your people to the boat; as for me, I shall return.”  It had the desired effect.  The people fled, and the few who remained listened to the old man, and came no further.  We got to the boat and away, glad to escape without any unpleasantness.

Entering Orangerie Bay, we anchored off the village of Daunai, from which the whole district takes its name.  When here, our Chinese cook lost his knife, and, spotting the thief, determined to have it; but our captain prevented him from jumping into one of the canoes, and so avoided trouble.  There were over one hundred canoes round the vessel, and altogether over four hundred men.

We stopped all trading, and frightened the canoes away by blowing the steam whistle—­they were much afraid of it, and kept at a very respectful distance.

We went up the long sheet of water we saw when we crossed Meikle Bay, finding it in every way suited to its native name, Paroai, or piggish water, and quite useless as a harbour for anything larger than an ordinary boat.  I went ashore in one of the canoes, to be landed at Bootu, and walk across to Milne Bay.  Before leaving the vessel I engaged with the natives to take me right away to the head of the lagoon, and when I had seen Milne Bay, to return me to the vessel, when they would be paid for all their trouble.  So with our bags and a few eatables, we started; when about a mile away from the vessel, they headed the canoe more in towards the right shore, and no amount of talk in calmness or wrath would get them to do otherwise.  We touched at a place not far from a village we visited overland—­some left us, and we were certainly now too weak to proceed.  We ran down to the village, where we landed with my bag, and away went my native canoe men.  Love or money would not move the villagers, and they were exceedingly impudent, knowing well that we were quite in their hands.  My friend the mate, who insisted on accompanying me, agreed with me that things were rather out of the common with us, and that a sharp eye, and quick ear, and quick action were of some importance.  They at once went to get their clubs and spears, and begged and insisted on presents; but they were astonished, I doubt not, to find their begging of little avail.

“Go to the vessel, if you want presents.”

“Why are you anchored so far off?”

“Can’t get nearer, and only wish you would show me the way in close to here.”