We heard sore complaints in this district of the chief’s exactions of compulsory “presents” from the very poor villages hereabouts. A short time ago he ordered all the people from far and near to assemble and bring him 40,000 yams, 700 mats, and every man a whale’s tooth, each of which represents upwards of a shilling in value, but _means_ far more. It symbolises goodwill; and the giving of a whale’s tooth accompanies every action of the smallest importance—from asking for forgiveness, or claiming the clubbing of a foe, or bringing in his body. Well, of course, many of these poor men had not got a whale’s tooth, so they had to go and beg for them from their friends. One canoe which started on this quest was upset, and six men drowned. Two of them left tiny babies, who were brought to be christened at the most wretched of all the villages we have seen—one from which you could not conceive it possible to wish to extort the value of a pin. But it struck me that this great chief was far more inclined to receive than to give. After witnessing the generosity of the Mathuata chief, I was much amused when this man, with considerable formality, presented ten cocoa-nuts for the use of the teachers and crew of the Jubilee, being, I understand, his sole offering to the mission for the year. Evidently we have left the unsophisticated regions, and returned to those where white influence prevails! Returning on board, we found the wind was dead against us, and after vainly beating in great misery for several hours, we had to anchor for the night within sight of the Wilkinson’s house, and sorely regretted not having taken their advice to stay where we were. We had a hateful evening and night; and as the cabin was unendurable, there was nothing for it but to lie on deck in the rain and get soaked, which we did most thoroughly. We tried a fresh start in the morning, but there was still a head-wind and rain; and everything was so saturated and miserable, that it was resolved to anchor off the first village we came to. This proved to be Namau, a filthy village in the mangrove-swamp, poorer and more miserable than any place where we have yet been. The people looked diseased from sheer poverty, and we scarcely liked to enter their houses, but we were driven to desperation by the longing to try and dry our clothes; and their kindness and hospitality knew no bounds. They seemed delighted to welcome us to their poor homes, and heaped up blazing fires to dry us and all our goods. The fireplaces (as I have told you, when speaking of other isles) are placed wherever fancy prompts—just a sunken oblong, anywhere on the floor, with a few rounded stones, on which rest the large earthenware cooking-pots. Very picturesque!