In many respects the settlement differed little from an Irish village. Geese waddled about the common and showed their resentment of too close an approach with the usual hissing and stretching of the neck. All about were little pigs—long-nosed and lean-flanked, obviously not far removed in type from the original “wild pig”—which were rooting up the earth with their snouts. Each had an attendant fowl which accompanied it in its movements and picked at the newly turned earth. There are a number of dogs on the island, mongrel curs of which one would grudge even the admission that they were “just dog,” and there seems to be a regular feud between them and the pigs. Whenever a dog, accompanying his master on a walk, encounters a pig, it rushes up, barking furiously, and only desists when the pig, squealing violently, is stretched at full speed. The pig gets very angry, but immediately after goes on rooting. There was something very ludicrous about this little piece of byplay, which always provoked a laugh from us. On the slope behind the settlement a flock of sheep, numbering a hundred or so, was grazing. Here and there about the common I saw donkeys, all of them very diminutive. At the entrance to the settlement we came to a brisk little stream of clear water, which we crossed by a ford. We were met by Mr. Rogers, the missionary, who had recently come to the island. There are in all about twenty completed houses and others of which the walls have been built, but which, from lack of material, have never been roofed over. The first one we came to belonged to Henry Green, a small, self-reliant man whom we had already met on the ship. He gave us a cordial invitation to come in at any time we cared. He had a small flagstaff, from which flew a Union Jack that had been presented to the islanders.