Then comes the preparation of the craft, the _lakatois_. Several hundred large dug-out canoes are brought together, and are moored side by side at the landing stages in groups of six or ten. While this is being done many people are out in the forest cutting rattans and bamboos for lashing the dug-outs together, and for the upper framework of the rafts. Across the canoes, after they have been ranged at the proper distance (amidships, about six inches apart, although their taper ends cause a wider gap at bow and stern), are placed long bamboos, extending a considerable distance beyond the port and starboard sides of the outermost pair. Along the gunwales of each canoe, at regular intervals, stout bamboo uprights are erected, and to these the horizontal cross bamboos are strongly lashed with fibre and cane, until the whole framework is perfectly rigid. To the cross framework the potters fix down a floor of split bamboo, and all round the outer edges they wreathe dried grass to prevent slipping as one steps on board. This platform overlaps all round the raft fore and aft, and the cross-pieces are very strong and firmly lashed. Openings are left in the floor above each dug-out to enable the pottery to be stored in the holds of the canoes. A clear space is left on the platform, extending about six feet from bow and stern, and on the whole of the intervening space houses are erected in skeleton bamboo framework. These can be entirely covered in with mats to afford a shelter in stormy weather or in rain. The roofs as well as the sides are formed of mats. Wooden masts are now stepped amidships and held in place with stout stays of fibre, and then the _lakatoi_ is ready to receive its sails. These resemble vast kites, and were formerly made of native matting stretched upon an outer frame of bamboo, but are now made of calico. It is difficult to describe their form, and they can best be understood by a study of the accompanying illustration. Why the strange segment should be cut out of the upper part, leaving two great wings, I have never been able to discover. The sails of the _lakatoi_ are of themselves—things apart. Being stretched on a frame they cannot bulge, but swing like boards. Their points rest on the deck and work freely in a socket. The sails are hung lightly to the masts by braces, and there is no clewing up. In spite of their comparative rigidity they are quite manageable, and in case of sudden squalls can easily be let go. The _lakatoi_ is now ready for use—perhaps the most remarkable-looking craft that ever went to sea—and has only to be tested. From the rigging and the sails float long streamers of Papuan grass decorations, and the fleet of eight or ten _lakatois_ now lying off Hanuabada affords, as the sun strikes the brown sails, a really charming spectacle.