Before they proceed to sea the careful people institute a trial trip, and celebrate a regatta with several days of extraordinary festivity. The fleet is sometimes augmented by some _lakatois_ from other villages. These sail up to Port Moresby from the east to join the main expedition. About eleven o’clock in the morning, if the wind be strong enough, the people of Hanuabada and Elevada begin to test each vessel in the harbour, trying how the ropes run, how the sails work, and how the lashings hold together. Everything is thoroughly overhauled, for the lives of the men-folk of the village depend upon the fitness of their queer craft. The crew go on board and take up their positions. At the bow stands the professional pilot, a man thoroughly acquainted with the coast, and behind him, stretching in Indian file down the gunwale on port and starboard, stand his crew, each man handling a long pole. The steering is done from behind with two poles slightly flattened at the ends, and forward, for certain emergencies, they use a small Chinese sweep. The crew pole gently out from land until the breeze strikes the sails, and then far away they go merrily down the harbour, tacking about in every direction with wonderful dexterity, for the _lakatois_, clumsy although they appear, are quick “in stays.” [Illustration: GIRLS DANCING ON A LAKATOI (A RAFT OF CANOES). ] At last comes the day when the Hanuabada people say, “If the wind is favourable, we will start tomorrow.” Vast quantities of farinaceous food are brought on board, and the small dug-outs are busy darting out from the village to the fleet, bearing the stores that are to last the voyagers for their two months’ trip. Then the festivities begin. The damsels of the village deck themselves most artistically with finely woven garlands that lie in close cinctures round their brows. In most ravishing _ramis_ they go on board and celebrate the departure of the young braves by the wildest dances on the platforms fore and aft—dances that would put a _première danseuse_ to shame. They spin round with such dizzying rapidity that, when I photographed them, although I used a shutter snapping at a hundredth of a second, the image of the dancers was somewhat blurred, as will be seen from the annexed picture. As an accompaniment to the dances, they sing the appalling and discordant songs of the coast native, and the merriment and motion cease only for the intervals of feasting on yams, taro, and fish. The dancing is for the most part independent, but occasionally there is some attempt at rudimentary figures, and the little girls, with arms interlaced after the manner of a “lady’s chain” in the Lancers, form a ring in the centre, while the bigger girls circle around.