We decided, after a few minutes' rest, to have one more trial, and if unsuccessful to leave our anchor at the bottom of the ocean, and return to port. After numerous efforts, we felt a sudden jerk, when up came the anchor with a large lump of coral attached to it. We were soon under weigh, and after beating for several hours under a strong breeze, came to an anchorage close to a native village on Lydia Island. This island is immediately abreast of Normanby Island or Du-au. There are numerous villages here, and all the hills are covered with plantations. The natives, too, are superior, and, in my opinion, thoroughly to be trusted. A native chief, named Paulo, owns considerable property on the island, and therefore has great influence. I have often met him, and have invariably found him to be trustworthy. He is not particularly handsome, having a mouth of enormous dimensions, as large as an ordinary letter-box. His headquarters are at "Quato," but he often spends a couple of weeks at his country residence on Lydia Island. As we had a long journey before us we obtained from the natives a large quantity of firewood, and filled up our water tank and cask, as, on a voyage of any extent, those are the two most important items. We invited one of the natives to accompany us on the trip. He signified his willingness, and came on board. We made a start early the next morning, and after accompanying us for a mile, he jumped into his canoe and returned home. As we purposed going such a great distance, he considered the chances of coming back very remote and uncertain. He would have come in very handy for cutting up firewood and boiling yams, otherwise we were just as well without him. The harbour we had just left is an excellent one, with good holding ground and perfectly sheltered from all winds. We had to navigate between several dangerous-looking coral reefs, and in a few hours rounded Cape Ventenat, the south end of Normanby Island. Canoes came from the shore loaded with yams, etc., which we purchased from the natives, keeping our vessel close-hauled, in order to permit of their approach. We soon left them far behind, and passed close to the small island "Digaragara." This last is memorable on account of the terrible tragedy that took place there a few years previously. A young man, Fred Miller, who was engaged in the Beche-de-mer fishery, had a smoke house on this island, and employed several of the savages. His boat was on the beach, and he was superintending the curing of the fish, when the natives, without any warning, suddenly made a dash at him. Some held him while the others put an end to him with their "tomahawks." Miller had always treated the natives well, and had never interfered with or molested them in any way. It was simply their lust of plunder, added to the distinction gained by obtaining a human head. Were these diabolical savages punished for this outrage?