A fire was soon burning brightly, on which a couple of pigeons we had shot were roasting. The three maids, offering a great contrast to the rest by their swarthy skins, were flitting to and fro, getting everything ready for our _al fresco_ repast. We all laid to with a will; it was astonishing the rapid way in which the viands disappeared. For a time nothing could be heard except the tinkling of glasses and the clinking of knives and forks. Dinner over, Samoan mats and rugs were spread on the ground beneath the shade of a group of palms, upon which we all reclined, smoking the kalumet of peace, the ladies joining us with cigarettes. The time passed rapidly until three in the morning, when the three native maids, assisted by two of the ladies, gave, in our honour, a representation of a Samoan dance. The dance was in harmony with the locality. We were delighted with the exhibition. In the early morn we had a dip in the sea, then went in quest of pigeons, but only obtained half-a-dozen. The ladies, meanwhile, were engaged collecting oysters on the rocks. After having exhausted the beauties of the island, we all returned on board and sailed for Ralume, reaching that place at five o'clock on Sunday afternoon. We accompanied our fair companions to the plantation, where we bade them an affectionate farewell, as we could not prolong our stay another day. CHAPTER VIII. RETURN VOYAGE. The south-east "trades" were still blowing, and seeing no chance of their abatement, we regretfully left the shores of Ralume Bay. In St. George's Channel we met with constant baffling winds, which greatly retarded our progress. On some days we made no more than a mile, the strong currents causing us to make considerable leeway. We sailed close in to the shores of New Britain and back again to New Ireland, and so it continued day after day. We thought we should never lose sight of the Duke of York Islands, and had half a mind to run back to Ralume. The days were scorchingly hot, the decks not fit to stand upon. We were obliged every few minutes to throw buckets of water on them to enable us to move about, and to prevent the seams from opening. It was anything but a pleasure having to steer for four hours beneath such a sun. Down below in the little cabin it was just as bad, more stifling, if possible. How we longed for night to cool our fevered brows! Not far from here, on the north-east coast of New Ireland, poor Charlie Hunstein met his fate. I met him on several occasions. Not long since, in 1889, he, with some others, journeyed from Finsch-hafen to New Ireland on a botanical expedition. He arrived there safely, but in a day or two a terrible earthquake took place, swallowing up the unfortunate Hunstein and his followers. What a terrible destiny, to perish in such a catastrophe without the chance of a struggle for life!