The majority of the population lives near the sea; I was credibly informed that there are hardly any people inland. The Santa Cruzian is a "salt-water man," and there is a string of villages all along the coast. The inhabitants of the different villages keep very much to themselves, and their territories are separated by a strip of forest, and on the shore by high stone walls leading far out into the sea. On the whole, the two thousand people in the bay live very quietly, certainly more so than the same number of whites would without any police. It is not quite clear in what respect our civilization could improve them, as, like most aborigines, they have a pronounced sense of propriety, justice and politeness. There is very little disputing or quarrelling, and differences of opinion are usually settled by a joke, so that in this respect the savages show a behaviour far superior to that of many a roaring and swearing white. I found neither drums nor statues here, and of the local religion I could learn nothing. There is a skull-cult, similar to that on Malekula: a man will paint the skull of a favourite wife or child yellow, shut all the openings with wooden stoppers and carry the relic about with him. Towards the end of my stay I obtained possession of some of these interesting skulls. The idea in shutting the holes is doubtless to preserve the spirit of the dead inside the skull. One evening I crossed the bay to attend a dance. The starless sky shone feebly, spotted with dark, torn clouds. A dull silver light lay on the sea, which was scarcely lighter than the steep shores. In the silence the strokes of our oars sounded sharp and energetic, yet they seemed to come from a distance. In the darkness we felt first the outrigger, then the canoe, lifted by a heavy swell, which glided away out of sight in monotonous rhythm. Then light began to play around us, indistinct at first, then two silver stripes formed at the bow and ran along the boat. They were surrounded by bright, whirling sparks, and at the bow of the outrigger the gayest fireworks of silver light sprang up, sparkling and dying away as if the boat had been a meteor. The oars, too, dripped light, as though they were bringing up fine silver dust from below. The naked boy in front of me shone like a marble statue on a dark background as his beautiful body worked in rhythmic movements, the light playing to and fro on his back. And ever the sparks danced along the boat in hypnotizing confusion, and mighty harmonies seemed to echo through the night air. The feeling of time was lost, until the opposite shore rose to a black wall, then, through the silence, we heard the cold rush of the surf beating moodily on the reef. We slackened speed, the fairy light died and the dream ended. We kept along the shore, looking for the entrance, which the boys found by feeling for a well-known rock with their oars. A wave lifted us, the boys bent to their oars with all their might, we shot across the