311 A XATURALIST'S WAyDEHINGS 



after arranging tlioir hair, the men romove from the palm- 

 trees, invariably to the chanting of a song of invocation, the 

 bamboos with the tuah collected in them over night, and trim 

 the stem for running during the day to supply their evening 

 libations. Than ^vhen ascending the trees the Tenimbcr athlete, 

 his fimtless form aj^ainst the skv> and his brown skin and 

 golden hair in contrast with the grey stem of the tree, never 

 sho^YS to greater advantage. 



The chief meal of the dav lasts from about ei^ht o'clock till 

 nearly noon, and consists of boiled Indian corn meal, mixed 

 with mashed manioc and peas, along with fish — hunted for along 

 the shore with bow and arrow, or by scattering on the water 

 rice steeped in an infusion of a poisonous vine — and a very great 

 deal of palm wine, fresh drawn as well as distilled. The meal 

 is partaken of in considerable companies together in large sheds 

 open at the gables in or near the village, generally in the 

 buildings where their tuah is being distilled, which arc used also 

 for common assembly rooms. Yery few of the older men leave 

 the meal sober, or become *' capable " during the rest of the day, 

 a condition in which they are boisterously talkative, querulous 

 and pugnacious. The women eat in private, or snatch a bite 

 of food when they can. 



All day long two ceaseless sounds are heard, the click-clack 

 of their looms and the dull thud of the stamping of Indian corn 

 and peas in large tridacna shells. If the women are not thus 

 employed they are away by prahu, accompanied by some of the 

 younger men, to fetch the necessary stores from their gardens. 

 Ill these plantations, made in the forest on the poor soil which 

 covers the underlying coral rocks, they cultivate sweet potatoes, 

 manioc, sugar cane, and their staple food, Indian corn, with 

 a little rice (which grows very badly), some cotton, and a good 

 deal of tobacco, whose leaves they chew but do not smoke. 



In time of war the common safety is watched all night by 

 the villagers, eight or ten at a time in rotation, who dance the 

 Tjikelele round a figure of their deity, or Duadilahy each man 

 beating with his hand on a cylindrical drum, singing to its 

 accompaniment a song or invocation with a wild and shrieking 

 chorus, which at the time of full moon is kept up for many 

 unbroken days and nights. 



Their arms are a shield, often elaborately carved and 



