DISPOSITION. 127 



These islanders converse in a low, monotonous voice ; and are 

 unaccustomed to loud, stentorian tones, such as those in which 

 words of command are given. I was told a story of a white man 

 who had engaged some natives to take him out in a canoe to the 

 site of a sunken rock, which he intended to blow up with dynamite 

 as it obstructed the channel. Immediately on dropping the charge, 

 he shouted out to his crew to paddle away as quickly as possible 

 and at the same time gesticulated wildly. The men opened their 

 eyes wide and stared at him with astonishment, but never moved : 

 and before they could recover themselves, off went the charge, and 

 the canoe and its occupants were blown into the air. However, but 

 little damage was caused except to the canoe. My informant told 

 me that if the men had been told quietly to paddle away, the accident 

 would never have happened. 



I now come to the subject of the disposition of these islanders. 

 There is a generosit}^ between man and man, which I often admired, 

 although it was easy to perceive that there was a singular relation 

 between the giver and the recipient. A native rarely refuses any- 

 thing that is asked ; but, on the other hand, he is not accustomed 

 to offer anything spontaneou.sly except when he expects an equiva- 

 lent in return. His generosity is, in truth, constrained by the know- 

 ledge of the fact that by a refusal he will incur the enmity of the 

 person who has made the lequest. Often when during my excur- 

 sions I have come upon some man who was preparing a meal for 

 himself and his family, I have been surprised at the open-handed 

 way in which he dispensed the food to my party of hungry natives. 

 No gratitude was shown towards the giver, who apparently expected 

 none, and only mildly remonstrated when my men were unusually 

 voracious. I was often amused at noticing how a native's friends 

 would gather around when there was a sago palm to be felled. 



But there is one occasion when the existence of friends must be 

 very trying to a Solomon Islander, and that is when he returns to 

 his island after his term of service in the plantations of Fiji or 

 Queensland has expired. He brings with him his earnings of three 

 years in the shape of a musket, a couple of American axes, and a 

 large box filled with calico, coloured handkerchiefs, tobacco, pipes, 

 knives, beads, &c. On landing at the beach, he is greeted by the 

 greater portion of the village. The chief at once appropriates the 

 musket, as his way of welcoming the wanderer on his return. His 

 father selects, with due deliberation, the best tempered of the axes. 



