[Note: this transcription was produced by an automatic OCR engine]

60 WITH NATIVES IN THE WESTERN PACIFIC

alternating with light sand beaches. Towards nightfall
we anchored near a stony shore, flanked by two high
cliffs, in about 10 fathoms of the most transparent
water. We could see in the depths the irregular
shapes of the rocks, separated by white sand, and the
soft mysterious colours in which the living coral
shines like a giant carpet. The sea was quiet as a
pond, yet we were on the shores of that endless ocean
that reaches westward to the Torres Straits.

Torn clouds floated across the hills towards the
north—west, the stars shone dull, and it was very
lonely and oppressively silent, nowhere was there a
trace of life, human or animal. Lying on deck, I
listened to the sound of the surf breaking in the
different little bays near and far, in a monotonous
measure, soft and yet irresistible. It is the voice of
the sea in its cleansing process, the continual grinding
and casting out of all impurities, the eternal war
against the land and its products, and the final
destruction of the earth itself.

The district of the Big Nambas, to whose shores
we had come, takes its name from the size of a certain
article of dress, the “ Nambas,” which partly replaces
our trousers, and is worn in different forms over the
greater part of the archipelago, but nowhere of such
size as here. It is such an odd object that it may
well give its name to the country. Big Nambas is
still the least known part of the islands, and hardly
any white has ever set foot in the interior. Unlike
those of other districts, the natives here have pre-
served their old habits and strict organization, and this