We met the chief's wife, and she led us up the hill, where
there are a number of good native houses. It was shouted on before us
that foreigners and Ruatoka had arrived, and down the hill the youths
came rushing, shaking hands, shouting, and slapping themselves. We were
received by the chief under the house, and there we had to sit for a very
long time until his wife returned from the plantation with sugar-cane.
Our carriers chewed large quantities of sugar-cane, got a few betel-nuts,
and then set off on the return journey. We are now thirteen miles north-
east from Port Moresby, 360 feet above sea-level, the thermometer 84
degrees in shade. The people are small, women not good-looking, and
children ill-shaped. The Goldie runs at the base of the hill; the
natives get water from it. The houses are very similar to those inland
from Kerepunu. On the door hangs a bunch of nutshells, so that when the
door is shut or opened they make a noise. Should the occupants of the
house be asleep, and their foes come, they would, on the door being
opened, be woke up.
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