cannibals, that they are greatly dreaded by even the other natives. On the 13th March 1888 Vulcan Isle was almost engulfed by the sea, producing a tidal wave which caused much damage and killed two German explorers, Von
Below and Hunstein, who were on the west coast of New Britain.
As I said, no thought of danger crossed my mind, alone, as imagined I was, on Herr Bruno's island. Picture then the start I got when, rounding a mass of rock, I came suddenly on three of the most appalling-looking savages one could conceive. They were sitting under a tree, and were covered with blood streaming over them.
For a moment we gazed at each other in amazement. What could they be doing, I wondered—were they having a cannibal feast? I walked right up to them, too interested to think of possible danger. They were got up in the most fantastic style as to head-gear, their hair tousled out to an enormous size; the lobes of their ears hung down to their shoulders with heavy ornaments thrust through. They were streaked with paint, their teeth were filed into sharp points fearful fangs really—and their mouths and gums were red and black with betel-nut. They were quite nude, and, as I said, streaming with blood. They really outdid anything in the way of real savages I had seen or conceived. "Well," I said, "you are a pretty lot; what are you doing here?" I do not suppose they understood the words, or rather I know they did not, but they promptly showed me what they were doing. They had found a broken soda-water bottle, and, with pieces of jagged glass, were shaving themselves, but tearing away skin and flesh, the blood simply flowing down, and so pleased with themselves! For a moment it gave me quite, a turn, but then I burst out
