island, and I had just been photographing three terrific savages. They were all in a state of excitement at once; Herr Bruno rushed into his house for his " gun," and there was a regular stampede for the spot I indicated. I ran also, but intent only on protecting my cannibal friends. Fortunately—whether they had seen the boat or what I cannot say they had fled, were already in their canoe, and well out at sea. Herr Bruno called out things and made threatening gestures, but to my relief there was no firing, and I explained they had been perfectly friendly and "nice."
He said they came from the Vulcan Isle, probably on mischief bent, and knew they had no right to be on the island but I am sure they were in the most harmless mood. He wondered I was there to tell the tale. It might easily have been that he and the others had found a tenantless isle, whilst I was being borne over the sea to dinner—but not my dinner. I do not believe they even thought of it; we had been quite pleased with one another, and, could I have spoken their lingo, we would have had a fine yarn. There is more than one volcanic isle simply marked, on the chart as "Vulcan Isle."
I then went ashore in the boat to the mainland, where the two missionaries who lived in the one house which represents this " port " joined us, and we presently returned to the ship.
Leaving this place—much reviled by the captain, who hated the useless delay, and who, poor man, was really very ill with fever we passed other imposing islands, volcanoes active and extinct. Bosseville, a very high, picturesque, wood-clothed island with some enormous trees and cocoanut palms, had apparently a house perched on its summit. Looking through the glass there seemed no doubt of it, and the captain
