That evening we held a burial service, at which hundreds of natives attended with a solemnity of demeanour and expressions of sorrow that would not have been out of place at the most elaborate funeral in England or America.  It was a memorable scene.  The big cressets were lighted, shedding their wild glare over the dark sea, and outlining the spars against the moonless sky with startling effect.  When we had finished the beautiful service, the natives, as if swayed by an irresistible impulse, broke into the splendid tune St. Ann’s; and I afterwards learned that the words they sang were Dr. Watts’ unsurpassable rendering of Moses’ pean of praise, “O God, our help in ages past.”  No elaborate ceremonial in towering cathedral could begin to compare with the massive simplicity of poor Abner’s funeral honours, the stately hills for many miles reiterating the sweet sounds, and carrying them to the furthest confines of the group.

Next day was Sunday, and, in pursuance of a promise given some time before, I went ashore to my “flem’s” to dinner, he being confined to the house with a hurt leg.  It was not by any means a festive gathering, for he was more than commonly taciturn; his daughter Irene, a buxom lassie of fourteen, who waited on us, appeared to be dumb; and his wife was “in the straw.”  These trifling drawbacks, however, in nowise detracted from the hospitality offered.  The dining-room was a large apartment furnished with leaves, the uprights of cocoa-nut tree, the walls and roof of pandanus leaf.  Beneath the heaps of leaves, fresh and sweet-scented, was the earth.  The inner apartment, or chamber of state, had a flooring of highly-polished planks, and contained, I presume, the household gods; but as it was in possession of my host’s secluded spouse, I did not enter.

A couch upon a pile of leaves was hastily arranged, upon which I was hidden to seat myself, while a freshly cut cocoa-nut of enormous size was handed to me, the soft top sliced off so that I might drink its deliciously cool contents.  These nuts must grow elsewhere, but I have never before or since seen any so large.  When green—­that is, before the meat has hardened into indigestible matter—­they contain from three pints to two quarts of liquid, at once nourishing, refreshing, and palatable.  The natives appeared to drink nothing else, and I never saw a drop of fresh water ashore during our stay.

Taking a huge knife from some hiding-place, Irene handed it to her father, who at once commenced to dig in the ground by his side, while I looked on wondering and amused.  Presently he fished up a bundle of leaves bound with a vine-tendril, which he laid carefully aside.  More digging brought to light a fine yam about three pounds in weight, which, after carefully wiping the knife on some leaves, he proceeded to peel.  It was immediately evident that the yam was perfectly cooked, for it steamed as he removed the skin, revealing the inside as white as milk.