cases in really artistic
patterns, and tied together with thin ropes of coconut fibre, dyed
various colours, and often ornamented with rows of large white cowry
shells. The floor of these huts is much like a springy mattress,
being packed to a depth of several feet with palm and other leaves,
and on the top are strips of native mats permanently fastened, whereas
in Samoa the floor is made up of small pieces of brittle white coral,
over which are loose mats, which can be moved at will. In Fijian
huts there is always a sort of raised platform at one end of the hut,
on which are piles of the best native mats, and, being the guest, I
generally got this to myself. The roof inside is very finely thatched,
the beams being of "Niu sau," a native palm, [5] the cross-pieces and
main supports being enormous bits of hard wood. The smaller supports of
the sides are generally the trunks of tree-ferns. The doors in most of
the huts are a strip of native matting or fantastically-painted "tapa"
cloth, fastened to two posts a few feet inside the hut. In some huts
there are small openings in the walls which answer for windows. The
hearth was generally near one of the doors in the centre of the hut,
and fire was produced by rubbing a piece of hard wood on a larger
piece of soft wood, and working it up and down in a groove till a
spark was produced. I have myself successfully employed this method
when out shooting green pigeon ("rupe") in the mountains.

With regard to food, I at first fared very well, although we had our
meals at all hours, as Ratu Lala was very irregular in his habits. Our
chief food was turtle. We had it so often that I soon loathed the
taste of it. The turtles, when brought up from the sea were laid
on their backs under a tree close by the house, and there the poor
brutes were left for days together. Ratu Lala's men often brought in
a live wild pig, which they captured with the aid of their dogs. At
other times they would run them down and spear them; this was hard
and exciting work, as I myself found on several occasions that I went
pig hunting. One of the most remarkable things that I saw in Taviuni,
from a sporting point of view, was the heart of a wild pig, which,
when killed, was found to have lived with the broken point of a
wooden spear fully four inches in length buried in the very centre
of its heart. It had evidently lived for many years afterwards,
and a curious kind of growth had formed round the point.