All next day the steamer stays in the channel, taking on produce from every plantation, and for two days afterward merrymaking is kept up, then the quiet monotony of a tropical planter's life sets in once more.
Sometimes a diversion is caused by a boy rushing up to the house to announce that some "men-bush" are approaching. Going to the veranda, we see some lean figures with big mops of hair coming slowly down the narrow path from the forest, with soft, light steps. Some distance behind follows a crowd of others, who squat down near the last shrubs and examine everything with shy, suspicious eyes, while the leaders approach the house. Nearly all carry old Snider rifles, always loaded and cocked. The leaders stand silent for a while near the veranda, then one of them whispers a few words in broken "biche la mar," describing what he wants to buy--knives, cartridges, powder, tobacco, pipes, matches, calico, beads. "All right," says Mr. Ch., and some of the men bring up primitive baskets of cocoa-nut leaves, filled with coprah or bunches of raw cocoa-nuts. All of them, especially the women, have carried great loads of these things from their villages in the interior on the poorest paths, marching for days.
The baskets are weighed and the desired goods handed to the head-man. Here the whites make a profit of 200-300 per cent., while on the other islands, where there is more competition, they have to be satisfied with 30 per cent. Each piece is carefully examined by the natives: the pipes, to see if they draw, the matches, whether they strike, etc., while the crowd behind follows every movement with the greatest attention and mysterious whispers, constantly on the watch for any menace to safety. The lengthy bargaining over, the delegation turns away and the whole crowd disappears. In the nearest thicket they sit down and distribute the goods--perhaps a dozen boxes of matches, a few belts, or some yards of calico, two pounds of tobacco, and twenty pipes, a poor return, indeed, for their long journey. Possibly they will spend the night in the neighbourhood, under an overhanging rock, on the bare stone, all crowded round a fire for fear of the spirits of the night.
Sometimes, having worked for another planter, they have a little money. Although every planter keeps his own store, the natives, as a rule, prefer to buy from his neighbour, from vague if not quite unjustified suspicion. They rarely engage for any length of time, except when driven by the desire to buy some valuable object, generally a rifle, without which no native likes to be seen in Santo to-day. In that case several men work together for one, who afterwards indemnifies them for their help in native fashion by giving them pigs or rendering them other services. On the plantations they are suspicious and lazy, but quite harmless as long as they are not provoked. Mr. Ch. had had about thirty men working on his plantation for quite some time, and everything had gone well, until one day one of them had fallen into the Sarrakatta and been drowned. According to native law, Mr. Ch. was responsible for his death, and should have paid for him, which he omitted to do. At first there was general dismay, no one dared approach the river any more; then the natives all returned to their villages, and a few days later they swarmed round the plantation with rifles to avenge their dead relative by murdering Mr. Ch. He was warned by his boys, who were from Malekula for the most part, and this saved his life. He armed his men, and after a siege of several weeks the bushmen gave up the watch and retired. But no one would return to work for him any more.