and gaudy colours that he will shoot down recklessly
on to the pennants of ships as they flutter in the wind, swinging to and
fro with the roll of the vessel. He soars to an immense height, like the
eagle, and no telescope can match the sharpness of his eyesight. Up
aloft he can see the smallest fish disporting itself on the surface of
the water. Especially he looks out for flying-fish, and catches them in
the air just as they are hovering on expanded fins above the waves, or
else dives after them and seizes them down below. When he has caught a
fish he soars aloft, and if the fish does not lie comfortably in his
bill he drops it, and catches it again before it reaches the water; and
he will do this repeatedly until the fish is in a convenient position
for swallowing.

Our far-travelled storm-bird continues his long journey westwards, and
his next resting-place is the Samoa Islands, which he recognises by
their lofty volcanic cliffs, their tuff and lava, their beautiful woods
and waterfalls, as much as 650 feet high, and surrounded by the most
luxuriant vegetation. Over the copses of ferns, and climbing plants, and
shrubs, reminding one of India, flutter beautiful butterflies.

Around their oval huts, with roof of sugar-cane leaves and the floor
inside covered with cocoa mats, are seen the yellowish-brown
Polynesians, of powerful build and proud bearing. The upper parts of
their bodies are bare, and they wear necklaces of shells and teeth, deck
themselves with flowers and feathers, smear their bodies with cocoa oil,
and tattoo themselves. Of a peaceful and happy disposition, they, too,
have been disturbed by white men, and have been forced to cede their
islands to Germany and the United States.

It rains abundantly on the Samoa Islands. Black clouds sink down towards
the sea, violent waterspouts suck up the water in spiral columns which
spread out above like the crowns of pine-trees, and deluges of rain come
down, lasting sometimes for weeks. Everything becomes wet and sodden,
and it is useless to try to light a fire with matches. Almost every year
these islands are visited by sudden whirlwinds, which do great damage
both on sea and land. Wreckage is thrown up on the shore, fields and
plantations are destroyed, leaves fly like feathers from the cocoa
palms, and if the storm is one of the worst kind, the trees themselves
fall in long rows as if they had been mown down by a gigantic scythe.

The albatross knows of old