18 March. With the exception of a very few things, the repacking was fin- ished today, the ten boys have been signed and we had every hope of being able to get away tomorrow but the boat which was to carry us has de- cided to go in a different direction. That is not unusual around here, and there seem to be coastal craft every few days; the point is that everything has been done, the books opened and balanced and we are ready to go at the drop of a hat. In the meantime, I will try to give some kind of picture of Samarai. It is a small island, only a twenty minute walk all around it, and has a white population of about 150 and perhaps 300-400 natives. The latter are a colorful lot and their attire varies from a plain grass skirt and noth- ing else to a Mother Hubbard for the women, and from lava-lavas (long skirts) to trousers and undershirts for the men, the former predominating in both cases. The vegetation is lush and tropical, bananas and other exotics, coco- ut trees, brightly colored flowers flourish; the flowers, hibiscus, etc., plus a string of tonsel or a shiny bit of metal, serve as decorations in the fuzzy hair of the men, most of whom have dyed it a sort of henna red. The temperatures by day have been about 95,/plenty of heat for anybody, but Bunting's houseboys look after us well and in view af what comes next we do not grudge it to ourselves. The party last night was a very good one; there were more than twenty guests, male and female, and all very good sorts. The women are a gang of two-fisted rum drinkers, and the men are in no way laggards, but there is a great similarity between the people of all these places which are on the edge of nothing, so to speak. Bluey, Kenn Wynn, is our transport man and has a fluent control of just about all the native dialects; he loves to pretend not to understand and then confound the boys by telling them in their own language not to do whatever little bit of business they were planning. He is a red-haired lad,in his middle twenties and former Air Force. I like him well and we seem to have some sort of bond. 19th March. As all the jobs, including final mailing and packing the few bits of clothing we have to leave here, have been done, I think I can get this day's entry made now although it is still early afternoon, There is not a great deal to say except to bemoan the heat; the breeze dies down in the afternoon and I should think it is some degrees above a hum- dred as I am writing this. In such weather, although I do not feel bad, I look positively awful and my clothing is wringing wet within an hour after I put it on in the morning. All the details having been completed, we are to sail tomorrow morning at 0600 on the Govelon (Goblin) and shall spend the night at a place called Dagura; we should reach Menapi about 1000 the next day but actual times will be recorded here as the day arrives. At Menapi we shall select our personal hunting boys and start to break them in to the way we want things done; that must be done in the motu language and by signs and I think Bluey may be working overtime in translating. That too should form a rather entertaining entry here, This evening we are invited to dine with Bunting's general mana- ger, Dusty Miller, and I hope we shall be able to extract ourselves at a decent hour; I have not yet heard when breakfast is to be, but it will be early. The Goblin is a solid craft, larger than the Lochiel of Cape York days, and has every convenience except a toilet. The night en route we shall most likely set up our cots on the deck as the cabin will be far too hot, and I shall toil at Motu. I want to make a ceremony of giving my boys their equip- ment, and should at least be able to welcome them into the society of Natural cists.