The next steamer took me to the Banks Islands, and I went ashore at Port Patterson on Venua Lava. Here were the headquarters of a rubber planting company; but the rubber trees had not grown well, and the company had started cocoa-nuts. I had met Mr. Ch., the director, before, and he took me in. The company owned a motor-launch, which cruised all through the Banks Islands, visiting the different plantations; this gave me a good opportunity to see nearly all the islands. The sea is much more dangerous here than in the New Hebrides, being open everywhere; and the strong currents cause heavy tide rips at the points of the jagged coasts.
An excursion to Gaua was a failure, owing to bad weather. After having shivered in a wet hut for four days, we returned to Port Patterson only just in time; for in the evening the barometer fell, a bad sign at that season, and the wind set in afresh. The launch was anchored in a sheltered corner of the bay, near an old yacht and a schooner belonging to Mr. W., a planter on a neighbouring islet. All the signs pointed to a coming cyclone, and suddenly it shot from the mountains, furrowed the sea, and ruled supreme for two days. From the director's house I watched the whirling squalls gliding over the water, lifting great lumps of spray, that shot like snow over the surface and disappeared in the misty distance. Rain rattled in showers on the roof; everywhere was a hissing, rushing, thundering; the surf broke in violent, irregular shocks like the trampling of an excited horse; the wind roared in the forest till the strongest trees trembled and the palms bent over with inverted crowns. In a moment the creeks swelled to torrents, and in every gully there ran rivers, which collected to a deep lake in the plain. In the house the rain penetrated everywhere, leaked through the roof, dripped on the beds, and made puddles on the floor.
Meanwhile the captain and engineer of the launch had passed an unpleasant time; they had stayed aboard till the rolling of the boat drove them to the larger yacht; but seeing the schooner break her two chains and drift on to the reef, they became frightened and went ashore in the dinghey, and home along the beach. Later they arrived at the station and reported "all well," and were amazed when I told them that the launch had stranded. I had just been looking from the veranda through the glass at the boats, when a huge wave picked up the launch and threw her on the beach. There she had rolled about a little, and then dug herself into the sand, while the tide fell and the wind changed. Next day the cyclone had passed, but the swell was still very heavy. Equipped with everything necessary to float the launch, we marched along the beach, which was beaten hard by the waves. We had to cross a swollen river on an improvised raft; to our satisfaction we found the boat quite unhurt, not even the cargo being damaged; only a few copper plates were torn. Next day Mr. W. arrived, lamenting his loss; for his beautiful schooner was pierced in the middle by a sharp rock, and she hung, shaken by the waves that broke over her decks and gurgled in the hold. The rigging was torn, the cabin washed away, and the shore strewn with her doors, planks, beams and trade goods. It was a pitiful sight to see the handsome ship bending over like a fallen warrior, while the company's old yacht had weathered the cyclone quite safely.