The Palolo

(By A.M.A.)

TWO nights, or approximately so, after every November full moon, the Pa lolo comes up from the seabottom in most waters of the Pacific. I say approxi mately, for Europeans longest resident in the Pacific Islands are unable to foretell the exact night of its annual visit. Pa lolo is a Polynesian name and the one generally used in the scientific world, but almost every island inhabited by Mela nesians, has its relative word.

This queer marine organism comes up to the surface on two nights only, in every year, about four weeks before and just after November full moon. On Ulawa Island, in the Solomons, the first event, a very minor affair, is looked on as a sort of warning, to get the nets ready for the great night of nights—for no other in the whole year holds any thing of so much importance. The na tives esteem Palolo a great delicacy, and Old Neptune has provided it when the larder is at its lowest ebb, between yam seasons.

With the first glimpse of the moon over the horizon, the natives launch every con ceivable thing that can float —canoes, rafts, and kaikai bowls —and make for the spot where the Palolo usually appear. In my 20 years’ residence on this island I have not known the Palolo to alter their position in the three spots where they make their appearance. They rise with the moon, and soon the sea is a living mass of wriggling worms, more or less held together by su greenish coloured slime. Small nets on bamboo poles are simply dipped into the conglomeration, and shovelled into larger bag nets in the canoes. This goes on till the moon has reached its zenith, then, without any fuss, the Palolo make their exit from the world for another year.