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Title: Two Years with the Natives in the Western Pacific
Author: Felix Speiser
Release Date: December 20, 2008 [EBook #27578]
Language: English
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Two Years with the Natives in the Western Pacific
By
Dr. Felix Speiser
With 40 illustrations from photographs and a map
PREFACE
This book is a collection of sketches written on lonely evenings
during my voyage; some of them have been published in daily papers,
and were so kindly received by the public as to encourage me to
issue them in book form. In order to retain the freshness of first
impressions, the original form has been but slightly changed, and
only so much ethnological detail has been added as will help to an
understanding of native life. The book does not pretend to give a
scientific description of the people of the New Hebrides; that will
appear later; it is meant simply to transmit some of the indelible
impressions the traveller was privileged to receive,--impressions
both stern and sweet. The author will be amply repaid if he succeeds
in giving the reader some slight idea of the charm and the terrors
of the islands. He will be proud if his words can convey a vision of
the incomparable beauty and peacefulness of the glittering lagoon,
and of the sublimity of the virgin forest; if the reader can divine
the charm of the native when gay and friendly, and his ferocity when
gloomy and hostile. I have set down some of the joys and some of the
hardships of an explorer's life; and I received so many kindnesses
from all the white colonists I met, that one great object of my
writing is to show my gratitude for their friendly help.
First of all, I would mention His Britannic Majesty's Resident,
Mr. Morton King, who followed my studies with the most sympathetic
interest, was my most hospitable host, and, I may venture to
say, my friend. I would name Mr. Colonna, Résident de France,
Judge Alexander in Port Vila, and Captain Harrowell; in Santo,
Rev. Father Bochu, the Messrs. Thomas, Mr. Fysh, Mr. Clapcott; in
Malo, Mr. M. Wells and Mr. Jacquier; in Vao, Rev. Father Jamond; in
Malekula, Rev. F. Paton, Rev. Jaffrays, Mr. Bird and Mr. Fleming;
in Ambrym, Rev. Dr. J. J. Bowie, Mr. Stevens, Mr. Decent; in
Pentecoste, Mr. Filmer; in Aoba, Mr. Albert and Rev. Grunling; in
Tanna, Rev. Macmillan and Dr. Nicholson; in Venua Lava, Mr. Choyer; in
Nitendi, Mr. Matthews. I am also indebted to the Anglican missionaries,
especially Rev. H. N. Drummond, and to Captain Sinker of the steam
yacht Southern Cross, to the supercargo and captains of the steamers
of Burns, Philp & Company. There are many more who assisted me in
various ways, often at the expense of their own comfort and interest,
and not the least of the impressions I took home with me is, that
nowhere can one find wider hospitality or friendlier helpfulness than
in these islands. This has helped me to forget so many things that
do not impress the traveller favourably.
If this book should come under the notice of any of these kind friends,
the author would be proud to think that they remember him as pleasantly
as he will recall all the friendship he received during his stay in
the New Hebrides.
BASLE, April 1913.
CONTENTS
Chap. Page
Introduction 1
I. Nouméa and Port Vila 19
II. Maei, Tongoa, Epi and Malekula 28
III. The Segond Channel--Life on a Plantation 35
IV. Recruiting for Natives 53
V. Vao 85
VI. Port Olry and a "Sing-Sing" 109
VII. Santo 136
VIII. Santo (continued)--Pygmies 161
IX. Santo (continued)--Pigs 171
X. Climbing Santo Peak 179
XI. Ambrym 191
XII. Pentecoste 224
XIII. Aoba 241
XIV. Loloway--Malo--The Banks Islands 250
XV. Tanna 270
XVI. The Santa Cruz Islands 277
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
Shore in Graciosa Bay Frontispiece
Facing page
Women From the Reef Islands in Carlisle Bay 3
Native Taro Field on Maevo 10
Man from Nitendi working the Loom 15
A Cannibal before his Hut on Tanna 22
Dancing Table near Port Sandwich 31
Old Man with Young Wife on Ambrym 40
Front of a Chief's House on Venua Lava 47
Man from Nitendi 54
Cannibal from Big Nambas 61
Woman on Nitendi 70
Canoe on Ureparapara 77
Dancing-Ground on Vao, with Ancestor Houses 85
Dancing-Ground on Vao 93
Woman from Tanna 99
House Fences on Vao 106
Gamal near Port Olry 115
Group of Large and Small Drums near Port Sandwich 129
View along the Shore of a Coral Island 136
Interior of a Gamal on Venua Lava 147
Wild Mountain Scenery in the District of the Pygmies 163
Irrigated Taro Field on Santo 179
Dwelling of a Trader on Ambrym 191
View from Hospital--Dip Point 199
Women cooking on Ambrym 205
Fern Trees on Ambrym 218
Group of Drums and Statues on Malekula 227
Cooking-House on Aoba 241
Fire-Rubbing 244
Tattooing on Aoba 251
Dwelling-House on Gaua 255
Ancestor-House on Gaua 258
Drum Concert on Ureparapara 261
Interior of a Gamal on Gaua 264
Men from Tanna 270
Women from Tanna 272
Canoe from Nitendi 277
Man from Nitendi, Shooting 279
Man from Nitendi, with Pearl Shell Nose 284
Man from Tucopia 287
Map 291
TWO YEARS WITH THE NATIVES IN THE WESTERN PACIFIC
INTRODUCTION
Late in the sixteenth century the Spaniards made several voyages
in search of a continent in the southern part of the great Pacific
Ocean. Alvara Mendana de Neyra, starting in 1568 from the west coast of
South America and following about the sixth degree southern latitude,
found the Solomon Islands, which he took for parts of the desired
continent. In 1595 he undertook another voyage, keeping a more
southerly course, and discovered the Queen Charlotte Islands; the
largest of these, Nitendi, he called Santa Cruz, and gave the fitting
name of Graciosa Bay to the lovely cove in which he anchored. He tried
to found a colony here, but failed. Mendana died in Santa Cruz, and
his lieutenant, Pedro Vernandez de Quiros, led the expedition home. In
Europe, Quiros succeeded in interesting the Spanish king, Philip III.,
in the idea of another voyage, so that in 1603 he was able to set sail
from Spain with three ships. Again he reached the Santa Cruz Islands,
and sailing southward from there he landed in 1606 on a larger island,
which he took for the desired Australian continent and called Tierra
Australis del Espiritu Santo; the large bay he named San Iago and San
Felipe, and his anchorage Vera Cruz. He stayed here some months and
founded the city of New Jerusalem at the mouth of the river Jordan
in the curve of the bay. Quiros claims to have made a few sailing
trips thence, southward along the east coast of the island; if he had
pushed on far enough these cruises might easily have convinced him of
the island-nature of the country. Perhaps he was aware of the truth;
certainly the lovely descriptions he gave King Philip of the beauties
of the new territory are so exaggerated that one may be pardoned
for thinking him quite capable of dignifying an island by the name
of continent.
The inevitable quarrels with the natives, and diseases and mutinies
among his crew, forced him to abandon the colony and return home. His
lieutenant, Luis Vaez de Torres, separated from him, discovered and
passed the Torres Straits, a feat of excellent seamanship. Quiros
returned to America. His high-flown descriptions of his discovery did
not help him much, for the king simply ignored him, and his reports
were buried in the archives. Quiros died in poverty and bitterness,
and the only traces of his travels are the names Espiritu Santo,
Bay San Iago and San Felipe, and Jordan, in use to this day.
No more explorers came to the islands till 1767, when a Frenchman,
Carteret, touched at Santa Cruz, and 1768, when Bougainville landed
in the northern New Hebrides, leaving his name to the treacherous
channel between Malekula and Santo.
But all these travellers were thrown into the shade by the immortal
discoverer, James Cook, who, in the New Hebrides, as everywhere else,
combined into solid scientific material all that his predecessors had
left in a state of patchwork. Cook's first voyage made possible the
observation of the transit of Venus from one of the islands of the
Pacific. His second cruise, in search of the Australian continent,
led him, coming from Tongoa, to the New Hebrides, of which he first
sighted Maevo.
Assisted by two brilliant scientists, Reinhold and George Forster,
Cook investigated the archipelago with admirable exactitude, determined
the position of the larger islands, made scientific collections of
all sorts, and gave us the first reliable descriptions of the country
and its people, so that the material he gathered is of the greatest
value even at the present day. The group had formerly been known as
the "Great Cyclades"; Cook gave it its present name of "New Hebrides."
Incited by Cook's surprising results the French Government sent La
Pérouse to the islands, but he was shipwrecked in 1788 on Vanikoro, the
southern-most of the Santa Cruz group; remains of this wreck were found
on Vanikoro a few years ago. In 1789 Bligh sighted the Banks Islands,
and in 1793 d'Entrecastaux, sent by Louis XVI. to the rescue of La
Pérouse, saw the islands of Santa Cruz. Since that time traffic with
the islands became more frequent; among many travellers we may mention
the French captain, Dumont d'Urville, and the Englishmen, Belcher and
Erskine, who, as well as Markham, have all left interesting accounts.
But with Markham we enter that sad period which few islands of the
Pacific escaped, in which the scum of the white race carried on
their bloodstained trade in whaling products and sandalwood. They
terrorized the natives shamelessly, and when these, naturally enough,
often resorted to cruel modes of defence, they retaliated with deeds
still more frightful, and the bad reputation they themselves made
for the natives served them as a welcome excuse for a system of
extermination. The horrors of slave-trade were added to piracy, so
that in a few decades the native race of the New Hebrides and Banks
Islands was so weakened that in many places to-day its preservation
seems hopeless.
Thus, for the financial advantage of the worst of whites, and from
indolence and short-sighted national rivalry, a race was sacrificed
which in every respect would be worth preserving, and it is a shameful
fact that even to-day such atrocities are not impossible and very
little is done to save the islanders from destruction.
The only factor opposing these conditions was the Mission, which
obtained a foothold in the islands under Bishop John Williams. He
was killed in 1839 by the natives of Erromanga, but the Protestant
missionaries, especially the Presbyterians, would not be repulsed,
and slowly advanced northward, in spite of many losses. To-day the
Presbyterian mission occupies all the New Hebrides, with the exception
of Pentecoste, Aoba and Maevo. To the north lies the field of the
Anglican mission, extending up to the Solomon Islands.
In 1848 Roman Catholic missionaries settled in Aneityum, but soon
gave up the station; in 1887 they returned and spread all over the
archipelago, with the exception of the southern islands and the
Banks group.
Of late years several representatives of free Protestant sects have
come out, but, as a rule, these settle only where they can combine
a profitable trade with their mission work.
Owing to energetic agitation on the part of the Anglican and
Presbyterian Churches, especially of Bishop Patteson and the
Rev. J. G. Paton, men-of-war were ordered to the islands on police
duty, so as to watch the labour-trade. They could not suppress
kidnapping entirely, and the transportation of the natives to
Queensland continued until within the last ten years, when it was
suppressed by the Australian Government, so that to-day the natives
are at least not taken away from their own islands, except those
recruited by the French for New Caledonia.
Unhappily, England and France could not agree as to who should annex
the New Hebrides. Violent agitation in both camps resulted in neither
power being willing to leave the islands to the other, as numerical
superiority on the French side was counter-balanced by the absolute
economical dependence of the colonists upon Australia. England put
the group under the jurisdiction of the "Western Pacific," with
a high commissioner; France retorted by the so-called purchase of
all useful land by the "Société Française des Nouvelles Hébrides,"
a private company, which spent great sums on the islands in a short
time. Several propositions of exchange failed to suit either of the
powers, but both feared the interference of a third, and conditions
in the islands called urgently for a government; so, in 1887, a
dual control was established, each power furnishing a warship and a
naval commissioner, who were to unite in keeping order. This was the
beginning of the present Condominium, which was signed in 1906 and
proclaimed in 1908 in Port Vila; quite a unique form of government
and at the same time a most interesting experiment in international
administration.
The Condominium puts every Englishman or Frenchman under the laws
of his own nation, as represented by its officials; so that these
two nationalities live as they would in any colony of their own,
while all others have to take their choice between these two.
Besides the national laws, the Condominium has a few ordinances to
regulate the intercourse between the two nations, the sale of liquor
and arms to natives, recruiting and treatment of labourers, etc. As
the highest instance in the islands and as a supreme tribunal, an
international court of six members has been appointed: two Spanish,
two Dutch, one English and one French. Thus the higher officials of
the Condominium are:
One English and one French resident commissioner,
One Spanish president of the Court,
One English and one French judge,
One Dutch registrar,
One Spanish prosecuting attorney,
One Dutch native advocate,
One English and one French police commissioner.
The Santa Cruz Islands were annexed by England in 1898 and belong to
the jurisdiction of the Solomon Islands.
Geography
The New Hebrides lie between 165° and 170° east longitude, and reach
from 13° to 20° south latitude. The Santa Cruz Islands lie 116°
east and 11° south.
The New Hebrides and Banks Islands consist of thirteen larger islands
and a great number of islets and rocks, covering an area of about
15,900 km. The largest island is Espiritu Santo, about 107 x 57
km., with 4900 km. surface. They are divided into the Torres group,
the Banks Islands, the Central and the Southern New Hebrides. The
Banks and Torres Islands and the Southern New Hebrides are composed
of a number of isolated, scattered islands, while the Central group
forms a chain, which divides at Epi into an eastern and a western
branch, and encloses a stretch of sea, hemming it in on all sides
except the north. On the coast of this inland sea, especially on the
western islands, large coral formations have grown, changing what was
originally narrow mountain chains, running north and south, to larger
islands. Indeed, most of them seem to consist of a volcanic nucleus,
on which lie great coral banks, often 200 m. high; these usually
drop in five steep steps to the sea, and then merge into the living
coral-reef in the water. Most of the islands, therefore, appear as
typical table-islands, out of which, in the largest ones, rise the
rounded tops of the volcanic stones. They are all very mountainous;
the highest point is Santo Peak, 1500 m. high.
The tides cause very nasty tide-rips in the narrow channels between
the islands of the Central group; but inside, the sea is fairly good,
and the reefs offer plenty of anchorage for small craft. Much less
safe are the open archipelagoes of the Banks and Torres Islands and
of the Southern New Hebrides, where the swell of the open ocean is
unbroken by any land and harbours are scarce.
There are three active volcanoes on the New Hebrides--the mighty
double crater on Ambrym, the steep cone of Lopevi, and the volcano
of Tanna. There is a half-extinct volcano on Venua Lava, and many
other islands show distinct traces of former volcanic activity,
such as Meralava and Ureparapara, one side of which has broken down,
so that now there is a smooth bay where once the lava boiled.
Rivers are found only on the larger islands, where there are volcanic
rocks. In the coral rocks the rain-water oozes rapidly away, so
that fresh-water springs are not frequently found, in spite of very
considerable rainfall.
Climate
The climate is not hot and very equable. The average temperature in
Efate in 1910 was 24.335° C.; the hottest month was February, with
an average of 27.295°, the coolest, July with 11.9° C. The lowest
absolute temperature was 11.9° C. in August, and the highest 35.6°
C. in March. The average yearly variation, therefore, was 5.48°,
and the absolute difference 23.7°.
The rainfall is very heavy. In December the maximum, 564 mm., was
reached, and in June the minimum, 22 mm. The total rainfall was 3.012
mm., giving a daily average of 8.3 mm.
These figures, taken from a table in the Neo-Hebridais, show that the
year is divided into a cool, dry season and a hot, damp one. From May
to October one enjoys agreeable summer days, bright and cool, with a
predominant south-east trade-wind, that rises and falls with the sun
and creates a fairly salubrious climate. From November to April the
atmosphere is heavy and damp, and one squall follows another. Often
there is no wind, or the wind changes quickly and comes in heavy gusts
from the north-west. This season is the time for cyclones, which occur
at least once a year; happily, their centre rarely touches the islands,
as they lie somewhat out of the regular cyclone track.
A similar climate, with but slightly higher temperature, prevails on
the Santa Cruz Islands.
Flora and Fauna
The vegetation of the New Hebrides is luxurious enough to make all
later visitors share Quiros' amazement. The possibilities for the
planter are nearly inexhaustible, and the greatest difficulty is
that of keeping the plantations from the constant encroachments of
the forest. Yet the flora is poorer in forms than that of Asiatic
regions, and in the southern islands it is said to be much like that
of New Caledonia.
As a rule, thick forest covers the islands; only rarely we find areas
covered with reed-grass. On Erromanga these are more frequent.
In the Santa Cruz Islands the flora seems richer than in the New
Hebrides.
Still more simple than the flora is the fauna. Of mammals there are
only the pig, dog, a flying-fox and the rat, of which the first two
have probably been imported by the natives. There are but few birds,
reptiles and amphibies, but the few species there are are very
prolific, so that we find swarms of lizards and snakes, the latter
all harmless Boidæ, but occasionally of considerable size.
Crocodiles are found only in the Santa Cruz Islands, and do not grow
so large there as in the Solomon Islands.
Animal life in the sea is very rich; turtles and many kinds of fish
and Cetaceæ are plentiful.
Native Population
The natives belong to the Melanesian race, which is a collective
name for the dark-skinned, curly-haired, bearded inhabitants of the
Pacific. The Melanesians are quite distinct from the Australians,
and still more so from the lank-haired, light-skinned Polynesians of
the eastern islands. Probably a mixture of Polynesians and Melanesians
are the Micronesians, who are light-skinned but curly-haired, and of
whom we find representatives in the New Hebrides. The island-nature
of the archipelago is very favourable to race-mixture; and as we know
that on some islands there were several settlements of Polynesians,
it is not surprising to find a very complex mingling of races, which
it is not an easy task to disentangle. It would seem, however, that
we have before us remnants of four races: a short, dark, curly-haired
and perhaps original race, a few varieties of the tall Melanesian
race, arrived in the islands in several migrations, an old Polynesian
element as a relic of its former migrations eastward, and a present
Polynesian element from the east.
Every traveller will notice that the lightest population is in the
south and north-east of the New Hebrides, while the darkest is in
the north-west, and the ethnological difference corresponds to this
division.
In the Banks Islands we find, probably owing to recent immigration,
more Polynesian blood than in the northern New Hebrides; in the Santa
Cruz group the process of mixing seems to be just going on.
The number of natives in the New Hebrides and Banks Islands
amounted, according to the approximate census of the British Resident
Commissioner in 1910, to 65,000. At a conservative estimate we may say
that before the coming of the whites, that is, a generation ago, it was
ten times that, i.e. 650,000. For to judge from present conditions,
the accounts of old men and the many ruined villages, it is evident
that the race must have decreased enormously.
Language
The languages belong to the Melanesian and Polynesian classes. They are
split up into numerous dialects, so widely different that natives of
different districts can hardly, if at all, understand each other. It
is evident that owing to the seclusion of the villages caused by the
general insecurity of former days, and the lack of any literature,
the language developed differently in every village.
On some islands things are so bad that one may easily walk in one day
through several districts, in each of which is spoken a language quite
unintelligible to the neighbours; there are even adjoining villages
whose natives have to learn each other's language; this makes them
fairly clever linguists. Where, by migrations, conditions have become
too complicated, the most important of the dialects has been adopted
as a kind of "lingua franca."
Under these circumstances I at once gave up the idea of learning a
native language, as I never stopped anywhere more than a few weeks; and
as the missionaries have done good work in the cause of philology, my
services were not needed. I was, therefore, dependent on interpreters
in "biche la mar," a language which contains hardly more than fifty
words, and which is spoken on the plantations, but is quite useless
for discussing any abstract subject. In nearly every village there
is some man who can speak biche la mar.
Colonization
As we have seen, colonization in the New Hebrides was begun by the
whalers, who had several stations in the southern islands. They had,
however, little intercourse with the natives, and their influence
may be considered fairly harmless.
More dangerous were the sandalwood traders, who worked chiefly in
Erromanga. They were not satisfied with buying the valuable wood
from the natives, but tried to get directly at the rich supplies
inland. Naturally, they came into conflict with the natives, and
fierce wars arose, in which the whites fought with all the weapons
unscrupulous cruelty can wield. As a result, the population of
Erromanga has decreased from between 5000 and 10,000 to 800.
Happily, the northern islands were not so rich in sandalwood, so that
contact with the whites came later, through the coprah-makers. Coprah
is dried cocoa-nut, which is used in manufacturing soap, and the
great wealth of cocoa-nut palms attracted coprah-makers as early
as the 'Seventies of the last century. They were nearly all ruined
adventurers, either escaped from the Nouméa penitentiary or otherwise
the scum of the white race. Such individuals would settle near
a good anchorage close to some large village, build a straw hut,
and barter coprah for European goods and liquor. They made a very
fair profit, but were constantly quarrelling with the natives, whom
they enraged by all sorts of brutalities. The frequent murders of
such traders were excusable, to say the least, and many later ones
were acts of justifiable revenge. The traders were kept in contact
with civilization through small sailing-vessels, which brought them
new goods and bought their coprah. This easy money-making attracted
more whites, so that along the coasts of the more peaceable islands
numerous Europeans settled, and at present there are so many of these
stations that the coprah-trade is no longer very profitable.
Naturally, many of these settlers started plantations, and thus grew
up the plantation centres of Mele, Port Havannah, Port Sandwich, Epi
and the Segond Channel. Many plantations were created by the "Société
Française des Nouvelles Hébrides," but owing to bad management these
have never yet brought any returns.
Thus, to the alcohol peril was added another danger to the
natives,--work on the plantations. They were kidnapped, overworked,
ill-fed; it was slavery in its worst shape, and the treatment of the
hands is best illustrated by the mortality which, in some places,
reached 44 per cent. per annum. In those days natives were plentiful
and labour easy to get, and nobody worried about the future; so the
ruin of the race began, and to-day their number hardly suffices for
the needs of the planters.
Then the slave-trade to Queensland, Fiji, even South America began,
so that the population, relatively small from the first, decreased
alarmingly, all the more so as they were decimated by dysentery,
measles, tuberculosis and other diseases.
Against all these harmful influences the missions, unsupported as they
were by any authority, could only fight by protests in the civilized
countries; these proved effectual at last, so that the missions deserve
great credit for having preserved the native race. Yet it cannot be
said that they have restored its vitality, except in Tanna. It seems
as if the system of imbibing the native with so much European culture,
and yet separating him from the whites and regulated labour, had been
noxious to the race, for nearly everywhere the Christianized natives
die out just as fast as the heathen population.
About ten years after the French, the English began planting, and
to-day nearly all arable land along the coast is cultivated. The
English suffer much less from lack of labour, which is doubtless owing
to their more humane and just treatment of the hands. In the first
place, they usually come from better stock than the French, and,
secondly, they are strictly controlled by the Government, whereas
the French Government does not even attempt to enforce its own laws.
There is now some question of importing Indian coolies; the great
expense this would entail would be a just punishment for the
short-sighted cruelty with which the most valuable product of the
islands--their population--has been destroyed. Only by compelling
each native to work for a definite period could a sufficient amount
of labour be produced to-day; but such a system, while extremely
beneficial to the race as a whole, stands but a poor chance of being
introduced.
The products of the islands are coprah, coffee, corn, cocoa and, of
late years, cotton. The chief item, however, is coprah, for the islands
seem specially suited for the growing of cocoa-nut palms. Rubber does
not seem to thrive.
In spite of the great number of officials, the Government does not
make itself much felt outside the larger settlements, at least on the
French side. There are not yet magistrates on each island, so that
the Government hears only so much about the crimes committed on the
islands as the planters care to tell, and naturally they do not tell
too much. The British Government is represented by two inspectors,
who frequently visit all the British plantations and look into labour
conditions; the activity of the French authorities is restricted to
occasional visits from the Resident.
Thus the natives have no means of complaining about the whites,
while they have to submit to any punishment they may get on the
accusation of a colonist. This would be a very one-sided affair;
happily, the missionaries represent the interests of the natives,
and the power of the Government does not reach far inland. There the
natives are quite independent, so that only a few hours away from the
coast cannibalism still flourishes. Formerly, expeditions from the
men-of-war frightened the natives; to-day they know that resistance
is easy. It is, therefore, not the merit of the Government or the
planters if the islands are fairly pacified, but only of the missions,
which work mostly through native teachers. Still, the missions have
had one bad effect: they have undermined the old native authorities
and thus created general anarchy to complete the destruction begun
by European civilization.
In the Santa Cruz Islands there is only one plantation, worked by boys
from the Solomon Islands, as the Santa Cruz natives are not yet used to
regular work. But to-day they frequently recruit for the plantations
on the Solomons, and there come into contact with civilization. There
the labour conditions are strictly watched by the British Government;
still, boys returning from there have sometimes imported diseases,
generally tuberculosis, which have reduced the population by half.
Commerce
Communications with Sydney, the commercial centre of the Western
Pacific, are established by means of a French and an English line
of steamers. A few small steamers and schooners ply at irregular
intervals between Nouméa and the New Hebrides.
The English steamers fly the flag of Burns, Philp & Company, the
great Australian firm which trades with numerous island groups of the
South Seas. Their steamers touch the Lord Howe and Norfolk Islands,
stop for a few days at Vila, then call in a four weeks' cruise at
nearly all the plantations in the islands. They carry the mail and
ply a profitable trade with the planters; they also do errands for
the colonists in Sydney, procuring anything from a needle to a horse
or a house. Being practically without serious competitors they can set
any price they please on commodities, so that they are a power in the
islands and control the trade of the group; all the more so as many
planters are dependent on them for large loans. To me, Burns, Philp &
Company were extremely useful, as on board their ships I could always
find money, provisions and articles for barter, send my collections
to Vila, and occasionally travel from one island to another.
The French line is run by the Messageries Maritimes, on quite a
different plan: it is merely for mail-service and does not do any
trading. Its handsome steamer travels in three weeks from Sydney
to Nouméa and Port Vila, visits about three plantations and leaves
the islands after one week. This line offers the shortest and most
comfortable connection with Sydney, taking eight days for the trip,
while the English steamers take eleven.
The port of entrance to the group is Port Vila, chosen for its
proximity to New Caledonia and Sydney; it is a good harbour, though
somewhat narrow.
CHAPTER I
NOUMÉA AND PORT VILA
On April 26, 1910, I arrived at Nouméa by the large and very old
mail-steamer of the Messageries Maritimes, plying between Marseilles
and Nouméa, which I had boarded at Sydney.
Nouméa impresses one very unfavourably. A time of rapid development has
been followed by a period of stagnation, increased by the suppression
of the penitentiary, the principal source of income to the town. The
latter has never grown to the size originally planned and laid out, and
its desolate squares and decayed houses are a depressing sight. Two or
three steamers and a few sailing-vessels are all the craft the harbour
contains; a few customs officers and discharged convicts loaf on the
pier, where some natives from the Loyalty Islands sleep or shout.
Parallel streets lead from the harbour to the hills that fence the
town to the landward. Under roofs of corrugated sheet-iron run the
sidewalks, along dark stores displaying unappetizing food, curios and
cheap millinery. At each corner is a dismal sailors' bar, smelling of
absinthe. Then we come to an empty, decayed square, where a crippled,
noseless "Gallia" stands on a fountain; some half-drunk coachmen
lounge dreaming on antediluvian cabs, and a few old convicts sprawl
on benches.
Along the hillside are the houses of the high officials and the better
class of people. There is a club, where fat officials gather to play
cards and drink absinthe and champagne; they go to the barber's, roll
cigarettes, drink some more absinthe and go to bed early, after having
visited a music-hall, in which monstrous dancing-girls from Sydney
display their charms and moving-picture shows present blood-curdling
dramas. Then there is the Governor's residence, the town hall, etc.,
and the only event in this quiet city of officials is the arrival of
the mail-steamer, when all the "beau-monde" gathers on the pier to
welcome the few passengers, whether known or unknown.
In Nouméa itself there is no industry, and the great export of minerals
does not touch the town. Once, Nouméa was meant to form a base of
naval operations, and strongly fortified. But after a few years
this idea was abandoned, after having cost large sums, and now the
fortifications are left to decay and the heavy, modern guns to rust.
In spite of a prohibition, one may climb up to the forts, and be
rewarded by a beautiful view of the island, which does not impress one
as tropical. The rounded hills are covered with shrubs, and only in the
valleys are there a few trees; we are surprised by the strong colouring
of the distant mountains, shining purple through the violet atmosphere.
Seaward, we see the white line of the breakers, indicating the great
barrier-reef which surrounds the isle with an almost impenetrable belt;
a few channels only lead from the shore to the open ocean.
On the 1st of May the Pacific arrived at Nouméa, and her departure
for Vila, next day, ended a most tiresome stay.
It was a sad, rainy day when we left. Impatiently the passengers waited
till the freight was loaded,--houses, iron, horses, cases of tins,
etc. Of course we were six hours late, and all the whites were angry,
while the few natives did not care, but found a dry corner, rolled
themselves up in their blankets and dozed. When we finally left,
heavy squalls were rushing over the sea; in the darkness a fog came
on, so that we had soon to come to anchor. But next morning we had
passed the Loyalty Islands and were rolling in the heavy swell the
south-east trade raises on the endless surface of the Pacific.
Next day, through the light mist of a summer morning, the forms
of islands appeared, flat, bluish-grey lines, crowned with rounded
hills. Slowly finer points appeared, the ridge of mountains showed
details and we could recognize the tops of the giant banyan trees,
towering above the forest as a cathedral does over the houses of a
city. We saw the surf, breaking in the coral cliffs of flat shores,
found the entrance to the wide bay, noticed the palms with elegantly
curved trunks bending over the beach, and unexpectedly entered the
lagoon, that shone in the bright sun like a glittering sapphire.
We had passed the flat cliffs, covered only with iron-wood trees,
and now the water was bordered by high coral plateaux, from which a
luxuriant forest fell down in heavy cascades, in a thickness almost
alarming, like the eruption of a volcano, when one cloud pushes
the other before it and new ones are ever behind. It seemed as if
each tree were trying to strangle the others in a fight for life,
while the weakest, deprived of their ground, clung frantically to
the shore and would soon be pushed far out over the smooth, shining
sea. There the last dense crowns formed the beautiful fringe of the
green carpet stretched soft and thick over the earth.
Only here and there the shore was free, showing the coral strand as
a line of white that separated the blue of the sea from the green
of the forest and intensified every colour in the landscape. It was
a vision of the most magnificent luxuriance, so different from the
view which the barren shores of eastern New Caledonia offer.
The bay became narrower and we approached the port proper. Small
islands appeared, between which we had glimpses of cool bays
across glassy, deep-green water, and before us lay a broken line of
light-coloured houses along the beach, while on the plateau behind
we could see the big court-house and some villas.
A little distance off-shore we dropped anchor, and were soon surrounded
by boats, from which the inhabitants came on board. A kind planter
brought me and my belongings ashore, and I took up my quarters in
the only hotel in Port Vila, the so-called "blood-house," thus named
because of its history.
Vila is merely the administration centre, and consists of nothing but
a few stores and the houses of the Condominium officials. There is
little life, and only the arrival of the ships brings some excitement,
so that the stranger feels bored and lonely, especially as the
"blood-house " does not offer many comforts and the society there is
not of the choicest.
I immediately went to present my letters of introduction to the French
Resident. The offices of the British Residence were still on the small
island of Iariki, which I could not reach without a boat. The French
Residence is a long, flat, unattractive building; the lawn around the
house was fairly well kept, but perfectly bare, in accordance with
the French idea of salubrity, except for a few straggling bushes near
by. Fowls and horses promenaded about. But the view is one of the most
charming to be found in the islands. Just opposite is the entrance to
the bay, and the two points frame the sea most effectively, numerous
smaller capes deepening the perspective. Along their silhouettes
the eye glides into far spaces, to dive beyond the horizon into
infinity. Iariki is just in front, and we can see the well-kept park
around the British Residence, with its mixture of art and wilderness;
near by is the smooth sea shining in all colours. While the shores
are of a yellowish green, the sea is of every shade of blue, and
the green of the depths is saturated with that brilliant turquoise
tint which is enough to put one into a light and happy humour. This
being my first sight of a tropical landscape, my delight was great,
and made up for any disappointment human inefficiency had occasioned.
The French Resident, Mr. C, received me most kindly, and did me the
honour of inviting me to be his guest. I had planned to stay in Vila
a few weeks, so as to get acquainted with the country and hire boys;
but the Resident seemed to think that I only intended a short visit
to the islands, and he proposed to take me with him on a cruise
through the archipelago and to deposit me at the Segond Channel, an
invitation I could not well refuse. My objection of having no servants
was overruled by the Resident's assurance that I could easily find some
in Santo. I therefore made my preparations and got my luggage ready.
In the afternoon, Mr. C. lent me his boat to go and pay my respects
to Mr. Morton King, the British Resident. The difference between the
two residences was striking, but it would be out of place to dwell on
it here. It may be caused by the fact that the French Resident is,
as a rule, recalled every six months, while the British Resident
had been at Vila for more than three years. Mr. King received me
most cordially and also offered his hospitality, which, however,
I was unable to accept. Later on Mr. King assisted and sheltered me
in the most generous manner, so that I shall always remember his help
and friendship with sincere gratitude.
I also had the honour of making the acquaintance of the British judge
and of most of the Condominium officials.
It was a dull morning when we left Vila on board the French Government
yacht. In days gone by she had been an elegant racing-boat, but
was now somewhat decayed and none too clean; however, she had been
equipped with a motor, so that we were independent of the wind.
Besides the Resident and myself there were on board the French judge,
the police commissioner, and a crew of boys from the Loyalty Islands
near New Caledonia. These are excellent sailors and are employed in
Vila as French policemen. They are very strong and lively and great
fighters, and would be perfect material for a police force were they
not such confirmed drunkards. Because of this defect they all had
to be dismissed soon afterwards and sent back to their own country,
as in Vila, instead of arresting drunken natives, they had generally
been drunk themselves and were often fighting in the streets. But
on board ship, where they had no opportunity to get drunk, they were
very willing and always cheerful and ready for sport of any kind.
We did not travel far that first day, but stopped after a few hours'
sail in Port Havannah, north of the Bay of Mele. This port would be one
of the best harbours in the group, as it is almost entirely landlocked;
only, the water is so deep that small craft cannot anchor. Yet it
would be preferable to Port Vila, as the climate is much better, Vila
being one of the hottest, stuffiest and rainiest spots in the group,
and its harbour is becoming too small for the increased traffic of
the last few years. Port Vila only became the capital of the islands
when the English influence grew stronger, while all the land round
Port Havannah belonged to a French company.
We spent the afternoon on shore shooting pigeons. Besides a few ducks,
flying-foxes and wild pigs, pigeons are the only game in the islands;
but this pigeon-shooting is a peculiar sport and requires a special
enthusiasm to afford pleasure for any length of time. The birds are
extremely shy and generally sit on the tops of the highest trees
where a European can hardly discover them. The natives, however,
are very clever in detecting them, but when they try to show you the
pigeon it generally flies off and is lost; and if you shoot it, it is
hard to find, even for a native. The natives themselves are capable
of approaching the birds noiselessly and unseen, because of their
colour, so as to shoot them from a short distance. My pigeon-shooting
usually consisted in waiting for several hours in the forest, with
very unsatisfactory results, so that I soon gave it up.
We were all unsuccessful on this particular day, but it ended most
gaily with a dance at the house of a French planter.
We slept on board, rocked softly by the ship, against which the waves
plashed in cosy whispering. The sky was bright with stars, but below
decks it was dark and stuffy. Now and then a big fish jumped out of the
black sea, otherwise it was quiet, dull and gloomy as a dismal dream.
Next day we rose early and went shooting again. Probably because we
had been given the best wishes of an old French lady the result was as
unsatisfactory as the evening before. We then resumed our journey in
splendid weather, with a stiff breeze, and flying through blue spaces
on the bright waves, we rapidly passed several small islands, sighted
"Monument Rock," a lonely cliff that rises abruptly out of the sea
to a height of 130 m., and arrived late in the afternoon at Maei,
our destination.
CHAPTER II
MAEI, TONGOA, EPI AND MALEKULA
Maei is a small island whose natives have nearly all disappeared, as
is the case on most of its neighbours. There is one small plantation,
with the agent of which the Resident had business. After we had passed
the narrow inlet through the reef, we landed, to find the agent in a
peculiar, half-mad condition. He pretended to suffer from fever, but
it was evident that alcohol had a good deal to do with it, too. The
man made strange faces, could hardly talk and was quite unable to
write; he said the fever had deprived him of the power of using his
fingers. He was asked to dinner on board, and as he could not speak
French nor the Resident English, negotiations were carried on in biche
la mar, a language in which it is impossible to talk about anything
but the simplest matters of everyday life. Things got still worse when
the agent became more and more intoxicated, in spite of the small
quantities of liquor we allowed him. I had to act as interpreter, a
most ungrateful task, as the planter soon began to insult the Resident,
and I had to translate his remarks and the Resident's answers. At last,
funny as the whole affair was in a way, it became very tiresome;
happily, matters came to a sudden close by the planter's falling
under the table. He was then taken ashore by his native wife and the
police-boys, who enjoyed this duty immensely. We smoked a quiet pipe,
looked after the fish-hooks--empty, of course--and slept on deck in
the cool night air. Next morning the planter came aboard somewhat
sobered and more tractable. He brought with him his wife, and their
child whom he wished to adopt. As the native women do not as a rule
stay with their masters very long, the children are registered under
the formula: "Child of N. N., mother unknown," an expression which
sounds somewhat queer to those who do not know the reason for it.
After having finished this business, we weighed anchor and set sail
for Tongoa. This is one of the few islands whose native population
does not decrease. The Presbyterian missionary there gives the entire
credit for this pleasant fact to his exertions, as the natives are
all converted. But as in other completely Christianized districts
the natives die out rapidly, it is doubtful whether Christianity
alone has had this beneficial effect, and we must seek other causes,
though they are hard to find.
After a clear night we sailed along the coast of Epi. The bright
weather had changed to a dull, rainy day, and the aspect of the
landscape was entirely altered. The smiling islands had become sober,
lonely, even threatening. When the charm of a country consists so
entirely in its colouring, any modification of the atmosphere and
light cause such a change in its character that the same view may look
either like Paradise or entirely dull and inhospitable. What had been
thus far a pleasure trip, a holiday excursion, turned suddenly into
a business journey, and this change in our mood was increased by a
slight illness which had attacked the Resident, making the jovial
gentleman morose and irritable.
The stay in Epi was rather uninteresting. Owing to the dense French
colonization there the natives have nearly all disappeared or become
quite degenerate. We spent our time in visits to the different French
planters and then sailed for Malekula, anchoring in Port Sandwich.
Port Sandwich is a long, narrow bay in the south of Malekula, and
after Port Vila the most frequented harbour of the group, as it is
very centrally located and absolutely safe. Many a vessel has found
protection there from storm or cyclone. The entrance to the bay is
narrow, and at the anchorage we were so completely landlocked that
we might have imagined ourselves on an inland lake, so quiet is the
water, surrounded on all sides by the dark green forest which falls
in heavy waves down from the hills to the silent, gloomy sea.
Immediately after our arrival my companions went pigeon-shooting as
usual; but I soon preferred to join the son of the French planter
at Port Sandwich in a visit to the neighbouring native village. This
was my first sight of the real, genuine aborigines.
No one with any taste for nature will fail to feel the solemnity
of the moment when he stands face to face for the first time with
primitive man. As the traveller enters the depths of the virgin
forest for the first time with sacred awe, he feels that he stands
before a still higher revelation of nature when the first dark, naked
man suddenly appears. Silently he has crept through the thicket, has
parted the branches, and confronts us unexpectedly on a narrow path,
shy and silent, while we are struck with surprise. His figure is but
slightly relieved against the green of the bushes; he seems part of
the silent, luxuriant world around him, a being strange to us, a part
of those realms which we are used to imagine as void of feeling and
incapable of thought. But a word breaks the spell, intelligence gleams
in his face, and what, so far, has seemed a strange being, belonging
rather to the lower animals than to human-kind, shows himself a man,
and becomes equal to ourselves. Thus the endless, inhospitable jungle,
without open spaces or streets, without prairies and sun, that dense
tangle of lianas and tree-trunks, shelters men like ourselves. It
seems marvellous to think that in those depths, dull, dark and silent
as the fathomless ocean, men can live, and we can hardly blame former
generations for denying all kinship with these savages and counting
them as animals; especially as the native never seems more primitive
than when he is roaming the forest, naked but for a bark belt, with a
big curly wig and waving plumes, bow and arrow his only weapons. When
alarmed, he hides in the foliage, and once swallowed up in the green
depths which are his home and his protection, neither eye nor ear
can find any trace of him.
But our ideas change when we enter his village home, with its
dancing-grounds with the big drums, the sacred stone tables, idols and
carved tree-trunks, all in a frame of violently coloured bushes--red,
purple, brown and orange. Above us, across a blue sky, a tree with
scarlet flowers blows in the breeze, and long stamens fall slowly down
and cover the ground with a brilliant carpet. Dogs bark, roosters
crow and from a hut a man creeps out--others emerge from the bush
and from half-hidden houses which at first we had not noticed. At
some distance stand the women and children in timid amazement, and
then begins a chattering, or maybe a whispered consultation about
the arrival of the stranger. We are in the midst of human life, in
a busy little town, where the sun pours through the gaps in the dark
forest, and flowers give colour and brightness, and where, after all,
life is not so very much less human than in civilization.
Then the forest has lifted its veil, we have entered the sanctuary,
and the alarming sensation of nature's hostility is softened. We white
men like to talk about our mastery over nature, but is it not rather
true that we flee from nature, as its most intense manifestations are
oppressive to us? Is not the savage, living so very close to nature,
more its master, or at least its friend, than we are? We need space
and the sight of sun and sky to feel happy; the night of the forest,
the loneliness of the ocean are terrible to us, whilst to the native
they are his home and his element.
It is evident that under our first strong impression of the native's
life we overlook much--the filth, the sores, the brutality of social
life; but these are really only ripples on an otherwise smooth
existence, defects which are not less present in our civilization,
but are better concealed.
The next day we followed the coast of Malekula southward. There are
immense coral reefs attached to the coast, so that often the line of
breakers is one or two miles away from the shore. These reefs are a
solid mass of cleft coral stones constantly growing seaward. Their
surface is more or less flat, about on a level with the water at low
tide, so that it then lies nearly dry, and one can walk on the reefs,
jumping over the wide crevices in which the sea roars and gurgles
with the rise and fall of the breakers outside. These ever-growing
reefs would surround the whole coast were it not for the fresh water
that oozes out from the land and prevents the coral from growing at
certain points, thus keeping open narrow passages through the reef,
or wider stretches along the coast free from rocks. These basins form
good anchorages for small craft, as the swell of the open sea cannot
cross the reef; only the entrances are often crooked and hard to find.
Our captain brought us safely into a quiet lagoon, where the yacht
lay in deep green water, smooth as glass, while beyond the reef the
breakers dashed a silver line across the blue ocean.
Of course we immediately went shooting on the reef. I did not have
much sport, as I could see nothing worth shooting, but I was much
interested in wading in the warm water to observe the multiform animal
life of the reef. There was the "bêche-de-mer," the sea-cucumber,
yellow or purplish-black, a shapeless mass lying in pools; this is
a delicacy highly valued by the Chinese and therefore a frequent
article of exportation. The animals are collected, cut open, dried
and shipped. There was the ugly muræna, which goes splashing and
winding like a snake between boulders, and threatens the intruder
with poisonous looks and snapping jaws. Innumerable bright-coloured
fish shot hither and thither in the flat pools, there were worms,
sea-stars, octopus, crabs. The wealth of animal life on the reef,
where each footstep stirs up a hundred creatures, is incredible,
and ever so many more are hidden in the rocks and crevices.
The plants that had taken root in the coral were mostly mangrove
bushes with great forked roots.
CHAPTER III
THE SEGOND CHANNEL--LIFE ON A PLANTATION
When the tide rose, we returned to the yacht and continued our cruise
northward, passed the small islands of Rano, Atchin, Vao and others,
crossed the treacherous Bougainville Strait between Malekula and
Santo, and came to anchor in the Canal du Segond formed by Santo and
Malo. This channel is about eight miles long and three-quarters of
a mile wide at its narrowest point. On its shores, which belong to a
French company, is a colony of about a hundred and fifty Frenchmen. The
Segond Channel would be a good harbour but for very strong currents
caused by the tides, which are unfavourable to small boats; its
location, too, is not very central. The shores are flat, but rise
abruptly at some points to a height of 150 m. There are level lands
at the mouth of the Sarrakatta River and on the tablelands.
The Sarrakatta is one of the sights of the New Hebrides, and a pull up
the narrow stream affords one of the most impressive views to be had
of tropical vegetation. The river cuts straight through the forest,
so that the boat moves between two high walls of leafy green. Silently
glides the stream, silently broods the forest, only the boat swishes
softly, and sometimes a frightened fish splashes up. Every bend we
round shows us new and surprisingly charming views: now we pass a
giant tree, which towers up king-like on its iron-hard trunk far
above the rest of the forest, trunk and limbs covered with a fine
lacework of tender-leaved lianas; now we sweep along a high bank,
under a bower of overhanging branches. The water caresses the tips
of the twigs, and through the leaves the sun pours golden into the
cool darkness. Again we glide into the light, and tangled shrubbery
seams the river bank, from which long green strands of vines trail
down and curl in the water like snakes. Knobby roots rise out of
the ground; they have caught floating trunks, across which the
water pours, lifting and dropping the wet grasses that grow on
the rotten stems. Farther up the bushes are entirely covered with
vines and creepers, whose large, thick leaves form a scaly coat of
mail under which the half-strangled trees seem to fight in vain for
air and freedom. In shallow places stiff bamboos sprout, their long
yellow leaves trembling nervously in an imperceptible breeze; again
we see trees hung with creepers as if wearing torn flags; and once
in a while we catch sight of that most charming of tropical trees,
the tree-fern, with its lovely star-shaped crown, like a beautiful,
dainty work of art in the midst of the uncultivated wilderness. As
if in a dream we row back down stream, and like dream-pictures all
the various green shapes of the forest sweep by and disappear.
The Resident introduced me to the French planters, Mr. and Mrs. Ch.,
and asked them to take me in, which they agreed to do. Having rented
an old plantation from the French company, they had had the good
fortune to find a regular frame house ready for them.
After I had moved into my quarters the Resident returned to Vila,
and I remained on the borders of the wilderness. What followed now
was a most unsatisfactory time of waiting, the first of many similar
periods. Having no servants, I could undertake nothing independently,
and since the planters were all suffering from lack of hands, I could
not hire any boys. As the natives around the French plantations at
the Canal du Segond are practically exterminated, I saw hardly any;
but at least I got a good insight into the life on a plantation,
such as it was.
With his land, Mr. Ch. had rented about thirty boys, with whom he
was trying to work the completely decayed plantation. Many acres were
covered with coffee trees, but owing to the miserable management of
the French company, the planters had changed continually and the system
of planting just as often. Every manager had abandoned the work of his
predecessor and begun planting anew on a different system, so that now
there was an immense tract of land planted which had never yet yielded
a crop. In a short time such intended plantations are overgrown with
bush and reconquered by the wilderness; thus thousands of coffee trees
were covered with vines and struggled in vain for light and air. It
seem incredible that in two weeks, on cleared ground, grass can grow
up as tall as a man, and that after six months a cleared plantation
can be covered with bushes and shrubs with stems as thick as one's
finger. The planter, knowing that this overwhelming fertility and
the jealous advances of the forest are his most formidable enemies,
directs his most strenuous efforts to keeping clear his plantation,
especially while the plants are young and unable to fight down the
weeds. Later on, weeding is less urgent, but in the beginning it is the
one essential duty, more so than planting. Mr. Ch. had therefore an
enormous task before him, and as he could not expect any return from
the coffee trees for two or three years, he did as all planters do,
and sowed corn, which yields a crop after three months.
His labourers, dark, curly-haired men, clad in rags, were just
then occupied in gathering the big ears of corn. Sluggishly they
threw the golden ears over their shoulders to the ground, where it
was collected by the women and carried to the shed on the beach--a
long roof of leaves, without walls. Mr. Ch. urged the men to hurry,
as the corn had to be ready for shipment in a few days, the Pacific,
the French mail-steamer, being due. Produce deteriorates rapidly in
the islands owing to the humid climate, so it cannot be stored long,
especially where there is no dry storehouse. Therefore, crops can
only be gathered just before the arrival of a steamer, making these
last days very busy ones everywhere. It is fortunate for the planters
that the native labourers are not yet organized and do not insist on
an eight-hour day. As it was, Mr. Ch. had to leave more than half his
crop to rot in the fields, a heavy rain having delayed the harvesting.
The humidity at the Segond Channel is exceptionally great. As we
stood on the fine coral sand that forms the shores of the channel,
our clothes were damp with the rain from the weeds and shrubs which
we had passed through while stumbling through the plantation. The
steel-grey sea quivers, sleepy and pulpy looking; in front of us,
in a grey mist, lies the flat island of Aore, the air smells mouldy,
and brown rainclouds roll over the wall of primeval forest surrounding
the clearing on three sides. The atmosphere is heavy, and a fine
spray floats in the air and covers everything with moisture. Knives
rust in one's pocket, matches refuse to light, tobacco is like a
sponge and paper like a rag. It had been like this for three months;
no wonder malarial fever raged among the white population. Mr. Ch.,
after only one year's sojourn here, looked like a very sick man;
he was frightfully thin and pale and very nervous; so was his wife,
a delicate lady of good French family. She did the hard work of a
planter's wife with admirable courage, and, while she had never taken
an active part in housekeeping in France, here she was standing all
day long behind a smoky kitchen fire, cooking or washing dishes,
assisted only by a very incapable and unsophisticated native woman.
On our return to the house, which lies about 200 mètres inland, we
found this black lady occupied with the extremely hard and puzzling
task of laying the table. It seemed to give her the greatest trouble,
and the deep distrust with which she handled the plates found eloquent
expression in queer sighs and mysterious exclamations in her native
tongue, in resigned shakes of the head and emphatic smacking of the
lips. She was a crooked bush-woman from the north of Malekula, where
the people, especially the women, are unusually ugly and savage. A
low forehead, small, deep-set eyes, and a snout-like mouth gave
her a very animal look; yet she showed human feeling, and nursed
a shrieking and howling orphan all day long with the most tender
care. Her little head was shaved and two upper teeth broken out as
a sign of matrimony, so she certainly was no beauty; but the sight
of her clumsy working was a constant source of amusement to us men,
very much less so to her mistress, to whom nothing but her sincere
zeal and desire to help could make up for her utter inefficiency.
It cannot be denied that the women from those islands, where their
social standing is especially low, are not half so intelligent and
teachable as those from places where they are more nearly equal to
the men; probably because they are subdued and kept in degradation
from early youth, and not allowed any initiative or opinions of their
own. But physically these women are very efficient and quite equal
to the men in field work, or even superior, being more industrious.
The feat of setting the table was accomplished in about an hour, and
we sat down to our simple meal--tinned meat, yams and bananas. Then
the foreman came in. Only a short time ago he was one of the finest
warriors in the interior of Malekula, where cannibalism is still an
everyday occurrence. He, too, wears his hair short, only, according
to the present fashion, he lets the hair on his forehead grow in
a roll-shaped bow across the head. He is well built, though rather
short, and behaves with natural politeness. His voice is soft, his
look gentle and in the doorway his dark figure shines in the lamplight
like a bronze statue.
Mr. Ch. tells him that the boys will have to work all night, at
the same time promising an encouragement in the shape of a glass
of wine to each. The natives' craving for alcohol is often abused by
unscrupulous whites. Although the sale of liquor to natives is strictly
forbidden by the laws of the Condominium, the French authorities do
not even seem to try to enforce this regulation, in fact, they rather
impressed me as favouring the sale, thus protecting the interests of
a degraded class of whites, to the detriment of a valuable race. As
a consequence, there are not a few Frenchmen who make their living by
selling spirits to natives, which may be called, without exaggeration,
a murderous and criminal traffic.
Others profit indirectly by the alcoholism of the islanders by selling
liquor to their hands every Saturday, so as to make them run into
debt; they will all spend their entire wages on drink. If, their
term of engagement being over, they want to return to their homes,
they are told that they are still deep in debt to their master, and
that they will have to pay off by working for some time longer. The
poor fellows stay on and on, continue to drink, are never out of debt,
and never see their homes again. This practice has developed of late
years in consequence of the scarcity of labour, and is nothing but
slavery. It might easily be abolished by a slight effort on the part
of the Government, but there is hardly any supervision over French
plantations outside Port Vila, and in many plantations conditions exist
which are an insult to our modern views on humane treatment. On English
plantations there is but little brutality, owing to the Government's
careful supervision of the planters and the higher social and moral
standing of the settlers in general.
My host had some European conscience left, and treated his hands
very humanely, but I dare say that in course of time, and pressed
by adverse circumstances, even he resorted to means of finding cheap
labour which were none too fair. The French by-laws permit the delivery
of alcohol to natives in the shape of "medicine," a stipulation which
opens the door to every abuse.
The boys were soon on hand, each awaiting his turn eagerly, yet trying
to seem blasé. Some drank greedily, others tasted the sour wine in
little sips like old experts; but all took care to turn their backs
to us while drinking, as if from bashfulness. Then they went to work,
giggling and happy.
Meanwhile, those on the sick-list were coming up for the planter's
inspection. The diseases are mostly tuberculosis, colds, indigestion,
fever and infections, and it is evident that if they receive any
medical treatment at all, it is of a primitive and insufficient
description. The planters work with fearfully strong plasters, patent
medicines and "universal remedies," used internally and externally
by turns, so that the patient howls and the spectator shudders, and
the results would be most disheartening if kind Nature did not often
do the healing in spite of man's efforts to prevent it. Naturally,
every planter thinks himself an expert doctor, and is perfectly
satisfied with his results.
Mr. Ch. was ill with fever, nevertheless we went down to the
work-shed. It was a pitch-dark night, the air was like that in a
hothouse, smelling of earth and mould. The surf boomed sullenly on the
beach, and heavy squalls flogged the forest. Sometimes a rotten branch
snapped, and the sound travelled, dull and heavy, through the night.
From far away we hear the noise of the engine peeling the
corn-ears. Two of the natives turn the fly-wheels, and the engine gives
them immense pleasure, all the more, the faster it runs. The partners
are selected with care, and it is a matter of pride to turn wheels
as long and as fast as possible; they encourage each other with wild
shrieks and cries. It seemed as if the work had turned to a festival,
as if it were a sort of dance, and the couples waited impatiently
for their turn to drive the engine. The delight of the boys in the
noise of the machinery was very favourable to the progress of the
work, and at midnight a long row of full sacks stood in the shed. We
stopped the work and told the boys to go to sleep. But the demon of
dancing had taken hold of them, and they kept it up all night, and
then went straight to work in the fields when the sun rose. By the
third evening everything was ready for the arrival of the Pacific,
and the boys were deadly tired and lame.
We were just sitting down to dinner one dull, heavy night, when we
heard a steamer's long, rough whistle. The Pacific. Everyone jumps up
in excitement, for the Pacific brings a taste of civilization, and her
arrival marks the end of a busy week and breaks the monotony of daily
life. We run to the shore and light strong lamps at fixed points,
to indicate the anchorage, and then we rush back to finish dinner
and put on clean clothes. Meanwhile, the boys have been roused, and
they arrive, sleepy, stiff and unwilling, aware that a hard night's
work is before them, loading the produce into the tenders.
The steamer approaches quickly, enormous and gay in the darkness,
then she slowly feels her way into the harbour, the anchor falls, and
after a few oscillations the long line of brightly lit portholes lies
quiet on the water, only their reflection flickers irregularly on the
waves through the night. In all directions we can see the lights of the
approaching boats of the planters, who come to announce their shipments
and to spend a gay evening on board. There are always some passengers
on the steamer, planters from other islands on their way to Vila or
Sydney, and soon carousing is in full swing, until the bar closes.
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.
Altogether, the bushmen of Santo are none too reliable, and only the
memory of a successful landing expedition of the English man-of-war
a year ago keeps them quiet. On that occasion they had murdered an
old Englishman and two of his daughters, just out of greed, so as to
pillage his store. They had not found much, but they had to pay for
the murder with the loss of their village, pigs and lives.
I tried to find boys at the south-west corner of Santo, where the
natives frequently descend to the shore. A neighbour of Mr. Ch., a
young Frenchman, was going there in a small cutter to buy wood for
dyeing mats to sell to the natives of Malekula, and he kindly took
me with him. We sailed through the channel one rainy morning, but
the wind died down and we had to anchor, as the current threatened
to take us back. We profited by the stop to pay a visit to a Mr. R.,
who cultivated anarchistic principles, also a plantation which seemed
in perfect condition and in direct opposition to his anti-capitalistic
ideas. Mr. R. was one of those French colonists who, sprung from the
poorest peasant stock, have no ambitions beyond finding a new and
kindlier home. Economical, thrifty, used to hard work in the fields,
Mr. R. had begun very modestly, but had prospered, and was now,
while still a young man, the owner of a plantation that would make
him rich in a few years. This good, solid peasant stock, of which
France possesses so much, makes the best colonists, and as a rule
they succeed far better than those who come to the tropics with the
idea of making a fortune in a few years without working for it. These
fall into the hands of the big Nouméa companies, and have the greatest
trouble in getting out of debt. Not only do these firms lend money
at exorbitant interest, but they stipulate that the planter will sell
them all his produce and buy whatever he needs from them, and as they
fix prices as they please, their returns are said to reach 30 per cent.
Besides these two kinds of French settlers, there is a third, which
comes from the penitentiary in Nouméa or its neighbourhood. We shall
meet specimens of these in the following pages.
After having duly admired the plantation of Mr. R.--he proved himself
a real peasant, knew every plant by name, and was constantly stopping
to pick a dead leaf or prune a shoot--we continued our journey and
arrived at Tangoa. Tangoa is a small island, on which the Presbyterian
mission has established a central school for the more intelligent
of the natives of the whole group, where they may be trained as
teachers. The exterior of this school looks most comfortable. One
half of the island is cleared and covered with a green lawn, one
part is pasture for good-looking cattle, the other is a park in which
nestle the cottages of the teachers,--the whole looks like an English
country-seat. At some distance is a neatly built, well-kept village
for the native pupils. I presented an introduction to the director. He
seemed to think my endeavours extremely funny, asked if I was looking
for the missing link, etc., so that I took a speedy leave.
We spent a few lazy days on board the little cutter; the natives would
not come down from their villages, in spite of frequent explosions of
dynamite cartridges, the usual signal of recruiters to announce their
arrival to the natives. It rained a good deal, and there was not much
to do but to loaf on the beach. Here, one day, I saw an interesting
method of fishing by poisoning the water, which is practised in many
places. At low tide the natives rub a certain fruit on the stones of
the reef, the juice mixes with the water in the pools and poisons
the fish, so that after a short while they float senseless on the
surface and may easily be caught.
After a few days I was anxious to return to the Segond Channel,
as I expected the arrival of the English steamer, which I wanted to
meet. I could not find any guide, and the cutter was to stay for some
days longer, so I decided to go alone; the distance was only about
15 km., and I thought that with the aid of my compass I would find
my way along the trail which was said to exist.
I started in the morning with a few provisions and a dull bush-knife,
at first along a fairly good path, which, however, soon divided
into several tracks. I followed the one which seemed most likely to
lead to my destination, but arrived at a deep lagoon, around which
I had to make a long detour. Here the path came to a sudden stop in
front of an impenetrable thicket of lianas which I could hardly cut
with my knife. I climbed across fallen trunks, crawled along the
ground beneath the creepers, struck an open spot once in a while,
passed swamps and rocks,--in short, in a very little time I made an
intimate acquaintance with the renowned Santo bush. Yet I imagined
I was advancing nicely, so much so that I began to fear I had gone
beyond my destination. About four o'clock in the afternoon I struck
a small river and followed its crooked course to the coast, so as to
get my bearings. Great was my disappointment on finding myself only
about 1 1/2 km. from the lagoon which I had left in the morning. This
was a poor reward for eight hours' hard work. I was ashamed to return
to the cutter, and followed the shore, not wishing to repeat that
morning's experience in the forest. The walk along the beach was not
agreeable at all, as it consisted of those corroded coral rocks,
full of sharp points and edges, and shaped like melted tin poured
into water. These rocks were very jagged, full of crevices, in which
the swell thundered and foamed, and over which I had to jump. Once I
fell in, cut my legs and hands most cruelly and had only my luck to
thank that I did not break any bones, and got safely out of the damp,
dark prison. But at least I could see where I was, and that I was
getting on, and I preferred this to the uncertain struggle in the
forest. In some places the coast rose to a high bank, round which
I could not walk. I had to climb up on one side as best I could
and descend on the other with the help of trees and vines. Thus,
fighting my way along, I was overtaken by the sudden tropical night,
and I had to stop where I was for fear of falling into some hole. A
fall would have been a real calamity, as nobody would ever have found
me or even looked for me on that lonely coast. I therefore sat down
where I was, on the corals where they seemed least pointed. I did not
succeed at all in making a fire; the night was quite dark and moonless,
and a fine rain penetrated everything. I have rarely passed a longer
night or felt so lonely. The new day revived my spirits, breakfast
did not detain me long, as I had nothing to eat, so I kept along the
shore, jumping and climbing, and had to swim through several lagoons,
swarming, as I heard afterwards, with big sharks! After a while the
coral shore changed into a sand beach, and after having waded for some
hours more in the warm water with the little rags that were left of my
boots, I arrived dead tired at the plantation of Mr. R. He was away,
so I went to his neighbour's, who was at dinner and kindly asked me
to join him. Although it was only a flying-fox, I enjoyed it as a
man enjoys a meal after a twenty-four hours' fast.
The men were just starting for Mr. Ch.'s, and took me with them. My
adventure had taught me the impassableness of the forest, and after
that experience I was never again tempted to make excursions without
a guide.
CHAPTER IV
RECRUITING FOR NATIVES
A few days later the English steamer came, bringing my luggage but
no hope of improvement in my dull existence. A French survey party
arrived too, and set to work, but as they had not enough boys with
them, I could not join them. I spent my days as well as I could,
collected a few zoological specimens, and read Mr. Ch.'s large stock
of French novels until I felt quite silly.
At last an occasion offered to see primitive natives. George, the
son of a neighbour, had agreed to go recruiting for Mr. Ch. As I
have said before, providing sufficient labour is one of the most
important problems to the planter in the New Hebrides. Formerly there
were professional recruiters who went slave-hunting as they would have
followed any other occupation, and sold the natives to the planters at
a fair profit. In their schooners they hung about the shore, filled
the natives with liquor and kidnapped them, or simply drove them on
board wholesale, with the help of armed Loyalty boys. Their methods
were as various as they were cruel, murder was a daily occurrence, and,
of course, the recruiters were hated by the natives, who attacked and
killed them whenever they got a chance. The better class of planters
would not countenance this mode of procedure, and the natives are
now experienced enough not to enlist for work under a master they
do not know. Also the English Government keeps a strict watch on
the recruiting, so that the professional recruiter is dying out,
and every planter has to go in search of hands for himself. But
while the English Government keeps a sharp eye on these matters,
the French Government is as lenient in this as in the question of
the sale of alcohol, so that frequent kidnapping and many cruelties
occur in the northern part of the group, and slavery still exists. I
shall relate a few recruiting stories later on: some general remarks
on the subject may not be amiss here.
In years past the natives crowded the recruiting schooners by hundreds,
driven by the greed for European luxuries, by desire for change,
and inexperience; to-day this is the case in but very few and savage
districts. Generally the natives have some idea of what they may
expect; moreover, by trading with coprah they can buy all they need
and want. They enlist nowadays from quite different motives. With
young people it is the desire to travel and to "see the world,"
and to escape the strict village laws that govern them, especially
in sexual matters, and to get rid of the supervision of the whole
tribe. Sometimes, but only in islands poor in cocoa-nut trees, it is
the desire to earn money to buy a woman, a very expensive article at
present. Then many seek refuge in the plantations from persecution of
all sorts, from revenge, or punishment for some misdeed at home. Some
are lovers who have run away from their tribe to escape the rage of an
injured husband. Thus recruiting directly favours the general anarchy
and immorality, and indirectly as well, since the recruiters do their
best to create as much trouble as possible in the villages, knowing
it will be to their advantage. If they hear of a feud raging between
two tribes, they collect at the shore and try to pick up fugitives;
if there is no war, they do their best to occasion one, by intrigue,
alcohol, or agents provocateurs. They intoxicate men and women,
and make them enlist in that condition; young men are shown pretty
women, and promised all the joys of Paradise in the plantations. If
these tricks fail, the recruiters simply kidnap men and women while
bathing. This may suffice to show that, as a rule, they do not use
fair means to find hands, and it is hardly surprising that where
they have been they leave behind them wrecked families, unhappiness,
enmity, murder and a deep hatred of the white man in general as the
cause of all this misery. This recruiting is not only immoral in the
highest degree, but also very harmful to the race, and it is to-day
one of the principal reasons for its decay.
Those planters who from principle or from fear of the law do not
resort to such means generally have a special recruiting district,
where they are well known, and where the natives know the treatment
they are likely to get on the plantation, and feel sure they will not
be cheated, and will be taken back to their homes in due time. These
planters, I am happy to say, find hands enough, as a rule, while the
natives take care not to go to a French plantation if they can help
it. The system of recruiting is very simple. The cutter anchors at some
distance offshore, and a dynamite cartridge is exploded to announce
her arrival; some time afterwards one of the whale-boats goes ashore,
all the crew armed to the teeth, while the other boat lies a short
distance off, to watch the natives, and to cover the retreat of those
in the first boat in case of attack. The planter, as a rule, stays
on board his cutter. These warlike practices are really unnecessary
in many places, but as one never knows what indiscretions the last
recruiter may have committed, and as the natives consider all whites
as belonging to one organization, it is the part of prudence to follow
this old recruiting rule.
I will not pretend to say that the natives will never attack
without provocation. Even Cook, who certainly was both careful
and just, was treacherously attacked in Erromanga, for the
Melanesian is bloodthirsty, especially when he thinks himself the
stronger. But to-day it may be stated as a certainty that no attack
on a recruiting-ship or on any white man occurs without some past
brutality on the part of a European to account for it. As one of the
Governments does nothing to abolish kidnapping, and as the plantations
go to ruin for want of labour, it would be to the interest both of the
settlers and of the natives to abolish the present recruiting system
entirely, and to introduce a conscription for work in its place, so
that each male would have to work for a term of years on a plantation
for adequate wages and good treatment. This would be of advantage to
the islanders even more than to the planters. It would create order,
and would employ the natives in useful work for the development of
their own country.
It will appear from all this that recruiting is still a somewhat
dangerous undertaking, especially on the north-west coast of Malekula,
the home of the most primitive and savage tribes of all the group.
George, our captain, was a strange fellow, about seventeen years of
age: he might just as well have been forty. Pale, with small grey eyes
and a suspicious look, a long hooked nose, and narrow, yet hanging
lips, he walked with bent back and crooked knees, always bare-footed,
in blue dungaree trousers, green shirt and an old weather-beaten
hat. He hardly ever spoke; when he did, it was very suddenly, very
fast and very low, so that no one could understand him except his
boys, who evidently knew instinctively what he meant. The natives
are very clever in these matters. He was brave, an excellent sailor
for his age, and he knew the channels and all the anchorages. His
boat may have been 6 or 7 mètres long and 3 mètres wide; she was
cutter-rigged, and was probably very suitable for a trip of a few
days, but quite insufficient for a cruise of several weeks, such as
we were planning. The deck was full of cases of provisions, so that
only a little space was clear for us at the stern. The cabin was
about 2 mètres long, 1 1/2 mètre wide, and 1 1/2 mètre high, and
was crammed with stuff--tinned meats, cloths, guns, trading goods,
etc. One person could wriggle in it, crawling on hands and knees,
but two had to wind round each other in impossible positions, and
it was quite unthinkable that both should spend the night below. But
with the happy carelessness and impatience of a long-delayed start,
we did not think of the hardships of the future, and in fair weather,
when the stay on deck in the brisk breeze was extremely pleasant,
as on that first morning, existence on board seemed very bearable;
but when it rained, and it rained very often and very hard, it was
exceptionally disagreeable.
Mr. George took no interest in such details. Although he could have
improved matters without much trouble, he was too lazy to take the
trouble. The sun- and rain-sail was fixed so low that one could not
stand upright, and anyone who has experienced this for some time
knows how irritating it is. For food George did not seem to care at
all. Not only did he lack the sense of taste, but he seemed to have
an unhuman stomach, for he ate everything, at any time, and in any
condition; raw or cooked, digestible or not, he swallowed it silently
and greedily, and thought it quite unnecessary when I wanted the boys
to cook some rice for me, or to wash a plate. The tea was generally
made with brackish water which was perfectly sickening. George
had always just eaten when I announced that dinner was ready, and
for answer he generally wrapped himself in his blankets and fell
asleep. The consequence was that each of us lived his own life, and
the companionship which might have made up for many insufficiencies
on board was lacking entirely.
It was the first sunny day after many rainy ones when the current
carried us through the channel. When we got on too slowly the oars
had to help. After several hours we arrived in the open, and a fresh
breeze carried us quickly alongside the small islands of Aore, Tutuba
and Malo. Blue, white-crested waves lifted us up so high that we could
look far over the foaming sea, and again we sank down in a valley,
out of which we could only see the nearest waves rolling threateningly
towards us. Behind us the little dinghy shot down the swells, gliding
on the water like a duck. In the late afternoon we approached the north
point of Malekula, and followed the west coast southward, towards the
country of the "Big Nambas"--our destination. Contrasting with other
islands of the archipelago, Malekula does not seem densely covered
with vegetation at this point. We do not see much of the impenetrable
bush, but rather a scanty growth of grass on the coral reefs, a few
shrubs and she-oaks, then a narrow belt of forest covering the steep
cliffs and sides of the hills, on whose backs we find extensive areas
covered with reed-grass. Even a luxuriant forest does not look gay
on a dull day, and this barren landscape looked most inhospitable in
the grey mist of the afternoon. We slowly followed a coast of ragged
coral patches, alternating with light sand beaches. Towards nightfall
we anchored near a stony shore, flanked by two high cliffs, in about
10 fathoms of the most transparent water. We could see in the depths
the irregular shapes of the rocks, separated by white sand, and the
soft mysterious colours in which the living coral shines like a giant
carpet. The sea was quiet as a pond, yet we were on the shores of
that endless ocean that reaches westward to the Torres Straits.
Torn clouds floated across the hills towards the north-west, the stars
shone dull, and it was very lonely and oppressively silent, nowhere
was there a trace of life, human or animal. Lying on deck, I listened
to the sound of the surf breaking in the different little bays near
and far, in a monotonous measure, soft and yet irresistible. It is
the voice of the sea in its cleansing process, the continual grinding
and casting out of all impurities, the eternal war against the land
and its products, and the final destruction of the earth itself.
The district of the Big Nambas, to whose shores we had come, takes
its name from the size of a certain article of dress, the "Nambas,"
which partly replaces our trousers, and is worn in different forms
over the greater part of the archipelago, but nowhere of such size
as here. It is such an odd object that it may well give its name to
the country. Big Nambas is still the least known part of the islands,
and hardly any white has ever set foot in the interior. Unlike those
of other districts, the natives here have preserved their old habits
and strict organization, and this is evidently the reason why they
have not degenerated and decayed. The old chiefs are still as powerful
as ever, and preserve peace and order, while they themselves do as
they please. Big Nambas has had but little contact with the whites,
especially the recruiters, so that the population is not demoralized,
nor the chief's power undermined. Of course it is to the chief's
interest to have as strong a tribe as possible, and they reserve to
themselves the right of killing offenders, and take all revenge in
their own hands. They watch the women and prevent child-murder and such
things, and although their reign is one of terror, their influence,
as a whole, on the race is not bad, because they suppress many vices
that break out as soon as they slacken their severity. The chiefs
in Big Nambas seem to have felt this, and systematically opposed
the intercourse with whites. But this district is just where the
best workmen come from, and the population is densest, and that is
why the recruiters have tried again and again of late years to get
hold of Big Nambas, but with little success, for so far only few
men have enlisted. One of them was on our cutter, and had to serve
as interpreter. The other four of the five boys were from Malekula,
a little farther south. Our man from Big Nambas was known on the
plantation as Bourbaki, and had enlisted two years ago. Before that
he had been professional murderer and provider of human flesh to the
great chief. Now he was a useful and quiet foreman on the plantation,
always cheerful, very intelligent, strong, brutal, with small, shrewd
eyes and a big mouth, apparently quite happy in civilization, and
devoted to George. He was one of the few natives who openly admitted
his liking for human flesh, and rapturously described its incomparable
tenderness, whiteness and delicacy. A year ago, when visiting his
village, he had been inconsolable because he had come a day late for a
cannibal feast, and had blamed his father bitterly for not having saved
a piece for him. Aside from this ghoulish propensity, Bourbaki was
a thoroughly nice fellow, obliging, reliable and as happy as a child
at the prospect of seeing his father again. We expected good service
and help in recruiting from him, and promised him ample head-money.
Bourbaki had run away without the permission of his chief, who was
furious at the loss of his best man, and had given orders to kill the
recruiter, a brother-in-law of George. Some natives had ambushed and
shot at them while entering the whale-boat; the white had received
several wounds, and a native woman had been killed. The boat pulled
away rapidly. Bourbaki laughed, and, indeed, by this time the little
incident was quite forgotten, as its only victim had been a woman.
The morning was damp and dull. The hills came down to the sea in slopes
of grey-green, the shore was a soft brown, and the rocks lay in dark
patches on the beach, separated from the greyish-green of the sea
by the white line of the breakers. The hollow sound of the dynamite
explosions glided along the slopes and was swallowed in distant space.
A few hours later, thinking the natives might be coming, we got
our arms ready: each of us had a revolver and a repeating rifle,
the boys had old Sniders. The cutter lay about 200 mètres off-shore,
and we could see everything that was going on on the beach. Behind
the flat, stony shore the forest-covered hills rose in a steep cliff
to a tableland about 100 mètres high. On the water we were in perfect
safety, for the villages lie far inland, and the Big Nambas are no
sailors, hate the sea and possess no canoes. They only come to the
beach occasionally, to get a few crabs and shell-fish, yet each tribe
has its own place on the shore, where no stranger is admitted.
We took Bourbaki ashore; he was very anxious to go home, and promptly
disappeared in the bush, his Snider on his shoulder. We then returned
to the cutter and waited. It is quite useless to be in a hurry when
recruiting, but one certainly needs a supply of patience, for the
natives have no idea of the value of time, and cannot understand the
rush which our civilization has created.
Late in the afternoon a few naked figures appeared on the beach. One
of them signalled with a branch, and soon others followed, till
about fifty men had assembled, and in the background, half-hidden by
shrubs, stood half a dozen women. We entered the whale-boats, two
boys and a white man in each, and slowly approached the shore. All
the natives carried their rifles in their right hands and yams in
their left, making signs to show that they wished to trade. We gave
them to understand that they must first put down their muskets,
and when they hesitated we cocked our rifles and waited. Some of
them went back to the forest and laid down their guns, while the
others sat down at a distance and watched. We promptly put down our
rifles, approached and showed our trade-goods--tobacco, matches,
clay pipes and calico. Hesitating, suspicious, yet tempted, they
crowded round the boat and offered their yams, excitedly shouting
and gesticulating, talking and laughing. They had quite enormous
yams, which they traded for one or two sticks of tobacco or as many
pipes. Matches and calico were not much in demand. Our visitors
were mostly well-built, medium-sized men of every age, and looked
very savage and dangerous. They were nearly naked, but for a belt of
bark around their waists, about 20 cm. wide, which they wore wound
several times around their bodies, so that it stood out like a thick
ring. Over this they had bound narrow ribbons of braided fibres,
dyed in red patterns, the ends of the ribbons falling down in large
tassels. Under this belt is stuck the end of the enormous nambas,
also consisting of red grass fibres. Added to this scanty dress are
small ornaments, tortoise-shell ear-rings, bamboo combs, bracelets
embroidered with rings of shell and cocoa-nut, necklaces, and thin
bands bound under the knees and over the ankles.
The beautiful, lithe, supple bodies support a head covered with long,
curly hair, and the face is framed by a long and fairly well-kept
beard. The eyes roll unsteadily, and their dark and penetrating look
is in no wise softened by the brown colouring of the scela. The nose
is only slightly concave, the sides are large and thick, and their
width is increased by a bamboo or stone cylinder stuck through the
septum. Both nose and eyes are overhung by a thick torus. The upper lip
is generally short and rarely covers the mouth, which is exceptionally
large and wide, and displays a set of teeth of remarkable strength
and perfection. The whole body is covered with a thick layer of greasy
soot. Such is the appearance of the modern man-eater.
Just at first we did not feel any too comfortable or anxious to go
ashore, and we watched our neighbours very carefully. They, however,
were hardly less frightened and suspicious; but after a while,
through the excitement of trading, they became more confident, forgot
their suspicions and bargained noisily, as happy as a crowd of boys;
still, any violent movement on our part startled them. For instance,
several of them started to run for the woods when I hastily grabbed
a pipe that a roll of the boat had set slipping off the seat.
After having filled the boats to the brim with yams, and the first
eagerness of bartering over, we ventured ashore. A suspicious crowd
stood around us and watched every movement. We first showed them our
weapons, and a violent smacking of the lips and long-drawn whistles,
or a grunting "Whau!" bespoke a gratifying degree of admiration
and wonder. The longer the cartridges and the larger the bullets,
the more they impressed them, and our revolvers were glanced at with
contempt and a shrug of the shoulders, expressing infinite disdain,
until each of us shot a few rounds. Then they winced, started to
run away, came back and laughed boisterously over their own fright;
but after that they had more respect for our "little guns."
Soon they became more daring, came closer and began to feel us, first
touching us lightly with the finger-tips, then with their hands. They
wanted to look at and handle everything, cartridge-belts, pipes,
hats and clothes. When all these had been examined, they investigated
our persons, and to me, at least, not being used to this, it was
most disagreeable. I did not mind when they tucked up our sleeves and
trousers and compared the whiteness and softness of our skin with their
own dark hide, nor when they softly and caressingly stroked the soft
skin on the inner side of our arms and legs, vigorously smacking their
lips the while; but when they began to feel the tenderness and probably
the delicacy of our muscles, and tried to estimate our fitness for a
royal repast, muttering deep grunts, constantly smacking their lips,
and evidently highly satisfied with the result of their investigation,
I did not enjoy the situation any more; still less when I saw an
ugly-looking fellow trembling violently from greedy desire, rolling
his eyes in wild exultation and performing an anticipatory cannibal
dinner-dance. We gradually began to shake off this wearisomely intimate
crowd; the fact that there were two of us, and that I was not alone
in this situation was very comforting. However, in the course of the
next few years I became accustomed to this treatment, though I never
again met it in such crudeness.
We had slowly approached the forest and could get a few glimpses of the
women, who had kept quite in the background and hid still more when
we came near. They had braided aprons around their waists and rolled
mats on their heads. Nearly all of them carried babies on their hips,
and they looked fairly healthy, although the children were full of
sores. Evidently the men did not like our looking at the ladies; they
pushed us back and drove the women away. We returned to the boats,
and the natives retired too, howling, shrieking and laughing. Towards
evening another crowd arrived, and the performance was repeated in
every detail. Happy over the bartered goods, they began to dance,
first decorating themselves with tall branches stuck in the back of
their belts. They jumped from one foot to the other, sometimes turning
round, and singing in a rough, deep monotone. We withdrew to the boats,
and they dispersed on the shore, lighted fires and roasted the yams
they had left.
Far away across the sea there was lightning, the surf boomed more
heavily than by day, the cutter rolled more violently and restlessly
and the whaleboat scraped against her sides, while the wind roared
through the forest gullies and thunder threatened behind the hills. We
felt lonely in the thick darkness, with the tempest approaching
steadily, afloat on a tiny shell, alone against the fury of the
elements. The lamp was blown out, and we lay on deck listening to the
storm, until a heavy squall drove us below, to spend the night in a
stuffy atmosphere, in uncomfortable positions, amid wild dreams. Next
morning there were again about twenty men on the shore, and again the
same performances were gone through. Evidently the people, influenced
by Bourbaki, who was still in the village, were more confident, and
left their weapons behind of their own accord. They came to trade,
and when their provisions of yam were exhausted, most of them left;
only a few, mostly young fellows, wanted to stay, but some older
men stayed with them, so as to prevent them from going on board
and enlisting. Evidently the young men were attracted by all our
wonderful treasures, and would have liked to see the country where
all these things came from. They imagined the plantations must be very
beautiful places, while the old men had vague notions to the contrary,
and were afraid of losing their young braves.
During a lull in the proceedings we climbed the narrow, steep and
slippery path up to the tableland in order to get an idea of the
country behind the hills. Half-way up we met two old men carrying
yam down to the beach. They were terrified at sight of us, began to
tremble, stopped and spoke to us excitedly. We immediately laid down
our rifles, and signed to them to approach, but they suddenly dropped
their loads, ran off and disappeared in the bush. They evidently feared
we had come to kidnap them, and we decided it was wiser to return to
the beach, so as not to irritate the people. Shortly afterwards another
crowd of natives came along the beach carrying yam. They approached
with extreme care, ready to fight or fly, but they were less afraid of
us than of the natives, for whom that part of the beach was reserved,
and with whom we had been trading. They were enemies of the newcomers,
who knew that they were outside their own territory and might expect
an attack any moment. Squatting down near us, they anxiously watched
the forest, ever ready to jump up. One of them, who spoke a little
biche la mar, came up to me and asked me to anchor that night near
their beach, and buy yams from them, which we promised to do. At a
sound in the forest they jumped up and ran away. George, wishing to
talk more with them, took his rifle and ran after them, but they had
already retreated behind some boulders, and were waving their rifles
and signalling him to stay where he was. They thought we were in a
plot with other natives, and had ambushed them. To such a degree do
these people live in constant fear, and thus arise misunderstandings
which end in death, unless the whites are very prudent and quiet. Many
a recruiter in our case would have welcomed this apparent provocation
to shoot at the natives from a safe distance with his superior rifle.
All day it rained in heavy squalls, coming from over the hills;
everything was damp, the night was dark and still and we sighed in
our narrow cell of a cabin. Next morning Bourbaki came back with a
new crowd of natives, who again felt and investigated, happily, also,
admired us. So vain is human-kind that even the admiration of cannibals
is agreeable. I let some of them try my shot-gun, and everyone wanted
to attempt the feat, although they were all badly frightened. They held
the gun at arm's length, turned their faces away and shot at random;
it was clear that very few knew how to shoot, and that their Sniders
could be of use only at short range. This is confirmed by the fact
that all their murders are done point-blank.
Bourbaki brought news that in a few days there was to be a great
sacrificial feast in the village, and that, everybody being busy
preparing for it, we had no chance of recruiting, neither could we
see the great chief, he being shut up in his house, invisible to
everybody except to a little boy, his servant. We landed a goat for
Bourbaki's father; the innocent animal caused terrible fright and
great admiration. All the men retreated behind trunks or rocks and
no one dared touch the strange creature. Bourbaki was very proud of
himself for knowing goats, and fastened the poor little thing to a
tree in the shade. He then coaxed three old men on board. Clumsily
they entered the whale-boats, and even on board the cutter they
squatted anxiously down and dared hardly move for fear the ship might
capsize or they might slip into the water, of which they were quite
afraid. They could hardly speak, and stared at everything, wide-eyed
and open-mouthed. They forgot their fears, however, in delight over
our possessions. A saucepan proved a joy; the boards and planks of
the ship were touched and admired amid much smacking of the lips; a
devout "Whau!" was elicited by the sight of the cabin, which seemed a
fairy palace to them. Smaller things they approved of by whistling;
in general they behaved very politely. If they did not understand
the use of a thing, they shrugged their shoulders with a grimace
of contempt. A mirror was useless to them at first; after a while
they learned to see; they were frightened, and at last they roared
with laughter, put out their tongues, admired their sooty faces and
began to pull out their bristles, for they all wore their upper lips
shaved. Naturally, they confused right and left, and became entirely
bewildered. A watch did not impress them; the ticking seemed mysterious
and not quite innocent, and they put the instrument away at a safe
distance. They asked to see some money, but were much disappointed,
having imagined it would look bigger and more imposing. They preferred
a little slip of paper, which they carefully hid in their belts. Our
stock of cartridges impressed them deeply, and there was no end of
whistling and grunting. Sugar and tea were objects of suspicion. They
thought them poison, and took some along, probably to experiment on
a good friend or a woman. Matches were stuck into the hair, the beard
or the perforated ears. Pictures were quite incomprehensible.
After an hour they left, less frightened than before, but still very
glad to leave all the mysterious and uncanny things behind. Bourbaki
made fun of their innocence, and thought himself very civilized,
but he himself was dreadfully afraid of my camera: "White man he
savee too much."
The weather cleared towards evening. Some natives stayed on the shore
all night, lighted fires and sang songs in anticipation of the coming
dance. Our boys mimicked them, laughed at them and felt very superior,
though we whites failed to see much difference, and, as a matter of
fact, a short time after having returned home these boys can hardly
be told from ordinary bushmen. The shrieks of the savages pierced the
velvet of the night like daggers, but by and by they quieted down,
and we heard nothing more but the rhythmic rise and fall of the surf.
In the silver light of the rising moon the boats rolled gently behind
the ship like dark spots, and light clouds glided westward across
the stars, eternally rising behind the black cliffs and disappearing
in the universal dimness. We were asleep on deck, when suddenly a
violent shower woke us up and banished us into that terrible cabin.
No natives came next day; they were all busy preparing the feast. We
had nothing to do but to loaf on the beach or on board, and smoke,
as we had no fishing-tackle and no animals to shoot. The grey sky,
the vague light, the thin rain, were depressing, and all sorts
of useless thoughts came to us. We noticed the hardships of our
existence on board, felt that we were wasting time, grew irritable and
dissatisfied. If only my companion had been less sulky! But with him
there could be no pleasant chat, no cosy evening hour over a cup of
tea and a pipe; and I would almost have preferred being alone to this
solitude à deux. I sat on deck and listened to the breakers. Often
they sounded like a rushing express train and awakened reminiscences
of travel and movement. The cool wind blew softly from afar, and
I could understand for the first time that longing that asks the
winds for news of home and friends. I gave myself up wholly to this
vague dreaming, call it home-sickness, or what you will, it enlivened
the oppressive colourlessness of the days and the loneliness of the
nights. As usual, a heavy shower came, luckily, perhaps, to interrupt
all softer thoughts.
Then followed a few clear days, which changed our mood entirely. The
cutter rolled confidingly in the morning breeze, and the sun glowed
warm and golden. In picturesque cascades the green forest seemed
to rush down the slopes to the bright coral beach, on which the sea
broke playfully. Once in a while a bird called far off in the depths
of the woods. It was delicious to lie on the warm beach and be dried
and roasted by the sun, to think of nothing in particular, but just
to exist. Two wild pigs came to the beach in the evening to dig for
yam that the natives had buried there; a chase, though unsuccessful,
gave excitement and movement. We could venture far inland now without
fear, for the natives were all away at the feast. Brilliant sunsets
closed the days in royal splendour. Behind a heavy cloud-bank which
hid the sun, he seemed to melt in the sea and to form one golden
element. Out of the cloud five yellow rays shot across the steel-blue
sky, so that it looked like one of those old-fashioned engravings
of God behind a cloud. When everything had melted into one gorgeous
fire, and we were still helpless before all that glory, the colours
faded away to the most delicate combinations of half-tones; soon the
stars came out glittering on the deep sky, first of all the Southern
Cross. Halley's comet was still faintly visible.
In the morning the sky was cloudless, and changed from one lovely
colour to the other, until the sun rose to give it its bright blue
and paint the shore in every tint. Then every stone at the bottom of
the sea was visible, and all the marvellous coral formations, with
their weird shapes and fiery colours, glowed in rose and violet and
pure golden yellow. Above lay big sea-stars, and large fish in bright
hues floated between the cliffs in soft, easy movements, while bright
blue little ones shot hither and thither like mad.
Bourbaki arrived with his younger brother, a neat and gentle-looking
boy. The feast was to begin that evening, and I asked Bourbaki if
they had plenty of pigs to eat. "Oh no," he said; "but that is of
no importance: we have a man to eat! Yesterday we killed him in
the bush, and to-day we will eat him." He said this with the most
innocent expression, as if he were talking about the weather. I had to
force myself not to draw away from him, and looked somewhat anxiously
into his face; but Bourbaki stared quietly into the distance, as if
dreaming of the past excitements and the coming delights; then he
picked up a cocoa-nut and tore the husk off with his strong teeth. It
made me shudder to watch his brutish movements, but he was perfectly
happy that morning, willing and obedient. At noon he went away to
his horrid feast, and for two days we saw nobody.
We passed the time as usual; the weather was rainy again, and
everything seemed grey,--the sky, the sea and the shore, and our
mood. One is so dependent on surroundings.
On the third day Bourbaki came back, a little tired, but evidently
satisfied. Some of his friends accompanied him, and he brought word
that the chief had given permission for a few boys to enlist, but
that we would have to wait about ten days until he could come to
the shore himself. Not wishing to spend the ten days there, doing
absolutely nothing, we decided to go farther south, to Tesbel Bay,
and try our luck at recruiting there, as we had another boy, Macao,
from that district. George gave leave to Bourbaki, who had been
somewhat savage these last days, to stay at home till our return, and
he seemed delighted to have a holiday. We were all the more surprised
when, just before we weighed anchor, Bourbaki came back, shaking hands
without a word. We were quite touched by this remarkable sign of his
affection, pardoned his many objectionable ways, and never thought
that perhaps he might have ample reason not to feel altogether safe
and comfortable at home.
The wind being contrary, we had to tack about all night long without
advancing. Squalls rushed over the water, and then, again, the breeze
died down completely, only black, jagged clouds drifted westward
across the sky, and here and there a few stars were visible. The
cutter's deck was crowded with stuff, and there seemed less room for
us than ever, except in the hateful cabin. The boys sang monotonously
"for wind," quite convinced that the next breeze would be due to their
efforts. A fat old man sang all night long in falsetto in three notes;
it was unbearably silly and irritating, yet one could hardly stop the
poor devil and rob him of his only pleasure in that dark night. We
felt damp, restless and sleepless, and tried in vain to find some
comfort. Next evening we reached the entrance of Tesbel Bay, and
the wind having died down, we had to work our way in with the oars,
a slow and hard task. Bourbaki yelled and pulled at the oars with
all his might, encouraging the others. These are the joys of sailing.
Tesbel Bay is framed on two sides by high cliffs. Big boulders
lie in picturesque confusion where the surf foams white against
the narrow beach. Wherever there is a foot of ground, luxurious
vegetation thrives. Ahead of us lies a level valley that stretches
far inland to the foot of a high mountain, whose head is lost in grey
clouds. A little creek runs into the bay through high reed-grass,
behind a sandbank. Just before setting, the sun shone through the
clouds and smiled on the lovely, peaceful landscape, seeming to
promise us a pleasant stay. The smoke of many village fires rose
out of the bush at a distance. Two ragged natives were loafing on
the beach, and I engaged one of them for the next day, to guide me
to some villages. Bourbaki and Macao marched gaily off, as they were
to spend the night in Macao's village.
Next morning, while being pulled ashore for my excursion inland, I
saw Macao on the beach, crying, waving and behaving like a madman. He
called out that Bourbaki was dead, and that we must come to the
village. I took him into the boat and we returned to the cutter. Macao
was trembling all over, uttering wild curses, sighing and sobbing like
a child. Between the fingers of his left hand he frantically grasped
his cartridges, and nervously kept hold of his old rifle. We could
not get much out of him; all we could make out was that Bourbaki had
been shot towards morning and that he himself had run away. We guessed
that Bourbaki must have committed some misdemeanour; as there was a
possibility of his still being alive, we decided to go and look for
him; for satisfaction it was idle to hope.
According to Macao the village was quite near, so we took our rifles,
armed the boys, and in ten minutes we were ashore. The youngest,
a fourteen-year-old boy, was left in the whale-boat, so as to be
ready to pick us up in case of need. His elder brother, a tall,
stout fellow, also preferred to stay in the boat; we left him behind,
and this left five of us for the expedition. Macao showed us the
way, and as we followed him we watched right and left for a possible
ambush. It was a disagreeable moment when we dived into the thicket,
where we expected to be attacked any moment, and I could hardly blame
another fat boy for dropping behind, too, to "watch the shore," as
he said. Not wishing to lose any time, we let him go, for we were
anxious to be in the village before the natives should have time to
rally and prepare for resistance.
The path was miserable--slippery slopes, wildly knotted roots, stones,
creeks and high reeds. We were kept quite busy enough watching our
path, and were not careful at all about watching the bush; but we
were confident that the natives, being very poor shots, would betray
their presence by a random shot. We were exposed, of course, to shots
from close quarters alongside the path, but we trusted to Macao's
sharp eyes to detect a hidden enemy. After an hour's brisk walk,
we asked Macao whether the village was still far off; every time
we asked, his answer was the same: "Bim by you me catch him," or,
"Him he close up." However, after an hour and a half, we began to
feel worried. We had no idea whether we would find a peaceful village
or an armed tribe, and in the latter case a retreat would doubtless
have been fatal, owing to the long distance we would have had to go
in the forest, where the white man is always at a disadvantage. But
we had undertaken the adventure, and we had to see it through.
After two hours we unexpectedly came upon a village. A dozen men
and a few women were squatting about, evidently expecting some
event. The presence of the women was a sign that the people were
peacefully inclined. An old man, a relative of Macao's, joined us,
and a short walk through a gully brought us quite suddenly into a
village square. About thirty men were awaiting us, armed with rifles
and clubs, silent and shy. Macao spoke to them, whereupon they laid
down their rifles and led us to a hut, where we found Bourbaki,
lying on his back, dead. He had been sitting in the house when some
one shot him from behind; he had jumped up and tried to fly, but had
broken down and fallen where he was then lying. He must have died
almost at once, as the bullet had torn a great hole in his body. His
rifle and cartridges were missing, that was all.
The villagers stood around us, talking excitedly; we could not
understand them, but they were evidently not hostile, and we told
them to bury Bourbaki. They began at once, digging a hole in the
soft earth with pointed sticks. We then asked for the rifle, the
cartridges and the murderer, and were informed that two men had done
the killing. After some deliberation a number of men walked off, one of
them a venerable old man, armed after the old fashion with a bow and
a handful of poisoned arrows, which he handled with deliberate care;
he also carried a club in a sling over his shoulder. Of all those
strong men, this old one seemed to me the most dangerous but also
the most beautiful and the most genuine. After a while they returned,
and two other men slunk in and stood apart.
The natives seemed undecided what to do, and squatted about, talking
among themselves, until at last one of them pulled me by the sleeve
and led us towards the two newcomers. We understood that they were
the murderers, and each of us took hold of one of them. They made no
resistance, but general excitement arose in the crowd, all the other
natives shouting and gesticulating, even threatening each other with
their rifles. They were split in two parties,--one that wanted to give
up the murderers, and their relatives, who wanted to keep them. We told
them that the affair would be settled if they gave up the murderers;
if not, the man-of-war would come and punish the whole village. As my
prisoner tried to get loose, I bound him, and while I was busy with
this I heard a shot. Seeing that all the men had their rifles ready,
I expected the fight to begin, but George told me his prisoner had
escaped and he had shot after him. The man had profited by George's
indecision to run away.
This actual outbreak of the hostilities excited the people so that
we thought it best to retire, taking our single prisoner with us. A
few of the natives followed us, and when we left the village the
relatives of the murderer broke out in violent wailing and weeping,
thinking, as did the prisoner, Belni, himself, that we were going to
eat him up, after having tortured him to death. Belni trembled all
over, was very gentle and inclined to weep like a punished child, but
quite resigned and not even offering any resistance. He only asked
Macao anxiously what we were going to do with him. Macao, furious
at the death of his comrade, for whom he seemed to have felt real
affection, put him in mortal fear, and was quite determined to avenge
his murdered friend. We shut Belni up in the hold of the cutter and
told the natives that they would have to hand over Bourbaki's rifle
and cartridges, and pay us two tusked pigs by noon of the next day.
On this occasion we learned the reason for the murder: Belni's
brother had had an intrigue with the wife of the chief, and had been
condemned by the latter to pay a few pigs. Being too poor to do this,
he decided to pay his debt in an old-fashioned way by killing a man,
and Bourbaki was unlucky enough to arrive just at the right time,
and being a man from a distant district, there was no revenge to be
feared. Belni, therefore, chose him as his victim. The two brothers
chatted all night with him and Macao, and asked to see Bourbaki's
rifle, which he carelessly handed to them. When, towards morning,
Macao left them for a few moments, they profited by the opportunity
to shoot Bourbaki from behind, and to run away. Macao, rushing back,
found his friend dead, and fled to the shore. By this deed the wrong
to the chief was supposed to be made good--a very peculiar practice in
native justice. It may be a remnant of old head-hunting traditions,
inasmuch as Belni's brother would have given the dead man's head to
the chief in payment, this being even more valuable than pigs.
The first excitement over, our boys were seized by fear, even Macao
and the other one who had accompanied us. Although they were in
perfect safety on board the cutter they feared all sorts of revenge
from Belni's relatives,--for instance, that they might cause a
storm and wreck the cutter. We laughed at them, but they would not
be cheered up, and, after all, Macao's horrible dread that his old
father was surely being eaten up by this time in the village was not
quite groundless. We were not in the brightest of humours ourselves,
as this event had considerably lessened our chances of recruiting
at Big Nambas; the chief made us responsible for Bourbaki's death,
and asked an indemnity which we could hardly pay, except with the
tusked pigs we demanded here.
We could not stay longer in Tesbel Bay, as our boys were too much
frightened, and the natives might turn against us at any moment. We
could hardly get the boys to go ashore for water and firewood, for
fear of an ambush. In the evening we fetched Belni out of the hold. He
was still doleful and ready to cry, but seemed unconscious of any
fault; he had killed a man, but that was rather an honourable act
than a crime, and he only seemed to regret that it had turned out so
unsatisfactorily. He did not seem to have much appetite, but swallowed
his yam mechanically in great lumps. The boys shunned him visibly,
all but Macao, who squatted down close before him, and gave him food
with wild hatred in his eyes, and muttering awful threats. Icy-cold,
cruel, with compressed lips and poisonous looks like a serpent's,
he hissed his curses and tortured Belni, who excused himself clumsily
and shyly, playing with the yam and looking from one dark corner to
the other, like a boy being scolded. The scene was so gruesome that
I had Belni shut up again, and we watched all night, for Macao was
determined to take the murderer's life. It was a dry, moonlit night;
one of the boys was writhing with a pain in his stomach, and we could
do nothing to help him, so they were all convinced it was caused by
Belni's relatives, and wanted to sail immediately. A warm breeze had
driven mosquitoes to the cutter; it was a most unpleasant night.
Next noon the natives appeared, about twenty strong, but without
the second murderer. They said the shot had hit him, and that he
had died during the night. This might have been true, and as we
could do nothing against the village anyway, we let the matter drop,
especially as they had brought us Bourbaki's rifle and two tusked
pigs. The chief said he hoped we were satisfied with him, and would
not trouble anyone but the murderers.
We returned to the cutter, and the pigs were put in the hold,
where they seem to have kept good company with Belni, after a little
preliminary squealing and shrieking. Then we sailed northward, with a
breeze that carried us in four hours over the same distance for which
we had taken twenty-four last time. It was a bitterly cold night. We
decided to return home, fearing the boys would murder Belni in an
unwatched moment, as they had asked several times, when the sea was
high, whether we would not throw Belni into the water now. The passage
to Santo was very rough. The waves thundered against the little old
cutter, and we had a nasty tide-rip. We were quite soaked, and looking
in through the portholes, we could see everything floating about in
the cabin--blankets, saucepans, tins and pistols. We did not mind much,
as we hoped to be at home by evening.
Rest, cleanliness and a little comfort were very tempting after a
fortnight in the filthy narrowness of the little craft. We had no
reason to be vain of our success; but such trips are part of the game,
and we planned a second visit to Big Nambas to reconcile the chief. We
were glad to greet the cloud-hung coast of Santo, and soon entered
the Segond Channel. There we discovered that the old boat had leaked
to such an extent that we could have kept afloat for only a few hours
longer, and had every reason to be glad the voyage was at an end. It
was just as well that we had not noticed the leak during the passage.
We brought Belni ashore; the thin, flabby fellow was a poor
compensation for vigorous Bourbaki. He was set to work on the
plantation, and as the Government was never informed of the affair,
he is probably there to this day, and will stay until he dies.
CHAPTER V
VAO
I had not yet solved the problem of how to get away from the Segond
Channel and find a good field of labour, when, happily, the French
priest from Port Olry came to stay a few days with his colleague at
the channel, on his way to Vao, and he obligingly granted me a passage
on his cutter. I left most of my luggage behind, and the schooner of
the French survey party was to bring it to Port Olry later on.
After a passage considerably prolonged by contrary winds, we arrived
at Vao, a small island north-east of Malekula. When one has sailed
along the lifeless, greyish-green shores of Malekula, Vao is like a
sunbeam breaking through the mist. This change of mood comes gradually,
as one notices the warm air of spring, and dry souls, weather-beaten
captains and old pirates may hardly be aware of anything beyond a
better appetite and greater thirst. And it is not easy to define what
lends the little spot such a charm that the traveller feels revived as
if escaped from some oppression. From a distance Vao looks like all the
other islands and islets of the archipelago--a green froth floating on
the white line of breakers; from near by we see, as everywhere else,
the bright beach in front of the thick forest. But what impresses
the traveller mournfully elsewhere,--the eternal loneliness and
lifelessness of a country where nature has poured all its power into
the vegetation, and seems to have forgotten man and beast,--is softened
here, and an easy joy of living penetrates everything like a delicate
scent, and lifts whatever meets the eye to greater significance and
beauty. The celestial charm of the South Sea Islands, celebrated by
the first discoverers, seems to be preserved here, warming the soul
like the sweet remembrance of a happy dream. Hardly anyone who feels
these impressions will wonder about their origin, but he will hasten
ashore and dive into the forest, driven by a vague idea of finding
some marvel. Later he will understand that the charm of Vao lies in
the rich, busy human life that fills the island. It is probably the
most thickly populated of the group, with about five hundred souls
living in a space one mile long and three-fourths of a mile wide; and
it is their happy, careless, lazy existence that makes Vao seem to
the stranger like a friendly home. Here there are houses and fires,
lively people who shout and play merrily, and after the loneliness
which blows chill from the bush, the traveller is glad to rest and
feel at home among cheerful fellow-men.
About seventy outrigger boats of all sizes lie on the beach. On
their bows they carry a carved heron, probably some half-forgotten
totem. The bird is more or less richly carved, according to the social
standing of the owner, and a severe watch is kept to prevent people
from carrying carvings too fine for their degree. Similarly, we find
little sticks like small seats fastened to the canoes, their number
indicating the caste of the owner. Under big sheds, in the shade of the
tall trees, lie large whale-boats of European manufacture, belonging
to the different clans, in which the men undertake long cruises to
the other islands, Santo, Aoba, Ambrym, to visit "sing-sings" and
trade in pigs. Formerly they used large canoes composed of several
trees fastened together with ropes of cocoa-nut fibre, and caulked
with rosin, driven by sails of cocoa-nut sheaths; these would hold
thirty to forty men, and were used for many murderous expeditions. For
the inhabitants of Vao were regular pirates, dreaded all along the
coast; they would land unexpectedly in the morning near a village,
kill the men and children, steal the women and start for home with
rich booty. European influences have put a stop to this sport, and
with the introduction of whale-boats the picturesque canoes have
disappeared from the water, and now lie rotting on the beach. Their
successors (though according to old tradition, women may not enter
them) are only used for peaceful purposes.
In the early morning the beach is deserted, but a few hours after
sunrise it is full of life. The different clans come down from their
villages by narrow paths which divide near the shore into one path for
the men and another for the women, leading to separate places. The men
squat down near one of the boat-houses and stretch out comfortably in
the warm sand, smoking and chatting. The women, loaded with children
and baskets, sit in the shade of the knobby trees which stretch their
trunk-like branches horizontally over the beach, forming a natural
roof against sun and rain. The half-grown boys are too lively to
enjoy contemplative laziness; gossip and important deliberations
about pigs and sacrifices do not interest them, and they play about
between the canoes, wade in the water, look for shells on the sand,
or hunt crabs or fish in the reef. Thus an hour passes. The sun
has warmed the sand; after the cool night this is doubly agreeable,
and a light breeze cools the air. Some mothers bathe their babies in
the sea, washing and rubbing them carefully, until the coppery skin
shines in the sun; the little creatures enjoy the bath immensely,
and splash gaily in the element that will be their second home
in days to come. Everyone on the beach is in the easiest undress:
the men wear nothing but a bark belt, and the women a little apron
of braided grass; the children are quite naked, unless bracelets,
necklaces and ear-rings can count as dress. Having rested and amply
fortified themselves for the painful resolution to take up the day's
work, people begin to prepare for departure to the fields. They have
to cross the channel, about a mile wide, to reach the big island where
the yam gardens lie, sheltered by the forest from the trade-winds;
and this sail is the occasion for the prettiest sight Vao can offer.
The tides drive the sea through the narrow channel so hard as to start
a current which is almost a stream. The head-wind raises short, sharp,
white-capped waves; shallow banks shine yellow through the clear water,
and the coral reefs are patches of violet and crimson, and we are
delighted by constant changes, new shades and various colourings,
never without harmony and loveliness. A cloudless sky bends over
the whole picture and shines on the red-brown bodies of the people,
who bustle about their canoes, adding the bright red of their mats
and dresses to the splendour of the landscape.
With sudden energy the women have grabbed the boats and pushed them
into the water. The girls are slim, supple and strong as the young men,
the mothers and older women rather stiff, and usually hampered by at
least one child, which they carry on their backs or on their hips,
while another holds on to the garment which replaces our skirts. There
is plenty of laughter and banter with the men, who look on unmoved
at the efforts of the weaker sex, only rarely offering a helping hand.
From the trees and hiding-places the paddles and the pretty triangular
sails are fetched and fastened on the canoes; then the boats are pushed
off and the whole crowd jumps in. The babies sit in their mothers'
laps or hang on their backs, perilously close to the water, into
which they stare with big, dark eyes. By twos and threes the canoes
push off, driven by vigorous paddling along the shore, against the
current. Sometimes a young man wades after a canoe and joins some
fair friends, sitting in front of them, as etiquette demands. The
fresh breeze catches the sails, and the ten or fifteen canoes glide
swiftly across the bright water, the spread sails looking like great
red butterflies. The spray splashes from the bows, one woman steers,
and the others bale out the water with cocoa-nuts,--a labour worthy of
the Danaides; sometimes the outrigger lifts up and the canoe threatens
to capsize, but, quick as thought, the women lean on the poles joining
outrigger and canoe, and the accident is averted. In a few minutes
the canoes enter the landings between the torn cliffs on the large
island, the passengers jump out and carry the boats up the beach.
A few stragglers, men of importance who have been detained by politics,
and bachelors, who have nothing and nobody to care for but themselves,
follow later on, and only a crowd of boys stays in Vao, to enjoy
themselves on the beach and get into all sorts of mischief.
Obliging as people sometimes are when the fancy strikes them, a
youth took us over to the other island in his canoe, and was even
skilful enough to keep us from capsizing. Narrow paths, bordered with
impenetrable bush, led us from the beach across coral boulders up to
the plantations on top of the tableland. Under some cocoa-nut palms
our guide stopped, climbed nimbly up a slim trunk, as if mounting a
ladder, and three green nuts dropped to the ground at our feet. Three
clever strokes of the knife opened them, and we enjoyed the refreshing
drink in its natural bowl. Sidepaths branched off to the gardens, where
every individual or family had its piece of ground. We saw big bananas,
taro, with large, juicy leaves, yams, trained on a pretty basket-shaped
trellis-work; when in bloom this looks like a huge bouquet. There
were pine-apples, cabbages, cocoa-nut and bread-fruit trees, bright
croton bushes and highly scented shrubs. In this green and confused
abundance the native spends his day, working a little, loafing a
great deal. He shoots big pigeons and little parakeets, roasts them
on an improvised fire and eats them as a welcome addition to his
regular meals. From sun and rain he is sheltered by simple roofs,
under which everybody assembles at noon to gossip, eat and laugh.
Long ago there were villages here. An enormous monolith, now broken,
but once 5 mètres high, speaks for the energy of bygone generations,
when this rock was carried up from the coast, probably for a monument
to some great chief.
While the women were gathering food for the evening meal we returned
to Vao. The breeze had stiffened in the midst of the channel, and
one old woman's canoe had capsized. She clung to the boat, calling
pitifully for help, which amused all the men on the shore immensely,
until at last, none too soon, they went to her rescue. Such adventures
are by no means harmless, as the channel swarms with sharks.
We explored the interior of Vao, going first through the thicket on
the shore, then through reed-grass over 6 feet high, then between
low walls surrounding little plantations. Soon the path widened, and
on both sides we saw stone slabs, set several rows deep; presently
we found ourselves under the wide vault of one of those immense fig
trees whose branches are like trunks, and the glare of the sun gave
way to deep shadow, the heat of noonday to soft coolness.
Gradually our eyes grow accustomed to the dimness, and we distinguish
our surroundings. We are in a wide square, roofed by the long branches
of the giant tree. At our left is its trunk, mighty enough in itself,
but increased by the numerous air-roots that stretch like cables
from the crown to the earth, covering the trunk entirely in some
spots, or dangling softly in the wind, ending in large tassels of
smaller roots. Lianas wind in distorted curves through the branches,
like giant snakes stiffened while fighting. This square is one of
the dancing-grounds of Vao. The rows of stones surround the square
on three sides--two, three or more deep. Near the trunk of the great
tree is a big altar of large slabs of rock; around it are stone tables
of smaller size, and one or two immense coral plates, which cover the
buried skull of some mighty chief. A large rock lies in the middle of
the road on a primitive slide half covered by stones and earth. Long
ago the islanders tried to bring it up from the beach; a strong vine
served as a rope, and more than fifty men must have helped to drag the
heavy rock up from the coast to the square. Half-way they got tired
of the job and left the stone where it lies now, and will lie for ever.
On the other side of the altar are the drums, hollow trunks, whose
upper end is carved to represent a human face with wide, grinning
mouth, and deep, round and hollow eyes. Rammed in aslant, leaning in
all directions, they stand like clumsy, malicious demons, spiteful and
brutal, as if holding their bellies with rude, immoderate laughter
at their own hugeness and the puniness of mankind, at his miserable
humanity, compared to the solemn repose of the great tree. In front
of these are figures cut roughly out of logs, short-legged, with
long bodies and exaggeratedly long faces; often they are nothing
but a head, with the same smiling mouth, a long nose and narrow,
oblique eyes. They are painted red, white and blue, and are hardly
discernible in the dimness. On their forked heads they carry giant
birds with outstretched wings,--herons,--floating as if they had just
dropped through the branches on to the square.
This is all we can see, but it is enough to make a deep
impression. Outside, the sun is glaring, the leaves quiver, and the
clouds are drifting across the sky, but here it is dim and cool as
in a cathedral, not a breeze blows, everything is lapped in a holy
calm. Abandonment, repose, sublime thoughtlessness drop down on us in
the shadow of the giant tree; as if in a dream we breathe the damp,
soft, mouldy air, feel the smooth earth and the green moss that covers
everything like a velvet pall, and gaze at the altars, the drums and
the statues.
In a small clearing behind the square, surrounded by gaily coloured
croton bushes, stands the men's house--the "gamal." Strong pillars
support its gabled roof, that reaches down to the ground; the entrance
is flanked by great stone slabs. Oddly branched dead trees form a hedge
around the house, and on one side, on a sort of shelf, hang hundreds
of boars' jaws with curved tusks. Inside, there are a few fireplaces,
simple holes in the ground, and a number of primitive stretchers
of parallel bamboos, couches that the most ascetic of whites would
disdain. Among the beams of the roof hang all kinds of curiosities:
dancing-masks and sticks, rare fish, pigs' jaws, bones, old weapons,
amulets and so on, everything covered with a thick layer of soot from
the ever-smouldering fires. These "gamals" are a kind of club-house,
where the men spend the day and occasionally the night. In rainy
weather they sit round the fire, smoking, gossiping and working on
some tool,--a club or a fine basket. Each clan has its own gamal,
which is strictly taboo for the women, and to each gamal belongs
a dancing-ground like the one described. On Vao there are five,
corresponding to the number of clans.
Near by are the dwelling-houses and family enclosures. Each family has
its square, surrounded by a wall about 1 mètre high of loose stones
simply piled up, so that it is unsafe to lean against it. Behind the
walls are high screens of braided reeds, which preclude the possibility
of looking into the enclosure; even the doors are so protected that no
one can look in; for the men are very jealous, and do not want their
wives observed by strangers. These enclosures are very close together,
and only narrow lanes permit circulation. As we turn a corner we may
see a woman disappear quickly, giggling, while children run away with
terrified howls, for what the black man is to ours the white man is
to them.
Having won the confidence of a native, we may be taken into his
courtyard, where there is little to be seen, as all the social life
goes on in the gamals or on the dancing-grounds. A dozen simple huts
stand irregularly about the square, some half decayed and serving as
pigsties. One hut belongs to the master, and each of his wives has a
house of her own, in which to bring up her children. The yard is alive
with pigs and fowls and dogs and children, more or less peacefully
at play.
In Vao, as in all Melanesia, the pig is the most valued of animals. All
the thoughts of the native circle round the pig; for with pigs he
can buy whatever his heart desires: he can have an enemy killed, he
can purchase many women, he can attain the highest social standing,
he can win paradise. No wonder, then, that the Vao pigs are just as
carefully nursed, if not more so, than the children, and that it is
the most important duty of the old matrons to watch over the welfare
of the pigs. To call a young beauty "pig's foot," "pig's nose,"
"pig's tail," or similar endearing names is the greatest compliment
a lover can pay. But only the male pigs are esteemed, the females are
of account only as a necessary instrument for propagating the species,
and nobody takes care of them; so they run wild, and have to look out
for themselves. They are much happier than the males, which are tied
all their lives to a pole under a little roof; they are carefully fed,
but this, their only pleasure, is spoilt by constant and terrific
toothache, caused by cruel man, who has a horrible custom of knocking
out the upper eye-teeth of the male pig. The lower eye-teeth, finding
nothing to rub against, grow to a surprising size, first upward,
then down, until they again reach the jaw, grow on and on, through
the cheek, through the jaw-bone, pushing out a few other teeth en
passant, then they come out of the jaw again, and curve a second,
sometimes a third time, if the poor beast lives long enough. These
pigs with curved tusks are the pride and wealth of every native; they
are the highest coin, and power and influence depend on the number
of such pigs a man owns, as well as on the size of their tusks,
and this is the reason why they are so carefully watched, so that
no harm may come to them or their teeth. Very rich people may have
quite a number of "tuskers," people of average means own one or two,
and paupers none at all, but they may have the satisfaction of looking
at those of the others and feeding them if they like.
It will be necessary to say a few words here about the pig-cult and
the social organization of the natives, as they are closely connected
and form a key to an understanding of the natives' way of living and
thinking. I wish to state at once, however, that the following remarks
do not pretend to be correct in all details. It is very hard to make
any researches as to these matters, as the natives themselves have
only the vaguest notions on the subject, and entirely lack abstract
ideas, so that they fail to understand many of the questions put to
them. Without an exact knowledge of the language, and much personal
observation, it is hardly possible to obtain reliable results,
especially as the old men are unwilling to tell all they know,
and the young know very little, but rely on the knowledge of the
old chiefs. Interpreters are of no use, and direct questioning has
but little result, as the people soon become suspicious or tired
of thinking, and answer as they suppose the white man would wish,
so as to have done with the catechizing as soon as possible. Perfect
familiarity with the language, habits and character of the natives
is necessary, and their confidence must be won, in order to make any
progress in the investigation of these problems. Missionaries are the
men to unite these qualities, but, unfortunately, the missionaries
of the New Hebrides do not seem to take much interest in the strange
cult so highly developed here; so that, for want of something better,
my own observations may be acceptable.
The pig-cult, or "Suque," is found almost all over Melanesia. It
is most highly developed in the Banks Islands and the Central New
Hebrides, and rules the entire life of the natives; yet it forms
only a part of their religion, and probably a newer part, while the
fundamental principle is ancestor-worship. We must not expect to find
in the native mind clear conceptions of transcendental things. The
religious ceremonies differ in adjoining villages, and so do the ideas
concerning the other world. There is no regular dogma; and since even
the conceptions of religions with well-defined dogmas are constantly
changing, religions which are handed down by oral tradition only,
and in the vaguest way, must necessarily be fluctuating. Following
the natural laws of thought, religious conceptions split into numerous
local varieties, and it is the task of the scientist to seek, amid this
variety of exterior forms, the common underlying idea, long forgotten
by everyone else, and to ascertain what it was in its original purity,
without additions and deformations.
My observations led me to the following results: according to native
belief, the soul leaves the body after death, and wanders about near
by. Apparently the idea is that it remains in connection with the body
for a certain time, for in some districts the corpse is fed for five
days or longer; in Vao a bamboo tube is used, which leads from the
surface of the earth to the mouth of the buried body. The souls of
low-caste people soon disappear, but the higher the caste, the longer
the soul stays on earth. Still, the natives have some conception of
a paradise in which the soul of the high-caste finds all bliss and
delight, and which the soul ultimately enters. This idea may have
come up since the arrival of Christianity. It is customary to hold
a death-feast for a man of no caste after five days, for a low-caste
after one hundred, and for a high-caste after three hundred or even
one thousand days. The soul remains in contact with the world of
the living, and may be perceived as a good or bad spirit of as much
power as the man had when alive. To obtain the favour and assistance
of these spirits seems to be the fundamental idea, the main object of
religion in the New Hebrides. The spirit of an ancestor will naturally
favour his descendants, unless they have offended him deeply; and the
more powerful the dead ancestor was, the stronger and safer do his
descendants feel under the protection of his spirit. If a man has no
powerful ancestral ghost, he joins some strong clan, and strives for
the favour of its tutelary spirit by means of rich sacrifices. The
spirits admit those who bring many sacrifices to their special favour
and intimacy; these people are supposed to have gone half-way to the
spirit-world, and even in this life they are dreaded and enormously
influential; for the spirits will help him in every way, the elements
are his servants, and he can perform the most terrible sorceries. Thus
he terrorizes the country, becomes chief, and after death he joins
the other ghosts as a powerful member of their company.
The "Suque" transferred the hierarchy of the spirit-world into this
world, and regulated the number of castes and the method of rising
in caste; it also originated the rules for entering into connection
with the other world. Its origin probably goes back to one of those
secret societies so highly developed in Melanesia, of which I shall
speak later.
Caste is obtained by sacrificing tusked pigs; it is possible that
this has taken the place of former human sacrifices. The "Suque" is
the community of all the men who have sacrificed tusked pigs. It is
an international society, divided into numerous groups composed of the
men of different islands, districts, villages or clans. It is the only
means to assure oneself of bliss hereafter, and to obtain power and
wealth on earth, and whoever fails to join the "Suque" is an outcast,
a man of no importance, without friends and without protectors, whether
living men or spirits, and therefore exposed to every ill-treatment
and utter contempt. This explains the all-important position of the
"Suque" in the life of the natives, being the expression both of
religion and of ambition.
Frequently a young boy will join the "Suque," an uncle on the mother's
side donating pigs to be sacrificed in his name after he has touched
them with his hand. The boy is then free of the gamal, the "Suque"
club-house. Later he works his way up in the society by attending
numberless feasts and ceremonies, by having endless discussions
on tusked pigs, by borrowing, buying and lending pigs, by plotting
and sacrificing.
The number of castes varies on different islands: in Ambrym there are
fourteen, in Venua Lava twenty, in Aoba ten. On some islands, Santo,
for example, the caste-system is connected with a severe separation of
the fires; each caste cooks over its own fire, and loses its degree on
eating food cooked on the fire of a lower caste. In these districts the
floor of the gamal is frequently marked by bamboo rods or sticks in as
many divisions as there are castes each containing one fireplace. The
highest castes sit at the front end of the gamal, the lower at the
back; these are forbidden to enter the gamal from the front, in order
not to touch or step over the fireplaces of their superiors. At each
rise in caste the novice receives the new fire, rubbed on a special
stick and decorated with flowers; certain ceremonies attend the cooking
of the first food with this new fire. It is then carefully tended in
the fireplace, and if it goes out it has to be rubbed afresh with the
stick. The number of pigs necessary to a rise in caste also varies
on the different islands. Generally, only tusked pigs are counted,
and there are feasts at which as many as forty of these valuable
animals are killed. Naturally, the high-castes cannot keep all the
animals themselves, but they lend them, like money, to those who do not
possess the number needed to rise in caste; in this way a complicated
credit-system has developed, by which the so-called chiefs support
and strengthen their influence and tyrannize the country.
A young man, as a rule, owns no tusked pigs. If he wishes to raise his
caste, he has to borrow from the rich high-castes, who are very willing
to help him, but only at exorbitant rates of interest. First he has to
win their favour by presents, and then he has to promise to return a
more valuable pig later. The bargain made, the transaction takes place
publicly with some ceremony. The population of the district assembles,
and all the transactions are ratified which have been negotiated in
private. The owner holds the pig, the borrower dances around him and
then takes the animal away. All the spectators serve as witnesses,
and there is no need of a written bill. In this way nearly all the
men of lower rank are in debt to the high-castes, and dependent on
their goodwill, and these can obtain anything they like, simply by
pressing their debtors to pay for their pigs.
As a rule, the highest castes of a district work together; they are
the high priests, who arrange everything connected with the "Suque,"
set the dates for the feasts, and decide whether a man shall be
permitted to raise his caste. They are practically omnipotent, until
one of them rises by still larger sacrifices to a still higher caste,
and becomes sole master. If there are no more degrees to reach, the
whole scale is run through again an octave higher, so to speak. The
jaws of the killed pigs are hung up in the gamal in bundles or rows,
as a sign of the wealth and power of the proprietor. These chiefs
are in connection with the mightiest spirits, have supernatural power
and are as much hated as they are feared.
There is another independent witchcraft beside the "Suque," for
weather-making, charms and poisoning, which is known to private
men. They take expensive "lessons" from old sorcerers, and transmit
their art to the young men they consider clever enough, for good
wages. These are the real mischief-makers, for they will lend their
murderous assistance to anyone for adequate payment.
In some islands there is also a "Suque" for the women, but it is
quite independent of that of the men, and its degrees are easier to
reach. Still, women of high rank enjoy a certain consideration from
the men.
Real chiefs do not exist in the northern part of the New Hebrides,
but the chiefs are the high-castes, who, according to their rank and
the strength of their personality, have more or less influence. They
cannot give direct orders, but rule indirectly through pressure,
threats and encouragement. Officially, all decisions are taken in a
meeting of the whole "Suque." The chieftainship is not hereditary,
but the sons and especially the nephews of high-castes generally
reach high degrees themselves, being pushed by their relatives, who
are naturally anxious to be surrounded by faithful and influential
friends. Thus there have risen aristocratic families, who think
themselves better than the others, and do not like to mix with
common people. Daughters of these families command high prices,
and are therefore accessible only to rich men, that is, men of high
caste. Young men of less good family are naturally poor, and since a
woman, as a rule, costs five pigs, it is almost impossible for them
to marry, whereas old men can buy up all the young, pretty girls;
the social consequences of this system are obvious. In Vao conditions
are not quite so bad, because there is considerable wealth, and women
are numerous, so that even young men are enabled to have a family;
in consequence, the race here is healthier than elsewhere.
In Vao I had occasion to attend a death-feast. The hero of the day
was still alive and in excellent health; but he did not quite trust
his family, and wishing to make sure that his death-feast would not
be forgotten, he held it during his lifetime. His anxiety about the
feast is explained by the following facts. According to Vao beliefs,
the souls of the dead travel to the island of Ambrym, and after five
days climb a narrow trail up to the volcano. In order that the soul
may not starve on the way, the survivors often make a small canoe,
load it with food and push it off into the sea, thinking it will drift
after the soul. It is generally stranded behind the nearest point,
bringing the neighbours a welcome addition to the day's rations. This
custom is in contradiction to the feeding of the body through a tube,
and proves that quite contradictory customs can exist simultaneously,
without the natives noticing it. Half-way up the volcano sits a
monster with two immense shears, like a crab. If no pigs have been
sacrificed for the soul by the fifth day, the poor soul is alone and
the monster swallows it; but if the sacrifice has been performed,
the souls of the sacrificed pigs follow after the human soul, and as
the monster prefers pig, the human has time to escape and to reach
the entrance to paradise on top of the volcano, where there are pigs,
women, dancing and feasting in plenty.
The feast I was to attend had been in preparation for some time. On all
the dancing-grounds long bamboos were in readiness, loaded with yams
and flowers, as presents to the host. Everything was brought to his
gamal, and the whole morning passed in distributing the gifts, each
family receiving a few yams, a little pig, some sprouted cocoa-nuts
and a few rolls of money. This money consists of long, narrow, fringed
mats, neatly rolled up; in this case they were supposed to be the mats
in which the dead are buried, and which are taken out of the grave
after a while. These mats formerly served as small coin, as similar
mats are still used on other islands, and they still represent a value
of about one shilling; but in daily life they have been quite replaced
by European coin, and only appear on such ceremonial occasions.
All the gifts were piled up, and when the host was convinced that
every guest had received his just dues, he took a stick and smashed
the heads of all the pigs that were tied up in readiness for this
ceremony. They struggled for a moment, the dogs came and licked
the blood, and then each guest took away his portion, to have a
private feast at home. The whole performance made a desperately
business-like impression, and everything was done most prosaically;
as for me, having no better dinner than usual to look forward to,
I quite missed the slightly excited holiday feeling that ought to go
with a great feast. Formerly, the braining of the pigs was done with
skilfully carved clubs, instead of mere sticks, and this alone must
have given the action something of solemnity; but these clubs have
long since been sold to collectors and never replaced.
In spite of their frequent intercourse with whites, the people of Vao
are still confirmed cannibals, only they have not many opportunities
for gratifying their taste in this direction. Still, not many years
ago, they had killed and eaten an enemy, and each individual, even
the little children, had received a small morsel of the body to eat,
either with the idea of destroying the enemy entirely, or as the
greatest insult that could be offered to him.
These same people can be so gay, childlike, kind and obliging,
tactful and generous, that one can hardly believe the accounts
one often hears of sudden outbreaks of brutal savagery, devilish
wickedness, ingratitude and falsehood, until one has experienced them
himself. The flattering and confiding child will turn suddenly and
without apparent reason into a man full of gloom and hatred. All
those repressing influences which lead the dwellers in civilized
lands to some consistency of action are lacking here, and the morals
of the natives run along other lines than ours. Faith and truth are
no virtues, constancy and perseverance do not exist. The same man who
can torture his wife to death from wanton cruelty, holding her limbs
over the fire till they are charred, etc., will be inconsolable over
the death of a son for a long time, and will wear a curl, a tooth or
a finger-joint of the dead as a valuable relic round his neck; and the
same man who is capable of preparing a murder in cold blood for days,
may, in some propitious evening hour, relate the most charming and
poetic fairy-tales. A priest whom I met knew quite a number of such
stories from a man whom he had digged alive out of the grave, where
his relatives had buried him, thinking him old enough to die. This
is not a rare occurrence; sometimes the old people themselves are
tired of life and ask to be killed.
What has preserved the old customs so well on Vao is the aversion of
the natives to plantation work. But one day, while I was there, a ship
rode at anchor off the coast, and a member of the French survey party
landed, collected all the men on the beach, and told them that unless
there were thirty men on board that evening, the whole tribe would
be driven out of the island, as the island belonged to the French
company. This was, to say the least, extremely doubtful; moreover,
it would never have been feasible to expropriate the natives in this
summary way. They were furious, but, unprotected as they were, they
had to obey, and in the evening nearly all the young men assembled
on the beach and were taken away in whale-boats, disappearing in the
mist and darkness of the night. The old men and the women remained
behind, crying loudly, so that the terrible wailing sounded sadly
over the sea. Even to the mere spectator it was a tragic moment when
the tribe was thus orphaned of its best men, and one could not help
being revolted by the whole proceeding. It was not womanish pity for
the men who were taken off to work, but regret for the consequent
disappearance of immemorial forms of tribal life. Next day the
beach was empty. Old men and women crossed over to the yam-fields,
the little children played as usual, but the gay shouts were silent,
the beautiful, brown, supple-bodied young men were gone, and I no
longer felt the joy of living which had been Vao's greatest charm. The
old men were sulky and sad, and spoke of leaving Vao for good and
settling somewhere far inland. It is not surprising that the whole
race has lost the will to live, and that children are considered an
undesirable gift, of which one would rather be rid. What hopelessness
lies in the words I once heard a woman of Vao say: "Why should we
have any more children? Since the white man came they all die." And
die they certainly do. Regions that once swarmed with people are now
lonely; where, ten years ago, there were large villages, we find the
desert bush, and in some districts the population has decreased by
one-third in the last seven years. In fifteen years the native race
will have practically disappeared.
CHAPTER VI
PORT OLRY AND A "SING-SING"
The event just described reduced my chance of finding servants in Vao
to a minimum, as all the able-bodied young men had been taken away. I
therefore sailed with the missionary for his station at Port Olry. Our
route lay along the east coast of Santo. Grey rain-clouds hung on
the high mountains in the interior, the sun shone faintly through the
misty atmosphere, the greyish-blue sea and the greyish-green shore,
with the brown boulders on the beach, formed a study in grey, whose
hypnotic effect was increased by a warm, weary wind. Whoever was not
on duty at the tiller lay down on deck, and as in a dream we floated
slowly along the coast past lonely islands and bays; whenever we looked
up we saw the same picture, only the outlines seemed to have shifted
a little. We anchored near a lonely isle, to find out whether its
only inhabitant, an old Frenchman, was still alive. He had arrived
there a year ago, full of the most brilliant hopes, which, however,
had not materialized. He had no boat, hardly ever saw a human being,
and lived on wild fruits. Hardly anyone knows him or visits him,
but he had not lost courage, and asked for nothing but a little salt,
which we gave him, and then sailed on.
In Hog Harbour we spent the night and enjoyed a hearty English
breakfast with the planters, the Messrs. Th., who have a large and
beautiful plantation; then we continued our cruise. The country
had changed somewhat; mighty banks of coral formed high tablelands
that fell vertically down to the sea, and the living reef stretched
seaward under the water. These tablelands were intersected by flat
valleys, in the centre of which rose steep hills, like huge bastions
dominating the country round. The islands off the coast were covered
with thick vegetation, with white chalk cliffs gleaming through them
at intervals. A thin mist filled the valleys with violet hues, the
sea was bright and a fresh breeze carried us gaily along. The aspect
of the country displayed the energies of elemental powers: nowhere can
the origin of chalk mountains be more plainly seen than here, where we
have the process before us in all its stages, from the living reef,
shining purple through the sea, to the sandy beach strewn with bits
of coral, to the high table mountain. We anchored at a headland near
a small river, and were cordially welcomed by the missionary's dogs,
cats, pigs and native teacher. There was also a young girl whom the
father had once dug out of her grave, where a hard-hearted mother
had buried her.
I had an extremely interesting time at Port Olry. The population
here is somewhat different from that of the rest of Santo: very
dark-skinned, tall and different in physiognomy. It may be called
typically Melanesian, while many other races show Polynesian
admixture. The race here is very strong, coarse-featured and lives
in the simplest way, without any industries, and is the primitive
population in the New Hebrides.
A few details as to personal appearance may be of interest. Among the
ornaments used are very large combs, decorated with pigs' tails. Pigs'
tails also are stuck into the hair and ears. The hair is worn very
long, rolled into little curls and plentifully oiled. A most peculiar
deformation is applied to the nose and results in extreme ugliness:
the septum is perforated, and instead of merely inserting a stick,
a springy spiral is used, which presses the nose upward and forward,
so that in time it develops into an immense, shapeless lump, as if
numberless wasps had stung it. It takes a long time to get used to
this sight, especially as the nose is made still more conspicuous
by being painted with a bright red stripe on its point, and two
black ones on each side. A more attractive ornament are flowers,
which the men stick into their hair, where they are very effective
on the dark background. In the lobes of the ears they wear spirals
of tortoise-shell or thin ornaments of bone; the men often paint
their faces with a mixture of soot and grease, generally the upper
half of the forehead, the lower part of the cheeks and the back of
the nose. The women and children prefer the red juice of a fruit,
with which they paint their faces in all sorts of mysterious designs.
The dress of the men consists of a large belt, purposely worn very low
so as to show the beautiful curve of the loins. About six small mats
hang down in front. Formerly, and even at the present day on festival
occasions, they wore on the back an ovoid of wood; the purpose is
quite unknown, but may originally have been a portable seat, as the
Melanesian does not like to sit on the bare ground. Provided with
this article of dress the wearer did not need to look about for a seat.
If the appearance of the men, while not beautiful, is at least
impressive, the women are so very much disfigured that it takes
quite some time to grow accustomed to their style of beauty. They
are not allowed to wear many ornaments, have to shave their heads,
and generally rub them with lime, so that they look rather like
white-headed vultures, all the more so as the deformed nose protrudes
like a beak and the mouth is large. The two upper incisors are broken
out as a sign of matrimony.
Their figures, except in young girls, are generally wasted,
yet one occasionally meets with a woman of fine and symmetrical
build. The dress is restricted to a small leaf, attached to a thin
loin-string. Both men and women generally wear at the back a bundle of
leaves; women and boys have strongly scented herbs, the men coloured
croton, the shade depending on the caste of the wearer. The highest
castes wear the darkest, nearly black, varieties. These croton bushes
are planted along the sides of the gamals, so as to furnish the men's
ornaments; and they lend the sombre places some brightness and colour.
Half for ornament and half for purposes of healing are the large
scars which may frequently be seen on the shoulders or breasts of
the natives. The cuts are supposed to cure internal pains; the scabs
are frequently scratched off, until the scar is large and high,
and may be considered ornamental. Apropos of this medical detail
I may mention another remedy, for rheumatism: with a tiny bow and
arrow a great number of small cuts are shot into the skin of the
part affected; the scars from these wounds form a network of fine,
hardly noticeable designs on the skin.
The life and cult of the natives are as simple as their dress. The
houses are scattered and hidden in the bush, grouped vaguely around
the gamal, which stands alone on a bare square. No statues stand there,
nor tall, upright drums; only a few small drums lie in a puddle around
the gamal.
The dwelling-houses are simply gable-roofs, always without side-walls
and often without any walls at all. They are divided into a pig-stable
and a living-room, unless the owners prefer to have their pigs living
in the same space with themselves.
A few flat wooden dishes are the only implements the native does
not find ready-made in nature. Cooking is done with heated stones
heaped around the food, which has been previously wrapped up in
banana leaves. Lime-stones naturally cannot be used for that purpose,
and volcanic stones have often to be brought from quite a distance,
so that these cooking-stones are treated with some care. In place of
knives the natives use shells or inland bamboo-splinters, but both
are rapidly being replaced by European knives.
On approaching a village we are first frightened by a few pigs, which
run away grunting and scolding into the thicket. Then a pack of dogs
announce our arrival, threatening us with hypocritical zeal. A few
children, playing in the dirt among the pigs, jump up and run away,
then slowly return, take us by the hand and stare into our faces. At
noon we will generally find all the men assembled in the gamal making
"lap-lap." Lap-lap is the national dish of the natives of the New
Hebrides; quite one-fifth part of their lives is spent in making
and eating lap-lap. The work is not strenuous. The cook sits on the
ground and rubs the fruit, yam or taro, on a piece of rough coral or a
palm-sheath, thus making a thick paste, which is wrapped up in banana
leaves and cooked between stones. After a few hours' cooking it looks
like a thick pudding and does not taste at all bad. For flavouring,
cocoa-nut milk is poured over it, or it is mixed with cabbage, grease,
nuts, roasted and ground, or occasionally with maggots. Besides this
principal dish, sweet potatoes, manioc, bread-fruit, pineapples,
bananas, etc., are eaten in season, and if the natives were less
careless, they would never need to starve, as frequently happens.
The men are not much disturbed by our arrival. They offer us a log to
sit on, and continue to rub their yam, talking us over the while. They
seem to be a very peaceful and friendly crowd, yet in this district
they are particularly cruel and treacherous, and only a few days
after my departure war broke out. The gamal is bare, except for a
few wooden dishes hanging in the roof, and weapons of all kinds, not
in full sight, but ready at any moment. We can see rifles, arrows and
clubs. The clubs are very simple, either straight or curved sticks. Old
pieces are highly valued, and carry marks indicating how many victims
have been killed with them: I saw one club with sixty-seven of these
marks. In former years the spear with about two hundred and fifty
points of human bones was much used, but is now quite replaced by
the rifle. The bones for spear-points and arrow-heads are taken from
the bodies of dead relatives and high-castes. The corpse is buried in
the house, and when it is decayed the bones of the limbs are dug out,
split, polished and used for weapons. The idea is that the courage and
skill of the dead man may be transmitted to the owner of the weapon,
also, that the dead man may take revenge on his murderer, as every
death is considered to have been caused by some enemy. These bones
are naturally full of the poisons of the corpse, and may cause tetanus
at the slightest scratch. On the arrows they are extremely sharp and
only slightly attached to the wood, so that they stick in the flesh
and increase the inflammation. Besides, they are often dipped in some
special poison.
All over the archipelago the arrows are very carefully made, and
almost every island has its own type, although they all resemble
each other. Many are covered at the point with a fine spiral binding,
and the small triangles thus formed are painted in rows--red, green
and white. Much less care is bestowed on the fish- and bird-arrows,
which are three-pointed as a rule, and often have no point at all,
but only a knob, so as to stun the bird and not to stick in the
branches of the trees.
Shields are unknown. It would seem that the arrow was not, as
elsewhere, the principal weapon, but rather the spear and club,
and the wars were not very deadly, as the natives' skill in handling
their weapons was equalled by their skill in dodging them.
Having inspected the gamal, we received from the highest caste present
a gift of some yam, or taro, which we requited with some sticks of
tobacco. The length of the gamal depends on the caste of the chief
who builds it. I saw a gamal 60 mètres long, and while this length
seems senseless to-day, because of the scanty population, it was
necessary in former days, when the number of a man's followers rose
with his rank. Not many years ago these houses were filled at night
with sleeping warriors, each with his weapons at hand, ready for a
fight. To-day these long, dark, deserted houses are too dismal for
the few remaining men, so that they generally build a small gamal
beside the big one.
To have killed a man, no matter in what way, is a great honour,
and gives the right to wear a special plume of white and black
feathers. Such plumes are not rare in Port Olry.
Each man has his own fire, and cooks his own food; for, as I have
said, it would mean the loss of caste to eat food cooked on the
fire of a lower caste. Women are considered unworthy to cook a man's
meal; in fact, their standing here is probably the lowest in all the
archipelago. Still, they do not lack amusement; they gather like the
men for social carousals, and are giggling and chattering all day
long. Their principal occupation is the cultivation of the fields,
but where Nature is so open-handed this is not such a task as we might
think when we see them coming home in the afternoon, panting under
an immense load of fruit, with a pile of firewood on top, a child on
their back and possibly dragging another by the hand. Port Olry is the
only place in the New Hebrides where the women carry loads on their
heads. Everywhere else they carry them on their backs in baskets of
cocoa-nut leaves. In consequence the women here are remarkable for
their erect and supple carriage.
The work in the fields consists merely of digging out the yam and
picking other fruit, and it is a sociable affair, with much talking and
laughter. There is always something to eat, such as an unripe cocoa-nut
or a banana. Serious work is not necessary except at the planting
season, when the bush has to be cleared. Then a whole clan usually
works together, the men helping quite energetically, until the fields
are fenced in and ready for planting; then they hold a feast, a big
"kai-kai," and leave the rest of the work to the women. The fences are
made to keep out the pigs, and are built in the simplest way: sticks
of the wild cotton-wood tree, which grows rankly everywhere, are stuck
into the ground at short intervals; they immediately begin to sprout,
and after a short time form a living and impenetrable hedge. But they
last much longer than is necessary, so that everywhere the fences
of old gardens bar the road and force the traveller to make endless
detours, all the more so as the natives have a way of making their
fields right across the paths whenever it suits them.
The number of women here amounts only to about one-fourth of that
of the men. One reason for this is the custom of killing all the
widows of a chief, a custom which was all the more pernicious as the
chiefs, as a rule, owned most of the young females, while the young
men could barely afford to buy an old widow. Happily this custom is
dying out, owing to the influence of the planters and missionaries;
they appealed, not unwisely, to the sensuality of the young men, who
were thus depriving themselves of the women. Strange to say, the women
were not altogether pleased with this change, many desiring to die,
for fear they might be haunted by the offended spirit of their husband.
When a chief died, the execution did not take place at once. The
body was exposed in a special little hut in the thicket, and left to
decay, which process was hastened by the climate and the flies. Then
a death-feast was prepared, and the widows, half frantic with mad
dancing and howling, were strangled.
Ordinary people are buried in their own houses, which generally decay
afterwards. Often the widow had to sleep beside the decaying body
for one hundred days.
Being short of boys, I could not visit many of the villages inland,
and I stayed on at the mission station, where there was generally
something for me to do, as the natives frequently came loitering
about the station. I made use of their presence as much as possible
for anthropological measurements, but I could not always find willing
subjects. Everything depends on the humour of the crowd; if they make
fun of the first victim, the case is lost, as no second man is willing
to be the butt of the innumerable gibes showered on the person under
the instruments. Things are more favourable if it is only fear of
some dangerous enchantment that holds them back, for then persuasion
and liberal gifts of tobacco generally overcome their fears. The best
subjects are those who pretend to understand the scientific meaning
of the operation, or the utterly indifferent, who never think about
it at all, are quite surprised to be suddenly presented with tobacco,
and go home, shaking their heads over the many queer madnesses of white
men. I took as many photographs as possible, and my pictures made quite
a sensation. Once, when I showed his portrait to one of the dandies
with the oiled and curled wig, he ran away with a cry of terror at his
undreamt-of ugliness, and returned after a short while with his hair
cut. His deformed nose, however, resisted all attempts at restoration.
The natives showed great reluctance in bringing me skulls and
skeletons. As the bones decay very quickly in the tropics, only skulls
of people recently deceased can be had. The demon, or soul, of the
dead is supposed to be too lively as yet to be wantonly offended; in
any case, one dislikes to disturb one's own relatives, while there
is less delicacy about those of others. Still, in course of time,
I gathered quite a good collection of skulls at the station. They
were brought carefully wrapped up in leaves, fastened with lianas,
and tied to long sticks, with which the bearer held the disgusting
object as far from him as possible. The bundles were laid down, and
the people watched with admiring disgust as I untied the ropes and
handled the bones as one would any other object. Everything that had
touched the bones became to the natives an object of the greatest
awe; still they enjoyed pushing the leaves that had wrapped them
up under the feet of an unsuspecting friend, who presently, warned
of the danger, escaped with a terrified shriek and a wild jump. It
would seem that physical disgust had as much to do with all this as
religious fear, although the natives show none of this disgust at
handling the remains of pigs. Naturally, the old men were the most
superstitious; the young ones were more emancipated, some of them
even going the length of picking up a bone with their toes.
Most of them had quite a similar dread of snakes, but some men handled
them without much fear, and brought me large specimens, which they
had caught in a sling and then wrapped up in leaves. While I killed
and skinned a big snake, a large crowd always surrounded me, ever
ready for flight, and later my boys chased them with the empty skin,
a performance which always ended in great laughing and dancing.
I had been in Port Olry for three weeks, waiting anxiously every
day for the Marie-Henry, which was to bring the luggage I had left
behind at the Segond Channel. My outfit began to be insufficient;
what I needed most was chemicals for the preservation of my zoological
specimens, which I had plenty of time and occasion to collect here. One
day the Marie-Henry, a large schooner, arrived, but my luggage had been
forgotten. I was much disappointed, as I saw no means of recovering
it in the near future. The Marie-Henry was bound for Talamacco,
in Big Bay, and took the Rev. Father and myself along.
One of the passengers was Mr. F., a planter and trader in
Talamacco, and we soon became good friends with him and some of the
others. Mr. F. was very kind, and promised to use all his influence to
help me find boys. The weather was bad, and we had to tack about all
night; happily, we were more comfortable on the big schooner than on
the little cutters. At Talamacco Mr. F. offered us his hospitality,
and as it rained continually, we were very glad to stay in his
house, spending the time in sipping gin and winding up a hoarse
gramophone. Thus two lazy days passed, during which our host was
constantly working for me, sending his foreman, the "moli," to all
the neighbouring villages, with such good results that at last I was
able to engage four boys for two months. I took them on board at once,
well pleased to have the means, at last, of moving about independently.
We sailed in the evening, and when, next morning, we rounded Cape
Quiros, we found a heavy sea, so that the big ship pitched and
ploughed with dull hissing through the foaming waves. She lay aslant
under the pressure of the wind that whistled in the rigging, and the
full curve of the great sails was a fine sight; but it was evident
that the sails and ropes were in a very rotten condition, and soon,
with anxious looks, we followed the growth of a tear in the mainsail,
wondering whether the mast would stand the strain. A heavy sea broke
the rudder, and altogether it was high time to land when we entered
Port Olry in the late afternoon.
A few days later I started for Hog Harbour, for the plantation
of the Messrs. Th., near which I meant to attend a great feast,
or "sing-sing." This meant a march of several hours through the
bush. My boys had all put on their best finery,--trousers, shirts,
gay handkerchiefs,--and had painted their hair with fresh lime.
"Well, boys, are you ready?" "Yes, Masta," they answer, with
conviction, though they are far from ready, as they are still tying
their bundles. After waiting a while, I say, "Well, me, me go." They
answer, "All right, you go." I take a few steps and wait again. One
of them appears in front of the hut to look for a stick to hang his
bundle on, another cannot find his pipe; still, after a quarter of an
hour, we can really start. The boys sing and laugh, but as we enter
the forest darkness they suddenly become quiet, as if the sternness
of the bush oppressed their souls. We talk but little, and only in
undertones. These woods have none of the happy, sensuous luxuriance
which fancy lends to every tropical forest; there is a harshness,
a selfish struggle for the first place among the different plants, a
deadly battling for air and light. Giant trees with spreading crowns
suppress everything around, kill every rival and leave only small
and insignificant shrubs alive. Between them, smaller trees strive
for light; on tall, straight, thin stems they have secured a place and
developed a crown. Others look for light in roundabout ways, making use
of every gap their neighbours leave, and rise upward in soft coils. All
these form a high roof, under which younger and weaker plants lead a
skimped life--hardwood trees on thin trunks, with small, unassuming
leaves, and vulgar softwood with large, flabby foliage. Around and
across all this wind the parasites, lianas, rotang, some stretched
like ropes from one trunk to another, some rising in elegant curves
from the ground, some attached to other trunks and sucking out their
life with a thousand roots, others interlaced in the air in distorted
curves. All these grow and thrive on the bodies of former generations
on the damp, mouldy ground, where leaves rot and trunks decay, and
where it is always wet, as never a sunbeam can strike in so far.
Thus it is sad in the forest, and strangely quiet, as in a churchyard,
for not even the wind can penetrate the green surface. It passes
rushing through the crowns, so that sometimes we catch an upward
glimpse of bright yellow sunshine as though out of a deep gully. And
as men in sternest fight are silent, using all their energy for one
purpose, so here there is no sign of gay and happy life, there are
no flowers or coloured leaves, but the endless, dull green, in an
infinity of shapes.
Even the animals seem to shun the dark forest depths; only on the
highest trees a few pigeons bathe in the sun, and as they fly heavily
over the wood, their call sounds, melancholy as a sad dream, from
afar. A lonely butterfly flutters among the trees, a delicate being,
unused to this dark world, seeking in vain for a ray of sun and a
breath of fresh air. Sometimes we hear the grunt of an invisible
pig, the breaking of branches and the rustling of leaves as it runs
away. Moisture and lowering gloom brood over the swampy earth; one
would not be surprised if suddenly the ground were to move and wriggle
like slimy snakes tightly knotted around each other. Thorns catch the
limbs, vines catch the feet, and the wanderer, stumbling along, almost
fancies he can hear the spiteful laughter of malicious demons. One
feels tired, worried, unsafe, as if in an enemy's country, helplessly
following the guide, who walks noiselessly on the soft ground. With
a branch he sweeps aside the innumerable spider-webs that droop
across the path, to keep them from hanging in our faces. Silently
the other men follow behind; once in a while a dry branch snaps or
a trunk creaks.
In this dark monotony we go on for hours, without an outlook, and
seemingly without purpose or direction, on a hardly visible path, in
an endless wilderness. We pass thousands of trees, climb over hundreds
of fallen trunks and brush past millions of creepers. Sometimes we
enter a clearing, where a giant tree has fallen or a village used to
stand. Sometimes great coral rocks lie in the thicket; the pools at
their foot are a wallowing-place for pigs.
It is a confusing walk; one feels quite dizzy with the constantly
passing stems and branches, and a white man would be lost in this
wilderness without the native, whose home it is. He sees everything,
every track of beast or bird, and finds signs on every tree and vine,
peculiarities of shape or grouping, which he recognizes with unerring
certainty. He describes the least suggestion of a trail, a footprint,
or a knife-cut, or a torn leaf. As the white man finds his way about
a city by means of street signs, so the savage reads his directions
in the forest from the trees and the ground. He knows every plant and
its uses, the best wood for fires; he knows when he may expect to find
water, and which liana makes the strongest rope. Yet even he seems
to feel something of the appalling loneliness of the primeval forest.
Our path leads steeply up and down, over loose coral blocks, between
ferns and mosses; lianas serve as ropes to help us climb over coral
rocks, and with our knives we hew a passage through thorny creepers
and thick bush. The road runs in zigzags, sometimes turning back
to go round fallen trunks and swampy places, so that we really walk
three or four times the distance to Hog Harbour. Our guide uses his
bush-knife steadily and to good purpose: he sees where the creepers
interlace and which branch is the chief hindrance, and in a few deft
cuts the tangle falls.
At last--it seems an eternity since we dived into the forest--we hear
from afar, through the green walls, a dull roaring, and as we go on,
we distinguish the thunder of the breakers like the beating of a great
pulse. Suddenly the thicket lightens, and we stand on the beach,
blinded by the splendour of light that pours on us, but breathing
freely in the fresh air that blows from the far horizon. We should like
to stretch out on the sand and enjoy the free space after the forest
gloom; but after a short rest we go on, for this is only half-way to
our destination, and we dive once more into the semi-darkness.
Towards evening we reach the plantation of the Messrs. Th. They are
Australians of good family, and their place is splendidly kept. I
was struck by the cleanliness of the whole establishment, the good
quarters of the native labourers, the quiet way in which work was
done, the pleasant relations between masters and hands, and last,
but not least, the healthy and happy appearance of the latter.
The brothers had just finished the construction of what was quite a
village, its white lime walls shining invitingly through the green
of the cocoa-nut palms. There was a large kitchen, a storehouse, a
tool-shed, a bakery, a dwelling-house and a light, open summer-house,
a delightful spot, where we dined in the cool sea-breeze and sipped
whisky in the moonlight, while the palm-leaves waved dreamily. Then
there was a large poultry yard, pigsty and paddocks, and along the
beach were the boat-houses, drying-sheds and storehouses, shaded by
old trees. The boys' quarters were roomy, eight sleeping together in
an airy hut, while the married couples had houses of their own. The
boys slept on high beds, each with his "bocase" underneath, to hold his
possessions, while all sorts of common property hung in the roof--nets,
fish-spears, bows, guns, etc.
Such plantations, where the natives lack neither food nor good
treatment, can only have a favourable influence on the race, and it is
not quite clear why the Presbyterian missionaries do not like their
young men to go in for plantation work. Owing to the good treatment
of their hands the Messrs. Th. have always had enough labourers, and
have been able to develop their plantation wonderfully. It consists
almost exclusively of cocoa-nut palms, planted on ground wrested from
the forest in a hard fight. When I was there the trees were not yet in
full bearing, but the proprietors had every reason to expect a very
considerable income in a few years. The cultivation of the cocoa-nut
is extremely simple; the only hard work is the first clearing of the
ground, and keeping the young trees free from lianas. Once they are
grown up, they are able to keep down the bush themselves to a certain
extent, and then the work consists in picking up the ripe nuts from
the ground, husking and drying them. The net profit from one tree
is estimated at one shilling per annum. Besides the cultivation of
their plantation the Messrs. Th. plied a flourishing trade in coprah
and sandalwood all along the west coast of Santo, which they visited
frequently in their cutter. This same cutter was often a great help to
me, and, indeed, her owners always befriended me in the most generous
way, and many are the pleasant hours I spent in their company.
After dinner that first day we went to the village where the
"sing-sing" was to take place. There was no moon, and the night was
pitch dark. The boys had made torches of palm-leaves, which they
kept burning by means of constant swinging. They flared up in dull,
red flames, lighting up the nearest surroundings, and we wound our
way upwards through the trunk vines and leaves that nearly shut in
the path. It seemed as if we were groping about without a direction,
as if looking for a match in a dark room. Soon, however, we heard
the dull sound of the drums, and the noise led us to the plateau,
till we could see the red glare of a fire and hear the rough voices
of men and the shrill singing of women.
Unnoticed, we entered the dancing-ground. A number of men were standing
in a circle round a huge fire, their silhouettes cutting sharply into
the red glare. Out of a tangle of clubs, rifles, plumes, curly wigs,
round heads, bows and violently gesticulating arms, sounds an irregular
shrieking, yelling, whistling and howling, uniting occasionally to
a monotonous song. The men stamp the measure, some begin to whirl
about, others rush towards the fire; now and then a huge log breaks
in two and crowns the dark, excited crowd with a brilliant column of
circling sparks. Then everybody yells delightedly, and the shouting
and dancing sets in with renewed vigour. Everyone is hoarse, panting
and covered with perspiration, which paints light streaks on the
sooty faces and bodies.
Noticing us, a man rushes playfully towards us, threateningly swinging
his club, his eyes and teeth shining in the darkness; then he returns
to the shouting, dancing mob around the fire. Half-grown boys sneak
through the crowd; they are the most excited of all, and stamp the
ground wildly with their disproportionately large feet, kicking and
shrieking in unpleasant ecstasy. All this goes on among the guests;
the hosts keep a little apart, near a scaffolding, on which yams are
attached. The men circle slowly round this altar, carrying decorated
bamboos, with which they mark the measure, stamping them on the ground
with a thud. They sing a monotonous tune, one man starting and the
others joining in; the dance consists of slow, springy jumps from
one foot to the other.
On two sides of this dancing circle the women stand in line, painted
all over with soot. When the men's deep song is ended, they chant the
same melody with thin, shrill voices. Once in a while they join in
the dance, taking a turn with some one man, then disappearing; they
are all much excited; only a few old hags stand apart, who are past
worldly pleasures, and have known such feasts for many, many years.
The whole thing looks grotesque and uncanny, yet the pleasure in mere
noise and dancing is childish and harmless. The picture is imposing and
beautiful in its simplicity, gruesome in its wildness and sensuality,
and splendid with the red lights which play on the shining, naked
bodies. In the blackness of the night nothing is visible but that
red-lit group of two or three hundred men, careless of to-morrow,
given up entirely to the pleasure of the moment. The spectacle lasts
all night, and the crowd becomes more and more wrought up, the leaps
of the dancers wilder, the singing louder. We stand aside, incapable
of feeling with these people or sharing their joy, realizing that
theirs is a perfectly strange atmosphere which will never be ours.
Towards morning we left, none too early, for a tremendous shower came
down and kept on all next morning. I went up to the village again, to
find a most dismal and dejected crowd. Around the square, in the damp
forest, seedy natives stood and squatted in small groups, shivering
with cold and wet. Some tried to warm themselves around fires, but
with poor success. Bored and unhappy, they stared at us as we passed,
and did not move. Women and children had made umbrellas of large flat
leaves, which they carried on their heads; the soot which had formed
their festival dress was washed off by the rain. The square itself
was deserted, save for a pack of dogs and a few little boys, rolling
about in the mud puddles. Once in a while an old man would come out
of the gamal, yawn and disappear. In short, it was a lendemain de
fête of the worst kind.
About once in a quarter of an hour a man would come to bring a tusked
pig to the chief, who danced a few times round the animal, stamped his
heel on the ground, uttered certain words, and retired with short,
stiff steps, shaking his head, into the gamal. The morning was over
by the time all the pigs were ready. I spent most of the time out of
doors, rather than in the gamal, for there many of the dancers of the
evening lay in all directions and in most uncomfortable positions,
beside and across each other, snoring, shivering or staring sulkily
into dark corners. I was offered a log to sit on, and it might have
been quite acceptable had not one old man, trembling with cold,
pressed closely against me to get warm, and then, half asleep,
attempted to lay his shaggy, oil-soaked head on my shoulder, while
legions of starved fleas attacked my limbs, forcing me to beat a
hasty though belated retreat.
In the afternoon about sixty pigs were tied to poles in front of
the gamal, and the chief took an old gun-barrel and smashed their
heads. They represented a value of about six hundred pounds! Dogs
and men approached the quivering victims, the dogs to lick the blood
that ran out of their mouths, the men to carry the corpses away for
the feast. This was the prosaic end of the great "sing-sing."
As it is not always easy to borrow the number of pigs necessary to rise
in caste, there are charms which are supposed to help in obtaining
them. Generally, these are curiously shaped stones, sometimes carved
in the shape of a pig, and are carried in the hand or in little baskets
in the belt. Such charms are, naturally, very valuable, and are handed
down for generations or bought for large sums. On this occasion the
"big fellow-master" had sacrificed enough to attain a very high caste
indeed, and had every reason to hold up his head with great pride.
Formerly, these functions were generally graced with a special feature,
in the shape of the eating of a man. As far as is known, the last
cannibal meal took place in 1906; the circumstances were these: Some
young men were walking through the forest, carrying their Snider
rifles, loaded and cocked as usual, on their shoulders. Unluckily,
one of the rifles went off, and killed the man behind, the son of
an influential native. Everyone was aware that the death was purely
accidental, but the father demanded a considerable indemnity. The
"murderer," a poor and friendless youth, was unable to pay, and fled to
a neighbouring village. He was received kindly enough, but his hosts
sent secretly to the offended father to ask what they were to do with
him. "Kill him and eat him," was the reply. They therefore prepared a
great feast, in honour, as they said, of their beloved guest, and while
he was sitting cheerfully near the fire, in anticipation of the good
meal to come, they killed him from behind with an axe. The body was
roasted, and the people of his village were asked to the feast. One
man had received the forearm and hand, and while he was chewing the
muscles and pulling away at the inflectors of the fingers, the hand
closed and scratched his cheek,--"all same he alive,"--whereupon the
horrified guest threw his morsel away and fled into the forest.
On my return to Port Olry I found that the Father had gone to visit
a colleague, as his duties did not take up much of his time. His
post at Port Olry was rather a forlorn hope, as the natives showed no
inclination to become converts, especially not in connection with the
poor Roman Catholic mission, which could not offer them any external
advantages, like the rich and powerful Presbyterian mission. All
the priests lived in the greatest poverty, in old houses, with very
few servants. The one here had, besides a teacher from Malekula,
an old native who had quarrelled with his chief and separated from
his clan. The good man was very anxious to marry, but no girl would
have him, as he had had two wives, and had, quite without malice,
strangled his second wife by way of curing her of an illness. I was
reminded of this little episode every time I looked at the man's long,
bony fingers.
One day a native asked me for medicine for his brother. I tried to find
out the nature of the ailment, and decided to give him calomel, urging
his brother to take it to him at once. The man had eaten a quarter of
a pig all by himself, but, of course, it was said that he had been
poisoned. His brother, instead of hurrying home, had a little visit
with his friends at the coast, until it was dark and he was afraid to
go home through the bush alone; so he waited till next morning, when
it was too late. The man's death naturally made the murder theory
a certainty, so the body was not buried, but laid out in the hut,
with all sorts of finery. Around it, in spite of the fearful odour,
all the women sat for ten days, in a cloud of blow-flies. They burned
strong-scented herbs to kill the smell, and dug a little trench across
the floor, in order to keep the liquids from the decaying corpse from
running into the other half of the house. The nose and mouth of the
body were stopped up with clay and lime, probably to keep the soul
from getting out, and the body was surrounded by a little hut. In the
gamal close by sat all the men, sulky, revengeful, and planning war,
which, in fact, broke out within a few days after my departure.
The Messrs. Th. had been kind enough to invite me to go on a recruiting
trip to Maevo, the most north-easterly island of the group. Here I
found a very scanty population, showing many traces of Polynesian
admixture in appearance and habits. The weather was nasty and our
luck at recruiting poor, so that after a fortnight we returned to
Hog Harbour. I went to Port Olry to my old priest's house, and a few
days later Mr. Th. came in his cutter to take me to Tassimaloun in
Big Bay; so I bade a hearty farewell to the good Father, whom I have
never had the pleasure of meeting again.
CHAPTER VII
SANTO
There are hardly any natives left in the south of the Bay of
St. Philip and St. James, generally called Big Bay. Only to the
north of Talamacco there are a few villages, in which the remnants
of a once numerous population, mostly converts of the Presbyterian
mission, have collected. It is a very mixed crowd, without other
organization than that which the mission has created, and that is
not much. There are a few chiefs, but they have even less authority
than elsewhere, and the feeling of solidarity is lacking entirely,
so that I have hardly ever found a colony where there was so much
intrigue, immorality and quarrelling. A few years ago the population
had been kept in order by a Presbyterian missionary of the stern and
cruel type; but he had been recalled, and his place was taken by a man
quite unable to cope with the lawlessness of the natives, so that every
vice developed freely, and murders were more frequent than in heathen
districts. Matters were not improved by the antagonism between the
Roman Catholic and Presbyterian missions and the traders; each worked
against the others, offering the natives the best of opportunities to
fish in troubled waters. The result of all this was a rapid decrease
of the population and frequent artificial sterility. The primitive
population has disappeared completely in some places, and is only to
be found in any numbers far inland among the western mountains. The
situation is a little better in the north, where we find a number of
flourishing villages along the coast around Cape Cumberland.
The nearest village to Talamacco was Tapapa. Sanitary conditions
there were most disheartening, as at least half of the inhabitants
were leprous, and most of them suffered from tuberculosis or
elephantiasis. I saw hardly any children, so that the village will
shortly disappear, like so many others.
Native customs along the coast are much the same as at Port Olry, but
less primitive, and the houses are better built. There is wood-carving,
or was. I found the doorposts of old gamals beautifully carved, and
plates prettily decorated; but these were all antiques, and nothing
of the kind is made at the present day.
The race, however, is quite different from that around Port Olry. There
are two distinct types: one, Melanesian, dark, tall or short, thin,
curly-haired, with a broad nose and a brutal expression; and one
that shows distinct traces of Polynesian blood in its finer face,
a larger body, which is sometimes fat, light skin and frequently
straight hair. Just where this Polynesian element comes from it
is hard to say, but the islands in general are very favourable to
race-mixture along the coasts. As I said before, the Melanesian type
shows two distinct varieties, a tall dark one, and a short light
one. At first I did not realize the significance of the latter until
I became aware of the existence of a negroid element, of which I saw
clear traces. The two varieties, however, are much intermingled, and
the resulting blends have mixed with the Polynesian-Melanesian type,
so that the number of types is most confusing, and it will be hard
to determine the properties of the original one.
Finding little of interest in the immediate surroundings of
Talamacco, I determined to make an excursion into the interior of the
island. Mr. F. put his foreman, or moli, at my disposal, and he engaged
my bearers, made himself useful during the trip in superintending
the boys, and proved valuable in every way, as he was never afraid,
and was known to nearly all the inland chiefs.
After a rainy spell of six weeks we had a clear day at last; and
although the weather could not be taken into consideration when making
my plans, still, the bright sunshine created that happy and expectant
sensation which belongs to the beginning of a journey. The monthly
steamer had arrived the day before, had shipped a little coprah, and
brought some provisions for the trader and myself. I had completed
my preparations, engaged my boys and was ready to start.
In the white glare of a damp morning we pulled from the western shore
of Big Bay to the mouth of the Jordan River. The boat was cramped
and overloaded, and we were all glad to jump ashore after a row of
several hours. The boys carried the luggage ashore and pulled the
boat up into the bush with much noise and laughter. Then we settled
down in the shade for our first meal, cooking being an occupation of
which the boys are surprisingly fond. Their rations are rice and tea,
with a tin of meat for every four. This discussed, we packed up,
and began our march inland.
The road leads through a thin bush, over rough coral boulders and
gravel deposited by the river. We leave the Jordan to our right,
and march south-east. After about an hour we come to a swampy
plain, covered with tall reed-grass. Grassy plains are an unusual
sight in Santo; the wide expanse of yellowish green is surrounded
by dark walls of she-oak, in the branches of which hang thousands
of flying-foxes. At a dirty pond we fill our kettles with greenish
water, for our night camp will be on the mountain slope ahead of us,
far from any spring. Even the moli has to carry a load of water, as I
can hardly ask the boys to take any more. He feels rather humiliated,
as a moli usually carries nothing but a gun, but he is good enough to
see the necessity of the case, and condescends to carry a small kettle.
Straight ahead are the high coral plateaux across which our road
lies. While we tackle the ascent, the sky has become overcast, the
gay aspect of the landscape has changed to sad loneliness and a heavy
shower soaks us to the skin. The walk through the jungle is trying,
and even the moli loses the way now and again. Towards nightfall
we enter a high forest with but little underbrush, and work our way
slowly up a steep and slippery slope to an overhanging coral rock,
where we decide to camp. We have lost our way, but as night is closing
in fast, we cannot venture any farther.
The loads are thrown to the ground in disorder, and the boys drop
down comfortably; strong language on my part is needed before they
make up their minds to pile up the luggage, collect wood and begin
to cook. Meanwhile my own servant has prepared my bed and dried my
clothes. Soon it is quite dark, the boys gather round the fires, and do
not dare to go into the yawning darkness any more, for fear of ghosts.
The rain has ceased, and the soft damp night air hangs in the
trees. The firelight is absorbed by the darkness, and only the nearest
surroundings shine in its red glare; the boys are stretched out in
queer attitudes round the fire on the hard rocks. Soon I turn out the
lamp and lie listening to the night, where vague life and movement
creeps through the trunks. Sometimes a breath of wind shivers through
the trees, shaking heavy drops from the leaves. A wild pig grunts,
moths and insects circle round the fires, and thousands of mosquitoes
hum about my net and sing me to sleep. Once in a while I am roused
by the breaking of a rotten tree, or a mournful cry from one of the
dreaming boys; or one of them wakes up, stirs the fire, turns over and
snores on. Long before daybreak a glorious concert of birds welcomes
the new day. Half asleep, I watch the light creep across the sky,
while the bush is still in utter darkness; suddenly, like a bugle-call,
the first sunbeams strike the trees and it is broad day.
Chilly and stiff, the boys get up and crowd round the fires. As
we have no more water there is no tea, and breakfast is reduced to
dry biscuits. The moli has found the lost trail by this time, and we
continue the ascent. On the plateau we again strike nearly impenetrable
bush, and lose the trail again, so that after a few hours' hard work
with the knives we have to retrace our steps for quite a distance. It
is a monotonous climb, varied only by an occasional shot at a wild
pig and fair sport with pigeons. Happily for the thirsty boys, we
strike a group of bamboos, which yield plenty of water. All that
is needed is to cut the joint of the stems, and out of each section
flows a pint of clear water, which the boys collect by holding their
huge mouths under the opening. Their clothes are soaked, but their
thirst is satisfied and our kettles filled for the midday meal.
Presently we pass a native "camp" under an overhanging rock: it
consists of a few parallel sticks, on which the native sleeps as well
as any European on a spring-mattress, and a hollow in the ground,
with a number of cooking-stones.
After a stiff climb we stop for our meal, then follow a path
which gradually widens and improves, a sign that we are nearing a
village. Towards evening we come to some gardens, where the natives
plant their yam and taro. At the entrance of the village I make my
boys close up ranks; although the natives are not supposed to be
hostile, my people show signs of uneasiness, keeping close together
and carrying the few weapons we have very conspicuously.
We cross the village square to the gamal, a simple place, as they
all are, with a door about a yard from the ground, in order to keep
out the pigs which roam all over the village. In line with the front
of the house is a row of tall bamboo posts, wound with vines; their
hollow interior is filled with yam and taro, the remains of a great
feast. The village seems quite deserted, and we peep cautiously
into the interior of the gamal, where, after a while, we discern a
man, lying on the damp and dirty ground, who stares at us in silent
fright. He gets up and comes slowly out, and we can see that he has
lost half of one foot from leprosy. From him the moli learns that
the two chiefs are away at a great "sing-sing," and the rest of the
men in the fields or in their wives' houses. There is nothing for us
to do but sit down and wait, and be sniffed at by pigs, barked at by
dogs and annoyed by fowls. The moli beats vigorously on one of the
wooden drums that lie in the mud in front of the house. He has his
own signal, which most of the natives know, so that all the country
round is soon informed of his arrival.
One by one the men arrive, strolling towards the gamal as if
unconscious of our presence; some of them greet one or the other
of my boys whom they have met when visiting at the shore. Nearly
all of them are sick with leprosy or elephantiasis or tuberculosis,
and after the long rainy period they all have colds and coughs and
suffer from rheumatism; altogether they present a sad picture of
degeneration and misery, and there are few healthy men to be seen.
My luggage is taken into the gamal, and I order the boys to buy and
prepare food, whereupon the natives hurry away and fetch a quantity of
supplies: pigs, fowls, yam, taro, of which I buy a large stock, paying
in matches and tobacco. There are also eggs, which, I am assured,
are delicious; but this is according to native taste, which likes eggs
best when half hatched. While the boys are cooking, I spend the time
in measuring the villagers. At first they are afraid of the shiny,
pointed instruments, but the tobacco they receive, after submitting
to the operation, dispels their fears. The crowd sits round us on the
ground, increasing the uneasiness of my victims by sarcastic remarks.
Meanwhile, the women have arrived, and crouch in two groups at the
end of the square, which they are forbidden to enter. There are
about twenty of them, not many for nearly fifty men, but I see only
three or four babies, and many faded figures and old-looking girls
of coarse and virile shape, the consequence of premature abuse and
artificial sterility. But they chat away quite cheerfully, giggle,
wonder, clap their hands, and laugh, taking hold of each other,
and rocking to and fro.
At last the two chiefs arrive, surprisingly tall and well-built men,
with long beards carefully groomed, and big mops of hair. Like all the
men, they are dressed in a piece of calico that hangs down in front,
and a branch of croton behind. They have big bracelets, and wear
the curved tusks of pigs on their wrists. There is just time before
nightfall to take their measures and photographs, then I retire into
the gamal for my supper, during which I am closely observed by the
entire male population. They make remarks about the spoons and the
Worcester sauce, and when I put sugar into my tea, they whisper to each
other, "Salt!" which idea is almost enough to spoil one's appetite,
only the delicious roast sucking-pig is too tempting.
My toilet for the night is watched with the same attention; then, while
I am still reading on my bed, the men seek their couches in the long,
low house. They stir up all the fires, which smoke terribly, then they
lie down on their bamboo beds, my boys among them, and talk and talk
till they fall asleep,--a houseful of leprous and consumptive men,
who cough and groan all night.
In front of me, near the entrance, is the chiefs place. He spends
a long time in preparing his kava, and drinks it noisily. Kava is a
root which is ground with a piece of sharp coral; the fibres are then
mixed with water, which is contained in a long bamboo, and mashed
to a soft pulp; the liquid is then squeezed out, strained through a
piece of cocoa-nut bark into a cocoa-nut bowl and drunk. The liquid
has a muddy, thick appearance, tastes like soapy water, stings like
peppermint and acts as a sleeping-draught. In Santo only chiefs are
allowed to drink kava.
At first, innumerable dogs disturbed my sleep, and towards morning it
grew very cold. When I came out of the hut, the morning sun was just
getting the better of the mist, and spreading a cheery light over the
square, which had looked dismal enough under a grey, rainy sky. I made
all the women gather on the outskirts of the square to be measured
and photographed. They were very bashful, and I almost pitied them,
for the whole male population sat around making cruel remarks about
them; indeed, if it had not been for the chiefs explicit orders, they
would all have run away. They were not a very pleasant spectacle, on
the whole. I was struck by the tired, suffering expression of even the
young girls, a hopeless and uninterested look, in contradiction with
their lively behaviour when unobserved. For they are natural and happy
only when among themselves, and in the presence of the men they feel
that they are under the eye of their master, often a brutal master,
whose property they are. Probably they are hardly conscious of this,
and take their position and destiny as a matter of course; but they
are constrained in the presence of their owners, knowing that at any
moment they may be displeased or angry, for any reason or for none,
and may ill-treat or even kill them. Aside from these considerations
their frightened awkwardness was extremely funny, especially when
posing before the camera. Some could not stand straight, others
twisted their arms and legs into impossible positions. The idea of
a profile view seemed particularly strange to them, and they always
presented either their back or their front view. The poor things got
more and more nervous, the men roared, I was desperate,--altogether
it was rather unsatisfactory.
I was in need of more bearers to carry the provisions I had bought,
and the chiefs were quite willing to supply them; but their orders
had absolutely no effect on the men, who were too lazy, and I should
have been in an awkward position had not one of the chiefs hit on
the expedient of employing his women. They obeyed without a moment's
hesitation; each took a heavy load of yam, all but the favourite wife,
the only pretty one of the number; her load was small, but she had
to clear the trail, walking at the head of the procession.
The women led the way, chatting and giggling, patient and steady
as mules, and as sure-footed and supple. Nothing stops them; with a
heavy load on their heads they walk over fallen trunks, wade through
ditches, twist through vines, putting out a hand every now and then to
feel whether the bunch of leaves at their back is in place. They were
certainly no beauties, but there was a charm in their light, soft step,
in the swaying of their hips, in the dainty poise of their slim ankles
and feet, and the softness and harmony of all their movements. And
the light playing on their dark, velvety, shining bodies increased
this charm, until one almost forgot the many defects, the dirt, the
sores, the disease. This pleasant walk in the cool, dewy forest,
under the bright leaves, did not last long, and after two hours'
tramp we reached our destination.
At the edge of the square the women sat down beside their loads,
and were soon joined by the women of the village. Our hostesses were
at once informed of every detail of our outfit, our food and our
doings, and several dozen pairs of big dark eyes followed our every
movement. The women were all quite sure that I was a great doctor and
magician, and altogether a dangerous man, and this belief was not at
all favourable to my purposes.
We men soon withdrew to the gamal, where the men likewise had to be
informed of everything relating to our doings and character. The gamal
was low and dirty, and the state of health of the inhabitants still
worse than in the first village, but at least there were a few more
babies than elsewhere. The chief suffered from a horrible boil in
his loin, which he poulticed with chewed leaves, and the odour was
so unbearable that I had to leave the house and sit down outside,
where I was surrounded by many lepers, without toes or even feet,
a very dismal sight.
I now paid my carriers the wages agreed upon, but they claimed that I
ought to pay the men extra, although their services had been included
in the price. I took this for one of the tricks by which the natives
try to get the better of a good-natured foreigner, and refused flatly,
whereupon the whole crowd sat down in front of the house and waited
in defiant silence. I left them there for half an hour, during which
they whispered and deliberated in rather an uncomfortable way. I
finally told them that I would not pay any more, and that they had
better go away at once. The interpreter said they were waiting for
the chiefs to get through with something they had to talk over, and
they stayed on a while longer. My refusal may have been a mistake,
and there may really have been a misunderstanding, at any rate,
I had to suffer for my unyielding way, inasmuch as the behaviour of
our hosts immediately changed from talkative hospitality and childish
curiosity to dull silence and suspicious reticence. The people sat
around us, sullen and silent, and would not help us in any way,
refused to bring firewood or show us the water-hole, and seemed most
anxious to get rid of us. Under these circumstances it was useless
to try to do any of my regular work, and I had to spend an idle
and unpleasant afternoon. At last I induced a young fellow to show
me the way to a high plateau near by, from which I had a beautiful
view across trees to the east coast of the island, with the sea in
a blue mist far away. As my guide, consumptive like all the others,
was quite out of breath with our short walk, I soon had to return,
and I paid him well. This immediately changed the attitude of all
the rest. Their sullenness disappeared, they came closer, began to
talk, and at last we spent the afternoon in comparative friendship,
and I could attend to my business.
But the consequences of my short visit to the gamal became very
noticeable. In my hat I found a flourishing colony of horrid bug-like
insects; my pockets were alive, my camera was full of them, they
had crawled into my shoes, my books, my luggage, they were crawling,
flying, dancing everywhere. Perfectly disgusted, I threw off all my
clothes, and had my boys shake and clean out every piece. For a week
I had to have everything cleaned at least once a day, and even then I
found the loathsome creatures in every fold, under straps, in pouches.
On that afternoon I had a great success as an artist. My drawings
of pigs, trees and men went the rounds and were quite immoderately
admired, and preserved as we would a sketch of Holbein's. These
drawings have to be done as simply as possible and fairly large, else
the natives do not understand them. They consider every line essential,
and do not understand shadows or any impressionistic treatment. We must
remember that in our civilized art we work with many symbols, some
of which have but a vague resemblance to the object they represent,
whose meaning we know, while the savage does not. This was the reason
why I had often no success at all with what I considered masterpieces,
while the natives went into raptures over drawings I thought utter
failures. At any rate, they made me quite a popular person.
The sick chief complained to me that a late wife of his had been
poisoned, and as he took me for a great "witch-doctor," he asked me
to find out the murderer. To the native, sickness or death is not
natural, but always the consequence of witchcraft, either on the part
of enemies or spirits. The terribly high death-rate in the last years
makes it seem all the more probable that mysterious influences are
at work, and the native suspects enemies everywhere, whom he tries
to render harmless by killing them. This leads to endless murders
and vendettas, which decimate the population nearly as much as the
diseases do. The natives know probably something about poisons,
but they are always poisons that have to be mixed with food, and
this is not an easy thing to do, as every native prepares his food
himself. Most of the dreaded poisons are therefore simply charms,
stones or other objects, which would be quite harmless in themselves,
but become capable of killing by the mere terror they inspire in the
victim. If the belief in these charms could be destroyed, a great deal
of the so-called poisoning would cease, and it may be a good policy to
deny the existence of poison, even at the risk of letting a murderer
go unpunished. I therefore felt justified in playing a little comedy,
all the more, as I was sure that the woman had died of consumption,
and I promised the chief my assistance for the next morning.
I had my bed made in the open air; even the boys would not enter the
dirty house any more, and we slept well under the open sky, in spite
of the pigs that grunted around us and the dew that fell like rain.
Next day the chief called all the men together; he was convinced
that I could see through every one of them and tell who had done any
wrong. So he made them all sit round me, and I looked very solemnly at
each through the finder of my camera, the chief watching carefully to
see that I did not omit any one. The men felt uneasy, but did not quite
know what to make of the whole performance. I naturally could not find
anything wrong, and told the chief so, but he was not satisfied, and
shook his head doubtfully. Then I talked to him seriously and tried
to convince him that everyone had to die once, and that sickness was
something natural, especially considering the filth in which they
lived; but I do not think my speech made much impression.
The men had now become very suspicious, the women were away, and I
had great trouble in finding bearers and guides to the next village. A
pleasant march brought us to this settlement, whose houses were close
together in a big clearing. We were received very coolly by the chief
and a few men. My bearers and guides would not be induced to accompany
us farther, so that I had to ask for boys here; but the chief said he
had not a single able-bodied man, which I felt to be mere excuse. I
also noticed that my own boys were very dissatisfied and sullen,
and that something was in the wind. In order to raise their spirits,
and not to leave our yam provisions behind, I had them cook the midday
meal, but the sullen, threatening atmosphere remained the same. When
it was time to continue our march, I heard them grumble and complain
about their loads, and it all looked like rising mutiny. I was ahead
with the chief, who had consented to show us the way, when the moli
came after me and informed me that the boys were unwilling to go on,
that they were afraid to go farther inland and were ready to throw
their loads away. Later on I learned that two of the boys had tried to
bribe some natives to show them the road back to the coast and leave
me alone with the moli. I assembled the boys and made them a speech,
saying that their loads were not too heavy nor the marches too long,
that they were all free to return home, but would have to take the
consequences, and that I and the moli would go on without them. If
they liked, I said, they could throw away their tinned meats, I did not
care, and the two bottles of grog were not meant for me, and we could
easily spare those. I grasped the bottles and offered to smash them,
but that was too much for the boys; half crying, they begged me not to
do that: the bottles were not too heavy, and they would gladly carry
them as far as I liked. Hesitatingly I allowed myself to be persuaded,
and kindly desisted from the work of destruction. I had won, but I had
lost confidence in my boys, and was careful not to put their patience
and fidelity to any more tests, conscious as I was of how much depended
on their goodwill. After this episode they accomplished a long and
tiresome march, up and down through thick bush on slippery clay,
quite willingly. In the evening we reached a few huts in a clearing
at a height of about 1200 feet, and went into camp for the night.
While cooking, we heard dismal howling and weeping from a neighbouring
hut; it was a woman mourning her husband, who had been dead ninety-nine
days. To-morrow, on the hundredth day, there was to be a death-feast,
to which all the neighbours were invited. Of course, this man, too,
had been poisoned.
The fire of revolt was smouldering in my boys. They sat round
the camp-fire in groups, whispering and plotting, grumbling and
undecided; but I felt safe enough, as they were evidently divided
into two parties, one faithful and the other mutinous, and the former
seemed rather more influential. They proved their goodwill to me by
delightful servility, and took excellent care of me.
Next morning we were wakened by the howls of the unhappy widow,
and soon the guests appeared, some from far off, and all bringing
contributions to the feast. They killed several pigs, and while
the men cut them up in a manner rather more clever than appetizing,
the women prepared the fires by lighting large quantities of wood
to heat the cooking-stones. This lasted several hours. Meanwhile,
every person present received his share of a half-rotten smoked pig,
of the freshly killed pigs, yam, taro and sweet potatoes. The women
took the entrails of the pigs, squeezed them out, rolled them up in
banana leaves, and made them ready for cooking. When the fire was
burnt down they took out half of the stones with forks of split
bamboo, and then piled up the food in the hole, first the fruit,
then the meat, so that the grease should run over the fruit; then the
hole was covered with banana leaves, the hot stones piled on top and
covered with more leaves. Food cooked in this way is done in three or
four hours, so that the "stoves" are usually opened in the afternoon,
and enormous quantities eaten on the spot, while the rest is put in
baskets to take home. The amount a native can eat at one sitting
is tremendous, and one can actually watch their stomachs swell as
the meal proceeds. Violent indigestion is generally the consequence
of such a feast. On the whole, no one seemed to be thinking much of
the dead man in whose honour it was given,--such things are said to
happen in civilized countries as well.
I stayed in this village for another day, and many chiefs from the
neighbourhood came to consult me, always complaining of the one
thing--poison. Each secretly accused the others, each wanted me to
try my glass on all the others. I did not like my reputation of being
a magician at all, as it made the people still more suspicious of me
and more afraid of my instruments and my camera.
These so-called chiefs were rather more intelligent than the
average. Most of them had worked for whites at one time, and learned to
speak pidgin-English; but they were as superstitious as anyone else,
and certainly greater rogues. They were naked and dirty, but some had
retained some traces of civilization, one, for instance, always took
off his old felt hat very politely, and made quite a civilized bow;
he must have been in Nouméa in former days.
There was no leprosy or elephantiasis here, but a great deal of
tuberculosis, and very few children, and nearly all the men complained
that their women were unwilling to have any more children.
From the next village I had a glimpse of the wild mountains of western
Santo. I decided to spend the night here, left the boys behind, and
went southward with the moli and a few natives. This was evidently
the region where the volcanic and coral formations meet, for the
character of the landscape suddenly changed, and instead of flat
plateaux we found a wild, irregular country, with lofty hills and
deep, narrow gullies. Walking became dangerous, though the path was
fair. On top of a hill I found an apparently abandoned village, from
which I could overlook all central Santo. To the west were the rugged,
dark-looking mountains round Santo Peak, with white clouds floating
on the summit, and a confusion of deep blue valleys and steep peaks;
northward lay the wild Jordan valley, and far away I could distinguish
the silver mirror of Big Bay. All around us rose the silent, stern,
lonely forest--imposing, unapproachable.
On our way back to camp we rested beside a fresh creek which gaily
squeezed its way through rocks and rich vegetation. A little tea
and a tin of sardines were all the menu, but we enjoyed a delightful
bath in the cool water, and had as good a wash as we could without
soap. It was a great luxury after the hot days in the coral country
without any water. While our things were drying in the bright sun,
we lay in the moss near the rushing stream, and it was like a summer
day at home in the mountains. The water sounded familiar, the soft,
cool breeze was the same, and while I lay watching the white clouds
through the bright foliage I dreamt of home. At home I had dreamt of
travel, and thus one wish follows the other and the soul is preserved
from lazy content. I almost fancied I heard the sound of bells and the
far-away lowing of cattle. And again the reality seemed like a dream
when I roused myself and saw the dark figures crouching on the rocks,
with their frizzy mops of hair and their Sniders on their knees.
The village turned out to be too dirty to spend the night in, and I
decided to go to one which seemed quite near, just across a gully. Had
I known what an undertaking it would be, I would not have started,
for the ravine was very deep and the sides unpleasantly steep;
but my boys managed the descent, over rocks and fallen trees, with
their usual cleverness. At the bottom we were rewarded by a beautiful
sight. Beneath us, in a narrow cut it had eaten through the rock,
roared a river, foaming out of the depths of the dark wilderness. It
was like one of the celebrated gorges in the Alps, only the tropical
vegetation which hung in marvellous richness and variety over the
abyss gave a fairy-like aspect to the scene. The boys did not seem
to appreciate it in the least, and prepared, sighing, for the steep
ascent. A simple bridge led across the gully; it was made of a few
trees, and even provided with a railing in the shape of a vine. The
existence of this bridge surprised me very much; for, considering
the thoughtless egotism with which the natives pass through life, I
had thought them incapable of any work of public utility. They rarely
think of repairing a road or cutting a vine, nor do they remove trees
that may have fallen across the path, but always rely on others to
see to it.
The second village was not much cleaner than the first, but we camped
there, and the next day I went with the moli and a few of my boys to
the western mountains. The natives warned us, saying that the people
were "no good" and would kill us. But, for one thing, I could not
see that they themselves were particularly "good," and, for another,
I knew that all natives consider other tribes especially dangerous;
so I stuck to my intention, only we hung all our available weapons
about us, leaving the rest of the boys defenceless.
This turned out one of the most strenuous days I ever had in the
islands, as the road--and what a road!--constantly led up and down
the steepest slopes. It seemed to me we were climbing perpendicular
mountains all day long, and I had many an opportunity of admiring the
agility of my companions. I am a fair walker myself, but I had to crawl
on my hands and knees in many spots where they jumped from a stone to
a root, taking firm hold with their toes, never using their hands,
never slipping, and always with a loaded and cocked rifle on their
shoulders. My boys from the coast, good pedestrians though they were,
always remained far behind.
First we reached well-tended taro fields, then a few scattered
huts. The natives received us very kindly, and more men kept joining
us, till we formed a big, jolly crowd. The population here seemed very
primitive, and evidently had but little contact with the shore, but
they were clean and comparatively healthy and flourishing, and I found
them rather more frank, childlike and confiding than others I had seen.
We roasted our yam, and while we were enjoying our frugal but
delicious meal, I witnessed rather an amusing episode. A bushman,
painted black for mourning, suddenly called to one of my boys, and
wanted to shake hands with him. My boy, a respectable "schoolboy,"
was visibly annoyed by the idea of having anything to do with a naked
"man-bush," and behaved with icy reserve; but he could not long resist
the rural cordiality of the other, and presently resigned himself to
his fate, and made friends. It turned out that they had once worked
together in Vila, and one had become an elegant young swell, while
the other returned to simple country life.
On the way back we rested by the river-bank, amusing ourselves by
shooting pigeons with pistols and guns, feeling quite peaceful and
happy. But the sound of our shots had an unexpected effect in the
village where I had left the rest of my boys. All the natives jumped
to their feet, shouting, "Did we not tell you that they would kill
your master? Now you have heard them; he is dead, and now we will
see what you have in your boxes and divide it among ourselves."
They approached my boys threateningly, whereupon they all ran away,
with the exception of the ringleader of the mutineers of the last
few days, who sat down on the box containing the trading-stock and
said they had better go and see whether I was really dead before
plundering my luggage. The situation must have grown rather strained,
until some one had the good sense to go and look out for us, whereupon
he saw us sitting peacefully near the river below. This calmed the
natives, they withdrew, much disappointed, and my boys returned and
prepared everything for my arrival with remarkable zeal. I found
dry clothes ready, and tea boiling, and was quite touched by so much
thoughtfulness. I was not told of the day's occurrence till after my
return to the coast, and perhaps it was just as well.
By this time I had seen a good part of south-east Santo, and I was
eager to visit the south-west, with Santo Peak. But without guides
and with marked symptoms of home-sickness on the part of my boys,
I decided it would not be wise to attempt it. The news that we were
going to start for home revived the boys at once. With enormous
alacrity they packed up next day and raced homeward with astonishing
speed and endurance; I had had to drag them along before, now I could
hardly keep up with them. In two days we had reached the plain of
the Jordan, had a delightful swim and a jolly last night in camp,
free from pigs, dogs, fowls, fleas and bugs,--but not from mosquitoes!
The last day we strolled in and along the river, through the
forest swarming with wild pigs and pigeons, while a huge colony of
flying-foxes circled in the air, forming an actual cloud, and then
we came to the shore, with the wide expanse of Big Bay peaceful in
the evening sun. A painful walk on the sharp pebbles of the beach
brought us home towards nightfall.
CHAPTER VIII
SANTO (continued)--PYGMIES
The term of service of my boys had now expired, and I had to look
about for others. Happily, now that I was known in the region, I had
less trouble, especially as I held out the prospect of a visit to
Nouméa. With six boys of my own and a few other men, I started on
another journey.
I had always suspected the existence of a race of pygmies in the
islands, and had often asked the natives if they had ever seen
"small fellow men." Generally they stared at me without a sign of
intelligence, or else began to tell fairy-tales of dwarfs they had
seen in the bush, of little men with tails and goat's feet (probably
derived from what they had heard of the devil from missionaries),
all beings of whose existence they were perfectly convinced, whom
they often see in the daytime and feel at night, so that it is very
hard to separate truth from imagination.
I had heard stories of a colony of tailed men near Mele, and that, near
Wora, north of Talamacco, tailed men lived in trees; that they were
very shy and had long, straight hair. The natives pretended they had
nearly caught one once. All this sounded interesting and improbable,
and I was not anxious to start on a mere wild-goose chase. More exact
information, however, was forthcoming. One of my servants told me that
near a waterfall I could see shining out of a deep ravine far inland,
there lived "small fellow men."
It was an exceptionally stormy morning when we started, so that
Mr. F. advised me to postpone my departure; but in the New Hebrides it
is no use to take notice of the weather, and that day it was so bad
that it could not get any worse, which was some consolation. Soon we
were completely soaked, but we kept on along the coast to some huts,
where we were to meet our guide. Presently he arrived, followed by a
crowd of children, as they seemed to me, who joined our party. While
climbing inland toward the high mountains, I asked the guide if he
knew anything about the little people; he told me that one of them
was walking behind me. I looked more closely at the man in question,
and saw that whereas I had taken him for a half-grown youth, he was
really a man of about forty, and all the others who had come with him
turned out to be full-grown but small individuals. Of course I was
delighted with this discovery, and should have liked to begin measuring
and photographing at once, had not the torrents of rain prevented.
I may mention here that I found traces later on of this diminutive race
in some other islands, but rarely in such purity as here. Everywhere
else they had mingled with the taller population, while here they
had kept somewhat apart, and represented an element by themselves,
so that I was fortunate in having my attention drawn to them here,
as elsewhere I might easily have overlooked them.
The trail by which we were travelling was one of the worst I ever
saw in the islands, and the weather did not improve. The higher
up we went, the thicker was the fog; we seemed to be moving in a
slimy mass, breathing the air from a boiler. At noon we reached
the lonely hut, where a dozen men and women squatted, shivering
with cold and wet, crowded together under wretched palm-leaf mats,
near a smouldering fire. There were some children wedged into the
gaps between the grown-ups. Our arrival seemed to rouse these poor
people from their misery a little; one man after the other got up,
yawning and chattering, the women remained sitting near the fire. We
made them some hot tea, and then I began to measure and take pictures,
to which they submitted quite good-humouredly.
I was much struck by the fact of these men and women living together,
a most unusual thing in a Melanesian district, where the separation
of the sexes and the "Suque" rules are so rigorously observed.
We started off once more in the icy rain, keeping along the crest
of the hill, which was just wide enough for the path. The mountain
sloped steeply down on either side, the thick mist made an early
twilight, we could only see the spot where we set our feet, while
all the surroundings were lost in grey fog, so that we felt as though
we were walking in a void, far above all the world. At nightfall we
arrived at a solitary hut--the home of our companions. After having
repaired the broken roof, my boys succeeded in lighting a fire,
though how they did it is a mystery, as matches and everything else
were soaked. Soon tea and rice were boiling, while I tried to dry
my instruments, especially my camera, whose watertight case had not
been able to resist the rain. Then I wrapped myself up in my blanket,
sipped my tea and ate my rice, and smoked a few pipes. It certainly
is a reward for the day's work, that evening hour, lying satisfied,
tired and dreamy, under the low roof of the hut, while outside the
wind roars through the valley and the rain rattles on the roof, and a
far-off river rushes down a gorge. The red fire paints the beams above
me in warm colours, and in the dark corners the smoke curls in blue
clouds. Around a second fire the natives lie in ecstatic laziness,
smoking and talking softly, pigs grunt and dogs scratch busily about.
In the morning the storm had passed, and I could see that the house
was set on the slope of a high mountain, much as a chalet is, and
that we were at the end of a wild ravine, from every side of which
fresh rivulets and cascades came pouring. Owing to the mountainous
character of the country there are no villages here, but numerous huts
scattered all along the mountains, two or three families at the utmost
living together. The structure of the houses, too, was different from
those on the coast; they had side walls and a basement of boulders,
sometimes quite carefully built. Here men and women live together,
and a separation of the fires does not seem to exist, nor does the
"Suque" seem to have penetrated to this district.
We passed several hamlets where the mode of life was the same as in
this one. The dress of the men is the same as at the coast, except
that they wind strings of shell-money about their waists in manifold
rows. The women wear a bunch of leaves in front and behind. The weapons
are the same as elsewhere, except that here we find the feathered
arrows which are such a rarity in the Pacific. It is surprising to
find these here, in these secluded valleys among the pygmy race,
and only here, near Talamacco, nowhere else where the same race is
found. It is an open question whether these feathered arrows are an
original invention in these valleys, an importation or a remnant of
an earlier culture.
The population lives on the produce of the fields, mostly taro,
which is grown in irrigated lands in the river bottoms.
In appearance these people do not differ much from those of central
Santo, who are by no means of a uniform type. The most important
feature is their size, that of the men amounting to 152 cm., that
of the women to 144 cm. The smallest man I measured was 138.0 cm.,
others measured 146.0, 149.2, 144.2, 146.6, 140.6, 149.0, 139.6, 138.4
cm. The maximum size is hard to state, as even here the small variety
has mixed with taller tribes, so that we find all the intermediate
sizes, from the pygmy 139.6 cm. high, to the tall Melanesian of 178.0
cm. My object, therefore, was to find a colony of pure pygmies, and
I pursued it in many subsequent wanderings, but without success. The
following description is based on the type as I constructed it in
the course of my travels and observations.
The hair is very curly, and seems black, but is in reality a
dark, yellowish brown. Fil-fil is less frequent than among the
tall variety. The forehead is straight, very slightly retreating,
vaulted and rather narrow, the eyes are close together, straight,
medium-sized and dark brown. The superciliar ridges are but slightly
developed. The jaw-bones are large, but do not protrude, whereas the
chewing muscles are well developed, which gives the face breadth, makes
the chin-line round and the chin itself small and pointed. The mouth
is not very large, with moderately thick lips, the nose is straight,
hardly open toward the front, the nostrils not thick. As a rule, the
growth of beard is not heavy, unlike that of the tall Melanesians;
there is only a light moustache, a few tufts at the chin and near
the jaw. Up to the age of forty this is all; in later years a heavier
beard develops, but the face and the front of the chin remain free.
Thus it will be seen that these people are not at all repulsive, as
all the ridges of bone and the heavy muscle attachments which make the
face of ordinary Melanesians so brutal are lacking. On the contrary,
they look quite agreeable and childlike. Their bodies are vigorous,
but lightly built: the chest broad and deep, the arms and legs fine,
with beautiful delicate joints, the legs well proportioned, with
handsome calves. Their feet are short and broad, especially in front,
but the great toe does not stand off from the others noticeably. Thus
the pygmy has none of the proportions of a child, and shows no signs
of degeneration, but is of harmonious build, only smaller than other
Melanesians.
The shade of the skin varies a good deal from a dull purple,
brownish-black, to coffee colour; but the majority of individuals
are light, and the dark ones probably inherited their shade from the
tall race.
Deformations of the body are not practised, save for an occasional
perforation of the lobes of the ear. I never saw a perforation of
the septum, nor women with incisors extracted.
It seems as if the small race were better preserved here in Santo
than the tall one. The diseases which destroy the other tribes are
less frequent here, there are more children and a good number of
women. All this may be due to a great extent to their living inland
and not coming into touch with the unfavourable sides of civilization
as the coast tribes do, but even more to the hardy outdoor life in the
mountains. In their country one cannot walk three steps on a level,
and the whole population is expert in climbing, very sure-footed,
thinking nothing of jumping with a heavy load from one rock to another,
or racing at full speed down the steep and uneven slopes.
In character, too, they differ from the tribes near the water. They
seem less malicious and more confiding, and show less of the distrust
and shy reserve of the average Melanesian. They will laugh and chat
in the presence of strangers, and are very hospitable. I do not know
if these are accidental impressions, but I can only say that I always
felt safer and more comfortable in a village where the majority of
the inhabitants belonged to the small race.
With all this the pygmies are by no means helpless or even inferior,
compared to their tall neighbours. Possibly, in former days, they
may have been driven from their homes in the plains back into the
mountains, but at present they are quite equal to the tall race,
and the "salt-water men" are even a little afraid of their small
neighbours inland. What they lack in size and strength they make
up in speed and suppleness and temperament. The barrier between the
races has disappeared, and the mixing process is hastened by the fact
that the small race frequently sells its women to the tall one. It is
rare for a woman from the coast to settle in the mountains, still, it
occurs frequently enough to alloy the purity of the pygmy race, and in
no village have I found more than about 70 per cent. of real pygmies.
In the afternoon we came to the chief's dwelling. The old man lived
there alone with his wife, quietly and happily, venerated by all the
other people. It was touching to see the little couple, delicate as
two dolls, who seemed to love each other sincerely, a most uncommon
occurrence in Melanesia. I really had too much respect for the old
people to trouble them with my measuring instruments, but I could
not resist taking their pictures. After consulting her husband with
a look of the greatest confidence, the old lady consented shyly,
while he stood beside her as if it was an everyday event to him,
and a sort of tribute I was paying to his age and position and the
beauty of his wife.
From this point I had a fine view of the cascade that fell down in a
wide silver ribbon through the forest. Some months later all that wild
scenery was destroyed by an earthquake, which caused many land-slides
and spoilt the cascade. Following the roaring river, jumping from one
block of stone to another, we soon reached our camp, a large gamal. As
we were nearing the coast its arrangements were adapted to the customs
of the tall Melanesians. There were a few small individuals, but the
tall race was predominant. The reign of the "Suque" was evident by the
floor of the gamal being divided by parallel sticks into compartments
corresponding to the number of fires and castes, and each man sat
down in his division and cooked his own food.
Next day, after having waded through the cold water of the river, we
arrived at the coast. From the last hills I sent a farewell look into
the wild green tangle of forest, rocks, ravines, cascades and valleys,
over which heavy rain-clouds were gathering. Before me the greyish-blue
mirror of Big Bay lay in the mist, and in the Jordan valley the rain
fell heavily. The high reed-grass all around us rustled dismally,
and the damp cold was depressing. I hurried home and arrived there
in the night, wet as when I had started on my expedition.
With regard to the pygmies I must not omit to mention the following
experience. The fact that among them husband and wife live together,
and that I had nowhere seen a man with two wives, made me suspect
that this race was monogamous, as other pygmy races are. I made
frequent inquiries, and was assured that each man was allowed but one
wife. Still, I was not quite convinced, for it seemed strange to find
a monogamous population in the midst of polygamous tribes. Others
having given me similar information, I began to accept this theory
as a fact. At last, however, I found I had been deceived, as all the
people had taken me for a missionary, and had fancied I was asking
them questions in order to interfere with their matrimonial customs
by sending them a teacher or a "mission-police-man." My error was
cleared up, thanks to the investigations of a trader, for which I am
much indebted to him.
CHAPTER IX
SANTO (continued)--PIGS
The sun had hardly risen, yet the air hung heavy in the shrubs
surrounding my sleeping-hut. Damp heat and light poured into the
shed-like room, where hundreds of flies and as many mosquitoes
sought an entrance into my mosquito-net. It was an atmosphere to sap
one's energy; not even the sunshine, so rare in these parts, had any
attraction for me, and only the long-drawn "Sail ho!" of the natives,
announcing the arrival of the steamer, had power to drive me out
of bed.
She soon came to anchor and sent a boat ashore, and when I entered
my host's house, I found some of the ship's officers there, ready for
business and breakfast. Probably to drown the touch of home-sickness
that the arrival of a steamer brings to those who are tied to the
islands, our host set about emptying his cellar with enthusiasm and
perseverance, while the visitors would have been satisfied with much
smaller libations, as they had many more stations to visit that day.
While the crew was loading the coprah and landing a quantity of goods,
the host started his beloved gramophone for the general benefit, and a
fearful hash of music drifted out into the waving palms. Presently some
one announces that the cargo is all aboard, whereupon the supercargo
puts down his paper and remarks that they are in a hurry. A famous
soprano's wonderful high C is ruthlessly broken off short, and we
all run to the beach and jump on the backs of boys, who carry us
dry-shod to the boat. We are rowed to the steamer, and presently
descend to the storeroom, which smells of calico, soap, tobacco and
cheese. Anything may be bought here, from a collar-button to a tin
of meat, from perfumery to a shirt, anything,--and sometimes even
the very thing one wants. We provide for the necessities of life for
the next month or two, hand over our mail and end our visit with a
drink. Then the whistle blows, we scramble into the boat, and while
my host waves his hat frantically and shouts "good-bye," the steamer
gradually disappears from sight. My friend has "a bad headache" from
all the excitement of the morning. I guide him carefully between the
cases and barrels the steamer has brought, and deposit him in his bunk;
then I retire to my own quarters to devour my mail.
Some days after this we went to see a "sing-sing" up north. We rowed
along the shore, and as my host was contributing a pig, we had the
animal with us. With legs and snout tightly tied, the poor beast lay
sadly in the bottom of the boat, occasionally trying to snap the feet
of the rowers. The sea and the wind were perfect, and we made good
speed; in the evening we camped on the beach. The next day was just
as fine; my host continued the journey by boat, while I preferred to
walk the short distance that remained, accompanied by the pig, whose
health did not seem equal to another sea-voyage in the blazing sun. It
was touching to see the tenderness with which the natives treated the
victim-elect, giving it the best of titbits, and urging it with the
gentlest of words to start on the walk. It was quite a valuable animal,
with good-sized tusks. After some hesitation the pig suddenly rushed
off, Sam, his keeper, behind. First it raced through the thicket,
which I did not like, so I proposed to Sam to pull the rope on the
energetic animal's leg; but Sam would not damp its splendid enthusiasm
for fear it might balk afterwards. Sam managed, however, to direct
it back into the path, but we had a most exhausting and exciting,
if interesting, walk, for the pig was constantly rushing, sniffing,
grunting and digging on all sides, so that Sam was entirely occupied
with his charge, and it was quite impossible to converse. At last
we proudly entered the village, and the beast was tied in the shade;
we separated, not to meet again till the hour of sacrifice.
I was then introduced to the host, a small but venerable old man,
who received me with dignified cordiality. We could not talk together,
but many ingratiating smiles assured each of the other's sympathy. The
village seemed extremely pleasant to me, which may have been due to
the bright sun and the cool breeze. The square was situated on the
beach, which sloped steeply to the sea. Along the ridge were planted
brightly-coloured trees, and between their trunks we could see the
ocean, heavenly blue. On the other side were the large, well-kept
gamals, and crowds of people in festival attire; many had come from
a distance, as the feast was to be a big one, with plenty to eat
for everybody.
Palo, the host, was very busy looking after his guests and giving each
his share of good things. He was a most good-natured, courteous old
gentleman, although his costume consisted of nothing but a few bunches
of ferns. The number of guests increased steadily; besides the real
heathen in unadorned beauty, there were half-civilized Christians,
ugly in ill-fitting European clothes, of which they were visibly vain,
although they made blots on the beautiful picture of native life. All
around the square grunted the tusked pigs.
At noon four men gave the signal for the beginning of the festivities
by beating two big drums, which called the guests to dinner. Palo
had sent us a fowl cooked native fashion between hot stones, and,
like everything cooked in this way, it tasted very delicious. Shortly
afterwards the real ceremonies began, with the killing of about two
hundred young female pigs which had been kept in readiness in little
bamboo sheds.
Accompanied by the drums, Palo led all the high-castes in dancing
steps out of the gamal and round the square. After a few turns the
chiefs drew up in line in front of him, and he mounted a stone table,
while everyone else kept on dancing. His favourite wife was next
to the table, also dancing. Palo was entirely covered with ferns,
which were stuck in his hair, his bracelets and his belt. He still
looked quite venerable, but with a suggestion of a faun, a Bacchus or
a Neptune. It was a warm day, and the dancing made everybody perspire
more than freely.
Now one of the other men took hold of a little pig by the hind-legs and
threw it in a lofty curve to one of the dancing chiefs, who caught the
little animal, half stunned by the fall, and, still dancing, carried
it to Palo, who killed it by three blows on the head, whereupon it
was laid at his feet. This went on for a long time. It was a cruel
sight. Squealing and shrieking, the poor animals flew through the
air, fell heavily on the hard earth, and lay stunned or tried to
crawl away with broken backs or legs. Some were unhurt, and ran off,
but a bloodthirsty crowd was after them with clubs and axes, and soon
brought them back. Still, one man thought this troublesome, and broke
the hind-legs of each pig before throwing it to the chief, so that
it might not escape. It was horrible to see and hear the bones break,
but the lust for blood was upon the crowd, and on all sides there were
passionate eyes, distorted faces and wild yells. Happily the work was
soon done, and in front of Palo lay a heap of half-dead, quivering
animals. He and his wife now turned their backs to the assembly, while
a few high-castes counted the corpses. For each ten one lobe was torn
off a sicca-leaf, then the missing lobes were counted, and after a
puzzling calculation, the result was announced. Palo turned round
and descended from his pedestal with much dignity, though panting
from his exertions, and looking so hot that I feared an apoplexy
for the old man. I did not know how tough such an old heathen is,
nor that his efforts were by no means at an end. Noblesse oblige and
such high caste as Palo's is not attained without trouble.
As female pigs may not be eaten, those just killed were thrown into
the sea by the women; meanwhile, the chiefs blew a loud blast on the
shell-bugles, to announce to all concerned that Palo's first duty was
accomplished. The deep yet piercing tones must have sounded far into
the narrow valleys round.
Then poles were driven into the ground, to which the tusked pigs were
tied. Some were enormous beasts, and grunted savagely when anyone
came near them. I saw my companion of the morning lying cheerfully
grunting in the shade of a tree. Now came a peculiar ceremony, in
which all who had contributed pigs were supposed to take part. To my
disappointment, Mr. F. refused to join in. Palo took up his position
on the stone table, armed with a club. Out of a primitive door,
hastily improvised out of a few palm-leaves, the chiefs came dancing
in single file, swinging some weapon, a spear or a club. Palo jumped
down, danced towards them, chased each chief and finally drove them,
still dancing, back through the door. This evidently symbolized some
fight in which Palo was the victor. After having done this about
twenty times, Palo had to lead all the chiefs in a long dance across
the square, passing in high jumps between the pigs. After this he
needed a rest, and no wonder. Then the pigs were sacrificed with
mysterious ceremonies, the meaning of which has probably never been
penetrated. The end of it all was that Palo broke the pigs' heads
with a special club, and when night fell, twenty-six "tuskers" lay
agonizing on the ground. Later they were hung on trees, to be eaten
next day, and then everybody retired to the huts to eat and rest.
Some hours later great fires were kindled at both ends of the square,
and women with torches stood all around. The high-castes opened the
ball, but there was not much enthusiasm, and only a few youngsters
hopped about impatiently, until their spirits infected some older
people, and the crowd increased, so that at last everybody was raving
in a mad dance. The performance is monotonous: some men with pan-pipes
bend down with their heads touching, and blow with all their might,
always the same note, marking time with their feet. Suddenly one gives
a jump, others follow, and then the whole crowd moves a number of
times up and down the square, until the musicians are out of breath,
when they come to a standstill. The excitement goes on until the sun
rises. The women, as a rule, keep outside the square, but they dance
too, and keep it up all night; now and then a couple disappears into
the darkness.
Next morning Palo, who had hardly closed his eyes all night, was very
busy again, giving each guest his due share of the feast. The large
pigs were dressed, cut up and cooked. This work lasted all day, but
everybody enjoyed it. The dexterity and cleanliness with which the
carcases are divided is astonishing, and is quite a contrast to the
crude way in which native meals are usually dressed and devoured. We
whites received a large and very fat slice as a present, which we
preferred to pass on, unnoticed, to our boys. Fat is considered the
best part of the pig.
The lower jaws of the tuskers were cut out separately and handed over
to Palo, to be cleaned and hung up in his gamal in the shape of a
chandelier, as tokens of his rank.
Palo is a weather-maker. When we prepared to go home, he promised to
smooth the sea, which was running too high for comfort, and to prevent
a head-wind. We were duly grateful, and, indeed, all his promises were
fulfilled: we had a perfectly smooth sea, and such a dead calm that
between the blue sky and the white sea we nearly fainted, and had to
row wearily along instead of sailing. Just as we were leaving, Palo
came to the bank, making signs for us to come back, a pretty custom,
although it is not always meant sincerely.
Late at night we arrived at home once more.
CHAPTER X
CLIMBING SANTO PEAK
Some days later I left Talamacco for Wora, near Cape Cumberland,
a small station of Mr. D.'s, Mr. F.'s neighbour. What struck me most
there were the wide taro fields, artificially irrigated. The system
of irrigation must date from some earlier time, for it is difficult to
believe that the population of the present day, devoid as they are of
enterprise, should have laid it out, although they are glad enough to
use it. The method employed is this: Across one of the many streams
a dam of great boulders is laid, so that about the same amount of
water is constantly kept running into a channel. These channels are
often very long, they skirt steep slopes and are generally cut into
the earth, sometimes into the rock; sometimes a little aqueduct is
built of planks, mud and earth, supported by bamboo and other poles
that stand in the valley. In the fields the channel usually divides
into several streams, and runs through all the flat beds, laid out in
steps, in which the taro has only to be lightly stuck to bring forth
fruit in about ten months. Taro only grows in very swampy ground,
some varieties only under water, so that it cannot be grown in the
coral region, where there is plenty of rain, but no running water. In
these districts yam is the principal food, while we find taro in the
mountains of primary rock. Both are similar in taste to the potato.
My next journey led me across the peninsula to the west coast of
Santo. As usual, it was a very rainy day when we started, but once
across the divide the air became much drier. The clouds, driven by
the south-east trade-wind, strike the islands on the east side,
and this is the reason why the east coast is so much damper than
the west, and why the vegetation is so immoderately thick on the
one side, and much less luxuriant on the other. On the west side
the bush is thinner and there are wide stretches of reed-grass,
but there is plenty of water, bright creeks fed by the rainfall on
the mountains. Here, on the coast, it was much warmer than where we
had come from, but the air was most agreeable, dry and invigorating,
quite different from the damp, heavy air on the other side.
Late at night, after a long walk on the warm beach sand, we reached
the village of Nogugu. Next day Mr. G., a planter, was good enough to
take me with him in his motor-boat, southward along the coast. High
mountains came close to the shore, falling in almost perpendicular
walls straight down into the sea. Deep narrow valleys led inland into
the very heart of the island. Several times, when we were passing
the openings of these valleys, a squall caught us, and rain poured
down; then, again, everything lay in bright sunshine and the coast
was picturesque indeed with its violet shadows and reddish rocks. The
only level ground to be seen was at the mouths of the valleys in the
shape of little river deltas.
The village to which we were going was on one of these deltas. Hardly
had we set foot on shore than a violent earthquake almost threw us
to the ground. The shock lasted for at least thirty seconds, then
we heard a dull rumbling as of thunder, and saw how all along the
coast immense masses of earth fell into the sea from the high cliffs,
so that the water boiled and foamed wildly. Then yellow smoke came
out of all the bays, and hung in heavy clouds over the devastated
spots, and veiled land and sea. Inland, too, we saw many bare spots,
where the earth and trees had slipped down. The shocks went on all
night, though with diminished violence, and we continually heard the
thunderous rattling of falling rocks and earth.
Next day we stopped at the village of Wus, and I persuaded a dainty
damsel (she was full-grown, but only 134.4 cm. high) to make me a
specimen of pottery. It was finished in ten minutes, without any tool
but a small, flat, bamboo splinter. Without using a potter's wheel
the lady rounded the sides of the jar very evenly, and altogether
gave it a most pleasing, almost classical shape.
When we returned south we could see what damage the earthquake had
done. All the slopes looked as if they had been scraped, and the sea
was littered with wood and bushes. We also experienced the disagreeable
sensation of an earthquake on the water. The boat suddenly began to
shake and tremble, as if a giant hand were shaking it, and at the same
time more earth fell down into the water. The shocks recurred for
several weeks, and after a while we became accustomed to them. The
vibrations seemed to slacken and to become more horizontal, so that
we had less of the feeling of being pushed upwards off our feet,
but rather that of being in an immense swing. For six weeks I was
awakened almost every night by dull, threatening thunder, followed
some seconds later by a shock.
Another village where pottery was made was Pespia, a little inland. The
chief obligingly gathered the scattered population, and I had ample
opportunity to buy pots and watch the making of them. The method is
different from that at Wus, for a primitive wheel, a segment of a
thick bamboo, is used. On this the clay is wound up in spirals and
the surface smoothed inside and out. This is the method by which
most of the prehistoric European pottery was made. The existence of
the potter's art in these two villages only of all the New Hebrides
is surprising. Clay is found in other districts, and the idea that
the natives might have learnt pottery from the Spaniards lacks
all probability, as the Spaniards never visited the west coast of
Santo. The two entirely different methods offer another riddle.
I made my way back along the coast, round Cape Cumberland. One of my
boys having run away, I had to carry his load myself, and although
it was not the heaviest one, I was glad when I found a substitute
for him. This experience gave me an insight into the feelings of a
tired and discontented carrier.
At Wora I found that my host had returned to his station near
Talamacco. So I returned to Talamacco by boat; the earthquake had
been very violent there, and had caused the greatest damage, and I
heard that all the new houses of the Messrs. Thomas at Hog Harbour
had been ruined.
Times had been troublous in other respects at Talamacco; the natives,
especially the Christians, were fighting, and one Sunday they were
all ready, looking very fierce, to attack each other with clubs and
other weapons, only neither side dared to begin. I asked them to do
the fighting out in the open, so that I could take a picture of it,
and this cooled them down considerably. They sat down and began a
long palaver, which ended in nothing at all, and, indeed, no one
really knew what had started the excitement.
In spite of the supercargo's announcement that the steamer would
arrive on the twentieth, she did not come till the first of the
following month. This kept me constantly on the look out and ready
for departure, and unable to do anything of importance. At last we
sailed, touching the Banks Islands on our route; and after enjoying
a few days of civilization on board, I went ashore at Tassimaloun,
on the south-west corner of Santo, where I had the pleasure of being
Mr. C.'s guest. My object there was to follow the traces of the pygmy
population, but as the natives mostly live inland, and only rarely come
to the coast, I had to go in search of them. At that time I was often
ill with fever, and could not do as much as I could have wished. Once
I tried to reach the highest mountain of the islands, Santo Peak,
but my guides from the mission village of Vualappa led me for ten
days through most uninteresting country and an unfriendly population
without even bringing me to the foot of the mountain. I had several
unpleasant encounters with the natives, during one of which I fully
expected to be murdered, and when our provisions were exhausted we had
to return to the coast. But every time I saw the tall pyramid of Santo
Peak rising above the lower hills I longed to be the first European
to set foot on it, and I tried it at last from the Tassiriki side.
After long consultations with the natives, I at last found two men
who were willing to guide me to the mountain. I decided to give up
all other plans, and to take nothing with me but what was strictly
necessary. On the second day we climbed a hill which my guides insisted
was the Peak, the highest point of the island. I pointed out a higher
summit, but they said that we would never get up there before noon,
and, indeed, they did everything they could to delay our advance,
by following wrong trails and being very slow about clearing the
way. Still, after an hour's hard work, we were on the point in
question, and from there I could see the real Santo Peak, separated
from us by only one deep valley, as far as I could judge in the tangle
of forest that covered everything. The guides again pretended that we
were standing on the highest mountain then, and that it would take
at least a fortnight to reach the real Peak. I assured them that I
meant to be on its top by noon, and when they showed no inclination
whatever to go on, I left them and went on with my boys. We had to
dive into a deep ravine, where we found a little water and refilled
our bottles. Then we had to ascend the other side, which was trying,
as we had lost the trail and had to climb over rocks and through the
thickest bush I ever met. The ground was covered with a dense network
of moss-grown trunks that were mouldering there, through which we
often fell up to our shoulders, while vines and ferns wound round
our bodies, so that we did our climbing more with our arms than with
our feet. After a while one of the guides joined us, but he did not
know the way; at last we found it, but there were many ups and downs
before we attained the summit. The weather now changed, and we were
suddenly surrounded by the thick fog that always covers the Peak before
noon. The great humidity and the altitude combine to create a peculiar
vegetation in this region; the tree-ferns are tremendously developed,
and the natives pretend that a peculiar species of pigeon lives here.
I was surprised to find any paths at all up here; but the natives come
here to shoot pigeons, and several valleys converge at Santo Peak,
so that there are important passes near its summits. One of my boys
gave out here, and we left him to repose. The rest of the way was not
difficult, but we were all very tired when we reached the top. There
was another summit, a trifle higher, separated from the first by
a long ridge, but we contented ourselves with the one we were on,
especially as we could see absolutely nothing. I was much disappointed,
as on a clear day the view of Santo and the whole archipelago must
be wonderful. I deposited a bottle with a paper of statistics,
which some native has probably found by this time. We were wet and
hungry, and as it was not likely that the fog would lift, we began the
descent. Without the natives I never could have found the way back in
the fog; but they followed the path easily enough, and half-way down
we met the other guides coming slowly up the mountain. They seemed
pleased to have escaped the tiresome climb; possibly they may have
had other reasons for their dislike of the Peak. They were rather
disappointed, I thought, that I had had my way in spite of their
resistance. They now promised to lead us back by another route, and
we descended a narrow valley for several hours; then came a long halt,
as my guides had to chat with friends in a village we passed. At last
I fairly had to drive them away, and we went down another valley,
where we found a few women bathing in a stream, who ran away at the
sight of us. We bathed, and then enjoyed an excellent meal of taro,
which one of the guides had brought from the village. Before leaving,
one of my boys carefully collected all the peelings of my food, and
threw them into the river, so that I might not be poisoned by them,
he said. A last steep climb ended the day's exertions, and we entered
the village where we were to sleep. While the guides bragged to the
men of their feats, the women brought us food and drink, and I had
a chance to rest and look about me.
I was struck by the great number of women and the very small number
of men in this place; after a while I found out the reason, which was
that ten of the men had been kidnapped by a Frenchman while on their
way to a plantation on the Segond Channel, where they meant to work
a few days. The women are now deprived of their husbands for at least
three years, unless they find men in some other village. If five of the
ten ever return, it will be a good average, and it is more than likely
that they will find a deserted and ruined village if they do come back.
This is one of many illustrations of how the present recruiting
system and the laxity of the French authorities combine to ruin the
native population. (I have since heard that by request of the British
authorities these men were brought back, but only after about nine
months had passed, and without receiving any compensation. Most
kidnapping cases never come to the ears of the authorities at all.)
As our expedition was nearly at an end, and I had no reason to
economize my provisions, I gave some to the villagers, and the
women especially who had hardly ever tasted rice or tinned meat,
were delighted. One old hag actually made me a declaration of love,
which, unfortunately, I could not respond to in the same spirit.
Night crept across the wide sea, and a golden sunset was followed by a
long afterglow. Far away on the softly shining silver we saw a sail,
small as a fly, that drifted slowly seaward and was swallowed up by
the darkness, from which the stars emerged one by one. The women had
disappeared in the huts; the men were sitting outside, around the
fires, and, thinking I was asleep, talked about me in biche la mar.
First they wondered why a man should care to climb up a mountain
simply to come down again; and my boys told them of all my doings,
about my collecting curios and skulls, of my former wanderings and the
experiences we had had, and how often the others had tried to shoot
me, etc. In short, I found out a great many things I had never known,
and I shivered a little at hearing what I had escaped, if all the
boys said was true. At last, when I had been sufficiently discussed,
which was long after midnight, they lay down, each beside a small fire,
and snored into the cool, clear night.
The following morning was brilliantly fine. We took a hearty leave
of our hosts, and raced, singing and shouting, down the steep hills,
and so home. The fine weather was at an end. The sky was cloudy, the
barometer fell and a thin rain pierced everything. Two days later the
steamer arrived, and I meant to go aboard, but a heavy swell from the
west set in, such as I had never seen before, although not a breath of
wind was stirring. These rollers were caused by a cyclone, and gave us
some idea of its violence. I despaired of ever reaching the steamer,
but Mr. B. was an expert sailor, and making the most of a slight lull,
he brought me safely through the surf and on board. His goods, however,
could not be loaded on to the steamer, which immediately sailed. We
passed New Year's Eve and New Year's Day at anchor in South-West Bay,
Malekula, while a terrific gale whipped the water horizontally toward
the ship and across the deck. We spent gloomy holidays, shut up in the
damp, dark steamer, unable to stay on deck, restless and uncomfortable
below. How one learns to appreciate the British impassiveness which
helps one, in such conditions, to spend a perfectly happy day with
a pipe and a talk about the weather!
On the morning of the third day we lay off the east coast of Malekula,
on a blue, shining sea, with all the landscape as peaceful and bright
as if there were no such thing as a cyclone in the world.
I landed, packed my collections, which I had left in Vao, and, with the
help of a missionary, I reached Bushman Bay, whence Mr. H. kindly took
me to Vila. There H.B.M. Resident Commissioner, Mr. Morton King, did
me the honour of offering me his hospitality, so that I was suddenly
transplanted to all the luxuries of civilized life once more. I spent
the days packing the collections awaiting me at Vila, and which I found
in fairly good condition; the evenings were passed in the interesting
society of Mr. King, who had travelled extensively and was an authority
on matters relating to the Orient. He inspired me with admiration
for the British system of colonial politics with its truly idealistic
tendencies. The weeks I spent at Port Vila will always be a pleasant
memory of a time of rest and comfort and stimulating intercourse.
In February I left for Nouméa, where I hoped to meet two friends and
colleagues, Dr. Fritz Sarasin and Dr. Jean Roux, who were coming to
New Caledonia in order to pursue studies similar to mine. The time I
spent with them was rich in interest and encouragement, and in March
I returned to the New Hebrides with renewed energy.
CHAPTER XI
AMBRYM
It was a miserable little boat in which I sailed from Nouméa. We
were to have started on a Monday, but it was Friday before we
got off. The boat was overloaded. On deck there was a quantity of
timber, also cattle, pigs, sheep and calves, all very seasick and
uncomfortable. The deck was almost on a level with the water, and even
while still inside the reef occasional waves broke over the gunwale
and flooded the ship. At nightfall we entered the open ocean. Now
the waves began to pour on to the deck from all sides, and the bow
of the vessel dived into the sea as if it were never going to rise
again. The night was dark, shreds of cloud raced across a steel-grey
sky, while a greenish patch showed the position of the moon. At the
horizon glistened an uncertain light, but the sea was a black abyss,
out of which the phosphorescent waves appeared suddenly, rolled
swiftly nearer and broke over the ship as if poured down from above.
I looked on without another thought save that of pity for the poor sick
calves, when the captain whispered in my ear that things looked bad,
as the ship was much too heavily loaded. In the darkness I could see
nothing but that the boat was very deep in the water, and that her
bow, instead of rising on the waves, dug into them. On deck a quantity
of water ran backward and forward in a wave as high as the bulwarks,
and it seemed as if the ship could scarcely right herself when once
she lay over on one side. The growing excitement of the captain,
his nervous consultations with the engineer and the supercargo, were
most uncomfortable; presently the passengers began to take part in
the deliberations, and to observe the behaviour of the ship. As our
course gave us a sidewise current, the captain ordered the sails to be
hoisted, in order to lessen the rolling; but the sea was too heavy,
and we shipped still more water and rolled alarmingly. The captain
sighed, ran hither and thither, then lowered the sails and took a
more westerly course, in the direction of one of the Loyalty Islands;
thus we had the current from behind, which made things still worse,
as the sea, rolling along the ship, filled the deck from both sides;
and as the bulwarks were blocked up by the lumber, the water could
not run off, thus adding an enormous weight to the already overloaded
ship; the water ran forward, pressing down the bow, while the stern
reared upward.
When the captain saw the state of affairs, he lost his head completely,
and began to lament piteously: "We do not want to drown, no, we do not
want to drown; but we are going to. Oh, my poor wife and children! Do
you like to drown, doctor?" I denied this energetically, but I could
not help looking at the dark sea and trying to get used to the idea of
a closer acquaintance with it. The feeling of insecurity was increased
by the knowledge that the boat was old and in poor repair, and might
spring a leak at any moment.
Meanwhile the skipper had turned her round and was making headway
against the waves, but still her bow would not lift, and the captain
wept still more. His womanish behaviour disgusted me. At last a quiet
passenger, an experienced sailor, gave some advice, which the skipper
followed, and which helped matters a little, so that he regained his
self-control to the extent of calling a general council; he announced
that he dared not continue the voyage, and asked our consent to
return to Nouméa. We all agreed, and about midnight we approached the
reef. Now there are lights in the passage, but they are so poor as to
be invisible until the traveller is already in the passage, so that
they are of little use. We were trying to find the entrance, when the
experienced seaman I mentioned before, who was keeping a look out,
called out that we were close to the breakers and surrounded by the
reef. The only thing we could do was to turn seaward again and beat
about till daylight. After some hours the wind fell and the worst was
over; still, the night was unpleasant enough, and frequent squalls
kept us awake. We were all glad when the day broke and we were able
to enter the passage. We landed at Nouméa in the finest of weather,
and our unexpected return created quite a sensation. We passengers
convinced ourselves that the cargo was considerably reduced before
starting out again the next day.
This time we arrived safely at Port Vila, where the British and
French native police forces came aboard, bound for Santo, to quell
a disturbance at Hog Harbour; and so the hapless boat was overloaded
again, this time with passengers.
Next day we arrived at Epi, and I landed at Ringdove Bay. The
station of the Messrs. F. and H. is one of the oldest in the
islands. Besides running a plantation, they trade with the natives,
and their small cutters go to all the neighbouring islands for coprah
and other produce. There is always plenty of life and movement at the
station, as there are usually a few of the vessels lying at anchor,
and natives coming in from all sides in their whale-boats to buy or
sell something. From Malekula one can often see them tacking about
all day, or, if there is a calm, drifting slowly along, as they are
too lazy to row. When they have found the passage through the reef,
they pull down the sails with much noise and laughter, and come to
anchor; then the whole crowd wades through the surf to the shore,
with the loads of coprah, and waits patiently for business to begin.
On these stations, where almost everyone is squeezed into decent
European clothes, it is a charming sight to see the naked bodies of
the genuine savages, all the more so as only young and able-bodied
men take part in these cruises, under the leadership of one older and
more experienced companion. Their beauty is doubly striking beside
the poor station hands, wrapped in filthy calico.
When the coprah has been bought and paid for, they all go to the
store, where they buy whatever they need or think they need. The
native of the coast districts to-day goes beyond needs to luxuries;
he buys costly silks, such as he may once have seen in Queensland,
and he samples sewing-machines or whatever else tempts him. In
consequence of competition, the prices for coprah and the wages of
labour are unreasonably high, and the natives might profit greatly
by this state of things if they knew the value of money or how to
use it to advantage. But, as a rule, they spend it for any nonsense
they may fancy, to the joy of the trader, who makes an average profit
of 50 per cent. on all commodities; or else the natives economize
to buy a pig (tusked pigs have brought as much as forty pounds),
or they bury their money.
It is astonishing how easily a native might make a small fortune
here, and how little use he makes of his opportunities, not only
from laziness, but also because he has no wants. Nature supplies
food in abundance without any effort on his part, so that matches,
tobacco, a pipe and a knife satisfy all his needs, and he can spend
all the rest of his money for pleasure. Thus the native, in spite of
everything, is economically master of the situation in his own country,
and many traders have been made to realize this fact to their cost,
when the natives, to avenge some ill-treatment, have simply boycotted
a station. Needless to say that the traders always do their best to
excite the natives' cupidity by exhibiting the most tempting objects,
and, careful as the islander may be when buying necessaries, he is
careless enough when luxuries are in question.
The house of the planters is a long, low building with whitewashed
walls, a broad, flat roof and wide verandas. Around it is an abandoned
garden, and one feels that long ago a woman's hand must have worked
here; but now no one cares about keeping the surroundings clean
and pretty, and the wilderness is reclaiming its own and advancing
steadily towards the house. Inside, the house is clean and neat;
from the veranda there is a splendid view over the sea, in which the
sun disappears at evening.
The employés are quiet people, who have but little to say; the weather
and speculations as to the name and destination of some far-off
sail are their chief topics. After lunch they sit in easy-chairs,
enjoying the breeze and reading the papers. Soon the "Bubu" calls
to work once more, and the natives come creeping out of their huts,
away from their ever-burning fires.
The production of coprah varies greatly on the different islands. While
on some of them there is scarcely any to be had, there are others which
are practically covered with cocoa-nut trees; this is chiefly the
case on islands of volcanic origin, on which springs and rivers are
very scarce. It has been supposed that the natives, being dependent
on the water of the cocoa-nut as a beverage, had planted these trees
very extensively. This is not quite exact, although it is a fact that
in these islands the natives hardly ever taste any other water than
that of the cocoa-nut.
In sun and shower, the natives work in the plantations in long rows,
the women together with their husbands or with other women at some
lighter task. The men dislike to be separated from their wives, for
they are very jealous; neither do they approve of the women discussing
their husbands among themselves. For light work the women are more
useful, as they are more accustomed to regular work from their youth
up than the men, who are used to spending their days in easy laziness.
Towards sunset, the "Bubu" announces the end of work, and the natives
stroll towards their quarters, simple huts of straw, where each man has
his couch, with a trunk underneath containing his belongings. Meals
are prepared by a cook, and the men go to fetch their rations, rice,
yam, or taro. Sometimes there is meat, but not often, except in
places where wild pig is plentiful. In that case, it is simplest for
the master to send his boys shooting every Sunday, when it depends
on themselves if they are to have meat during the coming week
or not. After the meal, the natives sit round the fires chatting,
gossiping and telling fairy-tales. They know stories of all sorts of
monsters and demons, and excite each other by tales of these horrors
to such a degree, that bad dreams or even a general panic are often
the consequence, and the whole crowd turns out in the middle of the
night, declaring that the place is haunted, and that they have seen
a devil, who looked thus and so. If someone suddenly dies in a hut,
it is worst of all. Death is invariably caused, so they all believe,
by poison or witchcraft, and the natives will build another house
of their own accord rather than go on living in one they consider
haunted. If a planter loses many hands by death, his plantation gets
a bad reputation, and the natives refuse to work there; so that it is
to the planter's advantage to take some care of their labourers, and
they do so to a certain extent, whereas in former years the mortality
on French plantations was very high, as much as 44 per cent. per annum.
Sometimes, especially on moonlight nights, the boys wish to dance,
and they all go to the beach and spend the whole night singing and
dancing. Another amusement is hunting for crayfish on the reef at
low tide.
My boys' term of service was over in a month. They were very much
afraid of being taken to another island, which was natural in a way,
as a savage is really not as safe in a strange place as a white
man. Besides, they had had their desire and had seen Nouméa, so that
there was no longer any inducement for them to stay with me. They
accordingly became most disagreeable, slow, sulky and sleepier than
ever, and as I could not be punishing them all day long, life with
them became somewhat trying. It is disappointing to find so little
gratitude, but the natives are quite unaccustomed to be treated
better by a white man than his interest demands, so that they suspect
a trap in every act of kindness. Under the circumstances, I thought
it best to dismiss my boys, and, finding little of interest in Epi,
the natives having nearly all died out, I boarded the Australian
steamer for Ambrym.
Although Ambrym is only twenty-five miles from Epi, I was five days
on the way, so zigzag a route did the steamer pursue. But if one is
not in a hurry, life on board is quite entertaining. The first day we
anchored near the volcano of Lopevi, a lofty peak that rises from a
base six kilomètres in diameter to a height of 1440 mètres, giving its
sides an average slope of 48° which offers rather an unusual sight. The
whole of Lopevi is rarely to be seen, as its top is usually covered
with a thick cloud of fog or volcanic steam. It is still active,
and but few whites have ascended it. At periods of great activity,
the natives climb to the top and bring sacrifices to appease it,
by throwing cocoa-nuts and yam into the crater.
We touched at Port Sandwich, and then steamed along the coast of
Malekula, calling every few miles at some plantation to discharge
goods, horses, cattle and fowls, and take on maize or coprah. At
last we arrived at Dip Point, Ambrym, where I was kindly received by
Dr. B. of the Presbyterian Mission, who is in charge of the fine large
hospital there. Its situation is not more picturesque than others,
but the place has been made so attractive that one can hardly imagine
a more lovely and restful sight. The buildings stand on level ground
that slopes softly down to the beach. The bush has been cleared,
with the exception of a number of gigantic fig trees, that overshadow
a green lawn. Under their airy roof there is always a light breeze,
blowing from the hills down to the sea. In the blue distance rises
Aoba, and the long-drawn coast of Malekula disappears in the mist. A
quieter, sweeter place for convalescents does not exist, and even the
native patients, who are not, as a rule, great lovers of scenery,
like to lie under the trees with their bandaged limbs and heads,
staring dreamily into the green and blue and sunny world.
Dr. B. is an excellent surgeon, famous all over the group, not only
among the white population, but among the natives as well, who are
beginning to appreciate his work. Formerly they used to demand payment
for letting him operate on them, but now many come of their own accord,
so that the hospital never lacks patients. The good that Dr. B. does
these people can hardly be overrated, and the Presbyterian Mission
deserves great credit for having established the hospital; but it
is a regrettable fact that all these efforts are not strong enough
to counteract other effects of civilization, such as alcoholism,
which is the curse of the native race, especially on Ambrym.
Although the sale of alcohol to natives is strictly prohibited by the
laws of the Condominium, the French pay no attention to these rules,
and sell it in quantities without being called to account. The sale of
liquor is the simplest means of acquiring wealth, as the profit on one
bottle may amount to five shillings. The natives of Ambrym spend all
their money on drink, and as they are quite rich and buy wholesale,
the results, in money for the trader and in death for the native, are
considerable. For they drink in a senseless way, simply pouring down
one bottle after the other, until they are quite overcome. Some never
wake up again; others have dangerous attacks of indigestion from the
poison they have consumed; still more catch colds or pneumonia from
lying drunk on the ground all night. Quarrels and fights are frequent,
and it is not a rare sight to see a whole village, men, women and
children, rolling on the sand completely intoxicated. The degeneration
which results from this is all the sadder, as originally the race
on Ambrym was particularly healthy, vigorous and energetic. These
conditions are well known to both governments, and might be suppressed
on the French side as easily as they are on the English; but the
French government seems to take more interest in the welfare of an
ex-convict than in that of the native race, although the latter is
one of the most important sources of wealth on the islands, setting
aside all considerations of humanity. If the liquor traffic is not
speedily suppressed, the population is doomed.
Ambrym offers quite a different aspect from the coral islands, as
its sloping sides are seamed by streams of lava, the course of which
may be traced by the breaks in the forest, as the glowing mass flows
slowly down to the coast, congealing in the water to peculiarly shaped
jagged rocks. Every few hundred yards we find one of these black walls
on the shore in which the sea foams, and the sand that covers the
beaches is black too. In dull weather all this looks extremely gloomy,
monotonous and imposing--the war of two elements, fire and water;
and this dark, stern landscape is far more impressive than the gay,
smiling coral beach with the quiet blue sea.
My stay on Ambrym was very pleasant. By the help of Dr. B., I
was enabled to find four bright boys, willing and cheerful, with
whom I used to start out from Dip Point in the mornings, visit the
neighbouring villages, and return loaded with objects of all sorts at
noon; the afternoons were devoted to work in the house. The weather
was exceptionally favourable, and the walks through the dewy forest,
on the soft paths of black volcanic dust, in the cool, dark ravines,
with occasional short climbs and delightful glimpses of the coast,
were almost too enjoyable to be regarded as a serious duty.
The culture of Ambrym is similar to that of Malekula, as is plainly
shown by the natives' dress. The men wear the bark belt and the nambas,
which they buy on Malekula; the dress of the women is the same as that
worn in central Malekula, and consists of an apron of pandanus or
some similar fibre, wound several times round the waist; this forms
a thick roll, not unlike ballet skirts, but more graceful. It is a
pretty dress, though somewhat scanty, and the "skirts" flap up and
down coquettishly when the wearer walks. The other parts of the body
are covered with a thick layer of soot, filth, oil, fat and smoke,
for the Ambrymese are not at all fond of bathing.
The villages are open, rarely surrounded by a hedge. The houses are
rather close together, grouped irregularly in a clearing; a little
apart, on a square by themselves, are the houses of the secret
societies, surrounded by images and large drums. The dwelling-houses
are rather poor-looking huts, with low walls and roofs and an
exceedingly small entrance which is only to be passed through on
one's hands and knees. Decency demands that the women should always
enter the houses backward, and this occasions funny sights, as they
look out of their huts like so many dogs from their kennels.
As a rule, the first event on my entering a village was that the women
and children ran away shrieking and howling; those not quite so near me
stared suspiciously, then retired slowly or began to giggle. Then a few
men would appear, quite accidentally, of course, and some curious boys
followed. My servants gave information as to my person and purpose,
and huge laughter was the result: they always thought me perfectly
mad. However, they admired me from all sides, and asked all sorts
of questions of my boys: what was my name, where did I live, was I
kind, was I rich, what did I have to eat, did I smoke or drink, how
many shirts and trousers did I have, how many guns and what kinds,
etc. The end of it was, that they either took me for a dangerous
sorcerer, and withdrew in fear, or for a fool to be got the better
of. In the latter case, they would run eagerly to their houses and
bring out some old broken article to offer for sale. A few sarcastic
remarks proved useful; but it was always some time before they realized
what I wanted. The fine old possessions from which they did not like
to part would suddenly turn out to be the property of someone else,
which was a polite way of saying, "we have that, but you won't get it."
In this way collecting was a very tiresome and often disappointing
process of bargaining, encouraging, begging and flattering; often, just
as I was going away, some man or other would call me aside to say that
he had decided to sell after all, and was ready to accept any price.
Horror and silent consternation were aroused when I asked for
skulls. "Lots over there," they said, pointing to an enclosed thicket,
their burying-ground. Only very rarely a man would bring me a skull,
at the end of a long stick. Once I started on the quest myself,
armed with a shovel and spade; as my servants were too much afraid
of the dead to help, I had to dig for myself. A man loafed near by,
attracted by the excited chatter of some old women. He told me sadly
that I was digging up his papa, although it was a woman; then he
began to help with some show of interest, assuring me that his papa
had two legs, whereas at first I could find but one. A stranger had
given me permission to dig, so as to play a trick on the son; but
the latter was quite reconciled when I paid him well. For a week all
the village talked of nothing but the white madman who dug up bones;
I became a celebrity, and people made excursions from a distance to
come and stare at me.
Although the Suque is highly developed here, there are other secret
societies whose importance, however, is decreasing, as they are
being more or less absorbed by the Suque. As each of these clubs has
its own house, we sometimes find quite a number of such huts in one
village, where they take the place of gamals. Each Suque high caste
has his own house, which the low castes may not enter. The caste
of the proprietor may be seen by the material of which the hedge is
made, the lower castes having hedges of wood and logs, the highest,
walls of stone and coral slabs. Inside the courtyard, each man lives
alone, served only by his wives, who are allowed to cook his food. The
separation of the sexes is not so severe on Ambrym as on Santo. On the
whole, it would seem that in the past Ambrym had a position apart,
and that only lately several forms of cult have been imported from
Malekula and mingled with genuinely local rites. Even to-day, it is
not rare for a man from Ambrym to settle for a while on Malekula, so
as to be initiated into some rites which he then imports to Ambrym;
and the Ambrymese pay poets large fees to teach them poems which
are to be sung at certain feasts, accompanied by dances. Unhappily,
I never had occasion to attend one of these "sing-songs."
The originality of Ambrym has been preserved in its sculpture only. The
material used is tree-fern wood, which is used nowhere else but in
the Banks Islands. The type of human being represented differs from
that on the other islands, especially as regards the more moon-shaped
form of the head. Representations of the whole body are frequent,
so are female statues; these I have only found again in Gaua, where
they are probably modern inventions. Sometimes a fish or a bird is
carved on the statue, probably as a survival of old totemistic ideas,
and meant to represent the totem animal of the ancestor or of his
clan. The meaning of these carvings is quite obscure to the natives,
and they answer questions in a very vague way, so that it is probable
that totemistic ideas are dying out in the New Hebrides.
Most of the statues are meant to represent an ancestor. If a native is
in trouble, he blows his whistle at nightfall near the statue, and if
he hears a noise, he thinks the spirit of the ancestor has approached
and entered the statue, and he proceeds to tell the statue his sorrows
and ask the spirit for help. Occasionally sacrifices are made to the
figures, as is shown by the pigs' jaws frequently found tied to them.
The Ambrymese conceptions of the spirit world are very similar to
those of other islanders. The native likes to wear on his back or
chest or arm the tusks of the most valuable pigs he has sacrificed,
and has them buried with him, so that in the other world he may at
any time be able to prove how much he respected his ancestors.
The centre of the dancing grounds is generally occupied by the big
drums, not quite so numerous but better made than those of Malekula. By
the drums, too, the caste of the proprietor may be recognized: the
higher his standing, the more heads are carved on them. Horizontal
drums are sometimes found, but they are always small, and only serve
to accompany the sound of the larger ones.
There are usually a few men sitting round the drums, playing games. One
game is played by two men sitting opposite to each other; one sticks
a small shell into the ground, and his opponent tries to hit it with
another. There does not seem to be any winning or losing, as in our
games, but they keep it up for hours and even days. Another favourite
game borders on the marvellous. One man has six shells and the other
five. Each in turn puts a shell on the ground, and when they have
all been dealt, each in turn picks up one at a time, when the one who
had six before has five, and the one who had only five has six. They
stare at each other, wonder, and try it again; behold, the one who
had six at the beginning has five now and the other six. They try
again and again, and each time the shell changes hands, and nobody
can explain how on earth it could have jumped from one man to the
other. It seems too strange to be natural, and while a cold shiver
creeps up their backs, they play on and on, with ever new delight
and wonder. At such enviable pastimes these people spend their days
and kill time, which would otherwise hang heavy on their hands. Tops,
nicely made from nuts, are a popular toy; and there are other games,
more sportsmanlike, such as throwing reeds to a distance, and throwing
wooden shells, at which two villages often compete against each other.
After I had exhausted the surroundings of Dip Point, I marched along
the coast to Port Vato, where I lived in an abandoned mission house,
in the midst of a thickly populated district. At present, the people
are quiet, and go about as they please; but not long ago, the villages
lived in a constant state of feud among themselves, so that no man
dared go beyond his district alone, and the men had to watch the
women while they were at work in the fields, for fear of attack. The
sense of insecurity was such that many people who lived in villages
only twenty minutes' walk from the coast had never seen the ocean. The
population as a whole enjoys the state of peace, which the missionaries
have brought about, though there are always mischief-makers who try
to create new feuds, and there is no doubt that the old wars would
break out anew, if the natives were left to themselves.
These disturbances were not very destructive in the days of the old
weapons; it is only since the introduction of firearms that they
have become a real danger to the race as a whole. They even had their
advantages, in forcing the men to keep themselves in condition, and
in providing them with a regular occupation, such as preparing their
weapons, or training, or guarding the village and the women. With the
end of the feuds, the chief occupation of the men disappeared, and but
few of them have found any serious work to take up their time. Thus
civilization, even in its role of peace-maker, has replaced one evil
by another.
In this district, I could go about with my servants wherever I pleased;
only one Santo boy I had with me did not feel safe, and suddenly
developed great interest in cooking, which allowed him to stay at
home while the rest of us went on expeditions. His cooking was not
above reproach; he would calmly clean a dirty cup with his fingers,
the kitchen towels occasionally served as his head-dress, and one day
he tried to make curry with some iodoform I had left in a bottle on
the table. However, I had learned long ago not to be too particular,
and not to take too much interest in the details of the kitchen.
An exceptionally bright man had offered me his services as guide,
and with his help I obtained many objects I would never have found
alone. He had a real understanding of what I wanted, and plenty
of initiative. He made the women bring their modest possessions,
and they approached, crawling on their hands and knees, for they
are not allowed to walk before the men. Later on the men appeared
with better things. It is an odd fact that all over the archipelago
the owner rarely brings things himself, but generally gives them
to a friend. This may be due to the desire to avoid the ridicule
they would surely be exposed to if their possessions were to be
refused. The extreme sensitiveness and pride with which the natives
feel every refusal and are deeply hurt by any rebuke, may surprise
those who look on them as savages, incapable of any finer sentiment;
but whoever learns to know them a little better will find that they
have great delicacy of feeling, and will be struck by the politeness
they show a stranger, and by the kind and obliging way in which they
treat each other. It must be admitted that this is often enough
only a veneer, under which all sorts of hatred, malice, and all
uncharitableness are hidden, just as among civilized people; still,
the manners of the crudest savages are far superior to those of most
of the whites they meet.
One sign of this sensitiveness is their reluctance to express any
desire, for fear of a refusal. I saw a daily illustration of this, when
my boys wanted the tin of meat for dinner which was their due. Although
they might have taken it themselves, a different boy came each day
to the room where I was writing, and waited patiently for some time,
then began coughing with increasing violence, until I asked what he
wanted. Then he would shyly stammer out his request. Never would they
accost me or otherwise disturb me while I was writing or reading;
yet at other times they could be positively impertinent, especially
if excited. The islander is very nervous; when he is quiet, he is shy
and reticent, but once he is aroused, all his bad instincts run riot,
and incredible savageness and cruelty appear. The secret of successful
treatment of the natives seems to be to keep them very quiet, and never
to let any excitement arise, a point in which so many whites fail.
They are very critical and observant, and let no weakness pass without
sarcastic comment; yet their jokes are rarely offensive, and in the
end the victim usually joins in the general laughter. On the whole,
the best policy is one of politeness, justice and consistency; and
after many years, one may possibly obtain their confidence, although
one always has to be careful and circumspect in every little detail.
In general, the Ambrymese are more agreeable than the Santo
people. They seem more manly, less servile, more faithful and reliable,
more capable of open enmity, more clever and industrious, and not
so sleepy.
Assisted by my excellent guide, I set about collecting, which was not
always a simple matter. I was very anxious to procure a "bull-roarer,"
and made my man ask for one, to the intense surprise of the others;
how could I have known of the existence of these secret and sacred
utensils? The men called me aside, and begged me never to speak
of this to the women, as these objects are used, like many others,
to frighten away the women and the uninitiated from the assemblies
of the secret societies. The noise they make is supposed to be the
voice of a mighty and dangerous demon, who attends these assemblies.
They whispered to me that the instruments were in the men's house,
and I entered it, amid cries of dismay, for I had intruded into their
holy of holies, and was now standing in the midst of all the secret
treasures which form the essential part of their whole cult. However,
there I was, and very glad of my intrusion, for I found myself in a
regular museum. In the smoky beams of the roof there hung half-finished
masks, all of the same pattern, to be used at a festival in the near
future; there was a set of old masks, some with nothing left but
the wooden faces, while the grass and feather ornaments were gone;
old idols; a face on a triangular frame, which was held particularly
sacred; two perfectly marvellous masks with long noses with thorns,
carefully covered with spider-web cloth. This textile is a speciality
of Ambrym, and serves especially for the preparation and wrapping of
masks and amulets. Its manufacture is simple: a man walks through the
woods with a split bamboo, and catches all the innumerable spider-webs
hanging on the trees. As the spider-web is sticky, the threads cling
together, and after a while a thick fabric is formed, in the shape
of a conical tube, which is very solid and defies mould and rot. At
the back of the house, there stood five hollow trunks, with bamboos
leading into them. Through these, the men howl into the trunk, which
reverberates and produces a most infernal noise, well calculated to
frighten others besides women. For the same purpose cocoa-nut shells
were used, which were half filled with water, and into which a man
gurgled through a bamboo. All this was before my greedy eyes, but I
could obtain only a very few articles. Among them was a bull-roarer,
which a man sold me for a large sum, trembling violently with fear,
and beseeching me not to show it to anybody. He wrapped it up so
carefully, that the small object made an immense parcel. Some of the
masks are now used for fun; the men put them on and run through the
forest, and have the right to whip anybody they meet. This, however,
is a remnant of a very serious matter, as formerly the secret societies
used these masks to terrorize all the country round, especially people
who were hostile to the society, or who were rich or friendless.
These societies are still of great importance on New Guinea, but here
they have evidently degenerated. It is not improbable that the Suque
has developed from one of these organizations. Their decay is another
symptom of the decline of the entire culture of the natives; and other
facts seem to point to the probability that this decadence may have
set in even before the beginning of colonization by the whites.
My visit to the men's house ended, and seeing no prospects of acquiring
any more curiosities, I went to the dancing-ground, where most of the
men were assembled at a death-feast, it being the hundredth day after
the funeral of one of their friends. In the centre of the square,
near the drums, stood the chief, violently gesticulating. The crowd
did not seem pleased at my coming, and criticized me in undertones. A
terrible smell of decomposed meat filled the air; evidently they
had all partaken of a half-rotten pig, and the odour did not seem to
trouble them at all.
The chief was a tall man, bald-headed, wearing the nambas, of larger
size than those of the others, and with both arms covered with pigs'
tusks to show his rank. He looked at me angrily, came up to me, and
sat down, not without having first swept the ground with his foot,
evidently in order not to come into contact with any charm that an
enemy might have thrown there. One of the men wanted me to buy a
flute, asking just double what I was willing to give; seeing that I
did not intend to pay so much, he made me a present of the flute,
and seemed just as well pleased. Still, the others stared at me
silently and suspiciously, until I offered some tobacco to the chief,
which he accepted with a joke, whereat everybody laughed and the ice
was broken. The men forgot their reserve, and talked about me in
loud tones, looking at me as we might at a hopelessly mad person,
half pitying, half amused at his vagaries. The chief now wished to
shake hands with me, though he did not trouble to get up for the
ceremony. We smiled pleasantly at each other, and then he took me
to his house, which, according to his high rank, was surrounded by
a stone wall. He rummaged about inside for a long time, and finally
brought out a few paltry objects; I thought best to pay well for them,
telling him that as he was a "big fellow-master," I was ready to
pay extra for the honour of having a souvenir of him. This flattered
him so much that he consented to have his photograph taken; and he
posed quite cleverly, while the others walked uneasily around us,
looking at the camera as if it were likely to explode at any moment;
and as none of them dared have his picture taken, I left.
Rounding a bend of the path on my way home, I suddenly came upon a
young woman. First she looked at me in deadly fright, then, with a
terrified cry, she jumped over the fence, and burst into hysterical
laughter, while a dozen invisible women shrieked; then they all ran
away, and as I went on, I could hear that the flight had ceased and the
shrieks changed to hearty laughter. They had taken me for a kidnapper,
or feared some other harm, as was natural enough with their experience
of certain kinds of white men.
Walking along, I heard the explosions of the volcano like a far-away
cannonade. The dull shocks gave my walk a peculiar solemnity, but the
bush prevented any outlook, and only from the coast I occasionally
saw the volcanic clouds mounting into the sky.
From the old mission-house the view on a clear day is splendid. On
the slope stand a few large trees, whose cleft leaves frame
the indescribably blue sea, which breaks in snowy lines in
the lava-boulders below. Far off, I can see Malekula, with its
forest-covered mountains, and summer clouds hanging above it. It
is a dreamlike summer day, so beautiful, bright and mild as to be
hardly real. One feels a certain regret at being unable to absorb
all the beauty, at having to stand apart as an outsider, a patch on
the brightness rather than a part of it.
At night the view is different, but just as enchanting. A fine dust
from the volcano floats in the air and the pale moonlight plays softly
on the smooth surface of the bay, filling the atmosphere with silver,
so that everything shines in the white light, the long, flat point,
the forest; even the bread-fruit tree on the slope, whose outline cuts
sharply into the brightness, is not black, but a darker silver. In
the greenish sky the stars glitter, not sharply as they do elsewhere,
but like fine dots, softly, quietly, as if a negligent hand had
sprinkled them lightly about. And down by the water the breakers
roll, crickets cry, a flying-fox chatters and changes from one tree
to the other with tired wings, passing in a shapeless silhouette in
front of the moon. It is the peace of paradise, dreamlike, wishless;
one never tires of listening to the holy tropical night, for there
is secret life everywhere. In the quiet air the trees shiver, the
moonlight trembles in the bushes and stirs imperceptibly in the lawn;
and from the indistinct sounds of which the mind is hardly conscious
the fancy weaves strange stories. We see all those creatures that
frighten the natives under the roof of the forest, giants with crabs'
claws, men with fiery eyes, women that turn into deadly serpents,
vague, misty souls of ancestors, that pass through the branches and
appear to their descendants; all that we dream of in our northern
midsummer night wakes in tenfold strength here.
Suddenly, violent shocks shake the house, explosions follow, like
distant shots, and the thin, misty silver is changed to a red glow. The
volcano is in action,--a dull, reddish-yellow light mounts slowly up
behind the black trees, thick smoke rises and rises, until it stands,
a dark monster, nearly touching the zenith, its foot still in the
red glare. Slowly the fire dies out, the cloud parts, and it is dark
night again, with the silver of the moon brooding everywhere.
But the charm is broken by this warning from the primitive powers that
counterbalance each other behind the peace of the tropic night. By and
by, one grows accustomed to the uncanny neighbourhood of the volcano,
and only the more formidable eruptions attract notice. Sometimes,
while at work, I hear one of the boys exclaim, "Huh, huh!" to call
my attention to the fact that a particularly violent outbreak has
taken place; and, indeed, half the sky is a dirty red, the smoke
rises behind the trees as if from a gigantic bonfire, and the dull
detonations resound. The glowing lava flies high in the air, and comes
down in a great curve. One of these performances lasted several hours,
presaging a wonderful spectacle for my visit to the volcano, which
was set for the next day.
Several natives joined my party, evidently thinking it safer to go
to see the "fire" in my company than alone. Yet the Ambrymese in
general show remarkably little fear of the volcano, and regard it as
a powerful but somewhat clumsy and rather harmless neighbour, whereas
on other islands legend places the entrance to hell in the craters.
Quite a company of us marched through the forest, accompanied by the
cannonading of the volcano; we felt as if we were going to battle. We
traversed the plain and mounted the foot-hills; halfway up, we observed
an eruption, but we could see only the cloud, as the crater itself
was hidden by hills. Through thick bush, we came to a watercourse,
a narrow gully, formed by lava-streams. The rocks in the river-bed had
been polished smooth by the water, and though the natives walked over
them with ease, my nailed boots gave me great trouble, and I had to
cross many slippery spots on my hands and knees, which greatly amused
my companions. We passed many tree-ferns, whose dainty crowns seemed
to float on the surface of the forest--like stars, and often covered
the whole bush, so that the slopes looked like a charming carpet of
the loveliest pattern. This tree, the most beautiful of the tropical
forest, far surpasses the palm in elegance, whose crown too often
looks yellowish and unkempt.
For a few hours we followed the river, which led nearly to the edge of
the plateau. When the path branched off, I called a halt for lunch,
as we were not likely to find any water later on. We were now quite
near the craters, and while we ate our rice, we heard the roaring,
so that the boys grew nervous, till the joker of the company made
them laugh, and then the meal absorbed their attention. Still, they
occasionally sent furtive glances skyward, to see if any lava was
coming down upon us.
Having filled all our vessels with water, we marched on, and after a
short ascent, found ourselves on the great plain, 650 mètres above
sea-level, about 12 kilomètres in diameter, and shaped like a huge
dinner-plate, a chain of hills forming the rim. It would seem that the
whole plain was formerly one gigantic crater; now only two openings
are left, two craters 500 and 700 mètres high, in the north-west of
the plain.
The ground consists of black, coarse-grained slag, which creaks when
walked on, and forms a fine black dust. Naturally the vegetation
in this poor soil is very scanty,--only bushes and reed-grass,
irregularly scattered in the valleys between little hillocks ranged
in rows. This arid desert-scene is doubly surprising to the eye,
owing to the sudden change from the forest to the bare plain.
In this seemingly endless plain, the two craters rise in a bold
silhouette, grimly black. One of them stands in lifeless rigidity,
from the top of the other curl a few light, white clouds of steam. It
is a depressingly dismal sight, without any organic life whatever on
the steep, furrowed slopes.
We camped on a hillock surrounded by shrubs; on all sides spread the
plain, with low hills, rounded by rain and storm, radiating from the
craters, and where these touched, a confused wilderness of hills,
like a black, agitated sea, had formed. The hilltops were bare, on
the slopes there clung some yellowish moss. The farther away from the
craters, the lower the hills became, disappearing at the edge of the
plain in a bluish-green belt of woods.
The sky was cloudy, a sallow light glimmered over the plain, and
the craters lay in forbidding gloom and lifelessness, like hostile
monsters. Hardly had I set up my camera, when the western giant began
his performance. The clouds of steam thickened, detonations followed,
and at each one a brownish-grey cloud rose out of the mountain,
whirled slowly upwards, and joined the grey clouds in the sky. The
mountain-top glowed red, and red lumps of lava came flying out of
the smoke and dropped behind a hill. Then all became quiet again,
the mountain relapsed into lifelessness, the clouds dissolved to a
thick mist, and only the steam curled upward like a white plume.
I had taken care to observe how far the lava flew, so as to know how
near it would be safe to approach. The path towards the craters was
the continuation of the one we had followed, and led to the north
shore of the island, passing between the craters. It is remarkable
that the natives should dare to use this road, and indeed it is not
much travelled; but it speaks for the courage of the first man who
had the courage to cross the plain and pass between the craters. The
sharp points of the lava caused great suffering to the bare-footed
natives, and here I had the advantage of them for once, thanks to my
nailed boots.
The clouds had disappeared, the sky shone deeply blue, everything
reminded me of former trips in other deserts. The same dry air cooled
the heat that radiated from the ground, the same silence and solemnity
brooded over the earth, there was the same colouring and the same
breadth of view. After the painful march through the forest, where
every step had to be measured and watched, it was a joy to step out
freely and take great breaths of clear, sweet air.
After a short, steep climb, I reached the ridge, sharp as a knife,
that joins the two craters, and following it, I suddenly found myself
on the brink of the crater, from which I could overlook the great bowl,
800 mètres wide. The inside walls fell vertically to the bottom, an
uncanny, spongy-looking mass of brownish lava, torn, and foaming,
and smoking in white or yellowish clouds. The opposite side rose
much higher, and the white cloud I had seen from below floated on
top. There was a smaller crater, the real opening, and through a gap
in it I had a glimpse inside, but failed to see much because of the
smoke. The general view was most imposing, the steep, naked walls,
the wild confusion in the crater, the red and yellow precipitates
here and there, the vicious-looking smoke from the slits, the steam
that floated over the opening, swayed mysteriously by an invisible
force, the compactness of the whole picture, in the gigantic frame
of the outer walls. There was no need of the oppressive odour,
the dull roaring and thundering and hissing, to call up a degree of
reverent admiration, even fear, and it required an effort of will
to stay and grow used to the tremendous sight. The first sensation
on seeing the crater is certainly terror, then curiosity awakens,
and one looks and wonders; yet the sight never becomes familiar, and
never loses its threatening aspect. Still, the inner crater may be
a disappointment. From a distance, we see the great manifestations,
the volcano in action, when its giant forces are in play and it looks
grand and monumental. From near by, we see it in repose, and the crater
looks quite insignificant. Instead of the fire we expected to see,
we find lava blocks and ashes, and instead of the clash of elemental
forces, we see a dark mass, that glows dully. We can hardly believe
that here is the origin of the explosions that shake the island,
and are inclined to consider the demon of the volcano rather as a
mischievous clown than a thundering, furious giant.
I went to the slope of the eastern crater to find a spot from which I
might be able to photograph an eruption, and returned to camp just as
the sun sank down in red fire, and the evening mists formed a white
belt around the two black mountains. The tops of the craters shone
red against a cool evening sky.
Suddenly an immense cloud shot up, white and sky-high. One side of it
shone orange in the last sunbeams, the other was dull and grey, and
the top mingled with the evening clouds. It was a wildly beautiful
sight, gone too soon. A hawk circled afar in the green sky, night
crept across the plain, and soon the moon poured her silver over the
tranquil scene. I hoped in vain to see an eruption equal to that of
the last nights. Everything was quiet, the volcano seemed extinct,
the fog thickened, covering the mountains and the moon. It became
disagreeably cool, and there was a heavy dew. The natives shivered in
their blankets, and I was most uncomfortable under a light canvas. We
were all up long before daylight, when the volcano sent out a large
cloud. The sun and the fog had a long struggle, when suddenly the
clouds tore apart, and the welcome sunbeams came to warm us.
I went to the spot chosen the day before and dug my camera into the
lava and waited. My impatience was quieted by the splendid view I
enjoyed, embracing nearly all the islands of the group: Epi, Malekula,
Aoba, Pentecoste, and higher than all, the cone of Lopevi. All these
floated in a soft, blue haze, and even the two craters shone in a
violet hue.
We waited for several hours, freezing in spite of the bright sun,
between the damp, mossy walls of the gully where we sat, and the
volcano remained quiet, merely hissing and roaring and emitting steam,
but a real eruption did not occur then, nor for several weeks later. We
returned to camp, packed up our things, and hurried down the slippery
gullies and lava banks, diving back into the thick, heavy atmosphere
of the sea-level; and at nightfall I washed off the heat and dust of
the day in the warm waves of the ocean.
CHAPTER XII
PENTECOSTE
The term of service of my Ambrym boys being over, I tried to replace
them in Paama, but failed; but Mr. G. kindly took me to Epi, where
I engaged four new boys. However, they proved as sulky as they were
dirty, and I was disgusted with them, and quite glad they had refused
to sign for more than a month. As they were all troubled with many
sores, they were of very little service to me, and I gladly sent them
home by steamer when their month was up.
I returned to Dip Point, and a few days later Dr. B. escorted me to
Olal, where I took up my quarters with Mr. D., a young Australian
who was trying to make a living by the coprah trade. In Olal, at
the northern point of Ambrym, the alcohol trade is particularly
flourishing, and numerous settlers along the coast earn large sums
by selling liquor. Everybody knows this, and numbers of intoxicated
natives are always to be seen, so that it is somewhat surprising that
the authorities pretend not to have sufficient proof to punish these
traders. If ever one of them is fined, the amount is so minute that
the sale of half a dozen bottles makes up for it, so that they go on
as before. I myself witnessed two cases of death in consequence of
drinking, alone and at one sitting, a bottle of pure absinthe.
The house of Mr. D. was typical of the dwellings built by the
colonists. In a circumference of about 50 mètres, the bush had
been cleared, on a level spot somewhat off the shore and slightly
elevated. Here stood a simple grass hut, 3 mètres wide and 6 long;
the floor was covered with gravel, and the interior divided into
a store-room and a living-room. On the roof lay a few sheets of
corrugated iron, the rain from which was collected in a tank to provide
water. A few paces off was another hut, where the coprah was smoked
and the boys slept, and on the beach was a shed for storing the coprah.
The actual work a coprah trader has to do is very small, amounting
to little besides waiting for the natives who bring the coprah or
the fresh nuts, to weigh them and sell his goods. Occasionally he
may visit a distant village by boat to buy coprah there; but there is
plenty of unoccupied time, and it is not surprising that many of the
settlers take to drink from pure boredom. Not so Mr. D., who tried
to educate the neighbouring natives, but with small success.
I did not see much of interest here, or learn anything new about
the natives, but I was able to obtain some interesting objects, and
my collection of skulls was nicely started, until some one told the
natives not to bring me any more skulls, as on the day of resurrection
the former owners would not be able to find their heads. The same
person created all sorts of difficulties when I attempted some
excavations, and at last insinuated that I was a German spy. It is
sad to see that the very people who, by virtue of their education
and position, ought to help one most, work against one, while very
often poor and plain people make sacrifices to help one along.
A young Ambrymese who had worked for me for some days, wanted to
enlist in my service when I left, although he grew tearful at the
thought of Malekula, where I intended to go next, and where he was
convinced he would be killed. Lingban was a light-haired native,
very nice-looking, and a favourite with the ladies; this fact had
brought him into considerable trouble, and he was obliged to leave
his home. He stayed with me for three months, and was not killed,
but suffered much from home-sickness. He finally settled at the south
end of Pentecoste, whence he could see his beloved Ambrym, count the
cocoa-nut trees on the shore and see the heavy clouds over the volcano.
From Dip Point Mr. S. took me over to Aunua on Malekula, the station
of the Rev. F. Paton, a son of the celebrated J. G. Paton, the founder
of the Presbyterian missions in the New Hebrides. He lived there as a
widower, devoting all his strength, time and thought to the spiritual
and physical welfare of the natives.
Malekula has the reputation of being one of the most dangerous islands
in the group. The natives in the north, the Big Nambas, are certainly
not very gentle, and the others, too, are high-spirited and will not
submit to ill-treatment from the settlers. Malekula is the second
largest island of the group, and its interior is quite unexplored. I
could not penetrate inland, as I was unable to find boys and guides
for a voyage they all thought extremely dangerous. Mr. Paton, who
had traversed the island at various points, consoled me by telling
me that the culture inland was much the same as along the coast. So
I gave up my plan, though with some regret.
Mr. Paton took me to the south end of Malekula, and left me on one of
the flat coral islands, which are all connected under the surface by
an extensive reef. The landscape is charming, the sea above the reef
shining in all possible shades, and small flat islands enlivening
the view in all directions. In these islands only Christians live,
the few remaining heathen having retired to the mainland.
Here on the south coast the strange fashion obtains of deforming the
head. This habit is very rare in the Pacific, and restricted to two
small districts. It is now purely a matter of fashion or vanity,--the
longer the head, the handsomer the individual is thought to be,--but
probably there was originally some religious or hygienic notion at
the bottom of the peculiar custom. The operation is begun about a
month after birth, by rubbing the child's head with grease and soot,
and then putting on a small cap of braided pandanus fibre, which is
very tight and allows the head to develop only in the direction of the
crown. When the cap becomes too tight, it is cut off, and another,
a little larger, put on, until the parents are satisfied with the
shape of the child's head. These baby skulls have an extreme shape
which is very ugly, and the whole process can hardly be agreeable to
the patient; but the operation does not seem to have any prejudicial
effect on the intellect, and in later years the shape of the head
becomes somewhat less marked, although a man from the south of Malekula
is always unmistakable.
This region is remarkable, too, for its highly developed
ancestor-worship. Although the general ideas on the subject are
the same here as elsewhere in the archipelago, there is a special
veneration here for the head or skull of deceased ancestors. The
bones are generally used in making arrow-heads and lance-points,
and the head, which is useless, is thrown away in most islands,
or buried again; but in the south of Malekula, the heads are kept,
and the face is reproduced in a plastic material of fibres, clay and
sticky juice. The work is very cleverly done, and the face looks quite
natural, with fine, slightly Semitic features. The surface is varnished
and painted with patterns corresponding to the caste of the dead. Often
the face has eyes made of bits of shell, the real hair is stuck on,
and the plumes and nose-stick are not forgotten, so that the whole
becomes an exact portrait of the deceased. Whether this head is to have
a body or not is a question of caste. The higher the caste of the dead,
the more completely is his body modelled. The heads of low castes are
simply stuck on poles, higher ones have bodies of carved wood, often
branches to indicate arms; but the bodies of the highest castes are
composed of bamboo, fibres and straw, and modelled throughout in the
same way as the head. They are covered with varnish, and every detail
reproduced, including dress, ornaments and caste signs. In their right
hands these statues carry a "bubu" or shell horn, and in their left,
a pig's jaw. The shoulders are modelled in the shape of faces, and from
these, occasionally, sticks protrude, bearing the heads of dead sons,
so that such a statue often has three or four heads. These figures
stand along the walls of the gamal, smiling with expressionless faces
on their descendants round the fires, and are given sacrifices of food.
Side by side with this ancestor-worship there goes a simpler
skull-cult, by which a man carries about the head of a beloved son
or wife, as a dear remembrance of the departed. Among a flourishing
population it would naturally be impossible to obtain such objects,
but here, where the people are rapidly decreasing in number, a statue
often enough loses its descendants, whereupon others have no objection
to sell it.
The taste for plastic art shows in other things as well. I found
several grotesque dancing-masks and sticks, made for some special
dance. The feeling for caricature expressed in these articles is
extraordinary and amusing even, from a European point of view. Here,
too, the Semitic type appears, and the natives seem to delight in the
hooked noses, thick lips and small chins. I gathered a rich harvest of
these curios near the little island of Hambi; unfortunately Mr. Paton
came to take me home before I had time to pack the objects carefully,
and I had to leave them in charge of natives until the arrival of the
steamer; when I found them again, after six months, they had suffered
a good deal.
Towards evening, while rounding the south-east corner of Malekula,
our motor broke down, and we had neither oars nor sail. Fortunately
the tide was in our favour, and we improvised a sail from a blanket, so
that we drifted slowly along and reached the anchorage late at night.
Mr. Paton then took me to Malo, where a Frenchman, Mr. I., was
expecting me. On the east coast there was but little to be done,
as the natives had nearly all disappeared; but I was able to pick
up some skulls near a number of abandoned villages. I found very
considerable architectural remains,--walls, mounds and altars, all
of masonry; buildings of this importance are to be found nowhere else
except in Aoré and the Banks Islands, and it seems probable that the
populations of these three districts are related.
I had an interesting experience here. Mr. I. and his neighbour did
not enjoy the best of reputations as regarded their treatment of
natives. One day Mr. I. took me over to N.'s place. N. was just
returning from a recruiting trip to Malekula. We saw him come
ashore, staggering and moaning; on being questioned, he told us
that he had been attacked by the natives, and his crew eaten up. He
was in a frightful state, completely broken, weeping like a child,
and cursing the savages, to whom, he said, he had never done any
wrong. His grief was so real that I began to pity the man, and
thought he had probably been paying the penalty for the misdeeds
of another recruiter. Mr. I. was just as emphatic in cursing the
bloodthirstiness of the natives, but while we were going home, he
told me that Mr. N. had kidnapped thirty-four natives at that very
place a year before, so that the behaviour of the others was quite
comprehensible. From that moment I gave up trying to form an opinion
on any occurrence of the kind without having carefully examined
the accounts of both parties. One can hardly imagine how facts are
distorted here, and what innocent airs people can put on who are really
criminals. I have heard men deplore, in the most pathetic language,
acts of cruelty to natives, who themselves had killed natives in cold
blood for the sake of a few pounds. It requires long and intimate
acquaintance with the people to see at all clearly in these matters,
and for a Resident it is quite impossible not to be deceived unless
he has been on the spot for a year at least.
While waiting at Dip Point for an opportunity to cross to Pentecoste,
I saw the volcano in full activity, and one day it rained ashes,
so that the whole country was black as if strewn with soot, and the
eruptions shook the house till the windows rattled. I made a second
ascent of the mountain, but had such bad weather that I saw nothing
at all. We came back, black as chimney-sweeps from the volcanic
dust we had brushed off the bushes. I heard later that the extinct
eastern crater had unexpectedly broken out again, and that several
lava streams were flowing towards the coast.
Pentecoste, a long, narrow island running north and south, resembles
Maevo in shape. My host here was a missionary who seemed to connect
Christianity with trousers and other details of civilization. It was
sad to see how many quaint customs, harmless enough in themselves,
were needlessly destroyed. The wearing of clothes constitutes a
positive danger to health, as in this rainy climate the natives are
almost constantly soaked, do not trouble to change their wet clothes,
sleep all night in the same things and invariably catch cold. Another
source of infection is their habit of exchanging clothes, thus
spreading all sorts of diseases. That morals are not improved by
the wearing of clothes is a fact; for they are rather better in the
heathen communities than in the so-called Christian ones. It is to be
hoped that the time is not far off when people will realize how very
little these externals have to do with Christianity and morality; but
there is reason to fear that it will then be too late to save the race.
We undertook an excursion into the interior, to a district whose
inhabitants had only recently been pacified by Mr. F., my host; the
tribes we visited were very primitive, especially on the east coast,
where there is little contact with whites. The people were still
cannibals, and I had no difficulty in obtaining some remnants of a
cannibal meal.
We frequently tried to obtain information about the organization of
the family among these natives, but, being dependent on biche la mar,
we made small progress. My observations were supplemented later by
the Rev. Mr. Drummond, for which I am very much indebted to him;
some of these observations may be of interest.
The population is divided into two clans--the Bule and the Tabi. The
former is supposed to have originated from the tridacna shell, the
latter from the taro. Every individual knows exactly to which clan
he belongs, although there are no external signs. There is a strict
rule forbidding marriage within the clan, and an offence against this
law was formerly punished by death; to this day, even in Christian
districts, marriage within the clan is extremely rare. No one can
change his clan. Children do not belong to the clan of the father,
but to that of the mother, and property cannot be alienated from the
clan. The father has no rights over his children, and the head of the
family is not the father, but the eldest brother of the mother, who
educates the boys and helps them along in the Suque. Land belongs to
the clan, which is like a large family, and indeed seems a stronger
organization than the family itself; but the clans live together
in the villages, and as such they form a whole with regard to the
outside world. Quarrels between two clans are not so rare as those
inside a clan, and the vendetta does not act inside the clan, whereas
a murder outside the clan must be avenged. Uncles and aunts within
the clan are called father and mother, and the cousins are called
sister and brother.
However, this exogamic system could not prevent inbreeding, as there
was always the possibility that uncles and nieces might marry, so
that a "horizontal" system was superimposed across this "vertical"
one, forbidding all marriages between different generations. Thus,
all marriages between near relations being impossible, the chances to
marry at all are considerably diminished, so that nowadays, with the
decreased population, a man very often cannot find a wife, even though
surrounded by any number of girls. I do not mean to imply by this
that the whole clan-system was organized simply to prevent inbreeding.
As I have said before, young men, as a rule, either cannot marry,
being too poor to buy a wife, or, at best, can only afford to pay
for an old widow, a low-priced article. The young, pretty girls are
generally bought by old men, who often buy them when children, paying
half the price down, and waiting till the girl is of marriageable
age. As soon as she is old enough, she has to work for her future
husband, and is under the care of one of his wives. Later on, the
husband pays the rest of the money, builds a house for the girl,
and the marriage takes place without any ceremony beyond a dinner to
the nearest relatives of the couple. In most islands the girl cannot
object to a match otherwise than by running away from a disagreeable
husband. Generally, when she has run away several times, and repeated
beatings have not changed her mind, her parents pay back the money
and the husband gives up his wife. What is valued highest in a woman
is her capacity for work; but the young men have a marked taste for
beauty, and there are girls that are courted by all the young fellows
of the village, and who, although married to an old man, accept the
addresses of a young one. The husband does not seem to mind much,
provided the woman continues to work well for him.
There is such a thing as love even here, and it has been known to
grow so powerful as to lead, if unrequited, to suicide or to rapid
pining away and to death.
On the whole, the women are treated fairly well by their husbands,
but for an occasional beating, which is often provoked by foolish
behaviour; and they are taken care of, as they represent a great
value. There are old ruffians, however, who take a perverse pleasure in
torturing their wives, and these unhappy women are quite helpless, as
they are entirely in the power of their husbands. Otherwise, the fate
of the women is not as bad as many people think, and the severest rules
have never yet prevented Eve from finding and taking her pleasure.
During babyhood the children stay with their mothers; but from the
age of four on the boys spend most of their time in the gamal, while
the girls remain under their mother's care. Clothes are not worn by
the boys till they have joined the Suque, which, in some cases, takes
place long after puberty. The girls seem to begin to wear something
whenever the mother thinks fit, generally between the ages of four and
seven. From that moment every connection between brother and sister
ceases; they may not speak to each other, not meet on the road, in
some regions not even see each other, and to mention the sister's
name before the brother is, if not an actual insult, certainly very
tactless. Similar rules regulate the relations between parents-
and children-in-law.
The parents are very lenient to their children, and pass over every
impertinence; they get small thanks for their kindness, and the boys,
especially, often treat their mothers very badly. The natives' fondness
for children makes them very good nurses, and it is a source of the
greatest pride to a native boy to take care of a white child.
The father's death is of little importance to the children, and not
much to their mother, who, as a rule, goes over to her husband's oldest
brother. If the mother dies, the children are adopted by a maternal
aunt or some other woman of the clan. One reason why all this is of
no great importance is the far-reaching communism which is a feature
of native life, every one sleeping and eating wherever he pleases.
Mr. F. took me up north, where I wished to study the population. I must
not omit to mention that the population of Pentecoste is divided into
two distinct types: the people in the south are like those of Ambrym,
those in the north resemble the inhabitants of Aoba. This is evident
not only in the dress, but also quite distinctly in the exterior of
the people. Yet in spite of the close relations with Ambrym, the art
of sculpture, so highly developed in the other island, is entirely
lacking in the south of Pentecoste.
In the north we find a dress similar to that of Aoba: the men do
not wear the nambas, while the women have a small mat around the
waist. The art of braiding is brought to great perfection here, and
the mats from Pentecoste are surpassed only by those from Maevo. The
material is pandanus, whose leaves are split into narrow strips,
bleached and then braided. Some of the mats are dyed with the root of
a plant, by boiling in a dyeing vat of bark. Besides the small mats,
chiefly used for the women's dress, there are larger ones which serve
as money and represent a great amount. They are as much as 1 mètre
wide and 4 long, and are always dyed. The manufacture of these mats is
very laborious, and only high-caste men with many wives can afford to
have them made. The patterns for dyeing are cut out of banana-sheath,
which is then tied tightly on the mat, and the whole rolled round a
thick stick. The dyeing takes almost an entire day. These mats are
used, for example, to buy the valuable tusked pigs.
The only form of wood-carving in this region are clubs, and those made
here are the most elegant of the whole group, and so much in demand in
all the islands that they are quite largely exported. At present they
are mostly used as ceremonial clubs at dances. All those of modern
make are inferior to the old ones in regard to hardness, elegance of
shape, polish and strength. Here, in Pentecoste, I found the first
basket-plates I had ever seen. They are frequent farther north, in
the Banks Islands, but do not exist in the south. These plates had
no centre, and had to be lined with leaves to make them serviceable,
being mere rings. They are used to carry cooked food about. In the
Banks Islands the natives have learned to braid the centre too.
Up in these northern mountains I spent a most unpleasant week in wet,
cold weather, in a wretched house; but I had the satisfaction of
finding two boys to take the place of Lingban, who had, by this time,
become semi-idiotic with home-sickness.
I returned to the coast and waited for an opportunity to cross to Aoba,
but the weather was so bad that even Mr. G., an old sea-dog, would not
risk the voyage; so we tried to get to Ambrym instead, where I could
meet the steamer for Aoba. We waited for a calm day, and started out
in the tiny whale-boat. Soon we were caught by one after another of
the ill-famed Pentecoste squalls, and though my skipper was known
as one of the best sailors in the islands, one squall struck us so
suddenly that the boat heeled over, and only a very quick turn of
the wheel saved us from capsizing. The escape was such a narrow one
that even Mr. G. turned pale, and decided to go back, especially as
the boys sat on deck, quite useless, green with fear and incapable
of helping us in any way.
It took us a long time to beat back, and we were all glad to feel
solid ground under our feet once more. After a few days we started
again, but luck was against me on this occasion, and inside of twelve
hours I missed the steamer no less than three times, which, in the
New Hebrides, implies a delay of four weeks.
So, in a heavy whale-boat, I rowed along the coast toward Olal with
some natives. A dull rain drenched us, followed by glaring sunshine
that stewed us in heavy dampness. Like the ruins of a giant wall, black
lava blocks lay here and there along the coast. The surf foamed white
in the crevasses, and the forest rose, sallow and greenish-yellow,
above the high bank. Here and there naked natives squatted on the
rocks, motionless, or looking lazily for crabs; among the huge boulders
they looked tiny, and their colouring scarcely distinguished them
from their surroundings; so that they seemed rather like animals, or
the shyest of cave-dwellers. Floating slowly on the grey sea, in the
sad broken light, I thought I had never seen a more inhospitable coast.
Owing to the heavy swell, we had difficulty in passing through the
narrow channel inside the reef. The great rollers pounded against
the coral banks, and poured back in a thousand white streamlets,
like a wonderful cascade, to be swallowed by the next wave.
I found my friend, Mr. D., in a sad state with fever, cold and
loneliness; wrapped up in woollen caps, blankets and heavy clothes, he
looked more like an Arctic explorer than a dweller near the Equator. He
spoke of leaving the islands, and, indeed, did so some months later.
On my way to Aoba I had to spend a few days off Pentecoste, in such
rainy weather that I went ashore but once in all that time. The day was
fine, and I shall never forget the beauty of that woodland scene. A
lovely creek winds through reeds, reflecting the bright sand and the
bushes on its banks. Dark iron-woods rise in stiff, broken lines,
and their greyish needles quiver like a light plume against the blue
sky, where white clouds float serenely. Inland the forest swells in
a green wall, and farther off it lies in rounded cupolas and domes
of soft green, fading into a light around the distant hills. Under
overhanging branches I lie, sheltered from the sun; at my feet the
ripples caress the bank; delicate lianas hang from the branches
and trail lazily in the water. Swallows dart across the stream,
and sometimes the low call of a wood-dove sounds from far away. A
cricket shrieks, and stops suddenly, as if shocked at the discordant
sound of its own voice. Far off in the hills I can hear the rushing
of the wind, like a deep chord that unites in a sacred symphony with
the golden sun and the glittering water to voice the infinite joy of
living that penetrates all creation to-day.
Down-stream I can see the heavy coast banks, with a narrow strip of
brilliant blue sea shining above them, and now and then a glint of
snowy foam. Two pandanuses frame the view, their long leaves waving
softly in the breeze that comes floating down the valley. Half asleep,
I know the delights of the lotus-eaters' blessed isle.
CHAPTER XIII
AOBA
Next day I landed in Aoba, at "Albert's." He was an American negro,
who, after having been a stoker and sailor, had settled here as a
coprah trader. His language was of the strangest, a mixture of biche la
mar, negro French and English, and was very hard to understand. With
the help of two native women he kept his house in good order, and
he was decidedly one of the most decent colonists of the group,
and tried to behave like a gentleman, which is more than can be said
of some whites. He seemed to confirm the theory that the African is
superior to the Melanesian. Albert sheltered me to the best of his
ability, although I had to sleep in the open, under a straw roof,
and his bill of fare included items which neither my teeth nor my
stomach could manage, such as an octopus. There were several other
negroes in Aoba; one was Marmaduke, an enormous Senegalese, who had
grown somewhat simple, and lived like the natives, joining the Suque
and dancing at their festivals. He occasionally came to dinner at
Albert's; this was always amusing, as Albert thought himself far
superior to Marmaduke, and corrected his mistakes with still more
comical impossibilities. Both were most polite and perfectly sober. The
talk, as a rule, turned on stories of ghosts, in which both of them
firmly believed, and by which both were much troubled. Marmaduke was
strangled every few nights by old women, while a goblin had sat on
Albert's chest every night until he had cleared the bush round his
house and emptied his Winchester three times into the darkness. This
had driven the ghosts away,--a pretty case of auto-suggestion. I
was interested in hearing these stories, though I should hardly have
thought a sensible man like Albert could have believed such things.
The people of Aoba are quite different from those of the other
islands,--light-coloured, often straight-haired, with Mongolian
features; they are quite good-looking, intelligent, and their habits
show many Polynesian traits. The Suque is not all-important here:
it scarcely has the character of a secret society, and the separation
of the sexes is not insisted on. Men and women live together, and the
fires do not appear to be separated. As a result, there is real family
life, owing in part to the fact that meals are eaten in common. The
gamal is replaced by a cooking-house, which is open to the women;
generally it is nothing but a great gabled roof, reaching to the
ground on one side and open on the others. Here the families live
during the day, and the young men and guests sleep at night, while
the married couples sleep in their huts, which are grouped around
the cooking-house.
The position of the women, so much better here than elsewhere, is
not without effect on their behaviour. They are independent and
self-possessed, and do not run away from a stranger nor hide in
dark corners when a white man wants to speak to them. Because of
their intelligence they are liked on plantations as house-servants,
and so many of them have gone away for this purpose that Aoba has
been considerably depopulated in consequence; few of these women ever
return, and those who do are usually sick. Some Aoba women have made
very good wives for white men.
The people of Aoba are remarkable for their cleanliness, the dwellers
on the coast spending half the day in the water, while those from the
mountains never miss their weekly bath, after which they generally
carry a few cocoa-nuts full of salt water up to their homes. The
women are very pretty, slim and strong; their faces often have quite a
refined outline, a pointed chin, a small mouth and full but well-cut
lips; their eyes are beautiful, with a soft and sensual expression;
and the rhythm of their movements, their light and supple walk,
give them a charm hardly ever to be found in Europe. The men, too,
are good to look at. Considering the intelligence and thriftiness of
the race, it is doubly regrettable that alcoholism, recruiting and
consumption have had such evil effects of recent years.
I roamed about in the neighbourhood of Nabutriki and attended several
festivals; they are much the same as elsewhere, except that the
pigs are not killed by braining, but by trampling on their stomachs,
which apparently causes rupture of the heart and speedy death.
As I mentioned elsewhere, a man's rise in caste is marked on every
occasion by the receipt of new fire, rubbed on a special stick
ornamented with flowers. Fire is lighted here, as in all Melanesia,
by "ploughing," a small stick being rubbed lengthwise in a larger
one. If the wood is not damp, it will burn in less than two minutes:
it is not necessary, as is often stated, to use two different kinds
of wood. To-day matches are used nearly everywhere, and the natives
hardly ever "plough" their fire, except for ceremonial purposes;
but they are still very clever about keeping the fire burning, and
often take along a smouldering log on their walks.
Wood-carving and sculpture are wanting, except in the shape of drums,
which are placed in a horizontal position, and often reach considerable
dimensions.
Not far from Albert's lived a man of the highest caste, my friend
Agelan. He was planning to kill one hundred tusked pigs in the near
future, which would raise him to the highest caste far and wide,
but would also impoverish him for the rest of his life. He lived
quietly and comfortably, like a country squire, surrounded by his
relatives and descendants. He seemed fond of good living, and his wife
was an excellent housekeeper. In the midst of a somewhat colourless
Christian population, wearing trousers and slovenly dresses, using
enamel pots and petrol-lamps, Agelan and his household were a genuine
relic of the good old times, and no one could have pretended that
his home was less pleasant than those around him. These things are
largely a matter of taste; and those who prefer grotesque attire to
beautiful nakedness will be happy to know that their wishes will soon
be fulfilled. I liked the old heathen, and spent a good deal of time
with him. A sketch of his home life may not come amiss, just because
these primitive ways are dying out so fast.
As I near the house, some dogs rush out at me, and a woman's voice
calls them back; Agelan roars a welcome--he always shouts, and likes to
put on masterful airs; for in years gone by he was a very unpleasant
customer, until the man-of-war--but that is all ancient history, and
now his bark is much worse than his bite. I have the honour of being
in his good books, thanks to certain medical services I was able to
render him; he has an ugly cough, for which we have tried in turn:
iodine, Peruvian balsam, eucalyptus oil, quinine, and other medicines;
nothing helps, but he seems to enjoy swallowing the drugs.
The floor of the house is hard clay; there are two fireplaces at one
end, and at the other some large drums serve as seats. Everywhere
in the roofing hang bows, arrows, bones, plummets, ropes, and
clubs. Agelan has been toasting himself at a little fire of his
own; now he rises, coughing, and shakes hands. He is a very tall,
strongly-made man of about sixty, with a high forehead, long,
hooked nose, wide mouth, thin lips and white beard. His dress is the
old-fashioned loin-mat, and around his wrists he wears heavy strands
of shell money. His wife, too, is very tall and strong, with quiet,
dignified movements; she may be forty years old. Everything about
her is calm and determined; while not handsome, she has such a kind
expression as to look very pleasant. She wears a small loin-cloth, and
her light coffee-coloured skin is scrupulously clean. Around her neck
and over her left shoulder she wears a string of shells, and around
her ankles, small red beads. Near her squats her little daughter,
a pretty child of six; an adopted daughter plays near the fire with
a small, thick-bellied orphan boy, who is always crying. The girls,
too, wear little ornaments; and their dainty movements, curly heads,
round faces and great dark eyes are very attractive.
The midday meal is steaming under a heap of leaves and dust, and a man
is busily scraping cocoa-nuts for the delicious cocoa-nut milk. Agelan
sends one of the girls for an unripe nut, which is opened in three
deft cuts, and I am offered the refreshing drink as a welcome. Now
Agelan, who has been brooding for days over these matters, questions
me as to my origin and plans, and he roars himself nearly hoarse,
for we cannot understand each other. The other man, a fugitive from
the east coast, is asked to interpret, but he is sulky and awkward;
not that he is a bad sort, but he is sick, and spends most of his time
asleep in a shed he has built for himself in a corner of the house,
and only appears at meals.
The youngest son comes in, the last left to Agelan, for the older
ones have all joined the mission,--it is the fashion. This boy is a
quiet, cheerful lad of twelve, already a high caste, for his father
has killed many pigs for him. He has shot a miserable pigeon, and
his mother and the girls laugh at the poor booty, much to his chagrin.
Agelan now takes me to "view" a particularly fine tusked pig, tied
under a roof, on a clean couch of straw; the boy shows it bits of
cocoa-nut to make it open its mouth, so that I can see and admire its
tusks. Agelan would like nothing better than to show off all his pigs,
and if I were a native I would pass them in review as we Europeans
visit picture-galleries; but I refuse as politely as I can. We
return to the cook-house, where the cocoa-nut rasping is finished;
the man washes his hands in the water of a nut, splitting it open and
squeezing the water in a little spray on to his hands. Mrs. Agelan
knows a simpler way; she fills her mouth with water and squirts it on
her hands. The cocoa-nut gratings are kneaded with a little water,
while the girls sweep the earth off the cooking-place and uncover
the stones; an appetizing smell spreads, and the master of the house
watches the preparations with a sharp eye and a silent tongue. One
feels that the least carelessness will provoke an outburst, and,
indeed, a solemn silence has fallen on the company, only the wife
smiles quietly.
"Lap-lap banana good!" Agelan roars in my ear, and I nod assent. Now
the hot stones are removed with bamboo tongs, and the great flat
object, wrapped in banana leaves, is taken out. Mrs. Agelan throws back
the leaves and uncovers the beautifully cooked golden lap-lap. Her
lord looks at it critically, and returns to his corner silent, but
evidently satisfied. His wife cannot quite hide a smile of pride.
The stranger now squeezes the cocoa-nut gratings over a wooden bowl,
and a creamy juice runs through his fingers. The bowl is brought to
Agelan, who looks at it as if reading an oracle; then he selects a
hot stone from his own fire, and sends the bowl back to be embedded
in the gratings. He approaches with his stone in a wooden fork,
and squats down near the bowl lost in thought, as if anxious not to
miss the right moment; then he drops the stone into the milk, which
hisses, bubbles and steams. A fine smell of burnt fat is noticeable;
and while the liquid thickens, Agelan behaves as if he could perform
miracles and was in league with supernatural powers. After a while
his wife hands him the bowl, and he holds it over the pudding,
undecided how and where to pour the milk; one would think the fate
and welfare of creation depended on his action. Being a man of energy,
he makes up his mind, and pours one stream right across the pudding,
then empties his bowl and retires with a sigh to his seat. About ten
more bowlfuls are needed, but these are poured by Mrs. Agelan without
further ceremony. The solemn hush is over. With a long bush-knife,
Mama cuts the pudding into strips and squares and distributes it,
and the meal proceeds amid general satisfaction. I am given a large
slab; fortunately it tastes very good and is easily digestible,
for politeness ordains that one must eat enormous quantities. At
one stage of the proceedings the girls are sent to take some food to
the neighbours as a present. When everyone has finished, Agelan lies
down for a siesta, while his wife lights a pipe and squats in silent
happiness near the fire. The girls play with the dirty little boy,
and the son plucks his tiny pigeon and a flying-fox; singeing the
creature's fur off occasions such an evil smell that I prefer to take
my leave. Mrs. Agelan smiles her farewell, the girls giggle, and when
I have gone some distance I hear Agelan, awakened from his siesta,
roar a sleepy good-bye after me.
CHAPTER XIV
LOLOWAY--MALO--THE BANKS ISLANDS
Having traversed the western part of the island, I sailed to
Loloway, near the eastern point, one of the loveliest spots in the
archipelago. Lofty cliffs flank two sides of a round bay; at the
entrance a barrier-reef breaks the swell, which glides in a soft
undulation over the quiet water, splashing up on the sandy beach. All
around is the forest, hanging in shadowy bowers over the water,
and hardly a breeze is astir. The white whale-boat of the Anglican
missionary floats motionless on the green mirror; sometimes a fish
leaps up, or a pigeon calls from the woods. In the curve of the
bay the shore rises in two terraces; on the lower lies the Anglican
missionary's house, just opposite the entrance. In the evening the sun
sets between the cliffs, and pours a stream of the purest gold through
the narrow gap. It is a pity this fairy spot is so rarely inhabited;
Melanesian missionaries are not often at home, being constantly on
the road, or at work in the native villages. Mr. G., too, was on the
point of departure, and agreed to take me with him on his trip.
In his alarmingly leaky boat we sailed westward, two boys baling all
the time. We ran into a small anchorage, pulled the boat ashore, and
marched off inland. The people I found here were similar to those in
the west, except that they had developed certain arts to a greater
degree of perfection, particularly mat-braiding and tattooing. The
braiding is done by a method very similar to that in vogue on
Pentecoste. The tattooing is mostly done by women and on women;
but the men, especially the high castes, often have a beautifully
designed sicca leaf running from the chest towards one shoulder,
which probably has some religious significance. The women often have
their whole body, arms and legs, covered with tattooing, as if with
fine lace. The operation is done bit by bit, some one part being
treated every few days. The colour used is the rosin of a nut-tree
precipitated on a cool stone and mixed with the juice of a plant;
the pattern is drawn on the skin with a stick, and then traced with
the tattooing-needle. This consists of three orange thorns, tied
at right angles to a stick. The needles are guided along the design
with the left hand, while the right keeps striking the handle softly
with a light stick, to drive the needles into the skin. This is kept
up until a distinct outline is produced; the operation is not very
painful. The skin is then washed and rubbed with a certain juice,
which evidently acts as a disinfectant; at least I never saw any
inflammation consequent on tattooing. During the next few days some
of the dye works out and falls off with the dry crust that forms on
the wound, leaving the tattooing a little paler. The patterns are
rather complicated, and at the present day there are no recognizable
representations of real objects; yet there seems no doubt that at one
time all the designs represented some real thing. They are carefully
adapted to the body, and accentuate its structure. The women who do
the tattooing are well paid, so that only the wealthy can afford to
have their wives and daughters tattooed all over; and naturally a
tattooed woman brings a higher price in the matrimonial market than a
"plain" one.
In this same place I had occasion to observe an interesting zoological
phenomenon, the appearance of the palolo-worm, which occurs almost all
over the Pacific once a year, at a certain date after the October full
moon. The natives know the date exactly, which proves the accuracy
of their chronology. The palolo is a favourite delicacy, and they
never fail to fish for it. We went down to the shore on the first
night; there were not many worms as yet, but the next evening the
water was full of the greenish and brownish threads, wriggling about
helplessly. Each village had its traditional fishing-ground, and we
could see the different fires all along the coast. The worms were
gathered by hand and thrown into baskets, and after midnight we went
home with a rich harvest. The palolo is mixed with pudding, and said
to taste like fish; I am not in a position to pronounce an opinion.
I returned to Nabutriki, and thence to Malo, where Mr. W. informed me
that the Burns-Philp steamer had already passed, and asked me to stay
with him and his kind family until I should find an opportunity to
cross. I accepted all the more gladly, as this part of Malo was still
quite unknown to me. The population I found here is probably identical
with that which formerly inhabited the south shore of Santo. This
was interesting to me because of certain scientific details, though
on the whole the life was much the same as elsewhere in Melanesia,
with the Suque, etc. I collected a number of charms and amulets,
which the people sold willingly, as they no longer believed in their
power. Formerly, they were supposed to be useful for poisoning,
as love-charms, or for help in collecting many tusked pigs.
I also visited the neighbouring islands, and heard the gruesome story
of how the last village on Aoré disappeared. The Aoré people were for
ever at war with those of South Santo, across the Segond Channel. The
men of Aoré were about sixty strong, and one day they attacked a
Santo village. Everyone fled except one man, who was helpless from
disease. He was killed and eaten up, and in consequence of this meal
thirty out of the sixty men from Aoré died. The others dispersed among
the villages of Malo. In Aoré, I had the rare sensation of witnessing
an earthquake below the surface. I was exploring a deep cave in the
coral banks when I heard the well-known rumbling, felt the shock, and
heard some great stalactites fall from the ceiling. This accumulation
of effects seemed then to me a little theatrical and exaggerated.
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.
During the work of refloating the boat, Mr. Ch. was taken very ill
with fever, and I nursed him for some days; he was somewhat better by
Christmas Eve, and we had the satisfaction of bringing the saved launch
back to the station. He was visibly relieved, and his good humour was
agreeably felt by his boys as well as by his employés, to whom he sent
a goodly quantity of liquor to celebrate the occasion. We sat down to
a festive dinner and tried to realize that this was Christmas; but it
was so different from Christmas at home, that it was rather hard. At
our feet lay the wide bay, turquoise blue, edged with white surf;
in the distance rose the wonderful silhouette of Mota Lava Island;
white clouds travelled across the sky, and a gentle breeze rustled
in the palms of the forest. The peaceful picture showed no trace of
the fury with which the elements had fought so few days ago.
Tired with his exertions, Mr. Ch. withdrew early, and I soon followed;
but we were both aroused by the barking of the dogs, followed by the
pad of bare feet on the veranda, whispering and coughing, and then by
a song from rough and untrained throats. The singers were natives of
a Christian village some miles away, who came to sing Christmas hymns
in a strange, rough language, discordant and yet impressive. When
they had finished the director went out to them; he was a man whom one
would not have believed capable of any feeling, but he had tears in his
eyes; words failed him, and he thanked the singers by gestures. We all
went down to the store, where they sang to the employés, and received
presents; after which they spent the rest of the night with the hands,
singing, eating and chatting. On Christmas Day the natives roasted
a fat pig, the employés spent the day over their bottles, and I was
nurse once more, my patient being delirious and suffering very much.
Before New Year's Day the launch was sent to all the different
stations to fetch the employés, an interesting crowd of more or less
ruined individuals. There was a former gendarme from New Caledonia, a
cavalry captain, an officer who had been in the Boer war, an ex-priest,
a clerk, a banker and a cowboy, all very pleasant people as long as
they were sober; but the arrival of each was celebrated with several
bottles, which the director handed out without any demur, although the
amount was prodigious. Quarrels ensued; but by New Year's Eve peace was
restored, and we all decorated the director's house with wreaths for
the banquet of the evening. The feast began well, but towards midnight
a general fight was going on, which came to an end by the combatants
falling asleep one by one. Thus the new year was begun miserably,
and the next few days were just as bad. The natives looked on at the
fights with round-eyed astonishment; and the director was in despair,
for a second cyclone was threatening, and there was hardly anyone in
a fit condition to help him secure the launch.
All one morning it rained, and at noon the cyclone broke, coming from
the south-west, as it had done the first time, but with threefold
violence. We sat on the veranda, ready to jump off at any moment,
in case the house should be blown away. The view was wiped out by
the mist; dull crashes resounded in the forest, branches cracked and
flew whirling through the air, all isolated trees were broken off
short, and the lianas tangled and torn. The blasts grew ever more
violent and frequent, and if the house had not been protected by the
mountain, it could never have resisted them. As it was, it shook and
creaked, and a little iron shed went rolling along the ground like
a die. Down in the plain the storm tore the leaves off the palms,
and uprooted trees and blew down houses. The cyclone reached its
climax at sunset, then the barometer rose steadily, and suddenly
both wind and rain ceased. The stillness lasted for about half an
hour and then the storm set in again, this time from the north,
striking the house with all its strength; fortunately it was not so
violent as at first. With the rising barometer the storm decreased and
changed its direction to the east. All next day it rained and blew;
but on the third morning the storm died out in a faint breeze from
the south-east, and when we came to reckon up our damages, we found
that it might have been worse. Meanwhile the employés had had time
to recover from their orgy. A brilliant day dried the damp house,
and soon everything resumed a normal aspect except the forest, which
looked brown and ragged, like autumn woods at home.
I made use of the first calm day to visit the lonely little islet of
Meralava. As it has no anchorage, no one can land there except in
quiet weather, and so it had come about that the company's employé
had had no communication with the outside world for four months. The
island is an extinct volcano, a regular cone, with the crater as a deep
cavity in the top. There is hardly a level square mètre on the whole
island, and the shores rise steeply out of the sea; only a few huge
lava blocks form a base, on which the swell breaks and foams. When
we reached the island, this swell was so heavy as to render landing
almost impossible. All we could do was to take the employé aboard and
return home. I was very sorry to have to give up my visit to Meralava,
as the natives, though all christianized, have preserved more of
their old ways than those of other islands, owing to their infrequent
intercourse with civilization. For the same reason, the population is
quite large; but every time a ship has landed an epidemic goes through
the island, the germs of which appear to be brought by the vessels,
and the natives evidently have very small powers of resistance. We
may here observe on a small scale what has taken place all over the
archipelago in the degeneration and decimation of the aborigines.
The people of Meralava live on taro, which they grow in terraced
fields, the water being obtained from holes in the rocks, and on
cocoa-nuts, of which the island yields a fair supply.
The following day we started for Ureparapara, also a volcanic island,
with an enormous crater, one side of which has fallen in; because,
as the natives say, a great fish knocked against it. The sea has
penetrated into the interior of the crater, forming a lovely bay, so
that ships now lie at anchor where formerly the lava boiled and roared.
In consequence of the frequent intercourse with whites, the population
is scanty. There is hardly a level patch, except the small strip at
the base of the slope and the great reef outside. Here, too, we had
difficulty in landing, but in the evening we found an ideal anchorage
inside the bay. The water was scarcely ruffled, and little wavelets
splashed on the shore, where mangrove thickets spread their bright
foliage. Huge trees bent over the water, protecting the straw roofs
of a little village. In the deep shade some natives were squatting
round fires, and close by some large outrigger-canoes lay on the
beach. On three sides the steep wooded slopes of the former crater's
walls rise up to a sharply dented ridge, and it all looks like a
quiet Alpine lake, so that one involuntarily listens for the sound
of cow-bells. Instead, there is the call of pigeons, and the dull
thunder of the breakers outside.
We took a holiday in this charming bay; and though the joys of
picnicking were not new to us, the roasting of some pigeons gave us a
festive sensation and a hearty appetite. The night under the bright,
starlit sky, on board the softly rocking launch, wrapped me in a
feeling of safety and coziness I had not enjoyed for a long time.
Along the steepest path imaginable I climbed next morning to the
mountain's edge. The path often led along smooth rocks, where lianas
served as ropes and roots as a foothold; and I was greatly surprised
to find many fields on top, to which the women have to climb every
day and carry the food down afterwards, which implies acrobatic feats
of no mean order.
Ureparapara was the northernmost point I had reached so far, and
the neighbourhood of the art-loving Solomon Islands already made
itself felt. Whereas in the New Hebrides every form of art, except
mat-braiding, is at once primitive and decadent, here any number
of pretty things are made, such as daintily designed ear-sticks,
bracelets, necklaces, etc.; I also found a new type of drum, a regular
skin-drum, with the skin stretched across one end, while the other
is stuck into the ground. The skin is made of banana leaves. These
and other points mark the difference between this people and that of
the New Hebrides. As elsewhere all over the Banks group, the people
have long faces, high foreheads, narrow, often hooked, noses, and
a light skin. Accordingly, it would seem that they are on a higher
mental plane than those of the New Hebrides, and cannibalism is said
never to have existed here.
My collections were not greatly enriched, as a British man-of-war had
anchored here for a few days a short time before; and anyone who knows
the blue-jackets' rage for collecting will understand that they are
quite capable of stripping a small island of its treasures. A great
deal of scientifically valuable material is lost in this way, though
fortunately these collectors go in for size chiefly, leaving small
objects behind, so that I was able to procure several valuable pieces.
After our return to Port Patterson the launch took me to a plantation
from which I ascended the volcano of Venua Lava. Its activity shows
principally in sulphur springs, and there are large sulphur deposits,
which were worked fifteen years ago by a French company. A large amount
of capital had been collected for the purpose, and for a few weeks
or months the sulphur was carried down to the shore by natives and
exported. Then it was found that the deposits were not inexhaustible,
that the employés were not over-conscientious, that the consumption
of alcohol was enormous, and finally the whole affair was given up,
after large quantities of machinery had been brought out, which I saw
rusting away near the shore. In this way numerous enterprises have
been started and abandoned of late years, especially in Nouméa. It
is probably due to this mining scheme that the natives here have
practically disappeared; I found one man who had once carried sulphur
from the mine, and he was willing to guide me up the volcano.
There are always clouds hanging round the top of the mountain, and the
forest is swampy; but on the old road we advanced quite rapidly, and
soon found ourselves on the edge of a plateau, from which two streams
fell down in grand cascades, close together, their silver ribbons
gleaming brightly in the dark woods. One river was milk-white with
sulphur precipitate, the other had red water, probably owing to iron
deposits. The water was warm, and grew still warmer the farther up we
followed the river. Suddenly we came upon a bare slope, over certain
spots of which steam-clouds hung, while penetrating fumes irritated
one's eyes and nose. We had come to the lower margin of the sulphur
springs, and the path led directly across the sulphur rocks. Mounting
higher, we heard the hissing of steam more distinctly, and soon we
were in the midst of numerous hillocks with bright yellow tops, and
steam hissing and whistling as it shot out of cracks, to condense in
the air into a white cloud. The whole ground seemed furrowed with
channels and crevasses, beneath which one heard mysterious noises;
one's step sounded hollow, and at our side ran a dark stream, which
carried the hot sulphur water to the shore. Great boulders lay about,
some of them so balanced that a slight touch sent them rolling into the
depths, where they broke into atoms. Sometimes we were surrounded by a
thick cloud, until a breeze carried it away, and we had a clear view
over the hot, dark desert, up to the mountain-top. It was uncanny in
the midst of those viciously hissing hillocks, and I could not blame my
boys for turning green with fear and wishing to go home. But we went on
to a place where water boiled in black pools, sometimes quietly, then
with a sudden high jump; some of the water was black, some yellowish,
and everything around was covered with sulphur as if with hoar-frost.
We followed the course of a creek whose water was so hot as to scald
our feet, and the heat became most oppressive. We were glad to reach
the crater, though it was a gloomy and colourless desert, in the
midst of which a large grey pool boiled and bubbled. In front was a
deep crevice in the crater wall, and a cloud of steam hid whatever
was in it; yet we felt as though something frightful must be going
on there. Above this gloomy scene stretched a sky of serenest blue,
and we had a glimpse of the coast, with its little islands bathing
in the sapphire sea.
Next day we left for Gaua. Unhappily the captain met friends, and
celebrated with them to such an extent that he was no longer to be
relied on, which was all the more unpleasant as the weather was of
the dirtiest, and the barometer presaged another cyclone. After two
days it cleared up a little; I went ashore at the west point of Gaua,
where the launch was to pick me up again two days later, as I meant to
visit the interior while the others went to buy coprah. Even now the
wind and the swell from the north-west were increasing suspiciously,
and after I had spent a rainy night in a village off the shore, I
saw the launch race eastward along the coast, evidently trying to
make a safe anchorage, with the storm blowing violent squalls and
the sea very high.
On my way inland I still found the paths obstructed by fallen trees
from the last cyclone, while nearly all the cocoa-nut palms had lost
their nuts. And again the storm raged in the forest, and the rain
fell in torrents.
I was anxious to buy statues of tree-fern wood; they are frequently
to be seen here, standing along a terrace or wall near the gamal, and
seem not so much images of ancestors, as signs of rank and wealth. The
caste may be recognized by the number of pigs' jaws carved on the
statues. Often the artist first makes a drawing of the statue in
red, white and black paint on a board; and these same designs are
used as patterns for tattooing, as well as on ear-sticks and other
objects. Female statues are common, which is an unusual thing.
I obtained a good number of skulls, which were thrown into the roots
of a fig tree, where I was allowed to pick them up as I pleased.
The Suque is supposed to have originated here; and here certainly it
has produced its greatest monuments, large altar-like walls, dams and
ramparts. The gamals, too, are always on a foundation of masonry,
and on either side there are high pedestals on which the pigs are
sacrificed. Among the stones used for building we often find great
boulders hollowed out to the shape of a bowl. No one knows anything
about these stones or their purpose; possibly they are relics of an
earlier population that has entirely disappeared.
When I returned from my excursion I looked down on a wild foam-flecked
sea, over which the storm was raging as it did during the previous
cyclones. I realized that I should have to stay here for some time,
and ate my last provisions somewhat pensively. I only hoped that
the launch had found an anchorage, else she must inevitably have
been wrecked, and I should be left at the mercy of the natives for
an indefinite time. The hut in which I camped did not keep off the
rain, and I was wet and uncomfortable; thus I spent the first of a
series of miserable nights. I was anxious to know the fate of the
launch, and this in itself was enough to worry me; then I was without
reading or writing materials, and my days were spent near a smoky
fire, watching the weather, trying to find a dry spot, sleeping and
whistling. Sometimes a few natives came to keep me company; and once
I got hold of a man who spoke a little biche la mar, and was willing
to tell me about some old-time customs. However, like most natives, he
soon wearied of thinking, so that our conversations did not last long.
The natives kept me supplied with food in the most hospitable manner:
yam, taro, cabbage, delicately prepared, were at my disposal; but,
unaccustomed as I was to this purely vegetable diet, I soon felt such
a craving for meat that I began to dream about tinned-meat, surely not
a normal state of things. To add to my annoyance, rumours got afloat
to the effect that the launch was wrecked; and if this was true,
my situation was bad indeed.
On the fifth day I decided to try and find the anchorage where I
supposed the launch to be. The wind had dropped a little, but it was
still pouring, and the walk through the slippery, devastated forest,
up and down steep hills and gullies, across fallen trees, in a thick,
oppressive fog, was strenuous enough. In the afternoon, hearing that
the launch was somewhere near, we descended to the coast, where we came
upon the captain and the crew. They had managed to anchor the launch
at the outbreak of the storm, and had camped in an old hut on the
beach; but the huge waves, breaking over the reef, had created such
a current along the beach that the launch had dragged her anchors,
and was now caught in the worst of the waves and would surely go down
shortly. Unfortunately the captain had sent the dinghey ashore some
time before coming to this bay, so that there was no means whatever
of reaching the launch. The rising sea had threatened to wash away
the hut, and the captain, leaving the boat to her fate, had gone
camping inland.
I went down to the beach to see for myself how things stood, and
was forced to admit that the man had not exaggerated. In the midst
of the raging surf the launch rocked to and fro, and threatening
waves rose on every side and often seemed to cover her. Still she was
holding her own, and had evidently not struck a rock as yet; and if
her cables held out, hope was not lost. I watched her fight for life
for some time, and she defended herself more gallantly than I should
ever have expected from so clumsy a craft; but I had little hope. We
spent a miserable night in the village, in a heavy atmosphere, amid
vermin and filth, on an uneven stone floor. The rain rattled on the
roof, the storm roared in the forest like a passing express train,
the sea thundered from afar, and a river echoed in a gorge near by;
to complete the gloomy scene, a violent earthquake shook the hills.
In the morning the launch was still afloat on the same spot; the
wind had abated, and the sky no longer looked quite so stormy. During
the night things improved still more, and we ventured to camp on the
shore. The boys went for the dinghey, and although they had hard work,
half dragging, half carrying it along the shore over the cliffs, they
succeeded in bringing it to our beach, and then made an attempt to row
to the launch, but were almost carried out beyond the reef. Encouraged
by a faintly rosy sunset and a few stars, we waited another day;
then the current along the coast had nearly ceased, only outside the
reef huge mountains of water rolled silently and incessantly past,
and broke thundering against the cliffs. The second attempt to reach
the launch was successful, and, wonderful to relate, she had suffered
no damage, only she had shipped so much water that everything was
soaked and rusty. The engineer began to repair her engines, and by
evening she steamed back to her anchorage, where we welcomed her as
if she had been a human being.
The wind had quite fallen when we steamed out next day. It was dull
weather, and we were rocked by an enormous swell; yet the water was
like a mirror, and the giant waves rose and disappeared without a
sound. It all seemed unnatural and uncanny, and this may have produced
the frightened feeling that held us all that morning. While we were
crossing over to Port Patterson a sharp wind rose from the north,
and the barometer fell, so that we feared another edition of the
storm. If our engines had broken down, which happened often enough,
we should have been lost, for we were in a region where the swell
came from two directions, and the waves were even higher than in
the morning. Fortunately the wind increased but slowly; presently
we were protected by the coast, and at night we arrived at Port
Patterson. The men had given us up, and welcomed us with something
akin to tenderness. Here, too, the cyclone had been terrible, the
worst of the three that had passed in four weeks.
Soon afterwards the steamer arrived, bringing news of many wrecks and
accidents. A dozen ships had been smashed at their anchorages, four
had disappeared, and three were known to have foundered; in addition,
news came of the wreck of a steamer. Hardly ever had so many fallen
victims to a cyclone.
Painfully and slowly our steamer ploughed her way south through the
abnormally high swell. None of the anchorages on the west coast could
be touched, and everywhere we saw brown woods, leafless as in winter,
and damaged plantations; and all the way down to Vila we heard of
new casualties.
CHAPTER XV
TANNA
Of the larger inhabited islands of the New Hebrides, only Tanna
remained to be visited. Instead of stopping at Vila, I went on to
White Sands, Tanna, where the Rev. M. was stationed. The large
island of Erromanga has but little native population, and that
is all christianized; the same is true of the smaller islands of
Aneityum, Aniwa and Futuna. I preferred to study Tanna, as it is
characteristic of all the southern part of the archipelago. The
population is quite different from that in the north, and one would
call it Polynesian, were it not for the curly hair which shows
Melanesian admixture. Light-coloured, tall, strong, with the fleshy
body that is often a feature of the Polynesian, the people have, not
infrequently, fine open features, small noses and intelligent faces
of oval outline. They are more energetic, warlike and independent
than those up north, and their mode of life is different, the Suque
and everything connected with it being entirely absent. Instead, we
find hereditary chieftainship, as in all Polynesia, and the chiefs
are held in the highest veneration by their subjects. This state of
things was greatly to the advantage of the missions, as the chiefs,
even if converted, retained their authority, whereas in the north the
high castes, on their conversion, lost all influence and position,
as these only depended on the Suque. The brilliant results of the
missions in Tanna are due, apart from the splendid work of the two
Presbyterian missionaries, chiefly to this fact. If the missionaries
and the authorities would join forces for the preservation of the
native race, great good might be done. Intelligent efforts along
this line ought to comprise the following features: revival of the
wish to live and the belief in a future for the race, increase in
the birth-rate, rational distribution of the women, abolition of the
present recruiting system, compulsory medical treatment, creation
of law and order, and restoration of old customs as to daily life
and food.
The houses on Tanna are poor huts of reed-grass, probably because the
perpetual wars discouraged the people from building good dwellings. The
principal weapons are the spear and club, the arrow, as elsewhere
in Polynesia, playing a subordinate part. A weapon which is probably
peculiar to Tanna are throwing-stones, carefully made stone cylinders,
which were hurled in battle. If a man had not time to procure one of
these granite cylinders, a branch of coral or a slab of stone, hewn
into serviceable shape, would serve his turn; and these instruments
are not very different from our oldest prehistoric stone implements.
Quite a Polynesian art is the manufacture of tapa: bark cloth. The
Tannese do not know how to make large pieces, but are satisfied with
narrow strips, used as belts by the men, and prettily painted in
black and red.
The dress of the men is similar to that of Malekula, that of the
women consists of an apron of grass and straw; and they often wear
a hat of banana leaves, while the men affect a very complicated
coiffure. The hair is divided into strands, each of which is wound
with a fibre from the head out. A man may have several hundred of
these ropes on his head all tied together behind, giving a somewhat
womanish appearance. It takes a long time to dress the hair thus,
and the custom is falling into disuse.
On the whole, the culture of the Tannese is low; there is no braiding
or carving, and the ornaments worn consist only of a few bracelets
and necklaces, with an occasional nose-stick; the only conspicuous
feature are ear-rings of tortoise-shell, of which as many as a dozen
may hang in one ear.
On the other side of Tanna is Lenakel, where the Rev. W. was working
with admirable devotion and success in a hospital. I crossed the
island several times, and enjoyed the delightful rides through the
shady forest, on very good bridle-paths the natives had made.
Tanna's most striking sight is its volcano; there is hardly another
in the world so easily accessible; for in half an hour from the
shore its foot may be reached, and in another half-hour one is at
the top. It is about 260 m. high, a miniature volcano, with all its
accessories complete, hot springs, lake, desert, etc., always active,
rarely destructive, looking like an overgrown molehill. A wide plain
stretches inland, utterly deserted owing to the poisonous vapours
always carried across it by the south-east trade-wind, and in the
centre of the plain is a sweet-water lake.
I climbed the volcano for the first time on a rainy day. On top, I
suddenly found myself at the end of the world; it was the edge of the
crater, completely filled with steam. As I walked along the precipice,
such an infernal thundering began just under my feet as it seemed,
that I thought best to retire. My next ascent took place on a clear,
bright day; but the wind drove sand and ashes along the desert,
and dimmed the sunshine to a yellowish gloomy light. I traversed the
desert to the foot of the crater, where the cone rose gradually out
of brownish sand, in a beautiful curve, to an angle of 45°. The lack
of all vegetation or other point of comparison made it impossible
to judge whether the mountain was 100 or 1000 m. high. The silence
was oppressive, and sand columns danced and whirled up and down,
to and fro, like goblins. A smell of sulphur was in the air, the
heat was torturing, the ground burnt one's feet, and the climb in
the loose sand was trying. But farther up the sea-breeze cooled the
air deliciously, and stone blocks afforded a foothold. Soon I was on
top, and the sight I saw seemed one that only the fancy of a morbid,
melancholy genius could have invented, an ugly fever dream turned real,
and no description could do it justice.
In front of me the ground fell down steeply, and the torn sides of
the crater formed a funnel-shaped cavity, a dark, yawning depth. There
were jagged rocks, fantastic, wild ridges, crevices, fearful depths,
from which issued steam and smoke. Poisonous vapour poured out of
the rocks in white and brownish clouds that waved to and fro, slowly
rising, until a breeze caught and carried them away. The sight alone
would suffice to inspire terror, without the oppressive smoke and the
uncanny noise far down in the depths. Dull and regular, it sounded like
the piston of an engine or a great drum, heard through the noises of a
factory. Presently there was silence, and then, without any warning,
came a tearing crack, the thunder as of 100 heavy guns, a metallic
din, and a cloud of smoke rose; and while we forced ourselves to
stay and watch, the inferno below thundered a roaring echo, the walls
shook, and a thousand dark specks flew up like a swarm of frightened
birds. They were lava blocks, and they fell back from the height of the
crater, rattling on the rocks, or were swallowed up by the invisible
gorge. Then a thick cloud surrounded everything, and we realized
that our post at the mouth of the crater, on an overhanging ridge,
was dangerous; indeed, a part of the edge, not far off, broke down
and was lost in the depths. Another and another explosion followed;
but when we turned, we overlooked a peaceful landscape, green forests,
palms bending over the bright blue water, and far off the islands of
Erromanga, Futuna and Aniwa.
A visit to the volcano at night was a unique experience. Across the
desert the darkness glided, and as we climbed upward, we felt and
heard the metallic explosions through the flanks of the mountain, and
the cloud over the crater shone in dull red. Cautiously we approached
the edge, just near enough to look down. The bottom of the crater
seemed lifted, the walls were almost invisible, and the uncertain
glare played lightly over some theatrical-looking rocks. We could see
three orifices; steam poured out of one, in the other the liquid lava
boiled and bubbled, of the third there was nothing to be seen but
a glow; but underneath this some force was at work. Did we hear or
feel it? We were not sure; sometimes it sounded like shrill cries of
despair, sometimes all was still, and the rocks seemed to shake. Then
suddenly it boiled up, hissing as if a thousand steam-pipes had burst,
something unspeakable seemed preparing, yet nothing happened. Some
lava lumps were thrown out, to fall back or stick to the rocks, where
they slowly died out. All at once a sheaf of fire shot up, tall and
glowing, an explosion of incredible fury followed; the sheaf dispersed
and fell down in marvellous fireworks and thousands of sparks. Slowly,
in a fiery stream the lava flowed back to the bottom. Then another
explosion and another, the thumping increased, one of the other
openings worked, spitting viciously in all directions, the noise
became unbearable. All one's senses were affected, for the din was
too violent to touch one's hearing only. Then there was silence;
the cloud rose, and beside it we saw the stars in the pure sky,
and heard the surf beat peacefully, consolingly, as if there were no
volcano and no glowing lava anywhere near.
While we were standing on the brink as if fascinated, the silver
moon rose behind us, spread a broad road of light on the quiet sea,
played round us with her cool light, shone on the opposite wall of
the crater, and caressed the sulphurous cloud. It was a magical sight,
the contrast of the pure moonlight and the dirty glare of the volcano;
an effect indescribably grand and peculiar, a gala performance of
nature, the elements of heaven and hell side by side.
At last we left. Behind and above us thundered the volcano, below
us lay the desert, silvery in the moonlight, in quiet, simple lines;
far away rolled the sea, and in the silence the moon rose higher and
higher, and our shadows followed us as we traversed the plain and
gained the friendly shade of the palm grove.
CHAPTER XVI
THE SANTA CRUZ ISLANDS
After my return to Port Vila, where I again had the honour of being
Mr. King's guest, and having practically finished my task in the
New Hebrides, I decided not to leave this part of the world without
visiting the Santa Cruz Islands, a group of small islands north of
the New Hebrides and east of the Solomon Islands. This archipelago
has not had much contact with civilization, and is little known. I had
a good opportunity to go there, as the steam yacht Southern Cross of
the Anglican mission in Melanesia was expected to stop at Vila on her
way to the Solomons. She touched at the Santa Cruz island of Nitendi
going and returning, and could therefore drop me and take me up again
after about six weeks. While waiting for her arrival, I investigated
some caves on Leleppa, near Port Havannah, which the natives reported
to be inhabited by dwarfish men; but the results were insignificant.
Passage having been granted me by the skipper of the Southern Cross,
I once more sailed the well-known route northward through the New
Hebrides and Banks Islands; but from Ureparapara onward I was in
strange waters. The Southern Cross was a steamer of about five
hundred tons, built especially for this service, that is, to convey
the missionaries and natives from the headquarters on Norfolk Island
to the different islands. Life on board was far from luxurious; but
there was good company and an interesting library. I had the pleasure
of making some interesting acquaintances, and the missionaries gave me
much valuable information about the natives and their customs. When
the tone of the conversation in the evening threatened to become
too serious, our jovial Captain S. speedily improved matters by
his grotesquely comical sallies. A strenuous life was that of the
missionary who was responsible for the organization of the voyage;
he had to visit the native communities, and went ashore at every
anchorage, sometimes through an ugly surf or dangerous shoals,
generally with overcrowded whale-boats; and this went on for three
months. I had nothing to do, and amused myself by comparing the
boys from the various islands, who were quite different in looks,
speech and character. There were the short, thick-set, plebeian
natives from the New Hebrides, the well-built men from the Solomons,
with their long faces and open, energetic expression, the languid,
sleepy boys from the Torres Islands and the savage Santa Cruzians.
The trip of the Southern Cross was important as an experiment, being
the first with an exclusively native crew. Hitherto the Melanesians had
been considered incapable of any work calling for energy, initiative
and conscientiousness. Captain C. was convinced that this was unjust,
and started on this voyage without any whites except the officers;
the result was most satisfactory. The natives, when carefully and
patiently trained, work quite as well as low-class whites, and have
proved themselves capable of more than plantation work.
It was a bright morning when we entered the lovely Graciosa Bay on
Nitendi. The island had a much more tropical aspect than those of
the New Hebrides, and the vegetation seemed more varied and gayer in
colour. Natives in canoes approached from every side, and all along the
beach lay populous villages, a sight such as the now deserted shores of
the New Hebrides must have afforded in days gone by. Hardly had we cast
anchor when the ship was surrounded by innumerable canoes. The men in
them were all naked, except the teachers the missionaries had stationed
here; all the others were genuine aborigines, who managed their boats
admirably, and came hurrying on board, eager to begin bartering.
The natives here have a bad reputation, and are supposed to be
particularly dangerous, because they never stir from home without
their poisoned arrows. A missionary had recently been forced to leave
the island, after having been besieged by the natives for several
days. But it would seem that they are not hostile unless one of their
many intricate laws and customs is violated, which may happen easily
enough to anyone unacquainted with their habits.
I took up my quarters with the only white man in the place, a Mr. M.,
who managed a cocoa-nut plantation for an Australian company with
boys from the Solomons. My first task was to find servants, as none
had dared accompany me from the New Hebrides to the ill-famed Santa
Cruz Islands. Through his coprah trade Mr. M. knew the people well,
and by his help I soon found two boys who had some vague notion
of biche la mar, real savages, who served me well in a childish,
playful way. They were always jolly, and although they seemed to
look upon what they did for me rather as a kindness than a duty, we
got along fairly well. When it became known that my service implied
good food and little work, many others applied, but I only chose one
young fellow, probably the most perfect specimen of a man I have
ever seen. He kept himself scrupulously clean, and in his quiet,
even behaviour there was something that distinguished him from all
the rest. It is difficult to put the beauty of a human body into
words; I can only say that he was of symmetrical build, with a deep
chest and well-developed limbs, but without the great muscles that
would have given him the coarse aspect of an athlete. His greatest
charm was in the grace of his movements and the natural nobility
of his attitudes and his walk; for he moved as lightly and daintily
as a deer, and it was a constant pleasure, while walking behind him
during our marches through the forest, to admire his elastic gait,
the play of his muscles and the elegant ease with which he threaded
the thicket. I tried to take some photographs of him, but without
great success, owing to technical difficulties; besides, the face had
to be hidden as much as possible, as to a European eye the natives'
faces often seem to have a brutal expression. The men of Santa Cruz,
too, wear disfiguring nose-rings of tortoise-shell hanging down over
their mouths, so large that when eating they have to be lifted up out
of the way with the left hand. Another ugly habit is the chewing of
betel, the nut of the areca palm, which is mixed with pepper leaves
and lime. The lime is carried in a gourd, often decorated with drawings
and provided with an artistically carved stopper. The leaves and this
bottle are kept in beautifully woven baskets, the prettiest products
of native art, made of banana fibre interwoven with delicate designs
in black. Betel-chewing seems to have a slightly intoxicating effect;
my boys, at least, were often strangely exhilarated in the evening,
although they had certainly had no liquor. The lime forms a black
deposit on the teeth, which sometimes grows to such a size as to hang
out of the mouth, an appendage of which some natives seem rather vain.
The dress of the men consists of a narrow belt of bark and a strip
of tapa worn between the legs. Around their knees and ankles they
wear small, shiny shells, and on their chests a large circular
plate of tridacna-shell, to which is attached a dainty bit of carved
tortoise-shell representing a combination of fish and turtle. This
beautiful ornament is very effective on the dark skin. In the lobes
of the ears are hung large tortoise-shell ornaments, and on the arms
large shell rings or bracelets braided with shell and cocoa-nut beads
are worn.
The men are never seen without bows and arrows of large and heavy
dimensions. Like all the belongings of the Santa Cruzians, the arrows
show artistic taste, being carefully carved and painted so as to
display black carving on a white and red ground. The points of the
arrows are made of human bone.
I bought one of the excellent canoes made by these people, and often
crossed the lovely, quiet bay to visit different villages. The natives
take great care of their canoes, and make it a point of honour to
keep them spotlessly white, which they do by rubbing them with a
seaweed they gather at the bottom of the ocean.
On approaching a village it requires all the skill of the native not
to be dashed by the swell against the reefs. A narrow sandy beach lies
behind, and then a stone terrace 6 feet high, on which the gamal is
built. Generally there was great excitement when I landed, and the men
came rushing from all sides to see me. They were not hostile, only too
eager for trade, and I had to interrupt my visits for a week and trade
only at the house where I was staying, so as to give them time to quiet
down. This helped matters a little, although, until the day I left,
I was always the centre of an excited mob that pulled at my sleeves
and trousers and shrieked into my ears. I was always cordially invited
to enter the gamals; these were square houses, kept very clean, with
a fireplace in the centre, and the floor covered with mats. As usual,
the roof was full of implements of all sorts, and over the fire there
was a stand and shelves, where coprah was roasted and food preserved.
The natives are expert fishermen, and know how to make the finest as
well as the coarsest nets. They frequently spend the mornings fishing,
a flotilla of canoes gathering at some shallow spot in the bay.
The afternoons are mostly spent in the village in a dolce far
niente. Each village has its special industry: in one the arm-rings
of shell are made, in another the breastplates, in a third canoes,
or the fine mats which are woven on a loom of the simplest system,
very similar to a type of loom found in North America. Weaving,
it will be remembered, is quite unknown in the New Hebrides.
An object peculiar to these islands is feather money. This consists
of the fine breast-feathers of a small bird, stuck together to
form plates, which are fastened on a strip of sinnet, so that a
long ribbon of scarlet feathers is obtained of beautiful colour
and brilliancy. These strips are rolled and preserved in the houses,
carefully wrapped up and only displayed on great occasions. Considering
how few available feathers one little bird yields, and how many are
needed for one roll, it is not surprising that this feather money
is very valuable, and that a single roll will buy a woman. At great
dances the circular dancing-grounds along the shore are decorated
with these ribbons.
For a dance the men exchange the nose-ring of tortoise-shell for a
large, finely carved plate of mother-of-pearl. In the perforated sides
of the nose they place thin sticks, which stand high up towards the
eyes. In the hair they wear sticks and small boards covered with the
same feathers as those used for feather money. They have dancing-sticks
of a most elaborate description, heavy wooden clubs of the shape of
a canoe, painted in delicate designs and with rattles at the lower
end. The designs are black and red on a white ground, and are derived
from shapes of fish and birds. Similar work is done on carvings showing
the different species of fish and birds; the drawing is exquisite,
and shows fine feeling for ornamental composition.
The position of women in Santa Cruz is peculiar, although the
Suque does not exist, and therefore no separation of fires is
enforced. Masculine jealousy seems to have reached its climax here, for
no man from another village even dares look at a woman. The women's
houses are a little inland, away from the gamal and separated by
high walls from the outer world. Most of the houses are square, but
there are some circular ones, a type very rare in these regions. To
my regret I was never able to examine one of these round houses,
so that I have no idea how they are built. To enter the women's
quarters, or to approach nearer than 100 mètres to any woman, is
a deadly offence, and such breaches of etiquette are the cause of
frequent feuds. Only once I was taken by one of my boys through the
lanes of his village, and this was considered very daring, and the
limit of permissible investigation. However, with the help of Mr. M.,
who was practically a "citizen" of one of the villages, I succeeded
in taking some photographs of women; but only the oldest dowagers and
some sick girls presented themselves, and among them I saw the most
repulsive being I ever met,--an old shrivelled-up hag. At sight of
such a creature one cannot wonder that old women were often accused
of sorcery.
It is surprising how much inferior physically the women of Nitendi
are to the men. The men are among the best made people I ever saw,
while the women are the poorest. The dress of the women consists
of large pieces of tapa, worn around the hips and over the head,
and a third piece is sometimes used as a shawl. Tapa is not made at
Graciosa Bay, but inland; it is often painted in simple but effective
geometrical designs.
The majority of the population lives near the sea; I was credibly
informed that there are hardly any people inland. The Santa Cruzian
is a "salt-water man," and there is a string of villages all along
the coast. The inhabitants of the different villages keep very much to
themselves, and their territories are separated by a strip of forest,
and on the shore by high stone walls leading far out into the sea. On
the whole, the two thousand people in the bay live very quietly,
certainly more so than the same number of whites would without any
police. It is not quite clear in what respect our civilization could
improve them, as, like most aborigines, they have a pronounced sense
of propriety, justice and politeness. There is very little disputing or
quarrelling, and differences of opinion are usually settled by a joke,
so that in this respect the savages show a behaviour far superior to
that of many a roaring and swearing white.
I found neither drums nor statues here, and of the local religion
I could learn nothing. There is a skull-cult, similar to that on
Malekula: a man will paint the skull of a favourite wife or child
yellow, shut all the openings with wooden stoppers and carry the relic
about with him. Towards the end of my stay I obtained possession of
some of these interesting skulls. The idea in shutting the holes is
doubtless to preserve the spirit of the dead inside the skull.
One evening I crossed the bay to attend a dance. The starless sky shone
feebly, spotted with dark, torn clouds. A dull silver light lay on the
sea, which was scarcely lighter than the steep shores. In the silence
the strokes of our oars sounded sharp and energetic, yet they seemed
to come from a distance. In the darkness we felt first the outrigger,
then the canoe, lifted by a heavy swell, which glided away out of sight
in monotonous rhythm. Then light began to play around us, indistinct
at first, then two silver stripes formed at the bow and ran along
the boat. They were surrounded by bright, whirling sparks, and at the
bow of the outrigger the gayest fireworks of silver light sprang up,
sparkling and dying away as if the boat had been a meteor. The oars,
too, dripped light, as though they were bringing up fine silver dust
from below. The naked boy in front of me shone like a marble statue on
a dark background as his beautiful body worked in rhythmic movements,
the light playing to and fro on his back. And ever the sparks danced
along the boat in hypnotizing confusion, and mighty harmonies seemed
to echo through the night air. The feeling of time was lost, until
the opposite shore rose to a black wall, then, through the silence,
we heard the cold rush of the surf beating moodily on the reef. We
slackened speed, the fairy light died and the dream ended. We kept
along the shore, looking for the entrance, which the boys found by
feeling for a well-known rock with their oars. A wave lifted us,
the boys bent to their oars with all their might, we shot across the
reef and ran into the soft sand of the beach.
But as the rain fell now in torrents, there was no dance that night.
Mr. M. and I attempted a few excursions, but bad weather interfered
with our plans, and a rainy period of three weeks followed. One squall
chased the other, rattling on the roof, forming swamps everywhere,
and penetrating everything with moisture. I was glad when the Southern
Cross came back for me, especially as this was to be the beginning
of my homeward journey.
This time we touched at a small island called Tucopia, where
a primitive Polynesian population still exists, probably the only
island where this is the case. When the steamer approached we saw the
people running about on the reef in excitement, and soon countless
canoes surrounded us. The appearance of these islanders was quite new
to me. Instead of the dark, curly-haired, short Melanesians, I saw
tall, light-coloured men with thick manes of long, golden hair. They
climbed aboard, wonderful giants, with soft, dark eyes, kind smiles
and childlike manners. They went everywhere, touched everything,
and flattered and caressed us. We were all eager to go ashore, and at
the edge of the reef an excited crowd awaited our arrival impatiently
and pulled our boat violently on the rocks in their eagerness. Two
tall fellows grabbed me under the arms, and, willy-nilly, I was
carried across the reef and carefully deposited under a shady tree
on the beach. At first I did not quite trust my companions, but I
was powerless to resist, and soon I became more confident, as my
new friends constantly hugged and stroked me. Soon a missionary was
brought ashore in the same way, and then, to our greatest surprise,
a man approached us who spoke biche la mar. He asked if we had no
sickness on board, for some time ago the same ship had infected the
island with an epidemic that had caused many deaths. We assured him
that we had none, and he gave us permission to visit the island,
telling us, too, that we were to have the great honour of being
presented to one of the four chiefs. This was indeed something to
be proud of, for in Polynesian islands the chieftainship, as I have
said, is hereditary, and the chiefs are paid honours almost divine. We
took off our hats and were led before the chief, a tall, stout man,
who sat in a circle of men on a sort of throne, with his ceremonial
spear leaning against a tree beside him. His subjects approached him
crouching, but he shook hands with us and smiled kindly at us. A noble
gesture of the hand gave us leave to taste a meal prepared to welcome
us, which looked most uninviting, but turned out to be beautifully
cooked sago and cocoa-nut cream. We could not finish the generous
portions, and presently signed that we were satisfied; the chief
seemed to regret that we did not do more honour to his hospitality,
but he gave us permission to walk about. While all the other natives
ran about in great excitement over our visit, the good old man sat on
his throne all the time, quite solemnly, although I am convinced that
he was fairly bursting with curiosity. We hurried through the village,
so as to get a general idea of the houses and implements, and then
to the beach, which was a beautiful sight. Whereas on Melanesian
islands the dancing-grounds only are kept cleared, and surrounded
by thick shrubbery for fear of invasion, here all the underbrush
had been rooted out, and the shore was like a park, with a splendid
view through dark tree-trunks across the blue sea, while the golden,
godlike forms of the natives walked about with proud, regal gait,
or stood in animated groups. It was a sight so different in its
peaceful simplicity from what I was accustomed to see in Melanesia,
it all looked so happy, gay and alluring that it hardly needed the
invitations of the kind people, without weapons or suspicion, and
with wreaths of sweet-scented flowers around their heads and bodies,
to incline us to stay. Truly, the sailors of old were not to blame if
they deserted in numbers on such islands, and preferred the careless
native life to hard work on board a whaler. Again and again I seemed
to see the living originals of some classical picture, and more and
more my soul succumbed to the intoxicating charm of the lovely island.
But we could not stay; the steamer whistled, and we had to leave. A
young native was going to Norfolk Island, and he took leave of his
family and the chief in a manly way which was touching to witness. He
bowed and laid his face on the knees of some old white-haired men
with finely chiselled, noble faces. They seemed to bless him, then
they raised his head and tenderly pressed their faces against his,
so that their noses touched. The boy brushed away a tear and then
jumped bravely on board.
When we came on board, the steamer was crowded with natives, and
they refused to leave. We had to drive them away energetically, and
as their canoes were soon overcrowded, many of them jumped into the
water with shouts and laughter, and swam several miles to the shore,
floating happily in the blue sea, with their long hair waving after
them like liquid gold. Thus I saw the last of the dream-island,
bathed in the rays of the setting sun. My regret was shared by the
boy, who stood, still ornamented with flowers and wreaths, at the
stern of the steamer, looking sadly back at his disappearing paradise.
Our good times, too, were over. We had a dull, rainy night, a heavy,
broadside swell, and as the steamer had not enough ballast, she rolled
frightfully. In this nasty sea we were afraid she might turn turtle,
as another steamer had done some months ago. The storm became such
that we had to lie at anchor for five days, sheltered by the coast
of Gaua. It was with real relief that I left the Southern Cross at
Port Vila; sorry as I was to leave my friends on board, I did not
envy them the long voyage to New Zealand.
Two days later I took the mail steamer for Sydney. Although tired
enough, and glad to return to the comforts of civilization, I felt
real regret at leaving the places where I had spent so many delightful
hours, and where I had met with so much kindness on all sides.
THE END
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