A Well-oiled Amazon.See page 167.
A Well-oiled Amazon.
See page 167.
Ume and the Crocodile.See page 172.
Ume and the Crocodile.
See page 172.
Miria making Fire.See page 174.
Miria making Fire.
See page 174.
The Blow-pipe.See page 176.
The Blow-pipe.
See page 176.
The second day was not only devoted to the sports but to the second of the Christmas feeds. The provisions were not native, so the method of serving differed from that ofthe previous day. Under the shadow of the Mission house mats were spread upon the grass, and round them plates and all the drinking-vessels we could muster, whilst in the centre, amidst gay decorations of flowers and leaves, were dishes of cakes and sandwiches. Decked in all their best the guests arrived, and by close packing all managed to get a share of the edge of the mats. A curious restraint seemed to keep most very quiet and prevent them helping themselves freely, but Paiti, one of the jolliest teachers we ever had, soon put an end to that by jumping up and stepping into the midst of the decorations and the dishes. A more energetic waiter was never seen. A plate was no sooner empty than he filled it again, and the little eager hands that were stretched out by the children nearly hidden behind their parents did not escape his notice and soon had something to close upon. Paiti saw all, and attended to all, while from the outside of the ring the cups were replenished at a wonderful rate. Some of these people must have belonged to Dr. Johnson’s tribe, to judge by the amount of tea they could put out of sight. We had requisitioned every kettle, pot and pan we could find, but it was a question whether we should not have to make the announcement “No more.” Fortunately that humiliation was spared us, and when all the remains of the solids had been packed in handkerchiefs—for it is etiquettenot to leave anything—Paiti made a speech.
Taking his stand in the middle of the mat, he began in English: “My father and my mother. We very glad you say we come here this day. We very glad we live one more year. We very glad all man and all woman and all boy and all girl be no sick——” Then either his memory or his English failed him and he broke into native speech, thanking us for the spread, and remarking that we had shown true hospitality in not only providing all they could eat, but more.
I have written that the gathering lasted a week, but please do not imagine that the whole of that time was devoted to feasting and sports. Meetings with the teachers had to be held to arrange for the work of the new year. Advice and encouragement had to be given, and difficulties adjusted. Long descriptions of mysterious sicknesses had to be listened to, and medicine, that idol of the Samoan, concocted to meet each individual case, and then came the STORE.
The word is printed in capitals to show how large it looms in the eyes of the teachers and their wives. Fancy how important the word would be if your mothers and sisters (I do not include your fathers and brothers, for they may have the same objection to entering a shop as I have) had only three chances of shopping during the year. How much talking and arranging would there not be before-hand,so that nothing might be forgotten, and the necessary things procured first. This is the teacher’s weak point. He is like a man who wants a suit of clothes covered with gold lace, and is so intent on the gold lace, that he forgets he has to pay for the cloth and the making. They all want the special things first, and then begin to wonder how they are to pay for the food for the next four months. To adjust matters so that each teacher shall be sure of food, light, matches, clothes, and other necessaries, and still keep within the limits of his salary, is not an easy matter, but it is not so trying as having to get down every piece of print in the store before a teacher’s wife can decide which colour suits her style of beauty best, or every pair of trousers before the man can decide whether he wants them dark or light.
A fair allowance of good temper is needed if matters are to go smoothly till the end of the third day of this kind of thing, in an iron store almost as hot as a baker’s oven. Still we all survive, and interesting and happy groups are seen at the bottom of the store steps discussing each other’s purchases. Despite all attempts to arrange matters before-hand, there are many supplementary visits with such appeals as “Please, Donisi, I have forgotten the blue,” or “How am I to sew my new dress, for I have forgotten the needles?”
By the end of the week all the requests have been attended to, and we hope all theteachers, if not satisfied, are at least well fitted out for another four months’ work at their stations, but before they leave we meet for the Communion of the Lord’s Supper, and then with mutual good wishes, and plenty of handshaking, we separate.
Most of the parties leave during the night, and signalize their going by firing guns, or beating their hollow logs of drums. That part of the performance could be dispensed with, for it usually comes soon after we have settled down at the conclusion of a very long day.
How much of all this is like your Christmas experiences at home? Not much; but it is the way we spend our Christmas at Delena.
So far most of the chapters have been devoted to the special events in connexion with missionary life, but those who need such doctoring as the missionary can give are like the poor—“always with us.”
At first their demands for attention were persistent but very irregular. They were made at all times of the day and often at night. Long effort and the use of a bell have reduced them to uniformity, and now the first hour after breakfast is devoted to the sick. Perhaps no hour of the day gives so complete an insight into the peculiarities of the native, and certainly no hour gives more laughable experiences.
Despite all the dirt their wounds often heal in a wonderful manner.
Now and then a stolid patient is met with who will submit to anything. Years ago at Port Moresby a man while hunting struck his foot against a broken tree. The result was a deep, gaping wound with splinters in it. Whenwe thought all had been removed the man informed us he was sure there was one piece left. Three had a try to find that piece of wood but failed, and at last Walker thought he had got hold of it, and began to pull. For a moment the man said nothing, but then remarked quite quietly, “Misi Walker, that is the inside of my foot you are trying to pull out.”
Until used to doctoring the native would rather submit to external treatment than take medicines internally. Once greatly puzzled as to the non-effect of certain tabloids which had been sent to a sick man daily, I inquired how he had taken them. He languidly pointed to the roof of his house, but his action conveyed little information till his wife produced a dirty bit of rag, and unfolding it, displayed just the number of tabloids sent for her husband to take. No wonder they had produced no constitutional change.
The miserable “Ia sibona” often stands in the way of doctoring a child. The medicine is offered, and the child objects to take it. Any compulsion is discounted by the parent who calmly remarks, “Ia sibona. He does not wish to take it”; and there the matter would end if the Missionary would allow it to do so. Often I have seen not only the mother, but the father, turn away as though to insist upon the child taking the medicine and a moment later return the glass or spoonempty, but the child had not taken the medicine. The parent had swallowed it, perhaps to save trouble, but perhaps in the belief that as it had not gone out of the family the effect would be all right.
Payment for medicine and doctoring has always been a sore point with the people of this district. They do not hesitate to pay their sorcerers a pig or anything else they may demand for their attention, but seem surprised when the Missionary suggests that they should contribute to the food supply for the Mission boys and girls as a return for doctoring. In early years I have had patients refuse to take medicine I was willing to give them, because I would not pay them to swallow it. Those days are gone, and now some few bring a little present of food for the medicine, but it is generally a very little present.
Not long ago a man was wounded by a stinging ray. The fish had driven its spine right through his leg. Of course the man could not come to the Missionary so the Missionary had to go to him and continue his visits for weeks before the wound was healed. Without other than native help the man would certainly have died. When the doctoring was all over and the man able to walk again, his wife paid a visit to Donisi Hahine and made quite a speech about how her husband’s life had been saved. She should never forget it, but would remember it everytime she looked at the wound. Then she produced from her “kiapa” a bunch, of bananas such as could be bought for a stick of tobacco, and put it on the verandah saying it was her return present for what had been done for her husband. At least she had been grateful, but one could not help the remark, “if that is the value she puts upon her husband’s life, then husbands must be cheap in this part of the world.”
Rarely indeed is there active opposition when medical help is offered, but occasionally it has shown itself, and could then be traced to sorcery. A child had been badly burnt but not brought up to have its wounds dressed, and consequently they got very foul, and the mother feared the child would die. Then she brought it to me, and when asked why she had not done so before said the child’s grandmother had objected because the spirits which dwelt in her round stone were angry, and did not want the white man to have anything to do with the child.
It is doubtful if in the native mind the idea of doctoring has yet been separated from that of sorcery. An ulcer may have been eating away the flesh for months, but if the doctor will put his “muramura” (medicine) upon it just once that will be enough; and one dose of medicine should cure an attack of pleurisy even though the patient will sit out in the rain at night to get cool.
The white man may work the cure, butthe native leaning towards sorcery is again shown in the patient going quietly away to the sorcerer, and paying a good price to have the restoration to health approved and made secure. Unfortunately the two systems do not always agree. After months of attention I had nearly cleared up an ulcer that was eating a man’s face away. A little more and the cure would have been complete, but the patient went to the sorcerer for the finishing touches, and weeks later returned to the village to die, with his face plastered with red clay.
One day some boys breathlessly announced that one of the numerous Aisis in the village had been badly torn by a wild pig while hunting. Fortunately the Government Doctor was in the village at the time, and he took the case in hand, and despite all Aisi’s objections stitched up all the wounds. For days the patient’s condition was critical, but he had all the care I could give him and at last was out of danger. For at least three months his wounds demanded daily attention, and during the whole of that time I went to the village each day, and used up my whole stock of lint and bandages. Doctors at home speak of their grateful patients. Aisi would never qualify for that class. One day we were launching the boat, or rather trying to, for we wanted just a little more help before we could get her into the water. Aisi was standing looking on, having quite recovered from his wounds, and I askedhim to help us. I suppose I ought not to have been hurt by his answer, but it had a sting in it he little suspected, for looking at me he said, “What payment shall you give me?”—and that after more than three months attention. It was one of those times when words do not readily come. I said nothing, but thought the more, and was relieved that one of the other men turned and reminded Aisi of what I had done for him.
However, no matter if the Papuan does sometimes connect our medicine with his sorcery; no matter if he is ungrateful according to our standards, there is no doubt about the help given him in his time of need. It is a bit of real practical Christianity he can understand and profit by, and by its means it is possible to get into close personal touch with him, and show him something of the spirit of Him who went about doing good to the unthankful as well as the thankful.
In 1887 the natives of Moviavi made a raid upon the coast village of Motumotu. Amongst those killed were Tauraki, the Rarotongan teacher at Motumotu, and his child. Papua was then a British Protectorate and the Government sent a party to Moviavi to inflict punishment for the raid and murders. At the end of the next year Chalmers went to live for a time at Motumotu, and Walker and I went to visit him. Till then there had been no communication between Moviavi and Motumotu, though Chalmers had been pleading for peace.
So much by way of introduction. Now for the story. One evening Lahari, the fighting chief of Motumotu, and in those days one of the finest built men I had ever seen, came to the house and had a long talk with Tamate (Chalmers). Not knowing anything of the language we had to wait till Lahari had gone, and then Tamate told us we were in for a good thing, as an official “peace making” had been arranged between the two villages, and we were invited to attend. The Mission teacher had been killed, so the missionaries must bepresent at the burying of the hatchet, and join in the peace. Details had to be arranged, but they would all be arranged in a few days, and we should be informed when the day had been officially settled.
It was something for new arrivals in the country to have the opportunity of being present at such a function, and I for one looked forward eagerly to the day. The notice duly arrived, and early one morning, accompanied by the peace-loving old chief Hori, we started up the Williams River in the whale boat. We were to take the “short cut,” and so soon turned out of the main river into one of the many small streams which drain the Delta. This narrowed so quickly that before long the boatmen had a difficulty in keeping their oars clear of the banks, and the wonderful vegetation, not content with the land, reached out over the stream till meeting overhead it formed the nave of one of nature’s cathedrals. Sago palms with fronds forty feet long predominated, but where the ground was a little dryer cocoanut and areca palms abounded, and underneath them flourished crotons, hybiscus, pandanus, all wreathed together by vines of many kinds.
In time the stream became so narrow that rowing was impossible, and the men taking hold of the trees pulled the boats along, while others made use of the punting poles which had been put in the boat when we started.After joining and going down one of the main streams for a time, we turned into another narrow one on the other side.
So far we had seen nothing to indicate that anything special was happening, but not long after entering the small stream we noticed fully armed and painted natives watching us from behind the trees. Their numbers increased the nearer we got to the village, and instead of hiding behind the trees they fell in on either bank, and marched along as an escort and joined the crowd awaiting us at the landing. What a landing it was. For some distance the boat had been pulled through mud and not water, and the prospect of getting over the side was anything but inviting. I suppose the people saw us hesitating, for they got an old canoe and pushed it out to the boat, and one at a time, in this, we were dragged to firmer ground.
The procession that was then formed would have been the making of a Lord Mayor’s Show. The three white men, though evidently the centre of attraction, were very insignificant in their helmets and soiled white clothes, but the natives more than made up what was lacking by their display of paint, feathers and bright-coloured crotons, and the martial element was supplied by the bows and arrows and clubs. The parrot house at the Zoo would be peace itself compared with Moviavi at that hour.
First went Tamate with a native holdingeach hand, and closely followed by the man who had turned light porter and taken his bag from the boat. Walker was escorted by two more men, and his bag and umbrella proudly carried behind him. Donisi came next, and behind him his traps, and all around a shouting, surging mass of natives. In this way we were conducted to a shaded platform and there presented with fine new young cocoanuts to drink, while the people crowded round and examined us and our belongings, and no doubt expressed their opinions very freely, only we could not understand them. Tamate was presented with a pig, but as it was small, and there was no time for killing and eating it then, it was earmarked by cutting a hole in its ear and tying a strip of red handkerchief through, and then put out at board till some future time when Tamate might need it.
Soon after Lahari arrived, and evidently there were troublesome points to be settled, for a long and heated discussion followed, in which no rules of debate were observed. Each man tried his best to make himself heard above all the others. When matters had quieted down a little the procession was reformed and we moved to another village. It seemed as though we were beating the bounds of the proposed peace.
Early in the afternoon we began to move towards the boat, and though there had been plenty to interest there had not been thedemonstration I had expected. I did not know what we were to see before sundown. The best was reserved till last.
Partly walking through the stinking swamp and partly riding on the backs of well oiled natives we reached the boat, and began the homeward journey.
On the way up in the morning we had seen Moviavi men watching us from behind the trees, but now we found every vantage point occupied by fully armed Motumotuans in all their best paint and feathers. The surprise, and interest, increased when we reached the main stream and found it almost blocked by canoes full of more people from Motumotu. Two of the largest were “manned” by Amazons with a uniform of bright-red paint. We decided to see the matter through, so drew to the bank near Lahari’s canoe.
It seemed as though they had been waiting for our arrival before beginning the last act. Lahari shouted an order, and in a moment the scene was one never to be forgotten. Intense excitement prevailed. Drums sounded all along the line, and conch shells blown lustily added to the din and shout that greeted the appearance of nine double canoes. Dashing round the bend, down with the swift current they came, as fast as twenty pairs of strong arms could drive them through the water. The men at the paddles were standing to their work, and the platforms between eachpair of canoes were crowded with other men, some drumming for all they were worth, and others with their arrows drawn to the head, threatening all sides in turn. After passing the boat they altered their course, and charged on to the low land at the mouth of the creek leading to Moviavi. In a moment, as though by magic, the Moviavians swarmed on to the scene, ready to repel the attacking force. The scene beggars description.
A dangerously realistic sham fight took place, and all semblance of a peace-making vanished. Hori became anxious and explained that if only one man let his arrow slip from the bow the fight would be real and not sham. By means of much shouting and rushing about in company with other leading men, he managed to restore some sort of order, and more quietly and more slowly the leading canoes filed past the boat and made their way up stream.
All told nearly seventy canoes had put in an appearance from Motumotu, and the crews ranged from twenty to forty. Many had some distinguishing badge, as in the case of a crew of youths, each of whom had red hybiscus flowers in the hair, and green and yellow crotons waving from their armlets, waist-belts, knees and ankles.
The Kaiva-Kuku.See page 180.
The Kaiva-Kuku.
See page 180.
Native Surgery.See page 181.
Native Surgery.
See page 181.
Basket-making at Delena.See page 183.
Basket-making at Delena.
See page 183.
Smiles.
Smiles.
The last we saw was a very noisy exchange of Motumotu shell-fish for Moviavi sago, and it made old Hori more anxious than ever to get his crowd away and start safelyon the homeward journey. Some of his young men seemed bent on a row, for he heard one telling a Moviavi man, in very strong language, that his sago was only fit for pigs to eat, and that he was not a pig.
We were delayed by our anchor getting foul of a log, and before it was cleared Hori had the satisfaction of seeing the last canoe vanish round the bend on the homeward way. Whether the crew of Amazons had very particular friends amongst the men in our boat, or whether they simply wished to show off before the white men, I know not, but their canoe flashed past us in grand style. Twelve paddles on either side, rising and falling with the regularity of a machine, made her travel grandly. Each stroke seemed almost to lift her out of the water, and our whale boat was soon left behind.
That we had had a field day there was no mistake, but there had been little to suggest a peace-making, and as we returned quietly down the Williams River in the evening, many were the questions Tamate was asked to put to Hori.
“How long had the two tribes been on unfriendly terms?”
“For six rounds of the seasons,” replied Hori.
“Would the peace be lasting?”
“He did not know, as there were many in both villages who did not want peace.”
“Why had there been such a warlike display?”
“Just to show that each was a strong village.”
“Why had the nine canoe-loads of fighting men charged on to the bank at the mouth of the creek, as though bent on attacking Moviavi, and why had the Moviavi men pretended to drive them back into the river?”
The idea of peace had originated with Motumotu, and their men wanted to show the Moviavians that though they had suggested peace they had not done so because they were unable to attack and pay off old scores. On the other hand the inland men had to let those from the coast know that if they did attack they would receive a warm welcome and be repulsed. On a big scale they had been acting out the small boy’s talk “I am not going to fight you, but do not think it is because I cannot fight, nor because I am afraid of you.”
There was one incident which was not referred to till we met at breakfast the next morning, then Tamate remarked, “Boys, you must remember to be thankful this morning, for it was just a question whether we were to get away from Moviavi yesterday with our lives.”
This was news to us. We had seen plenty of excitement, and heard noise enough to last for a long time, but not a hint that possibly that day might be our last. You may be sure we were all attention, and that we wanted the particulars from Tamate.
“Well there is not much to tell,” he said, “and even if they had killed us I do not think we could have blamed them very much. When the Government punished them for the raid and murder some of their people were shot, and all along they had been against peace being re-established. They refused to have anything to do with yesterday’s demonstration. Their account was unsettled and they were dissatisfied.
“Do you remember what happened when we were sitting on the platform drinking cocoanuts? You probably saw, as I did, that Tima (one of the teachers) jumped up hurriedly and went on to the platform of the big Dubu in front of us, but you would not understand what he called to me in Rarotongan. It was a warning to look out, as the men were covering our party with their arrows, and advice to clear out while he obstructed their aim by walking about in front of them. Lahari, too, saw what the men were up to, and hurried us away to the second village. Tima and the other teachers were all right, as the score was marked up against the white men, and not against them.”
Tamate is dead, Hori is dead, Lahari is dead, but the peace they all helped to establish has never been broken, and the last time I was at Moviavi we stayed in a Samoan teacher’s house and met many of the men at the service in the church, and heard their children read words of peace in the school.
Ume Nou was at one time a teacher at Orokolo, but his wife died and he returned to his native village of Delena. When the picture was taken he had not turned scientist and found part of one of those wonderful creatures with the wonderful long name, that lived so long ago, but was holding the lower and part of the upper jaw of one of their relations.
Crocodiles are too plentiful for comfort round Delena, and a long chapter could be written about the people they have carried off. One morning I saw a great brute snatch away two girls who were bathing in front of the Mission house, and though after a couple of hours chase the bodies were recovered, the crocodile got away. Later two of the Mission boys were fishing at night. There was a rush, a splash, and the one boy saw his companion snatched from the canoe by a crocodile.
Crab-hunting seems a sport without muchdanger in it, but one day when some Delena women were chasing the crabs amongst the mangroves which come to the water’s edge on one side of the village, they heard one of their party scream, and turning saw that a crocodile had managed to get hold of her. The struggle was desperate, but they could do nothing to help and to their dismay saw their companion carried into the water in a deep hole.
As quickly as possible news was brought to the village, and Ume went out armed with a shot gun. He could see no trace of either the woman or the crocodile, but while standing on a log so as to get a better view of the pool, had a surprise that would have made most men lose their heads. Right at his feet the head of the crocodile shot up out of the water, and the wicked-looking jaws made a snap at him. There was no time to bring the gun to his shoulder, and as he lowered it the muzzle struck the forehead of the crocodile. Ume pulled the trigger and, I should imagine, for the first time a big crocodile was killed by No. 4 shot fired from an ordinary fowling-piece. The discharge blew away the top of the creature’s head, and that accounts for Ume having only part of the top jaw in his hand.
Think of a cold, raw morning at home and a fire wanted in the kitchen, but beforeyou can have it, or the cup of tea you are after, two suitable pieces of wood have to be found, cut into the required shape, and then the one rubbed on the other till a spark is obtained. The spark has to be transferred to something that will readily burn, and then blown into a flame. Slower work this, even, than the flint and steel and the brimstone match of our ancestors, but it is the way the Papuan has to get his fire, if his own has gone out, and he cannot beg a fire stick from a neighbour.
In the picture you can see Miria going through the first stage of the process, and judging by the tension of the muscles, and the compressed lips, he finds it none too easy.
The story of the origin of fire varies in different parts of the country, but as far as I know, man is always indebted to the dog for procuring it. The Motu people say he got it by swimming out to sea, but at Delena the story is that he had to go inland for it.
Haiavaha was a great creature with long reaching arms, who lived in the hills where he jealously guarded the fire. The men living on the coast knew they could not steal the fire for themselves so called a meeting of the animals. Who the spokesman was is not known, but he first addressed himself to the pig—
“Will you go and steal some of Haiavaha’s fire?”
“It is no good my going. You know Ialways grunt when I find a root fit to eat as I am walking through the bush.”
“Will you try, wallaby? You can jump well, and when Haiavaha tries to catch you you can jump over his arms.”
“I cannot go, for he would hear me long before I got near the fire. Each time I jump I come down with a thud on the ground. I cannot go quietly.”
“Cassowary, can you help us?”
“No, I cannot, for I stand so high that Haiavaha would see my head above the grass long before I got to the fire.”
As a last hope the spokesman turned to the dog, and appealed to him to make the attempt.
“I will try,” said the dog, “and I might succeed but for my habit of crying out. If I find nothing on the way to make me break my resolve to keep my mouth shut, I hope I shall return with the fire.”
Fortunately he was able to keep his mouth shut, till he opened it to close upon the end of a fire stick. Then Haiavaha awoke, and out went his long arms in a wide sweep to the right and then to the left, but the dog had been too quick, and with a mocking howl (they cannot bark) he shouted out, “I have your fire. You should not have gone to sleep.”
The people on the coast were of course delighted, and told the dog that as a reward he should always live with them in their houses and sleep by the fire. Most seriously theysay it must all be true, for to this day the dog is man’s companion and does always sleep by the fire.
Who knows what led to the invention of the blow-pipe in the old world? Did our remote ancestors want to hollow out a log to make a drum, in the days before Sheffield tools were made, and have to invent some means of doing it?
The Papuan made his drum from the solid log before he had seen steel tools, and now that he has seen them he still uses his blow-pipe.
The picture shows the drum in the process of making, and the completed article.
A piece of a particularly hard wood is cut and stood on end, and on top a few pieces of live charcoal are placed. With the help of the reed blow-pipe the charcoal is kept glowing, and the fire directed, while a shell of water is handy in case the burning proceeds more rapidly than is required in any one direction.
The process is repeated at the other end, and when complete the inside of the log looks like an hour glass. That accomplished, the shaping of the outside is a simpler matter, but, before the introduction of steel, a laborious one, as all the cutting had to be done with stone implements. Hatchets and knives now expedite matters, but the old native file is stillused. A strip of shark skin is, while wet, stretched round a piece of wood, and when it has dried and shrunk it looks like an emery stick, and rasps away the wood in fine style. For the final smoothing off nature has provided the Papuan with a complete substitute for glass paper. A long lance-like leaf grows plentifully near the village, and has a surface equal to No. 1 glass paper and just as useful and lasting.
It was just an ordinary stone about the size of a swede turnip, with nothing particular in size, shape or colour to distinguish it from many another in the bed of a mountain stream, but it had held a whole village in terror, and would have compelled all, men women and children, to spend at least one night in the bush but for Matareu the teacher.
The village was Groi at Nara, and late one afternoon Poe Ava, wanting some food, went to his garden, but found some one had been there before him, and had cleared off with what he and his family had expected to eat. Poe had no intention of taking that quietly, so hastening back to the village he began a long oration about the wrong he had suffered, and wound up with the threat that he knew where to find the sorcery stone which had belonged to his family for so long, and he would bring it to the village and call upon its spirit Aikaika. He was the master andmaker of the thunder, and would send it with lightning and rain and demolish the village, as a punishment for the theft.
Excitement soon reigned in the village. Women gathered food and valuables into their kiapas (the large netted bag) and got ready to hide in the bush. The children catching the spirit of fright began to cry, and the dogs joined in with their dismal howl. They always do when there is any excitement.
Queen Koloka carried to Matareu the teacher news of the terrible threat, but it made little impression on him, and in a few minutes he was in the village trying to prevent the exodus, and put courage into the people. By promising that he would go and see the stone he so far succeeded that few of the people left the village, but that night there was no laughter, and no children were playing round about the houses.
Poe tried to magnify the size of this terrible stone, as he had the evils that would follow its introduction into the village. He was sure it was far too heavy for Matareu to lift, but when he found Matareu determined to see the matter through, he promised to take him to the hiding-place in the morning.
When the morning came, of all in the village only one, a young fellow who had lived with the teacher for some years, had courage enough to risk seeing the stone. Matareu, Poe and this boy started off, and in time halted near a big tree. Then exaggerationnumber one was exploded, for the stone was found to be small enough to be put into a cracked cooking-pot.
“There is the stone,” said Poe, “but you must not touch it, if you do your hand will shrivel up; but if that boy touches it he will die on the spot.”
“We will see,” answered Matareu, and going to the pot he turned the stone out on the ground.
That was too much for Poe, and he took to his heels, but from a distance seeing that nothing dreadful happened to Matareu, and hearing him calling, he returned.
Matareu is a real believer in prayer, and, there under the shadow of the big tree, with the broken cooking-pot, and the sorcery stone at his feet, and Poe and the boy standing by, he offered a prayer that light might come to Poe and that he might know there was but one God, not Aikaika, but Jehovah.
The stone came to the village, but it was Matareu who carried it. The people were again ready to run when they saw it in his hand, but he called that it had done him no harm and would do them none, and with that sent it bounding over the uneven ground. He was in his element. Determined to show that the stone was a stone, and nothing more, he put it in the fire where his food was being cooked, and still nothing dreadful happened. Later he placed it on the verandah of his house, but the house remained safe and those in itwere not sick, and gradually the fear of the people wore away, and they would sit on the same verandah with this representative of Aikaika, but none would touch it.
Matareu’s baby girl succeeded where her father had failed. She had no fear of the stone, and as it was fairly round she started it rolling along the boards, until it rolled off the verandah. The little one followed it to the ground, and her little playmates there joining in, they rolled that much-feared stone all over the place, and had a grand time. Their parents called to them to leave the stone alone or it would hurt them, but their reply was, “It had not hurt Matoakana, and will not hurt us.”
The little child had led the rising generation at Nara out from the bondage of fear of the stone and its master the dreaded Aikaika.
What would you say if you saw the original of the above picture doing the rounds in your town instead of “The Gentleman in Blue?” and yet I do not know any better description of the Kaiva-Kuku than to say he is the village policeman. It is his duty to look after the cocoanuts when they have been gathered and are accumulating in the village for a feast, and like the policeman at home he has his beat. You could not find him further east than Hisiu, nor further west than Maipua.
But who is he, or what is he? The who is a man. The what is a big mask. The “who” gets inside the “what” in the club house so that no one in the village can identify him. He then struts about armed with his big stick, and uses it freely if he finds any one stealing cocoanuts. The people cannot retaliate for the Kaiva-Kuku is sacred, and they do not know who is inside, and so cannot spot him when he has not got his uniform on.
The women and children are all very frightened when the Kaiva-Kuku is seen, and the men at Hisiu took advantage of this, and sent the Kaiva-Kuku out when they saw women and children coming along the beach from fishing. In their hurried flight the fish was all dropped and Mr. Kaiva-Kuku picked it up and took it to the club, where the men enjoyed it; but that was the end of the Kaiva-Kuku at Hisiu, for the Magistrate ordered the masks to be burnt and no more made.
For most ailments the Papuan uses the old-fashioned remedy of bleeding. All sorts of pains in all parts of the body are supposed to be relieved by blood-letting, and the operation was usually performed by slightly cutting the skin with a shell, but now they have taken a step in advance and use a piece of glass. For headache, however, another instrument is used. Tima had been walking in the sun allday, and said his head ached, and Aisi acted doctor. He made a little bow and arrow, tipping the latter with a fragment of glass, and then, at very close quarters so that he did not miss his mark, nor lose hold of his arrow, he repeatedly fired at Tima’s forehead. In this case not much blood was lost, but I have heard of cases where half a pint has been withdrawn before the cure was considered complete.
I have tried to make the Papuans real to you by stories of their daily lives, their vices and their virtues, their many fears and their few hopes, and want you to understand that they are men and women, and boys and girls who have their lives to live. They are not “something” to be laughed at, as many travellers seem to think, or exploited to put dividends into the pockets of investors in new companies.
I have tried to show you how we are helping the Papuan to live a fuller and better life than his father did. There is no talk about a finished article. You cannot make a Christian and a gentleman out of a savage as you can make a pair of boots, and say as you put them on the shelf, “There is the finished article worth so much.”
The Papuan may be turned in the right direction, but even then it means a long stiff climb, with many a backward slip. He needs all the help we can give him, by preaching, by schools, by industrial training, byconstant watching and advising, even after he has learnt that there isOnewho came into the world to bring a message and a power that should touch man’s life at every point.
Some of the men and women I have told you about know this message, and are trying, as you and I are trying, to live up to their knowledge, but they deserve your sympathy. It is not an easy matter for them to rise. I have given you more than one story to show how the call of the old heathen life is always sounding in their ears and hearts.
To enlist your sympathy and help for those who know a little, and for the many who remain who have never heard of the message, is the aim of these Papuan Pictures.
“Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these My brethren, ye have done it unto Me.”
Printed byButler & Tanner, Frome and London.