Breakfast on the Beach.See page 84.
Breakfast on the Beach.
See page 84.
The Papuan Tailor.See page 89.
The Papuan Tailor.
See page 89.
A Long Drink.See page 96.
A Long Drink.
See page 96.
Oa.See page 99.
Oa.
See page 99.
The Nara men are great hunters and consequently think much of their dogs. A native dog is quite capable of climbing the ordinary steps into the house, but his master is thoughtful enough to provide a separate set for him, with a back so that his feet cannot slip through. It is interesting to watch a dog going home.He goes away from the house as though he had no connexion with it; then turns round and starts straight for it, and as he gets nearer increases his speed. With a rush he starts up the steep steps, and if fortunate vanishes over the top and into his home. If unfortunate he just falls back to the ground, and goes through the whole performance again, only with a little more energy.
In front of one house a man is doing a bit of tailoring on his own account. His material is neither best broad cloth, nor shoddy, for he gets it from the bark of a tree. It was too thick for his purpose when he peeled it from the tree, so he thinned it out by placing it on a log and beating away with a piece of wood shaped like a plumber’s bossing stick. We are too late to see that part of the performance, but in time for the marking of the pattern upon the suit. Aua has filled his mouth with bark and lime and chewed it till he has a plentiful supply of red saliva. Then folding the bark cloth he passed the folded edge through his lips, leaving a dull red stain; then another and another fold till the other end of the strip is reached and the new suit of clothes is complete. No visit to the tailor necessary, bark and lime supply all he needs, and there is no tailor’s bill to follow.
I do not remember seeing the performance that particular afternoon, but may as well tell you now what goes on when a girl is having a new dress. The materials are threein number, and can all be found near the village. The fibre is obtained from the sago palm, and the dye from a root and some dark mud, boiled together in a cooking-pot. The fibre is teased out till it looks like lengths of untwisted manilla rope. Small bunches of this are knotted on to a string, which is to form the waist-band, and in sufficient numbers to hang like a kilt all round the girl. For the present no uniformity of length is aimed at, but care is taken to have panels of red and yellow alternating, and across some of these panels will be dark stripes. When all is dry the girl has to be fitted, and this is not done in the privacy of the dressmaker’s room. The girl mounts a stump or a stone in front of an old relative, with the new dress hanging in uneven lengths around her. The relative takes a knife, if she has one; if not, a shell; and if even that cannot be found handy, then the teeth can be used as scissors, and going all round trims off the dress till it hangs just right. That means that enough has been taken off the sides, and enough left on the back to enable the girl, as she goes along, to swing her tails behind her. Many a sly glance have I seen directed over the shoulder with a view to finding out whether the effect was all that could be desired.
If two girls are seen with the same markings on their skirts it may be taken for granted that they belong to the same family, or are at least cousins. Each family has its ownparticular pattern, and woe betide those who try to infringe the copyright.
The sick man having been attended to, on the way back to Matareu’s house we notice that big pigs have begun to gather in the village. They have been away foraging all day, but as it is nearing the time for the evening meal they have not only put in an appearance, but are loudly demanding attention. Some go so far as to put their forefeet on the ladders as though they would mount and help themselves to what they could find. In Nara wooden troughs much like small canoes are provided, and when the food is put in some one has to mount guard to see that a stranger does not get his snout into the wrong trough.
A sure way to gather a crowd at any village is to show the magic lantern, and word is soon passed round that there will be an exhibition in the church that evening. Many a strange experience have I had with the lantern.
At one village where some twenty years ago they had scarcely seen a white man, and where a teacher had only been settled for a few months, the people took some persuading before they would come in to the church after dark. When the circle of light was thrown upon the sheet a deep gasping breath was taken by all, and a mixture of a sigh and a shudder was quite audible. All might have gone well had the operator been content to proceed quietly from this point,but the spirit of mischief prompted the desire to see what would be the result of a chromotrope. It was fatal. No sooner did the coloured rings begin to revolve as though they would overwhelm the audience, than with one yell men, women and children made for the doors and windows. Each one was blocked by a struggling mass and there seemed danger of the building being carried away. For that night the show was over as far as the village people were concerned.
At Ukaukana, years later, the church was cleared in another way. A large head of a former chief of the village was thrown upon the sheet, the operator forgetting for the moment that the man was dead. A great stillness fell upon the gathering, so noticeable that the operator looked the other side of the sheet. There were the people with their heads as low as they could get them without knocking their noses on the floor, all crawling to the doors as fast as they could. Then the mistake was recognized, but too late. Naime had a bad name as a sorcerer while still alive, and the ordinary size for a big well-built man. If he was bad then, what must he be now when he was many sizes larger. Something of his power might hang about the enlarged picture, so that people would not take the risk. Once more the teacher and my own boys formed my audience.
A third experience was of a more exciting kind. At Hula the people were taking butlittle interest in the pictures, and to stimulate them two boys were placed between the lantern and the sheet, and after their shadows had been recognized by their friends were told to wrestle. All went well at first, but when the youngsters began to put more energy into the business one of them got hurt. His friends came to his rescue. Then the other boy’s friends joined in, and in a moment there was a tangled mass of sheet, rope, and human beings on the floor, and to save a fire I snatched up the lantern and made my way out of the building by the back door.
Nara people are accustomed to the lantern, and there were no accidents that evening. All the pictures interested them, and they listened to the description of a set illustrating the life of Moses. At first the natives do not seem able to see the picture, or fail to connect ideas with it. Then comes in the use of pictures of their own village and their own people. They can connect the idea and the picture, and so pass to ideas conveyed by pictures of things and places they do not know.
It was a relief to find there was to be no dancing on this night, and that we were able to get a good night’s rest and be ready for the start the next morning. Carriers had to be engaged and then there was all the packing up to be done again.
The village we were making for was Ala-ala, and to get there we had to traverse a long switch-back. Down from the village intothe valley; then up again as high as the village we had left; down again and up again. In this way some three hours were spent, but as part of the time we were in a tunnel cut through the forest, it was pleasant. Out on the grass land the sun gave trouble and the sea breeze was missed. Ala-ala is but a small village and the teacher an old man who in his younger days had travelled much with Tamate. His wife’s idea of cleanliness and Donisi Hahine’s did not at all agree. The one thought that if a piece of new calico was spread over a pillow or a mat it did not matter what was underneath. Donisi Hahine wanted to see what was underneath, and then there was a lot of changing and cleaning before the camp for the night was arranged.
I think it was the first time a white woman had been in the village, and the people, and in particular the old women, were anxious to show due attention, or maybe satisfy their curiosity to the full. Their attention was overpowering, and would have been more acceptable at a little increased distance. The small house was decidedly overcrowded that night. Even the lantern in the village did not completely clear it, and a number of young babies, probably excited by the unusual gathering, kept up a chorus all night.
Next morning we went down into a valley, and through what in the wet season is a swamp, and then a gradual rise till Diumana was reached.
Here the village is fenced, not with a view to safety but to keep the pigs in and prevent their visiting the gardens, which are on the slopes around the village. The Mission has its own little fence some distance from one end of the village, but what between lack of energy and sickness the teacher has not built much inside that fence. When his house will be finished it is hard to say, and we spent the night in the little temporary hut.
There is no church in the village yet, and the services and school are held in the dubu, or club house. In the old village half a mile away, this was a large building with elaborately-carved posts, but in the present village is only a shed raised some seven feet from the ground. Here preparations were made for school and for the baptism of some children. Native gear, such as hunting-nets and drums, was soon removed, and a small table—a very small one—and two boxes introduced by way of furniture. First the children were examined, and then the service begun, but before it was half through it was suddenly interrupted. A loud crack, and ejaculation from the people, and half of them jumped to the ground. It was evident that the congregation was larger than usual, for the floor had given way, and there would have been a nasty accident, but for the prompt action of those who jumped down and held the breaking pieces of wood in position while the rest of usdismounted as quickly and quietly as possible. Nothing worse happened than our having to finish the service on the ground on the shady side of the building instead of under the roof on the platform.
One great drawback to Diumana is the lack of good water. What there is has to be brought from a water-hole a long way from the village, and the only pots the people have are procured from coast villages. By looking about them they have, however, found a good substitute. Bamboo grows plentifully in the neighbourhood, and from a well-grown length of this the divisions at the joints are knocked out, and at once there is a bucket seven or eight feet long. In the afternoon the girls and women can be seen returning from the water-hole, each with a couple of these long buckets carried as a soldier carries his rifle. They are too awkward for taking into the house so stand outside. To find out how such buckets were handled I asked for a drink, and was told to squat down as low as I could, and take the open end of the bamboo and put it to my lips. I did so, and then the boy who held the other end lifted it. Of course it was said to be an accident, but boys are boys all the world over, and he who had the lifting of that other end could not resist the temptation, or did not try. The result was the same. He lifted just a little too high, and a little too quickly, with the result that the missionary got plenty of water outside,but very little inside, much to the amusement of the crowd.
The Papuan generally can do with little water inside, and the people of Diumana, having far to fetch it, manage with a surprisingly small quantity outside. This makes them unpleasant near neighbours. They take a bath when they happen to be caught in the rain, or when they visit the coast.
That night for the magic lantern we did not trust the Dubu which had refused to carry our weight in the afternoon, but hung the sheet at the side of a house, and feared no fall, for we were as low as we could get to begin with.
Next day as we were going to a village where for the time being there was no teacher we did not move our camp. The food box is known to our boys as “Hari maua kakakaka” from its being painted red, so that we can easily see if it is with us, and not left behind as on one occasion when at the end of a long tramp we found ourselves without water or food. This box provided all we needed for the day, and we were to return to Diumana for the night.
Less than a mile from Diumana to the right of the track is a beautiful group of palms. Sago, areca and cocoanut all tower above the surrounding vegetation. In the order given they might be taken to typify dignity, slender grace, and real utility. Looking at the sago palm one wonders how men can approach it near enough to cut it down, so formidableare the thorns that cover its lower fronds. One by one the workman has to remove those fronds till he can get to the main stem. Even the thorns have a use, for long strips of the frond covered with thorns four and five inches long, are bound to the stem of the areca palm, and present a surface that none can climb. In this way the owner protects his property.
Oa, the chief of Bokama, good old friend that he is, has heard that he may expect a visit, and is on the look-out. Down the hill from the village he comes, dressed, not in his Papuan best, but his real Beritani Sunday best. A gay waist cloth, and an Oxford mat shirt, and his shock of hair tied up in a red printed handkerchief. Just a few of his native adornments give the finishing touches. If you care to try a real Papuan salutation Oa will oblige you as you are a friend of mine. If you do not care to try it you had better let me go first, as Oa always expects me to indulge him. He gives me a good hug and we rub noses, and then taking my hand he leads me to his Dubu, and calls for his daughter to bring cocoanuts. When he thinks the delay has been as long as decency demands, and if he sees no tobacco forthcoming, he will pick up his baubau (bamboo pipe) and look at it. Of course that is enough and he passes it and the tobacco over to one of the younger men, and when it is alight has the first pull himself, and then passes the baubau round as a pipe of peace.
Oa’s Dubu is much like the one that gave way at Diumana, except that on one side the roof comes down and joins the floor, making a wall. Of ornamentation there is little except a collection of bones. These attract attention, and Oa is nothing loth to talk about them. The pigs’ jaws need little explanation. They are a record of the number killed for the feasts.
Bound to one of the wall plates were much longer jaws, and these we found belonged to crocodiles which were caught in a way that causes us not a little surprise. They must belong to a different class from those at the coast or the men would never venture to take them as they do. There is no doubt as to the method, for the same account is given at different villages throughout the district.
The crocodiles are found in the lagoons, and usually sleeping in the mud at the bottom. The hunter wades in and feels about with his feet till he touches one of the creatures. That would be enough for most folks, and they would make for the bank in double quick-time, but not so our hunter. He stoops down and begins to stroke the crocodile. They say the animal likes it and remains perfectly still while the hunter introduces a rope under its legs and round its back, keeping up the stroking all the time with the other hand. When all is ready he suddenly pulls the rope tight and then the struggle begins: at one endthe crocodile, at the other the natives; the crocodile lashing with his tail, and the natives pulling for all they are worth. It is a grand tug-of-war, and if the animal is a big one it may be some time before he is landed, but that he will be landed there is little doubt, for the people say that one rarely escapes when once the ropes have been made fast. Clubs finish the struggle, and then comes the feast. The flesh looks all right but I have never been able to bring myself to eat it. When the bones have been picked clean the lower jaw is added to the collection in the Dubu.
In another part of the Dubu is a collection of lengths of the backbone of some creature. These, Oa informs us, belonged to large carpet snakes. They are plentiful in the district and the Nara people consider them a delicacy. They not only hunt them along the ground but follow the great beautifully marked creatures into the trees, and I have seen a man holding on to the tail of one with his teeth while he moved his hands to get a better grip. Some of the men seem to have no fear in handling the carpet snake, and one adept hunter, when I expressed surprise at his allowing a creature at least ten feet long to writhe round him, explained that it could do him no harm as he had hold of its neck and the tip of its tail. The head seemed easy of explanation, but not the tail, till he gave the fuller information that a carpet snakecannot crush a body unless it has its tail round some solid substance.
One of our boys who had not previously eaten snake, came to us that evening and said that he had eaten a whole one (it could not have been a ten-footer), and that it was “Digara bada.” He knew no praise beyond that, which was his way of saying it was not only fat but all that was good. Next day he did not seem so sure about it, and since then has not eaten snake at all.
This might almost be called a Natural History section, for there is still another animal for you to hear about. It is reported from many districts, but in Nara one family has adopted it as the family coat of arms, and carved it on the posts of the Dubu. They call it lolio, and I believe it is a species of Iguana, a curious climbing reptile. I have seen one which some white men captured to send to Europe, so I know the animal exists, but hesitate to accept some of the stories the natives tell about it. That they dread it there is no doubt, as the following story will show.
Report came to Nara that a lolio had been seen on the bank of a creek, and a native who was used to a white man’s gun went to look for it, but when near the creek his courage failed him till he remembered that he had something more than a spear in his hand. Creeping nervously nearer he caught sight of the animal, and much relieved called to his friends, “It is only a crocodile.”
The lolio is reported to steal children and take them up trees, and is said never to run away from a man. The man runs away from him, but can find no safety in climbing a big tree, as the lolio can climb better and quicker than he. The only safety to be got is by climbing a tree just big enough to bear the man’s weight, but too small for the lolio to grasp, as he cannot climb if his claws meet at the back of the stem.
It is strange that an animal cunning enough to cover itself with leaves and lie in wait for its prey, should nearly always make the mistake of leaving a little of its whip-like tail exposed, and so betray itself. In two places nearly a hundred miles apart I heard a story of men finding the lolio so hid, and quietly and securely knotting the tip of the tail to a tree, and so holding the animal in position while it was killed, in the one case by arrows and the other by spears.
Having examined Oa’s museum, now look at the building on the other side of the village. The square one without a verandah, and with steps with treads like those you are accustomed to, not like the bars in a hen-roost—that building has a history. The first teacher placed in the village was a Papuan. He held his services and his little school in the Dubu, but upon a subsequent visit my attention was drawn to the new building by all eyes being turned that way when I entered the village. It was evident the people intendedI should see the result of their work. Without consulting me at all they had built themselves a neat little church, under the guidance of the young Papuan who was their teacher, and in that church later on Oa and two of his relatives were baptized, and some of the children of the village learnt to read. Unfortunately the village has been without a teacher for some time, but the man from Diumana visits it for the Sunday services.
Beyond Diumana are two small villages. Lalime and Tubu. These had to be visited, but as it meant a long tramp in the hottest part of the day, Donisi Hahine remained in Oa’s Dubu while I was away. Exactly how the afternoon was spent history does not record, but this much is known. The old men of the village felt their responsibility, and kept guard in the Dubu. When one was tired he just lay down where he was and went to sleep, while others sat up and talked and had a smoke. Owing to the language difficulty they and their guest could hold little communication except by signs.
It was dark before we reached Diumana and that evening we did not indulge in the lantern, though the people would have been quite willing to see the same pictures again.
The next day’s journey was to be a long one, so no time was lost in the morning in packing and starting. Fresh carriers had been engaged over night and a home-made palanquinrigged up to give Donisi Hahine a lift on the way when she required it. We had done a good two hours’ walking when a halt was called for breakfast, and then all hands wanted to huddle up close to our “red box” and cook their food in our fire. A rearrangement had to be made before we could have our meal in peace. The halt was a short one, for we were only at the beginning of the journey. With regret we left the interesting shady forest road and began the weary miles along the open beach. The sea breeze was acceptable, but the soft sand made heavy going, particularly for those carrying the baggage. Rests became frequent as midday drew near, and no one was sorry when shade enough was found for the midday halt. Hour after hour along the sand made us ask, “Is that point the last?” and the sun was getting low before the boys were able to answer “Yes.” Hisiu was so far beyond that point that another halt was called for tea.
At the end of a heavy day the Samoan welcome we received from Fareni and his wife was doubly acceptable. Their one concern was that the old teacher’s house was unsafe. They were living on a platform with a roof over it, but without walls, and this they placed at our disposal, together with their table, and with our boxes for seats and mats for beds the place was soon furnished. Before the evening meal was over curtains of cocoanut fronds were hung round, and our camp was comfortable as well as rather out of the common.
Hisiu Girls in their best.See page 106.
Hisiu Girls in their best.
See page 106.
Morabi Village.See page 110.
Morabi Village.
See page 110.
Bad Walking: over the Mangrove Roots.See p. 114.
Bad Walking: over the Mangrove Roots.
See p. 114.
Fafoa with her boy and Papauta.See p. 125.
Fafoa with her boy and Papauta.
See p. 125.
People in England, whether believers in Christianity or not, pay tribute to its founder every time they date a letter. The Papuans now acknowledge Him by making their calculations from His day. TheSabatethey call it. The boys all knew that the next day was Sabate, and that we should not travel, but remain at Hisiu. Those who had clothes had managed to keep them fairly clean for that day, and those who had none, borrowed from those who had, with the result that a small singlet fell to the lot of the biggest man of the party. Still he was satisfied, and no one was surprised at his odd appearance.
Soon after six in the morning the people were called to the first service by a bell which they had purchased for themselves. How different the surroundings and the gathering from anything to be seen in England: the walls and the roof of the church supplied by the palm; the floor made from old canoe boards; the reading-desk by the teacher from packing-cases; the seat round the wall also from old canoes. Then the congregation. Our own boys had more clothing than the rest of the congregation all told. In the first few rows sat the children. Behind them the adults, and on the seat round the wall the Church members and those more particularly identified with the Mission. Very few ornaments were to be seen and none inthe hair of the men, for the Papuan having no hat to take off as a mark of reverence removes his comb when he enters the church. Of the service little need be said. You could not follow the words, but the bowing of the head by the natives, and the opening of the New Testaments, would mark the times of prayer and of reading the lessons. How often one wishes the Papuans were direct descendants of the Sweet Singer of Israel; but, alas! they are not even distant relatives, and most of the Samoans can claim but little closer kinship, and so cannot help the Papuan much. Tuneful singing cannot be expected from a people with a range of about three notes, especially when they do not always use even these three. They will chant a hymn on one note only. Still they do their best, they are improving; and we always hope for better times in this as in other respects. In one thing the Papuans do not fail. Their behaviour is reverent throughout the service, and they listen to the message given.
During the day there are three services and a Sunday School, all held in the church; but I was most pleased with the evening gathering at the teacher’s house. The few Church members, with thirty or forty children and young people, came to family prayers, and of the young people at least twenty had their own New Testaments, and took their turn in reading a verse, and one of the young men offered prayer. Such a scene makes onerealize the change for the better which is taking place. The first time I went to Hisiu there was no teacher living there; no church; no school; not a Church member in the place, and not a soul who could tell which way to hold a book even if he had one.
One advantage of having to stay over the Sunday at a village is the opportunity for good informal chats with the people, during which much can be gathered as to their way of looking at the message the Missionary brings.
Two separate conversations that Sunday revealed the fact that they carry their own ideas of malevolent spirits into their idea of the God whom we regard as the loving Father. To many of them He seems to be a compound of the policeman and the magistrate, seeing that due punishment is inflicted for each given offence.
Rosa came to see us in the afternoon wearing signs of mourning. We had heard that her husband Veata was dead, but did not know the circumstances. It was a long story, for she began at the time when her husband was taken by the teacher to live in his house, and when she, as a young girl, was nurse to the teacher’s children. She recalled what Faasiu had taught them and how after they were married Veata expressed a wish to become a teacher, and how glad she was. Then came the history of the three years during which they lived with us at Delena, which endedin the call of the old village life being too strong, and their giving up the idea of being teachers and returning to their village. At first Veata boasted of what he had done, but afterwards became ashamed, and very sad. He knew he had done wrong, but took no steps to put the matter right.
One day on the way to his garden he saw a snake in the track, and as he could not kill it, got out of its way. It followed him, however, and bit him twice. His friends, knowing the snake was a deadly one, carried Veata back to the village, and began the death wail over him, but he asked them to be quiet and to listen to what he had to say, as he should soon leave them and they would not hear his voice again. The speech was a long one for a man under such circumstances, but Veata was in earnest in his desire that his friends should know that he acknowledged he had done wrong, “in putting out the light he once had within him.” He looked upon the ending of his life by snake bite as a just punishment for his having turned back “after he had put his hand to the plough,” and begged his friends to listen to the teacher “and follow the light.”
On the same day another widow, a much older woman, came to see us. Her husband had been west with Tamate, and later had served for a time as a teacher under Holmes. He too listened to the call of the old life, and at Hisiu took a leading part in reviving thenight dancing. He was an elderly man, and probably the sitting about after he was hot from the dancing produced chest troubles. He became ill, and then found that his right hand was affected with what looked like leprosy. Before long he was unable to use it at all, and became so ill that it was only with difficulty that he could get as far as the church. The last time he attended the service he asked the teacher to let him speak to the people. His address followed the lines of Veata’s, but near the end, lifting his maimed hand, he said, “This is the hand that beat the drum to call you to the dance. Look at it now. God has taken from it the power to do anything. He has punished me, and I shall not live much longer. God forgive me, and help you to follow not me but Jesus.”
I heard of these two cases in one day, but often, both before and since, have wondered at the number of those who having turned back from taking part in Mission work have died soon after. When the first wild burst is over, they lose heart and feel there is nothing left to live for, and that the end is near. When a native gets that idea nothing can save him. It is sad to think how little they realize the love that can forgive. Their own idea is vengeance, “An eye for an eye,” and only slowly comes that of an all-loving and forgiving Father.
The next morning saw us again on the tramp. Canoes ferried us across the AroaRiver, and then on we went along the sand. Mile after mile with nothing to break the monotony except the great stranded trees that had been washed out of Galley Reach by the last floods, and a solitary pelican that would fly on ahead of us, wait till we were nearly up to him, and then start off again as though to show us the way.
When we got near to Morabi, the village we were making for, the beach was covered with thousands upon thousands of little round crabs who moved with the precision of an army. If one got in front of them, and stamped on the sand, no confusion followed, but the army, as though at the word of command, turned off and went in another direction. For at least a mile we walked through these strange little creatures, they opening up a way by which we might pass and not one of them getting under our feet.
Morabi is on the left as we stand at the mouth of Galley Reach, but away on the right bank is a spot that will always be of interest to those connected with the L.M.S. It was there, where the village of Manumanu stood, that in 1872 the first Christian teachers landed. Sixteen years later most of the houses had been moved to Morabi, and now there is no village at Manumanu. Few of those who witnessed that landing are now alive, but their descendants are the people we are going to see. After Ieru the Samoan teacher, the first to welcome us is Naime,till lately as fine a specimen of a man as could be found in the country. He was too young to have distinct memories of the landing of those first teachers, but has been good friends with their successors.
The usual round of service, school, doctoring, and talking to the people having been accomplished, the next thing was to arrange for an experience which does not often come to the missionary in the more settled districts, that is, a visit to new ground, and an introduction to new people.
To mark the event we will deal with it in a new chapter.
For some time people had been coming down from the hills and asking that a teacher might be sent to live with them. They were suffering severely from raids by their enemies, and were anxious for peace and protection. Fortunately there was a Samoan widower, who had no fixed station, and I told him to visit such villages as he could get at, and try to make peace. He had taken up his temporary quarters at a village called Korona, and he and the people were anxious that we should visit them. The road, they admitted, was a rough one for an English lady to travel, but as they had gone to the trouble to clear parts of it, so they said, Donisi Hahine decided to accept the invitation.
To have the help of the rising tide an early start was made on the Tuesday morning. We were in the boat by four o’clock, while it was yet dark.
People may ascend Snowdon or the Swiss mountains to view the sunrise, but theycould never see one more beautiful or more impressive than on that particular morning in Galley Reach. All around was the great expanse of water, so calm that it reflected the clouds. Away on either side, and right ahead, were the low banks covered without a break by the fresh bright green of the mangroves. Then when the eyes were lifted higher came the hills wrapped in mist as in fleecy cotton wool, and behind them tier above tier rose the peaks and ridges of the Owen Stanley Range. As the light became stronger the peaks, over 12,000 feet high, stood out with wonderful distinctness. Then the pale glow turned to gold and rose, as the sun came up behind the mountains, and as it mounted higher and higher, the lower peaks on our side of the range were lit up one after another like so many great electric lights. The white mists curled further up the range, and though details were lost, the effect was grandly harmonious.
The change from the dark stillness, broken only by the cry of a bird and the rattle of the oars in the rowlocks, to the full blaze of the light was much more rapid than the coming of the daylight at home, and reminded one that it was not necessary to wait till near midday to feel the sting of the tropical sun.
Several large rivers flow into Galley Reach as well as a perfect network of smaller streams and creeks. Into one of these we turned. Then into a smaller one, and againinto a smaller one still. It was wonderful how the boy in charge knew which of the many openings—all alike—he was to take. At last the creek so narrowed that the whale boat could go no further, and the first stage of the journey was over. It was ten o’clock when we landed under some giant trees, and no time was lost in getting breakfast for all hands, and taking his with him, one of the teachers went ahead to try and find carriers to help with the baggage. Our own boys could manage it well enough on the flat, but when climbing the hills they would need help.
Strange things were all around us, but strangest of all were some of the giant trees. Very high, very big round, they had roots which came out like giant buttresses. By putting roofs on, five or six stables could have been made at the foot of each tree.
So far there was no sign of any track having been cleared, and a boy had to go ahead armed with a big knife to cut away the vines. Some of them were the “wait-a-bit” thorns, and well did they deserve their name, for if once the thorn was hooked in the clothing then the person wearing that clothing had to wait till released from the unwelcome grip, or leave a memento behind him.
Progress was very slow, and it was well after midday before we reached a clearing on the bank of a rippling stream as clear as crystal, and the coldest water I have tasted in Papua. Here the Korona people weremaking a garden, and Naiti had been fortunate enough to meet some of them and secure their services to help us to reach their village.
One was tempted to linger at this spot. It would have made an ideal camp for a summer holiday. We had to pass on, and made use of the native bridge. One of the large trees that grew on the bank of the stream had been felled so that it lay from bank to bank, and to save themselves trouble when doing the work the woodmen had built a staging round the tree some ten feet from the ground and so got above the greatest girth.
On the other side of the stream the ground began to rise, and in places gave some stiff climbing. After a time the question arose, “How much further is the village?” Not far was the answer, and another start was made. Then the way seemed blocked by fallen trees, but the guide clambered over them, and following his lead we found ourselves in a sweet-potato plantation. What the water-lily is to the swimmer that the sweet-potato is to the walker. How many times one and another of the party was thrown down, or brought to a standstill, it would be a puzzle to say. To add to the trouble piles of felled trees continually blocked the way, and had to be surmounted. Again the question was asked, “Is the village far?” and again the guide, through an interpreter, answered, “Just a little.” His idea of “a little further” was like that of an Irishman who was once myguide in Ireland. The little further was just an indefinite distance in front. Then again the guide was accustomed to that kind of travelling. Our party was not, and there was plenty of grumbling amongst the boys as the sun got low, and there were still no signs of the village. At last the guide gave a coo-e and from the side of the next hill came an answer. One more scramble down, and one more scramble up, and there was the village in sight.
Few of our party had ever seen a stockaded village. It was my first. The site was well chosen on the crown of a small hill, so that the ground fell away on all sides. The houses which were on high stumps, almost like stilts, faced inwards, and the stockading was really a continuation of the outer walls of the houses right down to the ground, with the spaces between the houses filled in the same way. The defence would have been poor against an enemy armed with Sheffield steel, but would hold at bay one attacking with bows and arrows and clubs, and the only entrance was a puzzle-like stile at one corner. No need for the defender to say with brave Horatius, “Now who will stand on either hand and keep the bridge with me?” One could easily defend it.
Over and through this stile, one at a time, we clambered, and at once looked for quarters for the night. Any house in the village, or the club house, would have been placed atour disposal, but—— The people never wash; never clean their houses; and by both look and smell one would judge that they never cleaned the centre of the village.
The camp was made on the hill, and to the windward side of the village. Five poles were soon cut and the home-made calico tent fixed. Supper was soon over, and no one wanted rocking to sleep that night. All had been on the move for seventeen hours, to say nothing of the time spent in packing and getting into the boat at Morabi. God’s own peace seemed to brood over the hillside, the camp, and the village, and it seemed strange almost beyond belief, that amidst such surroundings the women and children had withdrawn into the forest for fear there might be a night attack.
Next morning there was more time and more energy for getting into touch with the people, but unfortunately that had to be done through an interpreter.
Sitting by the side of Naiti on the Dubu platform was a little toddler, who seemed loth to let go his hand. She was too young to do more than return love for care and affection, or she would have known how much she owed to Naiti. Her mother had died when she was a few weeks old, and her father, according to native custom, took the child into the bush and left it there to die. Fortunately Naiti found her, nearly dead from starvation and covered with sores, and took her to thevillage. He had no wife to tend the child, and no milk to give her, but he had his gun, and there were birds around. Some of these he shot and made broth for the little one, in which he soaked pieces of his hard biscuits; not perhaps according to the latest theories as to how a child should be fed, and Naiti, big man that he is, was not a dainty little nurse in cap and apron, but he managed grandly, and showed us the child with pride.
Many of our teachers have rescued little children in this way, but in most cases by taking them out of the grave of the dead mother, with whom they were to be buried, and rarely does the father take any notice till the child is grown enough to be useful and then he claims it. Another of our teachers found a Korona boy abandoned in the bush because, owing to a large ulcer on his foot, he was unable to keep up with the party on a journey.
The season was a good one for food, and the people were determined we should not go hungry while staying with them. Yams, sweet-potatoes, pumpkins, and sugar cane were brought from the gardens, and piled in front of the Dubu where we were sitting.
Then the pig was brought. He was a lively customer, and objected to the manner in which he was handled, and no wonder. It took three men, sitting on his back, to keep him down, and even then he had the better of it in the matter of voice. The men could notsilence him, and he sadly interrupted the speech of the chief.
I should have liked to have recorded the whole incident in a picture, but, alas! my camera was at the bottom of the sea off Maiva, and I can only deal in words.
When all was ready the chief stepped down from the Dubu, and with the village people looking on from the verandahs of their houses, and the pig violently protesting, began his speech. Some natives are very demonstrative when they talk. They use their whole body, and it was not difficult to follow part at least of what the old man was saying, though none of us knew his language. It all had to be translated later on. First there was the welcome, and then the typical native regret that he and his people had no food to offer us. They had managed to provide “sisina hona” (a very little bit). Their idea of little in quantity seemed as elastic as their idea of the village being near on the previous day, for try as they would our boys did not manage to get through that “little bit” during our stay in the village, and had to get the donors themselves to help them. It was a present, the old man said; but presents are expensive luxuries in Papua, for they cost two or three times as much as if bought in the ordinary way. It was so in this case by the time the return present was completed.
I was expected to kill the pig, but not caring for the job, with due courtesy I trust, inany case with emphasis, I informed the old man that I was not in that line of business, and turning to Naiti asked him to be my deputy. The pig had to be killed in Papuan fashion and Naiti did not relish the business, so handed it on to Kone.
Then came the explanation as to why we had been asked to visit the village. Becoming very dramatic the chief received from his wife a small basket, out of which he took a human skull. This he held in one hand and a tomahawk in the other. The skull, he said, was that of his brother, who together with two of his wives and some of his children had been killed by people living on yonder hill. He showed how the tomahawk fitted into the holes in the skull and asked me to request the Governor to take vengeance (payment, he called it) for that murder, and then to send him a teacher to “teach him and his people peace.” No forgiveness. Revenge first, and then peace; but it was something that the desire for peace was there at all.
I felt sad, for I had neither the men nor the money to comply with the old man’s request. The sadness was the deeper when I remembered that down on the beach, not many miles below us, was the spot where the Christian teachers had landed as long ago as 1872, and yet till the arrival of my wife and myself the previous day, these people had never seen a white face in their village. Friends in England have since offered to support a teacher in the village, but dysentery has practically exterminated the people. The opportunity was lost.