Figure 6.

Figure 6.Diagrammatic Sketch of Apse-like Projection of Roof of Emone and Platform Arrangements.Diagrammatic Sketch of Apse-like Projection of Roof of Emone and Platform Arrangements.(i) Platform (purume).Note.—It will be seen that the frontapopopasses through the platform.(k) Additional supports to the apse roof, which are sometimes added, but are not usual. Their lower ends rest on the platform and they are connected with the apse roof at its outer edge (Mafulu name unknown).(l) A stump by which to get on to the platform. This is often a rough sloping piece of tree-trunk; where the platform of the emone is high it is a rudely constructed ladder (gigide).Note.—The entire façade of the front gable end is calledkonimbe(which means door) orpurume(which means platform). That of the back gable end is calledapei.Note.—The height of the door-opening above the outside platform is shown in this figure.The houses are in construction very similar to theemone, and in fact the above description of the latter may be taken as a description of a house, subject to the following modifications: (i.) The house is never raised high, its floor always being within a foot or two of the ground, (ii.) It is smaller than theemone, its average internal dimensions being about 8 to 12 feet long, and 8 to 10 feet wide, (iii.) The roof generally slopes down on both sides to the level of the ground (concealing the side structure of the house) or nearly so. (iv.) The projecting hood of the roof is only added at the front of the building, and not at the rear; and it is usually separate from, and not continuous with, the real roof.2(v.) The platform isgenerally small and narrow, and often only extends for half the length of the front of the house, and, being always within a foot or two of the ground, it does not possess or require a ladder or tree-trunk approach; it is also narrower. Frequently there is no platform at all. (vi.) There is no entrance opening at the back of the house, (vii.) The front entrance opening is smaller and narrower and more difficult of entry. When the family are absent, they generally put sticks across this opening to bar entry, whereas the entrance opening of theemoneis always open, (viii.) The centre house support very often consists of one post only, instead of a combination, (ix.) There is often on one side of the entrance opening a small space of the inside of the house fenced off for occupation by the pigs, and there is a little aperture by which they can get into this space from outside, (x.) Theavaleceiling is usually absent; and, even if there be one, it will only extend under a small portion of the roof.3The following are explanations of my plates of villages and their buildings.Plate.Explanation.55Village of Seluku (community of Sivu), with chief’semoneat the end facing up the enclosure.56Village of Amalala (community of Sivu), with chief’semoneat the end of the enclosure.57The same village of Amalala (photographed in the other direction), with secondaryemoneat the end of the enclosure.58Village of Malala (community of Sivu), with secondaryemoneat the end of the enclosure.59Village of Uvande (community of Alo), with chief’semoneat the end of the enclosure.60Village of Biave (community of Mambu), with chief’semoneat the end of the enclosure.61The chief’semonein village of Amalala.62The chief’semonein the village of Malala, at the other end of the enclosure.63A house in the same village.64A house in village of Levo (community of Mambu).Communications.The native paths of the Mafulu people, or at all events those passing through forests, are, like those of most other mountain natives, usually difficult for white men to traverse. The forest tracks in particular are often quite unrecognisable as such to an inexperienced white man, and are generally very narrow and beset with a tangle of stems and hanging roots and creepers of the trees and bush undergrowth, which catch the unwary traveller across the legs or body or hands or face at every turn, and are often so concealed by the grass and vegetation that, unless he be very careful, he is apt to be constantly tripped up by them; and moreover these entanglements are often armed with thorns or prickles, or haveserrated edges, a sweep of which may tear the traveller’s clothes, or lacerate his hands or face. Then there are at every turn and corner rough trunks of fallen trees, visible or concealed, often more or less rotten and treacherous, to be got over; and such things are frequently the only means of crossing ditches and ravines of black rotting vegetable mud. Moreover the paths are often very steep; and, indeed, it is this fact, and the presence of rough stones and roots, which renders the very prominent outward turn of the people’s big toes, with their prehensile power, such useful physical attributes.Their bridges may be divided into four types, namely: (1) A single tree thrown across the stream, having either been blown down, and so fallen across it accidentally, or been purposely placed across it by the natives. (2) Two or more such trunks placed in parallel lines across the stream, and covered with a rough platform of transverse pieces of wood. (3) The suspension bridge. I regret that I am unable to give a detailed description of Mafulu suspension bridges, but I think I am correct in saying that they are very similar to those of the Kuni people, one of whose bridges is described in theAnnual Reportfor June, 1909, as being 150 feet long and 20 feet above water at the lowest part, and as being made of lawyer vine (I do not know whether this would be right for Mafulu), with flooring of pieces of stick supported on strips of bark, and as presenting a crazy appearance, which made the Governor’s carriers afraid of crossing it, though it was in fact perfectly safe, and had very littlemovement, even in the middle. I also give in Plate65a photograph taken by myself4of a bridge over the St. Joseph river, close to the Kuni village of Ido-ido, which, though a Kuni bridge, may, I think, be taken as fairly illustrative of a Mafulu bridge over a wide river.5Plate66is a photograph, taken in Mafulu, of another form of suspension bridge used by them, and adapted to narrower rivers, the river in this case being the Aduala. (4) The bamboo bridge. This is a highly arched bridge of bamboo stems. The people take two long stems, and splice them together at their narrow ends, the total length of the spliced pair being considerably greater than the width of the river to be bridged. They then place the spliced pair of bamboos across the river, with one end against a strong backing and support on one side of the river and the other end at the other side, where it will extend for some little distance beyond the river bank. This further end is then forcibly bent backward to the bank by a number of men working together, and is there fixed and backed. The bamboo stems then form a high arch over the river. They then fix another pair of stems in the same way, close to and parallel with the first one; and the double arch so formed is connected all the way across with short pieces of wood, tied firmly to the stems, so as to strengthen the bridge and form a footway, by which it can be crossed. They then generally add a hand rail on one side.One can hardly leave the question of physical communications without also referring to the marvellous system of verbal communication which exists amongst the Mafulu and Kuni and other mountain people. Messages are shouted across the valleys from village to village in a way which to the unaccustomed traveller is amazing. It never seemed to me that any attempt was made specially to articulate the words and syllables of the message, or to repeat them slowly, so as to make them more readily heard at a distance off, though the last syllable of each sentence is always prolonged into a continuous sort of wail. This system of wireless telegraphy has, however, been before described by other writers, so I need say no more about it.1I do not suggest that these defences are peculiar to the Mafulu area. I believe they are used by other mountain natives of the Central District.2Though this curious-shaped hood in front of a house is apparently a speciality of the mountains, so far as British New Guinea is concerned, I do not suggest that it does not exist elsewhere. In fact, some of thenative houses which I have seen in the Rubiana Lagoon district of the Solomon Islands had a somewhat similar projection, though in them the front wall of the house, with its little door-opening, was carried round below the outer edge of the hood, which thus formed part of the roof of the interior, instead of being merely a shelter over the outside platform, as is the case in Mafulu.3Dr. Haddon refers (Geographical Journal, Vol. XVI., p. 422) to conical ground houses with elliptical and circular bases found in villages on the top of steep hills behind the Mekeo district and on the southern spur of Mt. Davidson, and says that in some places, as on the Aduala affluent of the Angabunga (i.e., St. Joseph’s) river, the houses are oblong, having a short ridge pole. I think that the elliptical houses to which he refers have probably been Kuni houses, to which his description could well be applied, and that the oblong houses have been Mafulu. The villages with very narrow streets, and the houses of which are, he says, built partly on the crest and partly on the slope, are also in this respect typically Kuni.4This photograph had to be taken from an awkward position above, from which I had to point the camera downwards to the bridge.5See also description of suspension bridge over Vanapa river in lower hill districts given inAnnual Reportfor June, 1889, p. 38.Government, Property, and InheritanceGovernment and Justice.There is, as might be expected, no organised system of government among the Mafulu, nor is there any official administration of justice.As regards government, the chiefs in informal consultation with the sub-chiefs and prominent personages deal with important questions affecting the community or clan or village as a whole, such as the holding of big feasts and important ceremonies, the migrations or splitting-up or amalgamation of villages, and warlike operations; but events of this character are not frequent. And as to justice, neither the chiefs nor any other persons have any official duties of settling personal disputes or trying or punishing wrongdoers. The active functions of the chiefs, in fact, appear to be largely ceremonial.Concerning the question of justice, it would seem, indeed, that a judicial system is hardly requisite. Personal disputes between members of a village or clan, or even of a community, on such possible subjects as inheritance, boundary, ownership ofproperty, trespass and the like, and wrongful acts within the village or the community, are exceedingly rare, except as regards adultery and wounding and killing cases arising from acts of adultery, which are more common.There are certain things which from immemorial custom are regarded as being wrong, and appropriate punishments for which are generally recognised, especially stealing, wounding, killing and adultery; but the punishment for these is administered by the injured parties and their friends, favoured and supported by public opinion, and often, where the offender belongs to another clan, actively helped by the whole clan of the injured parties.The penalty for stealing is the return or replacement of the article stolen; but stealing within the community, and perhaps even more so within the clan or village, is regarded as such a disgraceful offence, more so, I believe, than either killing or adultery, that its mere discovery involves a distressing punishment to the offender. As regards wounding and killing, the recognised rule is blood for blood, and a life for a life. The recognised code for adultery will be stated in thechapter on matrimonial matters.Any retribution for a serious offence committed by someone outside the clan of the person injured is often directed, not only against the offender himself, but against his whole clan.There is a method of discovering the whereabouts of a stolen article, and the identity of the thief, through the medium of a man who is believed to have specialpowers of ascertaining them. This man takes one of the large broad single-shell arm ornaments, which he places on its edge on the ground, and one of the pig-bone implements already described, which he places standing on its point upon the convex surface of the shell. To make the implement stand in this way he puts on the point, and makes to adhere to the shell a small piece of wild bees’ wax, this being done, I was told, surreptitiously, though I cannot say to what extent the people are deceived by the dodge, or are aware of it. The implement stands on the shell for a few seconds, after which it falls down. Previously to doing this he has told his client of certain possible directions in which the implement may fall, and intimated that, whichever that may be, it will be the direction in which the lost article must be sought. He has also given certain alternative names of possible culprits, one of such names being associated with each of the alternative directions of falling. The fall of the implement thus indicates the quarter in which the lost article may be found and the name of the thief. Father Clauser saw this performance enacted in connection with a pig which had been stolen from a chief; the falling bone successfully pointed to the direction in which the pig was afterwards found, and there was no doubt that the alleged thief was in fact the true culprit. Presumably the operator makes private enquiries before trying his experiment, and knows how to control the fall of the implement.Property and Inheritance.The property of a Mafulu native may be classified as being (1) his movable belongings, such as clothing, ornaments, implements and pigs; (2) his house in the village; (3) his bush land; (4) his gardens.The movable belongings are, of course, his own absolute property.The village house is also his own; but this does not include the site of that house, which continues to be the property of the village. Every grown-up male inhabitant of the village has the right to build for himself one house in that village; he is not entitled to have more than one there, but he may have a house in each of two or more villages, and a chief or very important man is allowed two or three houses in the same village. On a house being pulled down and not rebuilt, or being abandoned and left to decay, the site reverts to the village, and another person may build a house upon it.1Houses are never sold, but the ordinary life of a house is only a few years.The man’s bush land is his own property, and his ownership includes all trees and growth which may be upon it, and which no other man may cut down, but it does not include game, this being the common property of the community; and any member of the community is entitled to pass over the land, hunt on it, and fish in streams passing through it, ashe pleases. The whole of the bush land of the community belongs in separate portions to different owners, one man sometimes owning two or more of such portions; and it is most remarkable that, though there are apparently no artificial boundary marks between the various portions, these boundaries are, somehow or other, known and respected, and disputes with reference to them are practically unknown. How the original allocations and allotments of land have been made does not appear to be known to the people themselves.The man’s garden plot or plots are also his own, having been cleared by him or some predecessor of his out of his or that predecessor’s own bush land; and he may build in his gardens as many houses as he pleases. His ownership of his garden plot is more exclusive than is that of his bush land, as other people are not entitled to pass over it. But on the other hand, if he abandons the garden, and nature again overruns it with growth—a process which takes place with great rapidity—it ceases to be his garden, and reverts to, and becomes absorbed in, the portion of the bush out of which it had been cleared; and if, as it may be, he is not the sole owner of that portion of bush, he loses his exclusive right to the land, which as a garden had been his own sole property.No man can sell or exchange either his bush land or his garden plots, and changes in their ownership therefore only arise through death and inheritance. This statement, however, is, I think, subject to the qualification that an owner of bush-land will sometimesallow his son or other male descendant to clear and make for himself a garden in it; but I am not sure as to the point.On a man’s death his widow, if any, does not inherit any portion of his property, either movable or immovable, but three things are allowed to her. She is generally allowed one pig, which will be required by her at a later date for the ceremony of the removal of her mourning; and she shares with her husband’s children, or, if there be none, she has the sole right to, the then current season’s crops and fruit resulting from the planting effected by her late husband and herself, though this is a right which, after her return home to her own people, she would not continue to exercise; and she is allowed to continue to occupy her husband’s house, but this latter privilege terminates at the mourning removal ceremony, when the house will be pulled down, and its site will revert to the village, and she will probably return to her own people in her own village, if she has not done so previously.Subject to these three allowances, I may dismiss the widow entirely in dealing with the law of inheritance. I may also dismiss the man’s female children by saying that, if there be male children, the females do not share at all in the inheritance, and even if there be no male children the female children will only perhaps be allowed, apparently rather as a matter of grace than of right, to share in his movable effects; and that, subject to this, everything goes to the man’s male relatives. I may also eliminate the man’s pigs, asapparently any pigs he has, other than that retained for his widow, are killed at his funeral.On the death of an owner everything he possesses goes, except as above mentioned, to his sons. They divide the movable things between them, but the bush and garden land pass to them jointly, and there is no process by which either of these can be divided and portioned among them. The male children of a deceased son, and the male children of any deceased male child of that deceased son (and so on for subsequent generations), inherit between them in lieu of that son. There does not appear, however, to be any idea in the Mafulu mind of each son of the deceased owner being entitled to a specific equal fractional share, or of the descendants of a deceased son of that owner being between them only entitled to one share,per stirpes. They apparently do not get beyond the general idea that these people, whoever they may be and to whatever generations they may belong, become the owners of the property.They take possession of and cultivate the existing gardens as joint property. Any one of them will be allowed to clear some of their portion of bush, and fence it, and plant it as a garden, and it will then become the sole property of that one man, and if he dies it will pass as his own property to his own heirs; though, as before stated, if he abandons it, and lets it be swallowed up by the bush, it will cease to be his own garden, and will again be included in the family’s joint portion of bush land, and on his death his heirs will only come into the joint bush ownership.In this way the ownership of a garden must often be in several persons, with no well-defined rightsinter se, and the general ownership of bush land which has never been cleared, or which, having been cleared, has been abandoned and reverted, must often be in a very large number of persons without defined rights. In fact, so far as bush land is concerned, one only has to remember that on the death of an owner it passes into joint ownership of children—that on the deaths of these children fresh groups of persons come into the joint ownership—that this may go on indefinitely, generation after generation—that bush, having once got into the ownership of many people, is hardly likely to again fall by descents into a single ownership—that indeed the tendency must be for the number of owners of any one portion of bush steadily to increase—and finally that there is no way by which the extensively divided ownership can be terminated by either partition or alienation—and one then realises the extraordinary complications of family ownership of bush land which must commonly exist.As regards both movable effects and gardens and bush land there must be endless occasions for dispute. How are the movable things to be divided among the inheritors, and, in particular, who is to take perhaps one valuable article, which may be worth all the rest put together? How are questions of doubtful claims to heirship to bush and garden land to be determined? How is the joint ownership of the gardens to be dealt with, and how is the work there to be apportioned, and the products of the gardensdivided? How are the mutual rights of the bush land to be regulated, and especially what is to happen if each of two or more joint owners desires to clear and allocate to himself as a garden, a specially eligible piece of bush? Such situations in England would bristle with lawsuits, and I tried to find out how these questions were actually dealt with by the Mafulu; but there is no judicial system there, and the only answer I could get was that in these matters, as in the case of inter-community bush boundaries and personal bush boundaries, disputes were practically unknown; though it was pointed out to me, as regards bush land, that the amount of it belonging to any one family was usually so large that crowding out could hardly arise.If a man dies without male descendants in the male line, then, subject perhaps to some sort of claim of his daughters, if any, to share in his movable effects, his property goes to his nearest male relative or relatives in the male line. This would primarily be his father, if living, but the father could hardly be the inheritor of anything but movable things and perhaps garden land, as the deceased could not be the owner of bush land during the lifetime of his father. Subject as regards movable things and perhaps gardens to this right of the father, the persons to inherit everything would be deceased’s brothers and the male descendants in the male line of any such brothers who had died; or in default of these it would be the father’s (not the mother’s) brothers and their male descendants in the male line, and so on for more distant male relatives, every descent being tracedstrictly in the male line only, on a principle similar to that above explained.Male infants, by which term I mean young children, there being of course no infancy in the defined sense in which the term is used in English law, like adults, may become possessed of property by inheritance as regards bush and garden land, and by inheritance or otherwise as regards movable property, but they would hardly be likely to be the owners of houses; and the descent from these infants is the same as that in the case of adults.No woman can possess any property, other than movable property, and even this is at best confined to the clothes and ornaments which she wears. On the death of a married woman all her effects go to her husband, or, if he be dead, they go to her children or descendants, male and female, equally, If she has no children or descendants, they go to her husband’s father, or, failing him, to such other person or persons as would have been entitled to inherit if her effects had been those of her husband. Her own blood relations do not come in, as she had been bought and paid for by her husband. If the deceased woman were a spinster, then her effects would pass to her father, or, failing him, to her brothers, or, failing them, to her nearest male relatives on her father’s side.The guardianship of and responsibility for infant children whose father dies falls primarily upon the children’s mother, and she, if and when she returned to her own people, would probably take the children away with her, though her sons, who shared in the inheritancefrom their father, would usually come back again to their own village when they became grown up, and might do so even when comparatively young. If there is no mother of the children, the guardianship and responsibility is taken up by one or more of the relatives of either the deceased father or deceased mother of the children, and it might be that some children would be taken over by some of such relatives, and some by others. There appears, however, to be no regular rule as to all this, the question being largely one of convenience.Adopted children have in all matters of inheritance the same rights as actual children.From the above particulars it will be seen that there is no system of descent in the female line or of mother-right among the Mafulu, and I could not find any trace of such a thing having ever existed with them. As to this I would draw attention to the facts that the mother’s relatives do not come in specially, as they do among the Roro and Mekeo people, in connection with the perineal band ceremony; that a boy owes no service to his maternal uncle, as is the case among the Koita; that there is no equivalent of the KoitaHeniceremony; that in no case can a woman be a chief, or chieftainship descend by the female line; that children belong to the clan of their father, and not to that of their mother; and that no duty or responsibility for orphan children devolves specially upon their mother’s relations.1Compare the Koita system under which the owner of the house owns the site of it also, and the latter passes on his death to his heirs (Seligmann’sMelanesians of British New Guinea, p. 89.)The Big FeastThis is the greatest and most important social function of a Mafulu community of villages. I was unable to get any information as to its real intent and origin, but a clue to this may, I think, be found in the formal cutting down of the grave platform of a chief, the dipping of chiefs’ bones in the blood of the slain pigs, and the touching of other chiefs’ bones with the bones so dipped, which constitute such important features of the function, and which perhaps point to an idea of in some way finally propitiating or driving away or “laying” the ghosts of the chiefs whose bones are the subject of the ceremony.The feast, though only to be solemnised in one village, is organised and given by the whole community of villages. There is no (now) known matter or event with reference to which it is held. It is decided upon and arranged and prepared for long beforehand, say a year or two, and feasts will only be held in one village at intervals of perhaps fifteen or twenty years. The decision to hold a feast is arrived at by the chiefs of the clans of the community which proposes to give it. The village at which the feast is to be held will not necessarily be the largest one of the community, or one in which is a then existingchiefsemone. The guests to be invited to it will be the people of some other (only one other) community, and at the outset it will be ascertained more or less informally whether or not they will be willing to accept the invitation.When the feast has been resolved upon, the preparations for it begin immediately, that is a year or two before the date on which it is to be held. Large quantities will be required of yam, taro and sugar-cane, and of a special form of banana (not ripening on the trees, and requiring to be cooked); also of the large fruit of theine, a giant species of Pandanus (see Plate80—the figure seated on the ground near to the base of the tree gives an idea of the size of the latter and of the fruit head which is hanging from it), which is cultivated in the bush, and the fruit heads of which are oval or nearly round, and have a transverse diameter of about 18 inches; and of another fruit, called by the nativesmalage, which grows wild, chiefly by streams, and is also cultivated, and the fruit of which was described to me as being rather like an apple, almost round, green in colour, and 4 or 5 inches in diameter.1And above all things will be wanted an enormous number of village pigs (not wild pigs); and sweet potatoes must be plentiful for the feeding of these pigs. And finally they will need plenty of native tobacco for their guests. In view of these requirements it is obvious that a year or two is by no means an excessive period for the preparations for the feast.The existing yam and taro gardens, intended for community consumption alone, will be quite insufficient for the purpose, and fresh bush land is at once cleared, and new gardens are made and planted, the products of these new gardens being allocated specially for the feast, and not used for any other purpose. There is also an extensive planting of sugar-cane, probably in old potato gardens. For bananas there will probably be no great need of preparation, as they are grown plentifully, and there is no specific appropriation of these; but the sufficiency of the supply of the tobacco for the visitors, and of the sweet potatoes for the pigs, has to be seen to, also that of theinePandanus trees, the fruit of which has often to be procured from elsewhere, and of the trees. And finally the village pigs must be bred and fattened, for which latter purpose it is a common practice to send young pigs to people in other communities; and these people will be invited to the big feast, and will have pig given to them, though not members of the invited community; but never in any case will any of them have a part of a pig which he himself has fattened. The cultivated vegetable foods and the pigs are not provided on a communistic basis, but are supplied by the individual members of the community, each household of which is expected to do its duty in this respect; and no person who or whose family has not provided at least one pig (some of them provide more than one) will be allowed to take part in the preliminary feast and subsequent dancing, to be mentioned below.The bringing in and storing of theineandmalagefruits commence at an early stage. Theinefruits are collected when quite ripe; they split the large fruit heads up into two or more parts, put these into baskets roughly made of cane (at least half a fruit head in each basket), and place these baskets in theavaleor ceiling of theemone, where the fruits get dried and smoked by the heat and smoke of the fire constantly burning beneath. If, as is sometimes the case, theemonehas noavaleone is constructed specially for the purpose. The fruits are left there until required; in fact, if taken away from the smoke, they would go bad. Sometimes, instead of putting portions of the fruit heads into baskets, they take out from them the almond-shaped seeds, which are the portions to be eaten, string these together, each seed being tied round and not pierced, and hang them to the roof of theemoneabove theavale. The fruits of themalageare gathered and put into holes or side streams by a river, and there left for from seven to ten months, until the pulp, which is very poisonous, is all rotted away, a terrible smell being emitted during the process; they then take the pips or seeds, the insides of which, after the surrounding shells have been cracked, are the edible parts, and place these in baskets made out of the almost amplexicaul bases of the leaves of a species of palm tree, and so store them also on theavaleof theemone.2Large preparations of a structural and repairing nature are also required in the village where the feast is to be held. Theemone, the true chiefsemone, of the village is repaired or pulled down and entirely rebuilt; or, if that village does not possess such anemone, one is erected in it. In point of fact the usual practice is, I was informed, to build a newemone, the occasion of an intended feast being the usually recognised time for the doing of this.3The houses of the village are put into repair. The people of the other villages of the same community build houses for themselves in the feast village, so that on the occasion of the feast all the members of the community (the hosts) will be living in that village. View platforms, from which the dancing can be watched, are built by all the people of the community. These are built between the houses where possible, or at all events so as to obstruct the view from the houses as little as possible. They are built on upright poles, and are generally between 12 and 20 feet high, each platform having a roof, which will probably be somewhat similar to the roofs of the houses. Sometimes there are two platforms under one roof, but this is not usual. Sometimes the platforms, instead of being onposts, are in trees, being, however, roofed like the others. Two or more houses may join in making one platform for themselves and their friends. All the above works are put in hand at an early stage.The following are done later, perhaps not till after the sending out of the formal invitation (see below), but they may conveniently be dealt with here. The people erect near to, but outside, the village in which the feast is to be held one or more sheds for the accommodation of the guests, the number of sheds depending upon the requirements of the case. These are merely gable and ridge-shaped roofs, which descend on each side down to the ground, or very close to it, being supported by posts, and there being no flooring. They are calledolor’ eme, which means dancers’ houses. Posts about 20 or 25 feet high and 12 inches or nearly so in diameter are erected in various places in the village enclosure, and each of these posts is surrounded with three, four, or five upright bamboo stems, which are bound to the post so as together to make a composite post of which the big one is the strong supporting centre. The leaf branches of these bamboos, starting out from the nodes of the stems, are cut off 3 or 4 inches from their bases, thus leaving small pegs or hooks to which vegetables, etc., can be afterwards hung; and in the case of each post one only of its surrounding bamboos has the top branches and leaves left on. Each household is responsible for the erection of one post. I may here say in advance that upon these post clusters will be hung successively, yams and taro in the upperparts, human skulls and bones lower down, and croton leaves by way of decoration at the bottom. The sugar-cane and banana andineandmalageare dealt with in another way. There is a further erection of thin poles, which will be mentioned in its proper place.About six months before the anticipated date of the big feast there is a preliminary festivity, which is regarded as a sort of intimation that the long-intended feast is shortly to take place. To this festivity people of villages of any neighbouring communities, say within an hour or two’s walk, are invited. There is no dancing, but there is a distribution among the guests of a portion of each of the vegetables and fruits which will be consumed at the feast, and a village pig is killed and cut up, and its parts are also distributed among the guests, who then return home.After this preliminary festivity dancing begins in the village in which the feast is to be held and in the other villages of the same community, and this dancing goes on, subject to weather, every day until the evening prior to the day upon which the feast takes place. The men dance in the villages, beginning at about sundown, and going on through the evening, and perhaps throughout the night. Only men who or whose families have provided at least one pig for the feast are allowed to join in the dancing. Bachelors join in the dancing, subject to the above condition. The women dance outside their villages, and, as regards them, there is no pig qualification.About a month before the date on which the feast isproposed to be held, a formal invitation is sent out to the community which is to be invited to it, and who, as above stated, have already been approached informally in the matter. For this purpose a number, perhaps ten, twenty, or thirty, of the men of the community giving the feast start off, taking with them several bunches of croton leaves—one bunch for each village of the invited community. These men, if the invited community be some distance off, only carry the croton leaves as far as some neighbouring community, probably about one day’s journey off, where they stay the night, and then return. During their progress, and particularly as they arrive at their destination, they are all singing. Then the men of this neighbouring community carry the croton leaves a stage further; and so on till they reach their ultimate destination. This may involve two or three sets of messengers, but occasionally one or two of the original messengers may go the whole way. These croton leaves are delivered to the chiefs of the several clans of the invited community, and they are tied to the front central posts of the villageemone, the trueemoneof the chiefs village, and, as regards other villages, theemoneof the sub-chiefs.4The exact date of the feast depends upon the guests, who may come in a month after receiving the croton leaves, or may be later; and the community giving the feast do not know on what date their guests will arriveuntil news comes that they are actually on their way, though in the meantime messengers will be passing backwards and forwards and native wireless telegraphy (shouting from ridge to ridge) will be employed.As soon as the formal invitation has been sent the people of the community giving the feast begin to bring in the yams from the gardens, which they do day by day, singing as they do so; and these yams are stored away in the houses as they are brought in. When the yams have all been collected, they are brought out and spread in one, two, or three long lines along the centre of the village open space. The owner of each post knows which are his own yams, and they will go to his post. When the yams are laid out on the ground, the chiefs inspect them, and select the best ones, which are to be given to the chiefs of the community invited to the dance. To these selected yams they tie croton leaves as distinguishing marks. Then each man stands by his own yams, and has a boy standing by his own post; each man picks up his best yams, and whilst holding these they all (only the men with the yams) begin to sing. The moment the song is over, each man rushes with his selected best yam to his post, and hands the yam to the boy, who climbs up the post, and hangs up the yam. After this they hang the rest of the yams, each man running with them to the post, and giving them to the boy, who climbs up and hangs the yam whilst the man runs back for another, the performance being all in apparent disorder and there being no singing. Some of the best-shapedyams are hung to little cross-sticks about 3 or 4 feet long, which the boys then and there attach to those bamboo stems which have their top branches and leaves left upon them, the sticks being attached just below these branches. These selected yams will include those with the croton leaves, which are intended for chiefs. Of the rest the better yams are hung up higher on the posts, and the poorer ones lower down. The lowest of them will probably be 5 or 6 feet from the ground.After hanging the yams, the next step is to erect in the ground all round the village enclosure and in front of the houses a number of tall young slender straight-stemmed tree poles, with the top branches and leaves only left upon them. These poles are connected with one another by long stems, fixed horizontally to them at a height of 7 or 8 feet from the ground, the stems thus forming a sort of long line or girdle encircling the village enclosure.The men then go to their gardens and bring in the sugar-canes, singing as they do so, and these they hang to the horizontal stems, but without ceremony. The sugar-canes are all in thick bundles, perhaps 12 or 18 inches thick, and these bundles are hung horizontally end to end immediately under the line of stems, so as also to make a continuous encircling line.Next they bring in the bananas, again singing, and these they hang up on the tall, slender tree poles, and on the platforms of the houses, and under the view platforms, but without ceremony.Lastly, again singing, they bring in the taro, and hang these up, mixed with the yams (not below them) on the posts, again without ceremony. The hanging up of the taro is left to the last, and, in fact, is not done till it is known that the guests are on their way, as the taro would be spoilt by bad weather.In hanging the yam and the taro the people all work simultaneously—that is, they are all hanging yams at the same time and all hanging taro at the same time. But as regards the sugar cane and banana each man works in his own time without waiting for, or being waited for by, the others. Women may help the men in all these things, except the ceremonious hanging up of the yams.They do not, however, hang all the yam, sugar-cane, banana and taro, some of each being kept back in the houses for a purpose which will appear hereafter.Theineandmalagefruits are not hung up at all, but are kept in theavaleof the villageemoneuntil the day of the actual feast, when the various vegetables and fruits are, as will be seen, put in heaps for distribution among the guests.They then further decorate the posts with human skulls and bones, which are hung round in circles below the yams and taro, but not reaching to the ground. These are the skulls and bones of chiefs and members of their families and sub-chiefs and important personages only of the community, and the bones used are only the larger bones of the arms and legs; skulls will, so far as possible, be used for the purpose in preference to the other bones. These skulls and bones are takenfrom wherever they may then happen to be; some of them will be in burial boxes on trees,5some may be in graves underground, and some may be hung up in the villageemone; though it may here be mentioned that those underground and in theemoneare not, as I shall show later, in their original places of sepulture.Finally croton leaves, tied in sheaves, are arranged round the posts below the skulls and bones, so as to decorate the posts down to the ground.One other specially important matter must here be mentioned. There will probably be in or by the edge of the village enclosure a high box-shaped wooden burial platform,6supported on poles, and containing the skull and all the bones of a chief, these platforms and a special sort of tree being, as will be explained later on, the only places where they and their families and important personages are originally buried. If so, the people add to the bones on this platform such of the other skulls and special arm and leg bones, collected as above mentioned, as are not required for decorating the posts. If, as is most improbable, there is no such burial platform, then they erect one, and upon it place all the available skulls and special bones not required for the posts.These various preparations bring us to the evening before the day of the feast, upon which evening the women, married and unmarried, of the community, whose families have supplied pigs for the feast, dancetogether in full dancing decorations in the village enclosure, beginning at about sundown, and, if weather permits, dancing all through the night. There is no ceremony connected with this dancing.The next day is the feast day. The guests are in the special guest houses outside the village, where they are dressing for the dance. They have probably arrived the day before, in which case they may have come into the village to watch the women dancing in the evening; but they are not regarded as having formally arrived. These guests include married and unmarried men, women and children, nobody of the invited community being left behind, except old men and women who cannot walk. The women have brought with them their carrying bags, in which they carry all their men’s and their own goods (e.g., knives, feathers, ornaments, etc.), including not only the things used for the ceremony, but all their other portable property, which they do not wish to expose to risk of theft by leaving at home.They have also brought special ornamental bags to be used in the dance as mentioned below.The people of the village in the meantime erect one, two, or three (generally three) trees in a group in the very centre of the village enclosure.And now come the successive ceremonies of the feast, in which both married and unmarried men and women take part; in describing these ceremonies I will call the people of the community giving the feast the “hosts,” and the visitors attending it the “guests.”First: All or nearly all the men hosts go in a bodyout of the village to the guests’ houses, singing as they go. They are all fully ornamented for a feast, but do not wear their special dancing ornaments, and they do not carry their spears, or as a rule any other weapons. Each chiefs ornaments include a bunch of black cassowary feathers tied round his head behind, and falling down over his shoulders, this being his distinctive ornament; but otherwise his ornaments do not differ from those of the rest, except probably as regards quantity and quality. The object of this visit is to ascertain if the guests are ready, and if they are not ready the men hosts wait until they are so. Then the men hosts return to the village, singing as before, and all the guests, men and women, follow them; but they do not sing, and they do not enter the village. The men hosts, on returning, retire to their houses and the view platforms, where also are the women hosts, thus leaving the village enclosure empty.Second: All the women guests, except two, then enter the village. They are fully ornamented for the feast, but do not wear their special dancing ornaments. They all have large carrying bags on their backs, not the common ones of everyday use, but the ornamental ones; and in these they carry and show off all their own and their husbands’ riches other than what they respectively are actually wearing. They enter at one end of the village enclosure (I will hereafter call this the “entrance end”) by the side of the endemoneof the village (this may be the chiefs trueemoneor it may be the secondaryemone),and walk in single file along one side of the village enclosure, and half of them walk round the other end (which I will call the “far end”) in front of theemonethere (which also will be either the true one or the other one), and back again along the other side, until there are two rows of them,vis-à-visat opposite sides of the enclosure, none of them remaining at the far end in front of theemonethere. If they are very numerous, there may be lines on both sides of the enclosure, stretching from end to end; whereas if they are few only, they would be in facing lines at the far end only of the enclosure. This is all done silently.Third: All the women hosts, fully ornamented for a feast, but without special dancing ornaments, then enter the enclosure at the entrance end, and congregate at the far end of it, in front of the faremoneand between the two facing lines of women guests, and facing towards the centre of the enclosure. The group of them stretches as far forward towards the centre of the enclosure as their number allows; but it will never extend beyond the special trees, which have been last erected in the centre. This also is done in silence.Fourth: The two women guests excluded from the general entry now come in. They are presumably the wives of chiefs. They are also decorated for the feast, but without full dancing ornaments. Each of them, however, holds in her mouth something intended to give her a terrible appearance, probably two pairs of pigs’ tusks, one pair curling, crescent-like, upwards,and the other pair similarly curling downwards, or a piece of cloth; but this is only carried by her for this particular scene of the performance, and not afterwards. Each of them also carries two spears, one in each hand. These two women rush into the village enclosure, one entering at each side of theemoneat the entrance end. They run along the two sides of the enclosure, one at each side, in front of the lines of women guests already there (between them and the central group of host women), brandishing their spears as they do so, but in silence. When they reach the far end of the enclosure they meet each other in front of theemonethere; and then, if that happens to be the true (chief’s)emone, they brandish their spears in a hostile manner at the building, the spears sometimes even striking it, though they do not leave the women’s hands, and there is probably a little pause or halt in their running for the purpose of this attack. They then pass each other, and return as they had come, still brandishing their spears, but each on the opposite side, until they are both at the entrance end of the enclosure. If theemoneat this end is the trueemone, then the attack is made upon it, instead of upon the other one. They then generally again pass each other, and go round the enclosure a second time, and again attack theemoneexactly as before. During the first part of this performance the host women congregated in the far end of the enclosure are all dancing a sort of non-progressive goose step, there being, however, no singing. But, when the two guest women on the return journeyof their second circuit reach the front row of the host women, the latter advance in a body silently dancing (but not travelling so fast as the two guest women) down the enclosure, and so following the two guest women, until they are all congregated at the entrance end of the enclosure. The positions of thedramatis personæup to and including the stage of proceedings lastly described will be better understood by reference toFig. 7and its accompanying notes. Atthe end of this stage the lines of guest women are still as shown; but the two special guest women and all the host women are at the entrance end of the enclosure.

Figure 6.Diagrammatic Sketch of Apse-like Projection of Roof of Emone and Platform Arrangements.Diagrammatic Sketch of Apse-like Projection of Roof of Emone and Platform Arrangements.

Diagrammatic Sketch of Apse-like Projection of Roof of Emone and Platform Arrangements.

Diagrammatic Sketch of Apse-like Projection of Roof of Emone and Platform Arrangements.

(i) Platform (purume).

Note.—It will be seen that the frontapopopasses through the platform.

(k) Additional supports to the apse roof, which are sometimes added, but are not usual. Their lower ends rest on the platform and they are connected with the apse roof at its outer edge (Mafulu name unknown).

(l) A stump by which to get on to the platform. This is often a rough sloping piece of tree-trunk; where the platform of the emone is high it is a rudely constructed ladder (gigide).

Note.—The entire façade of the front gable end is calledkonimbe(which means door) orpurume(which means platform). That of the back gable end is calledapei.

Note.—The height of the door-opening above the outside platform is shown in this figure.

The houses are in construction very similar to theemone, and in fact the above description of the latter may be taken as a description of a house, subject to the following modifications: (i.) The house is never raised high, its floor always being within a foot or two of the ground, (ii.) It is smaller than theemone, its average internal dimensions being about 8 to 12 feet long, and 8 to 10 feet wide, (iii.) The roof generally slopes down on both sides to the level of the ground (concealing the side structure of the house) or nearly so. (iv.) The projecting hood of the roof is only added at the front of the building, and not at the rear; and it is usually separate from, and not continuous with, the real roof.2(v.) The platform isgenerally small and narrow, and often only extends for half the length of the front of the house, and, being always within a foot or two of the ground, it does not possess or require a ladder or tree-trunk approach; it is also narrower. Frequently there is no platform at all. (vi.) There is no entrance opening at the back of the house, (vii.) The front entrance opening is smaller and narrower and more difficult of entry. When the family are absent, they generally put sticks across this opening to bar entry, whereas the entrance opening of theemoneis always open, (viii.) The centre house support very often consists of one post only, instead of a combination, (ix.) There is often on one side of the entrance opening a small space of the inside of the house fenced off for occupation by the pigs, and there is a little aperture by which they can get into this space from outside, (x.) Theavaleceiling is usually absent; and, even if there be one, it will only extend under a small portion of the roof.3

The following are explanations of my plates of villages and their buildings.

The native paths of the Mafulu people, or at all events those passing through forests, are, like those of most other mountain natives, usually difficult for white men to traverse. The forest tracks in particular are often quite unrecognisable as such to an inexperienced white man, and are generally very narrow and beset with a tangle of stems and hanging roots and creepers of the trees and bush undergrowth, which catch the unwary traveller across the legs or body or hands or face at every turn, and are often so concealed by the grass and vegetation that, unless he be very careful, he is apt to be constantly tripped up by them; and moreover these entanglements are often armed with thorns or prickles, or haveserrated edges, a sweep of which may tear the traveller’s clothes, or lacerate his hands or face. Then there are at every turn and corner rough trunks of fallen trees, visible or concealed, often more or less rotten and treacherous, to be got over; and such things are frequently the only means of crossing ditches and ravines of black rotting vegetable mud. Moreover the paths are often very steep; and, indeed, it is this fact, and the presence of rough stones and roots, which renders the very prominent outward turn of the people’s big toes, with their prehensile power, such useful physical attributes.

Their bridges may be divided into four types, namely: (1) A single tree thrown across the stream, having either been blown down, and so fallen across it accidentally, or been purposely placed across it by the natives. (2) Two or more such trunks placed in parallel lines across the stream, and covered with a rough platform of transverse pieces of wood. (3) The suspension bridge. I regret that I am unable to give a detailed description of Mafulu suspension bridges, but I think I am correct in saying that they are very similar to those of the Kuni people, one of whose bridges is described in theAnnual Reportfor June, 1909, as being 150 feet long and 20 feet above water at the lowest part, and as being made of lawyer vine (I do not know whether this would be right for Mafulu), with flooring of pieces of stick supported on strips of bark, and as presenting a crazy appearance, which made the Governor’s carriers afraid of crossing it, though it was in fact perfectly safe, and had very littlemovement, even in the middle. I also give in Plate65a photograph taken by myself4of a bridge over the St. Joseph river, close to the Kuni village of Ido-ido, which, though a Kuni bridge, may, I think, be taken as fairly illustrative of a Mafulu bridge over a wide river.5Plate66is a photograph, taken in Mafulu, of another form of suspension bridge used by them, and adapted to narrower rivers, the river in this case being the Aduala. (4) The bamboo bridge. This is a highly arched bridge of bamboo stems. The people take two long stems, and splice them together at their narrow ends, the total length of the spliced pair being considerably greater than the width of the river to be bridged. They then place the spliced pair of bamboos across the river, with one end against a strong backing and support on one side of the river and the other end at the other side, where it will extend for some little distance beyond the river bank. This further end is then forcibly bent backward to the bank by a number of men working together, and is there fixed and backed. The bamboo stems then form a high arch over the river. They then fix another pair of stems in the same way, close to and parallel with the first one; and the double arch so formed is connected all the way across with short pieces of wood, tied firmly to the stems, so as to strengthen the bridge and form a footway, by which it can be crossed. They then generally add a hand rail on one side.

One can hardly leave the question of physical communications without also referring to the marvellous system of verbal communication which exists amongst the Mafulu and Kuni and other mountain people. Messages are shouted across the valleys from village to village in a way which to the unaccustomed traveller is amazing. It never seemed to me that any attempt was made specially to articulate the words and syllables of the message, or to repeat them slowly, so as to make them more readily heard at a distance off, though the last syllable of each sentence is always prolonged into a continuous sort of wail. This system of wireless telegraphy has, however, been before described by other writers, so I need say no more about it.

1I do not suggest that these defences are peculiar to the Mafulu area. I believe they are used by other mountain natives of the Central District.2Though this curious-shaped hood in front of a house is apparently a speciality of the mountains, so far as British New Guinea is concerned, I do not suggest that it does not exist elsewhere. In fact, some of thenative houses which I have seen in the Rubiana Lagoon district of the Solomon Islands had a somewhat similar projection, though in them the front wall of the house, with its little door-opening, was carried round below the outer edge of the hood, which thus formed part of the roof of the interior, instead of being merely a shelter over the outside platform, as is the case in Mafulu.3Dr. Haddon refers (Geographical Journal, Vol. XVI., p. 422) to conical ground houses with elliptical and circular bases found in villages on the top of steep hills behind the Mekeo district and on the southern spur of Mt. Davidson, and says that in some places, as on the Aduala affluent of the Angabunga (i.e., St. Joseph’s) river, the houses are oblong, having a short ridge pole. I think that the elliptical houses to which he refers have probably been Kuni houses, to which his description could well be applied, and that the oblong houses have been Mafulu. The villages with very narrow streets, and the houses of which are, he says, built partly on the crest and partly on the slope, are also in this respect typically Kuni.4This photograph had to be taken from an awkward position above, from which I had to point the camera downwards to the bridge.5See also description of suspension bridge over Vanapa river in lower hill districts given inAnnual Reportfor June, 1889, p. 38.

1I do not suggest that these defences are peculiar to the Mafulu area. I believe they are used by other mountain natives of the Central District.

2Though this curious-shaped hood in front of a house is apparently a speciality of the mountains, so far as British New Guinea is concerned, I do not suggest that it does not exist elsewhere. In fact, some of thenative houses which I have seen in the Rubiana Lagoon district of the Solomon Islands had a somewhat similar projection, though in them the front wall of the house, with its little door-opening, was carried round below the outer edge of the hood, which thus formed part of the roof of the interior, instead of being merely a shelter over the outside platform, as is the case in Mafulu.

3Dr. Haddon refers (Geographical Journal, Vol. XVI., p. 422) to conical ground houses with elliptical and circular bases found in villages on the top of steep hills behind the Mekeo district and on the southern spur of Mt. Davidson, and says that in some places, as on the Aduala affluent of the Angabunga (i.e., St. Joseph’s) river, the houses are oblong, having a short ridge pole. I think that the elliptical houses to which he refers have probably been Kuni houses, to which his description could well be applied, and that the oblong houses have been Mafulu. The villages with very narrow streets, and the houses of which are, he says, built partly on the crest and partly on the slope, are also in this respect typically Kuni.

4This photograph had to be taken from an awkward position above, from which I had to point the camera downwards to the bridge.

5See also description of suspension bridge over Vanapa river in lower hill districts given inAnnual Reportfor June, 1889, p. 38.

There is, as might be expected, no organised system of government among the Mafulu, nor is there any official administration of justice.

As regards government, the chiefs in informal consultation with the sub-chiefs and prominent personages deal with important questions affecting the community or clan or village as a whole, such as the holding of big feasts and important ceremonies, the migrations or splitting-up or amalgamation of villages, and warlike operations; but events of this character are not frequent. And as to justice, neither the chiefs nor any other persons have any official duties of settling personal disputes or trying or punishing wrongdoers. The active functions of the chiefs, in fact, appear to be largely ceremonial.

Concerning the question of justice, it would seem, indeed, that a judicial system is hardly requisite. Personal disputes between members of a village or clan, or even of a community, on such possible subjects as inheritance, boundary, ownership ofproperty, trespass and the like, and wrongful acts within the village or the community, are exceedingly rare, except as regards adultery and wounding and killing cases arising from acts of adultery, which are more common.

There are certain things which from immemorial custom are regarded as being wrong, and appropriate punishments for which are generally recognised, especially stealing, wounding, killing and adultery; but the punishment for these is administered by the injured parties and their friends, favoured and supported by public opinion, and often, where the offender belongs to another clan, actively helped by the whole clan of the injured parties.

The penalty for stealing is the return or replacement of the article stolen; but stealing within the community, and perhaps even more so within the clan or village, is regarded as such a disgraceful offence, more so, I believe, than either killing or adultery, that its mere discovery involves a distressing punishment to the offender. As regards wounding and killing, the recognised rule is blood for blood, and a life for a life. The recognised code for adultery will be stated in thechapter on matrimonial matters.

Any retribution for a serious offence committed by someone outside the clan of the person injured is often directed, not only against the offender himself, but against his whole clan.

There is a method of discovering the whereabouts of a stolen article, and the identity of the thief, through the medium of a man who is believed to have specialpowers of ascertaining them. This man takes one of the large broad single-shell arm ornaments, which he places on its edge on the ground, and one of the pig-bone implements already described, which he places standing on its point upon the convex surface of the shell. To make the implement stand in this way he puts on the point, and makes to adhere to the shell a small piece of wild bees’ wax, this being done, I was told, surreptitiously, though I cannot say to what extent the people are deceived by the dodge, or are aware of it. The implement stands on the shell for a few seconds, after which it falls down. Previously to doing this he has told his client of certain possible directions in which the implement may fall, and intimated that, whichever that may be, it will be the direction in which the lost article must be sought. He has also given certain alternative names of possible culprits, one of such names being associated with each of the alternative directions of falling. The fall of the implement thus indicates the quarter in which the lost article may be found and the name of the thief. Father Clauser saw this performance enacted in connection with a pig which had been stolen from a chief; the falling bone successfully pointed to the direction in which the pig was afterwards found, and there was no doubt that the alleged thief was in fact the true culprit. Presumably the operator makes private enquiries before trying his experiment, and knows how to control the fall of the implement.

The property of a Mafulu native may be classified as being (1) his movable belongings, such as clothing, ornaments, implements and pigs; (2) his house in the village; (3) his bush land; (4) his gardens.

The movable belongings are, of course, his own absolute property.

The village house is also his own; but this does not include the site of that house, which continues to be the property of the village. Every grown-up male inhabitant of the village has the right to build for himself one house in that village; he is not entitled to have more than one there, but he may have a house in each of two or more villages, and a chief or very important man is allowed two or three houses in the same village. On a house being pulled down and not rebuilt, or being abandoned and left to decay, the site reverts to the village, and another person may build a house upon it.1Houses are never sold, but the ordinary life of a house is only a few years.

The man’s bush land is his own property, and his ownership includes all trees and growth which may be upon it, and which no other man may cut down, but it does not include game, this being the common property of the community; and any member of the community is entitled to pass over the land, hunt on it, and fish in streams passing through it, ashe pleases. The whole of the bush land of the community belongs in separate portions to different owners, one man sometimes owning two or more of such portions; and it is most remarkable that, though there are apparently no artificial boundary marks between the various portions, these boundaries are, somehow or other, known and respected, and disputes with reference to them are practically unknown. How the original allocations and allotments of land have been made does not appear to be known to the people themselves.

The man’s garden plot or plots are also his own, having been cleared by him or some predecessor of his out of his or that predecessor’s own bush land; and he may build in his gardens as many houses as he pleases. His ownership of his garden plot is more exclusive than is that of his bush land, as other people are not entitled to pass over it. But on the other hand, if he abandons the garden, and nature again overruns it with growth—a process which takes place with great rapidity—it ceases to be his garden, and reverts to, and becomes absorbed in, the portion of the bush out of which it had been cleared; and if, as it may be, he is not the sole owner of that portion of bush, he loses his exclusive right to the land, which as a garden had been his own sole property.

No man can sell or exchange either his bush land or his garden plots, and changes in their ownership therefore only arise through death and inheritance. This statement, however, is, I think, subject to the qualification that an owner of bush-land will sometimesallow his son or other male descendant to clear and make for himself a garden in it; but I am not sure as to the point.

On a man’s death his widow, if any, does not inherit any portion of his property, either movable or immovable, but three things are allowed to her. She is generally allowed one pig, which will be required by her at a later date for the ceremony of the removal of her mourning; and she shares with her husband’s children, or, if there be none, she has the sole right to, the then current season’s crops and fruit resulting from the planting effected by her late husband and herself, though this is a right which, after her return home to her own people, she would not continue to exercise; and she is allowed to continue to occupy her husband’s house, but this latter privilege terminates at the mourning removal ceremony, when the house will be pulled down, and its site will revert to the village, and she will probably return to her own people in her own village, if she has not done so previously.

Subject to these three allowances, I may dismiss the widow entirely in dealing with the law of inheritance. I may also dismiss the man’s female children by saying that, if there be male children, the females do not share at all in the inheritance, and even if there be no male children the female children will only perhaps be allowed, apparently rather as a matter of grace than of right, to share in his movable effects; and that, subject to this, everything goes to the man’s male relatives. I may also eliminate the man’s pigs, asapparently any pigs he has, other than that retained for his widow, are killed at his funeral.

On the death of an owner everything he possesses goes, except as above mentioned, to his sons. They divide the movable things between them, but the bush and garden land pass to them jointly, and there is no process by which either of these can be divided and portioned among them. The male children of a deceased son, and the male children of any deceased male child of that deceased son (and so on for subsequent generations), inherit between them in lieu of that son. There does not appear, however, to be any idea in the Mafulu mind of each son of the deceased owner being entitled to a specific equal fractional share, or of the descendants of a deceased son of that owner being between them only entitled to one share,per stirpes. They apparently do not get beyond the general idea that these people, whoever they may be and to whatever generations they may belong, become the owners of the property.

They take possession of and cultivate the existing gardens as joint property. Any one of them will be allowed to clear some of their portion of bush, and fence it, and plant it as a garden, and it will then become the sole property of that one man, and if he dies it will pass as his own property to his own heirs; though, as before stated, if he abandons it, and lets it be swallowed up by the bush, it will cease to be his own garden, and will again be included in the family’s joint portion of bush land, and on his death his heirs will only come into the joint bush ownership.

In this way the ownership of a garden must often be in several persons, with no well-defined rightsinter se, and the general ownership of bush land which has never been cleared, or which, having been cleared, has been abandoned and reverted, must often be in a very large number of persons without defined rights. In fact, so far as bush land is concerned, one only has to remember that on the death of an owner it passes into joint ownership of children—that on the deaths of these children fresh groups of persons come into the joint ownership—that this may go on indefinitely, generation after generation—that bush, having once got into the ownership of many people, is hardly likely to again fall by descents into a single ownership—that indeed the tendency must be for the number of owners of any one portion of bush steadily to increase—and finally that there is no way by which the extensively divided ownership can be terminated by either partition or alienation—and one then realises the extraordinary complications of family ownership of bush land which must commonly exist.

As regards both movable effects and gardens and bush land there must be endless occasions for dispute. How are the movable things to be divided among the inheritors, and, in particular, who is to take perhaps one valuable article, which may be worth all the rest put together? How are questions of doubtful claims to heirship to bush and garden land to be determined? How is the joint ownership of the gardens to be dealt with, and how is the work there to be apportioned, and the products of the gardensdivided? How are the mutual rights of the bush land to be regulated, and especially what is to happen if each of two or more joint owners desires to clear and allocate to himself as a garden, a specially eligible piece of bush? Such situations in England would bristle with lawsuits, and I tried to find out how these questions were actually dealt with by the Mafulu; but there is no judicial system there, and the only answer I could get was that in these matters, as in the case of inter-community bush boundaries and personal bush boundaries, disputes were practically unknown; though it was pointed out to me, as regards bush land, that the amount of it belonging to any one family was usually so large that crowding out could hardly arise.

If a man dies without male descendants in the male line, then, subject perhaps to some sort of claim of his daughters, if any, to share in his movable effects, his property goes to his nearest male relative or relatives in the male line. This would primarily be his father, if living, but the father could hardly be the inheritor of anything but movable things and perhaps garden land, as the deceased could not be the owner of bush land during the lifetime of his father. Subject as regards movable things and perhaps gardens to this right of the father, the persons to inherit everything would be deceased’s brothers and the male descendants in the male line of any such brothers who had died; or in default of these it would be the father’s (not the mother’s) brothers and their male descendants in the male line, and so on for more distant male relatives, every descent being tracedstrictly in the male line only, on a principle similar to that above explained.

Male infants, by which term I mean young children, there being of course no infancy in the defined sense in which the term is used in English law, like adults, may become possessed of property by inheritance as regards bush and garden land, and by inheritance or otherwise as regards movable property, but they would hardly be likely to be the owners of houses; and the descent from these infants is the same as that in the case of adults.

No woman can possess any property, other than movable property, and even this is at best confined to the clothes and ornaments which she wears. On the death of a married woman all her effects go to her husband, or, if he be dead, they go to her children or descendants, male and female, equally, If she has no children or descendants, they go to her husband’s father, or, failing him, to such other person or persons as would have been entitled to inherit if her effects had been those of her husband. Her own blood relations do not come in, as she had been bought and paid for by her husband. If the deceased woman were a spinster, then her effects would pass to her father, or, failing him, to her brothers, or, failing them, to her nearest male relatives on her father’s side.

The guardianship of and responsibility for infant children whose father dies falls primarily upon the children’s mother, and she, if and when she returned to her own people, would probably take the children away with her, though her sons, who shared in the inheritancefrom their father, would usually come back again to their own village when they became grown up, and might do so even when comparatively young. If there is no mother of the children, the guardianship and responsibility is taken up by one or more of the relatives of either the deceased father or deceased mother of the children, and it might be that some children would be taken over by some of such relatives, and some by others. There appears, however, to be no regular rule as to all this, the question being largely one of convenience.

Adopted children have in all matters of inheritance the same rights as actual children.

From the above particulars it will be seen that there is no system of descent in the female line or of mother-right among the Mafulu, and I could not find any trace of such a thing having ever existed with them. As to this I would draw attention to the facts that the mother’s relatives do not come in specially, as they do among the Roro and Mekeo people, in connection with the perineal band ceremony; that a boy owes no service to his maternal uncle, as is the case among the Koita; that there is no equivalent of the KoitaHeniceremony; that in no case can a woman be a chief, or chieftainship descend by the female line; that children belong to the clan of their father, and not to that of their mother; and that no duty or responsibility for orphan children devolves specially upon their mother’s relations.

1Compare the Koita system under which the owner of the house owns the site of it also, and the latter passes on his death to his heirs (Seligmann’sMelanesians of British New Guinea, p. 89.)

1Compare the Koita system under which the owner of the house owns the site of it also, and the latter passes on his death to his heirs (Seligmann’sMelanesians of British New Guinea, p. 89.)

This is the greatest and most important social function of a Mafulu community of villages. I was unable to get any information as to its real intent and origin, but a clue to this may, I think, be found in the formal cutting down of the grave platform of a chief, the dipping of chiefs’ bones in the blood of the slain pigs, and the touching of other chiefs’ bones with the bones so dipped, which constitute such important features of the function, and which perhaps point to an idea of in some way finally propitiating or driving away or “laying” the ghosts of the chiefs whose bones are the subject of the ceremony.

The feast, though only to be solemnised in one village, is organised and given by the whole community of villages. There is no (now) known matter or event with reference to which it is held. It is decided upon and arranged and prepared for long beforehand, say a year or two, and feasts will only be held in one village at intervals of perhaps fifteen or twenty years. The decision to hold a feast is arrived at by the chiefs of the clans of the community which proposes to give it. The village at which the feast is to be held will not necessarily be the largest one of the community, or one in which is a then existingchiefsemone. The guests to be invited to it will be the people of some other (only one other) community, and at the outset it will be ascertained more or less informally whether or not they will be willing to accept the invitation.

When the feast has been resolved upon, the preparations for it begin immediately, that is a year or two before the date on which it is to be held. Large quantities will be required of yam, taro and sugar-cane, and of a special form of banana (not ripening on the trees, and requiring to be cooked); also of the large fruit of theine, a giant species of Pandanus (see Plate80—the figure seated on the ground near to the base of the tree gives an idea of the size of the latter and of the fruit head which is hanging from it), which is cultivated in the bush, and the fruit heads of which are oval or nearly round, and have a transverse diameter of about 18 inches; and of another fruit, called by the nativesmalage, which grows wild, chiefly by streams, and is also cultivated, and the fruit of which was described to me as being rather like an apple, almost round, green in colour, and 4 or 5 inches in diameter.1And above all things will be wanted an enormous number of village pigs (not wild pigs); and sweet potatoes must be plentiful for the feeding of these pigs. And finally they will need plenty of native tobacco for their guests. In view of these requirements it is obvious that a year or two is by no means an excessive period for the preparations for the feast.

The existing yam and taro gardens, intended for community consumption alone, will be quite insufficient for the purpose, and fresh bush land is at once cleared, and new gardens are made and planted, the products of these new gardens being allocated specially for the feast, and not used for any other purpose. There is also an extensive planting of sugar-cane, probably in old potato gardens. For bananas there will probably be no great need of preparation, as they are grown plentifully, and there is no specific appropriation of these; but the sufficiency of the supply of the tobacco for the visitors, and of the sweet potatoes for the pigs, has to be seen to, also that of theinePandanus trees, the fruit of which has often to be procured from elsewhere, and of the trees. And finally the village pigs must be bred and fattened, for which latter purpose it is a common practice to send young pigs to people in other communities; and these people will be invited to the big feast, and will have pig given to them, though not members of the invited community; but never in any case will any of them have a part of a pig which he himself has fattened. The cultivated vegetable foods and the pigs are not provided on a communistic basis, but are supplied by the individual members of the community, each household of which is expected to do its duty in this respect; and no person who or whose family has not provided at least one pig (some of them provide more than one) will be allowed to take part in the preliminary feast and subsequent dancing, to be mentioned below.

The bringing in and storing of theineandmalagefruits commence at an early stage. Theinefruits are collected when quite ripe; they split the large fruit heads up into two or more parts, put these into baskets roughly made of cane (at least half a fruit head in each basket), and place these baskets in theavaleor ceiling of theemone, where the fruits get dried and smoked by the heat and smoke of the fire constantly burning beneath. If, as is sometimes the case, theemonehas noavaleone is constructed specially for the purpose. The fruits are left there until required; in fact, if taken away from the smoke, they would go bad. Sometimes, instead of putting portions of the fruit heads into baskets, they take out from them the almond-shaped seeds, which are the portions to be eaten, string these together, each seed being tied round and not pierced, and hang them to the roof of theemoneabove theavale. The fruits of themalageare gathered and put into holes or side streams by a river, and there left for from seven to ten months, until the pulp, which is very poisonous, is all rotted away, a terrible smell being emitted during the process; they then take the pips or seeds, the insides of which, after the surrounding shells have been cracked, are the edible parts, and place these in baskets made out of the almost amplexicaul bases of the leaves of a species of palm tree, and so store them also on theavaleof theemone.2

Large preparations of a structural and repairing nature are also required in the village where the feast is to be held. Theemone, the true chiefsemone, of the village is repaired or pulled down and entirely rebuilt; or, if that village does not possess such anemone, one is erected in it. In point of fact the usual practice is, I was informed, to build a newemone, the occasion of an intended feast being the usually recognised time for the doing of this.3The houses of the village are put into repair. The people of the other villages of the same community build houses for themselves in the feast village, so that on the occasion of the feast all the members of the community (the hosts) will be living in that village. View platforms, from which the dancing can be watched, are built by all the people of the community. These are built between the houses where possible, or at all events so as to obstruct the view from the houses as little as possible. They are built on upright poles, and are generally between 12 and 20 feet high, each platform having a roof, which will probably be somewhat similar to the roofs of the houses. Sometimes there are two platforms under one roof, but this is not usual. Sometimes the platforms, instead of being onposts, are in trees, being, however, roofed like the others. Two or more houses may join in making one platform for themselves and their friends. All the above works are put in hand at an early stage.

The following are done later, perhaps not till after the sending out of the formal invitation (see below), but they may conveniently be dealt with here. The people erect near to, but outside, the village in which the feast is to be held one or more sheds for the accommodation of the guests, the number of sheds depending upon the requirements of the case. These are merely gable and ridge-shaped roofs, which descend on each side down to the ground, or very close to it, being supported by posts, and there being no flooring. They are calledolor’ eme, which means dancers’ houses. Posts about 20 or 25 feet high and 12 inches or nearly so in diameter are erected in various places in the village enclosure, and each of these posts is surrounded with three, four, or five upright bamboo stems, which are bound to the post so as together to make a composite post of which the big one is the strong supporting centre. The leaf branches of these bamboos, starting out from the nodes of the stems, are cut off 3 or 4 inches from their bases, thus leaving small pegs or hooks to which vegetables, etc., can be afterwards hung; and in the case of each post one only of its surrounding bamboos has the top branches and leaves left on. Each household is responsible for the erection of one post. I may here say in advance that upon these post clusters will be hung successively, yams and taro in the upperparts, human skulls and bones lower down, and croton leaves by way of decoration at the bottom. The sugar-cane and banana andineandmalageare dealt with in another way. There is a further erection of thin poles, which will be mentioned in its proper place.

About six months before the anticipated date of the big feast there is a preliminary festivity, which is regarded as a sort of intimation that the long-intended feast is shortly to take place. To this festivity people of villages of any neighbouring communities, say within an hour or two’s walk, are invited. There is no dancing, but there is a distribution among the guests of a portion of each of the vegetables and fruits which will be consumed at the feast, and a village pig is killed and cut up, and its parts are also distributed among the guests, who then return home.

After this preliminary festivity dancing begins in the village in which the feast is to be held and in the other villages of the same community, and this dancing goes on, subject to weather, every day until the evening prior to the day upon which the feast takes place. The men dance in the villages, beginning at about sundown, and going on through the evening, and perhaps throughout the night. Only men who or whose families have provided at least one pig for the feast are allowed to join in the dancing. Bachelors join in the dancing, subject to the above condition. The women dance outside their villages, and, as regards them, there is no pig qualification.

About a month before the date on which the feast isproposed to be held, a formal invitation is sent out to the community which is to be invited to it, and who, as above stated, have already been approached informally in the matter. For this purpose a number, perhaps ten, twenty, or thirty, of the men of the community giving the feast start off, taking with them several bunches of croton leaves—one bunch for each village of the invited community. These men, if the invited community be some distance off, only carry the croton leaves as far as some neighbouring community, probably about one day’s journey off, where they stay the night, and then return. During their progress, and particularly as they arrive at their destination, they are all singing. Then the men of this neighbouring community carry the croton leaves a stage further; and so on till they reach their ultimate destination. This may involve two or three sets of messengers, but occasionally one or two of the original messengers may go the whole way. These croton leaves are delivered to the chiefs of the several clans of the invited community, and they are tied to the front central posts of the villageemone, the trueemoneof the chiefs village, and, as regards other villages, theemoneof the sub-chiefs.4

The exact date of the feast depends upon the guests, who may come in a month after receiving the croton leaves, or may be later; and the community giving the feast do not know on what date their guests will arriveuntil news comes that they are actually on their way, though in the meantime messengers will be passing backwards and forwards and native wireless telegraphy (shouting from ridge to ridge) will be employed.

As soon as the formal invitation has been sent the people of the community giving the feast begin to bring in the yams from the gardens, which they do day by day, singing as they do so; and these yams are stored away in the houses as they are brought in. When the yams have all been collected, they are brought out and spread in one, two, or three long lines along the centre of the village open space. The owner of each post knows which are his own yams, and they will go to his post. When the yams are laid out on the ground, the chiefs inspect them, and select the best ones, which are to be given to the chiefs of the community invited to the dance. To these selected yams they tie croton leaves as distinguishing marks. Then each man stands by his own yams, and has a boy standing by his own post; each man picks up his best yams, and whilst holding these they all (only the men with the yams) begin to sing. The moment the song is over, each man rushes with his selected best yam to his post, and hands the yam to the boy, who climbs up the post, and hangs up the yam. After this they hang the rest of the yams, each man running with them to the post, and giving them to the boy, who climbs up and hangs the yam whilst the man runs back for another, the performance being all in apparent disorder and there being no singing. Some of the best-shapedyams are hung to little cross-sticks about 3 or 4 feet long, which the boys then and there attach to those bamboo stems which have their top branches and leaves left upon them, the sticks being attached just below these branches. These selected yams will include those with the croton leaves, which are intended for chiefs. Of the rest the better yams are hung up higher on the posts, and the poorer ones lower down. The lowest of them will probably be 5 or 6 feet from the ground.

After hanging the yams, the next step is to erect in the ground all round the village enclosure and in front of the houses a number of tall young slender straight-stemmed tree poles, with the top branches and leaves only left upon them. These poles are connected with one another by long stems, fixed horizontally to them at a height of 7 or 8 feet from the ground, the stems thus forming a sort of long line or girdle encircling the village enclosure.

The men then go to their gardens and bring in the sugar-canes, singing as they do so, and these they hang to the horizontal stems, but without ceremony. The sugar-canes are all in thick bundles, perhaps 12 or 18 inches thick, and these bundles are hung horizontally end to end immediately under the line of stems, so as also to make a continuous encircling line.

Next they bring in the bananas, again singing, and these they hang up on the tall, slender tree poles, and on the platforms of the houses, and under the view platforms, but without ceremony.

Lastly, again singing, they bring in the taro, and hang these up, mixed with the yams (not below them) on the posts, again without ceremony. The hanging up of the taro is left to the last, and, in fact, is not done till it is known that the guests are on their way, as the taro would be spoilt by bad weather.

In hanging the yam and the taro the people all work simultaneously—that is, they are all hanging yams at the same time and all hanging taro at the same time. But as regards the sugar cane and banana each man works in his own time without waiting for, or being waited for by, the others. Women may help the men in all these things, except the ceremonious hanging up of the yams.

They do not, however, hang all the yam, sugar-cane, banana and taro, some of each being kept back in the houses for a purpose which will appear hereafter.

Theineandmalagefruits are not hung up at all, but are kept in theavaleof the villageemoneuntil the day of the actual feast, when the various vegetables and fruits are, as will be seen, put in heaps for distribution among the guests.

They then further decorate the posts with human skulls and bones, which are hung round in circles below the yams and taro, but not reaching to the ground. These are the skulls and bones of chiefs and members of their families and sub-chiefs and important personages only of the community, and the bones used are only the larger bones of the arms and legs; skulls will, so far as possible, be used for the purpose in preference to the other bones. These skulls and bones are takenfrom wherever they may then happen to be; some of them will be in burial boxes on trees,5some may be in graves underground, and some may be hung up in the villageemone; though it may here be mentioned that those underground and in theemoneare not, as I shall show later, in their original places of sepulture.

Finally croton leaves, tied in sheaves, are arranged round the posts below the skulls and bones, so as to decorate the posts down to the ground.

One other specially important matter must here be mentioned. There will probably be in or by the edge of the village enclosure a high box-shaped wooden burial platform,6supported on poles, and containing the skull and all the bones of a chief, these platforms and a special sort of tree being, as will be explained later on, the only places where they and their families and important personages are originally buried. If so, the people add to the bones on this platform such of the other skulls and special arm and leg bones, collected as above mentioned, as are not required for decorating the posts. If, as is most improbable, there is no such burial platform, then they erect one, and upon it place all the available skulls and special bones not required for the posts.

These various preparations bring us to the evening before the day of the feast, upon which evening the women, married and unmarried, of the community, whose families have supplied pigs for the feast, dancetogether in full dancing decorations in the village enclosure, beginning at about sundown, and, if weather permits, dancing all through the night. There is no ceremony connected with this dancing.

The next day is the feast day. The guests are in the special guest houses outside the village, where they are dressing for the dance. They have probably arrived the day before, in which case they may have come into the village to watch the women dancing in the evening; but they are not regarded as having formally arrived. These guests include married and unmarried men, women and children, nobody of the invited community being left behind, except old men and women who cannot walk. The women have brought with them their carrying bags, in which they carry all their men’s and their own goods (e.g., knives, feathers, ornaments, etc.), including not only the things used for the ceremony, but all their other portable property, which they do not wish to expose to risk of theft by leaving at home.

They have also brought special ornamental bags to be used in the dance as mentioned below.

The people of the village in the meantime erect one, two, or three (generally three) trees in a group in the very centre of the village enclosure.

And now come the successive ceremonies of the feast, in which both married and unmarried men and women take part; in describing these ceremonies I will call the people of the community giving the feast the “hosts,” and the visitors attending it the “guests.”

First: All or nearly all the men hosts go in a bodyout of the village to the guests’ houses, singing as they go. They are all fully ornamented for a feast, but do not wear their special dancing ornaments, and they do not carry their spears, or as a rule any other weapons. Each chiefs ornaments include a bunch of black cassowary feathers tied round his head behind, and falling down over his shoulders, this being his distinctive ornament; but otherwise his ornaments do not differ from those of the rest, except probably as regards quantity and quality. The object of this visit is to ascertain if the guests are ready, and if they are not ready the men hosts wait until they are so. Then the men hosts return to the village, singing as before, and all the guests, men and women, follow them; but they do not sing, and they do not enter the village. The men hosts, on returning, retire to their houses and the view platforms, where also are the women hosts, thus leaving the village enclosure empty.

Second: All the women guests, except two, then enter the village. They are fully ornamented for the feast, but do not wear their special dancing ornaments. They all have large carrying bags on their backs, not the common ones of everyday use, but the ornamental ones; and in these they carry and show off all their own and their husbands’ riches other than what they respectively are actually wearing. They enter at one end of the village enclosure (I will hereafter call this the “entrance end”) by the side of the endemoneof the village (this may be the chiefs trueemoneor it may be the secondaryemone),and walk in single file along one side of the village enclosure, and half of them walk round the other end (which I will call the “far end”) in front of theemonethere (which also will be either the true one or the other one), and back again along the other side, until there are two rows of them,vis-à-visat opposite sides of the enclosure, none of them remaining at the far end in front of theemonethere. If they are very numerous, there may be lines on both sides of the enclosure, stretching from end to end; whereas if they are few only, they would be in facing lines at the far end only of the enclosure. This is all done silently.

Third: All the women hosts, fully ornamented for a feast, but without special dancing ornaments, then enter the enclosure at the entrance end, and congregate at the far end of it, in front of the faremoneand between the two facing lines of women guests, and facing towards the centre of the enclosure. The group of them stretches as far forward towards the centre of the enclosure as their number allows; but it will never extend beyond the special trees, which have been last erected in the centre. This also is done in silence.

Fourth: The two women guests excluded from the general entry now come in. They are presumably the wives of chiefs. They are also decorated for the feast, but without full dancing ornaments. Each of them, however, holds in her mouth something intended to give her a terrible appearance, probably two pairs of pigs’ tusks, one pair curling, crescent-like, upwards,and the other pair similarly curling downwards, or a piece of cloth; but this is only carried by her for this particular scene of the performance, and not afterwards. Each of them also carries two spears, one in each hand. These two women rush into the village enclosure, one entering at each side of theemoneat the entrance end. They run along the two sides of the enclosure, one at each side, in front of the lines of women guests already there (between them and the central group of host women), brandishing their spears as they do so, but in silence. When they reach the far end of the enclosure they meet each other in front of theemonethere; and then, if that happens to be the true (chief’s)emone, they brandish their spears in a hostile manner at the building, the spears sometimes even striking it, though they do not leave the women’s hands, and there is probably a little pause or halt in their running for the purpose of this attack. They then pass each other, and return as they had come, still brandishing their spears, but each on the opposite side, until they are both at the entrance end of the enclosure. If theemoneat this end is the trueemone, then the attack is made upon it, instead of upon the other one. They then generally again pass each other, and go round the enclosure a second time, and again attack theemoneexactly as before. During the first part of this performance the host women congregated in the far end of the enclosure are all dancing a sort of non-progressive goose step, there being, however, no singing. But, when the two guest women on the return journeyof their second circuit reach the front row of the host women, the latter advance in a body silently dancing (but not travelling so fast as the two guest women) down the enclosure, and so following the two guest women, until they are all congregated at the entrance end of the enclosure. The positions of thedramatis personæup to and including the stage of proceedings lastly described will be better understood by reference toFig. 7and its accompanying notes. Atthe end of this stage the lines of guest women are still as shown; but the two special guest women and all the host women are at the entrance end of the enclosure.

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