Chapter VVaoI had not yet solved the problem of how to get away from the Segond Channel and find a good field of labour, when, happily, the French priest from Port Olry came to stay a few days with his colleague at the channel, on his way to Vao, and he obligingly granted me a passage on his cutter. I left most of my luggage behind, and the schooner of the French survey party was to bring it to Port Olry later on.DANCING-GROUND ON VAO, WITH ANCESTOR HOUSES.DANCING-GROUND ON VAO, WITH ANCESTOR HOUSES.After a passage considerably prolonged by contrary winds, we arrived at Vao, a small island north-east of Malekula. When one has sailed along the lifeless, greyish-green shores of Malekula, Vao is like a sunbeam breaking through the mist. This change of mood comes gradually, as one notices the warm air of spring, and dry souls, weather-beaten captains and old pirates may hardly be aware of anything beyond a better appetite and greater thirst. And it is not easy to define what lends the little spot such a charm that the traveller feels revived as if escaped from some oppression. From a distance Vao looks like all the other islands and islets of the archipelago—a green froth floating on the white line of breakers; from near by we see, as everywhere else, the bright beach in front of the thick forest.But what impresses the traveller mournfully elsewhere,—the eternal loneliness and lifelessness of a country where nature has poured all its power into the vegetation, and seems to have forgotten man and beast,—is softened here, and an easy joy of living penetrates everything like a delicate scent, and lifts whatever meets the eye to greater significance and beauty. The celestial charm of the South Sea Islands, celebrated by the first discoverers, seems to be preserved here, warming the soul like the sweet remembrance of a happy dream. Hardly anyone who feels these impressions will wonder about their origin, but he will hasten ashore and dive into the forest, driven by a vague idea of finding some marvel. Later he will understand that the charm of Vao lies in the rich, busy human life that fills the island. It is probably the most thickly populated of the group, with about five hundred souls living in a space one mile long and three-fourths of a mile wide; and it is their happy, careless, lazy existence that makes Vao seem to the stranger like a friendly home. Here there are houses and fires, lively people who shout and play merrily, and after the loneliness which blows chill from the bush, the traveller is glad to rest and feel at home among cheerful fellow-men.About seventy outrigger boats of all sizes lie on the beach. On their bows they carry a carved heron, probably some half-forgotten totem. The bird is more or less richly carved, according to the social standing of the owner, and a severe watch is kept toprevent people from carrying carvings too fine for their degree. Similarly, we find little sticks like small seats fastened to the canoes, their number indicating the caste of the owner. Under big sheds, in the shade of the tall trees, lie large whale-boats of European manufacture, belonging to the different clans, in which the men undertake long cruises to the other islands, Santo, Aoba, Ambrym, to visit “sing-sings” and trade in pigs. Formerly they used large canoes composed of several trees fastened together with ropes of cocoa-nut fibre, and caulked with rosin, driven by sails of cocoa-nut sheaths; these would hold thirty to forty men, and were used for many murderous expeditions. For the inhabitants of Vao were regular pirates, dreaded all along the coast; they would land unexpectedly in the morning near a village, kill the men and children, steal the women and start for home with rich booty. European influences have put a stop to this sport, and with the introduction of whale-boats the picturesque canoes have disappeared from the water, and now lie rotting on the beach. Their successors (though according to old tradition, women may not enter them) are only used for peaceful purposes.In the early morning the beach is deserted, but a few hours after sunrise it is full of life. The different clans come down from their villages by narrow paths which divide near the shore into one path for the men and another for the women, leading to separate places. The men squat down near one of the boat-houses and stretch out comfortablyin the warm sand, smoking and chatting. The women, loaded with children and baskets, sit in the shade of the knobby trees which stretch their trunk-like branches horizontally over the beach, forming a natural roof against sun and rain. The half-grown boys are too lively to enjoy contemplative laziness; gossip and important deliberations about pigs and sacrifices do not interest them, and they play about between the canoes, wade in the water, look for shells on the sand, or hunt crabs or fish in the reef. Thus an hour passes. The sun has warmed the sand; after the cool night this is doubly agreeable, and a light breeze cools the air. Some mothers bathe their babies in the sea, washing and rubbing them carefully, until the coppery skin shines in the sun; the little creatures enjoy the bath immensely, and splash gaily in the element that will be their second home in days to come. Everyone on the beach is in the easiest undress: the men wear nothing but a bark belt, and the women a little apron of braided grass; the children are quite naked, unless bracelets, necklaces and ear-rings can count as dress. Having rested and amply fortified themselves for the painful resolution to take up the day’s work, people begin to prepare for departure to the fields. They have to cross the channel, about a mile wide, to reach the big island where the yam gardens lie, sheltered by the forest from the trade-winds; and this sail is the occasion for the prettiest sight Vao can offer.The tides drive the sea through the narrow channel so hard as to start a current which is almosta stream. The head-wind raises short, sharp, white-capped waves; shallow banks shine yellow through the clear water, and the coral reefs are patches of violet and crimson, and we are delighted by constant changes, new shades and various colourings, never without harmony and loveliness. A cloudless sky bends over the whole picture and shines on the red-brown bodies of the people, who bustle about their canoes, adding the bright red of their mats and dresses to the splendour of the landscape.With sudden energy the women have grabbed the boats and pushed them into the water. The girls are slim, supple and strong as the young men, the mothers and older women rather stiff, and usually hampered by at least one child, which they carry on their backs or on their hips, while another holds on to the garment which replaces our skirts. There is plenty of laughter and banter with the men, who look on unmoved at the efforts of the weaker sex, only rarely offering a helping hand.From the trees and hiding-places the paddles and the pretty triangular sails are fetched and fastened on the canoes; then the boats are pushed off and the whole crowd jumps in. The babies sit in their mothers’ laps or hang on their backs, perilously close to the water, into which they stare with big, dark eyes. By twos and threes the canoes push off, driven by vigorous paddling along the shore, against the current. Sometimes a young man wades after a canoe and joins some fair friends, sitting in front of them, as etiquette demands. The fresh breeze catchesthe sails, and the ten or fifteen canoes glide swiftly across the bright water, the spread sails looking like great red butterflies. The spray splashes from the bows, one woman steers, and the others bale out the water with cocoa-nuts,—a labour worthy of the Danaides; sometimes the outrigger lifts up and the canoe threatens to capsize, but, quick as thought, the women lean on the poles joining outrigger and canoe, and the accident is averted. In a few minutes the canoes enter the landings between the torn cliffs on the large island, the passengers jump out and carry the boats up the beach.A few stragglers, men of importance who have been detained by politics, and bachelors, who have nothing and nobody to care for but themselves, follow later on, and only a crowd of boys stays in Vao, to enjoy themselves on the beach and get into all sorts of mischief.Obliging as people sometimes are when the fancy strikes them, a youth took us over to the other island in his canoe, and was even skilful enough to keep us from capsizing. Narrow paths, bordered with impenetrable bush, led us from the beach across coral boulders up to the plantations on top of the tableland. Under some cocoa-nut palms our guide stopped, climbed nimbly up a slim trunk, as if mounting a ladder, and three green nuts dropped to the ground at our feet. Three clever strokes of the knife opened them, and we enjoyed the refreshing drink in its natural bowl. Sidepaths branched off to the gardens, where every individual or family had itspiece of ground. We saw big bananas, taro, with large, juicy leaves, yams, trained on a pretty basket-shaped trellis-work; when in bloom this looks like a huge bouquet. There were pine-apples, cabbages, cocoa-nut and bread-fruit trees, bright croton bushes and highly scented shrubs. In this green and confused abundance the native spends his day, working a little, loafing a great deal. He shoots big pigeons and little parakeets, roasts them on an improvised fire and eats them as a welcome addition to his regular meals. From sun and rain he is sheltered by simple roofs, under which everybody assembles at noon to gossip, eat and laugh.Long ago there were villages here. An enormous monolith, now broken, but once 5 mètres high, speaks for the energy of bygone generations, when this rock was carried up from the coast, probably for a monument to some great chief.While the women were gathering food for the evening meal we returned to Vao. The breeze had stiffened in the midst of the channel, and one old woman’s canoe had capsized. She clung to the boat, calling pitifully for help, which amused all the men on the shore immensely, until at last, none too soon, they went to her rescue. Such adventures are by no means harmless, as the channel swarms with sharks.We explored the interior of Vao, going first through the thicket on the shore, then through reed-grass over 6 feet high, then between low walls surrounding little plantations. Soon the path widened,and on both sides we saw stone slabs, set several rows deep; presently we found ourselves under the wide vault of one of those immense fig trees whose branches are like trunks, and the glare of the sun gave way to deep shadow, the heat of noonday to soft coolness.Gradually our eyes grow accustomed to the dimness, and we distinguish our surroundings. We are in a wide square, roofed by the long branches of the giant tree. At our left is its trunk, mighty enough in itself, but increased by the numerous air-roots that stretch like cables from the crown to the earth, covering the trunk entirely in some spots, or dangling softly in the wind, ending in large tassels of smaller roots. Lianas wind in distorted curves through the branches, like giant snakes stiffened while fighting. This square is one of the dancing-grounds of Vao. The rows of stones surround the square on three sides—two, three or more deep. Near the trunk of the great tree is a big altar of large slabs of rock; around it are stone tables of smaller size, and one or two immense coral plates, which cover the buried skull of some mighty chief. A large rock lies in the middle of the road on a primitive slide half covered by stones and earth. Long ago the islanders tried to bring it up from the beach; a strong vine served as a rope, and more than fifty men must have helped to drag the heavy rock up from the coast to the square. Half-way they got tired of the job and left the stone where it lies now, and will lie for ever.On the other side of the altar are the drums, hollow trunks, whose upper end is carved to represent a human face with wide, grinning mouth, and deep, round and hollow eyes. Rammed in aslant, leaning in all directions, they stand like clumsy, malicious demons, spiteful and brutal, as if holding their bellies with rude, immoderate laughter at their own hugeness and the puniness of mankind, at his miserable humanity, compared to the solemn repose of the great tree. In front of these are figures cut roughly out of logs, short-legged, with long bodies and exaggeratedly long faces; often they are nothing but a head, with the same smiling mouth, a long nose and narrow, oblique eyes. They are painted red, white and blue, and are hardly discernible in the dimness. On their forked heads they carry giant birds with outstretched wings,—herons,—floating as if they had just dropped through the branches on to the square.DANCING-GROUND ON VAO.DANCING-GROUND ON VAO.This is all we can see, but it is enough to make a deep impression. Outside, the sun is glaring, the leaves quiver, and the clouds are drifting across the sky, but here it is dim and cool as in a cathedral, not a breeze blows, everything is lapped in a holy calm. Abandonment, repose, sublime thoughtlessness drop down on us in the shadow of the giant tree; as if in a dream we breathe the damp, soft, mouldy air, feel the smooth earth and the green moss that covers everything like a velvet pall, and gaze at the altars, the drums and the statues.In a small clearing behind the square, surroundedby gaily coloured croton bushes, stands the men’s house—the “gamal.” Strong pillars support its gabled roof, that reaches down to the ground; the entrance is flanked by great stone slabs. Oddly branched dead trees form a hedge around the house, and on one side, on a sort of shelf, hang hundreds of boars’ jaws with curved tusks. Inside, there are a few fireplaces, simple holes in the ground, and a number of primitive stretchers of parallel bamboos, couches that the most ascetic of whites would disdain. Among the beams of the roof hang all kinds of curiosities: dancing-masks and sticks, rare fish, pigs’ jaws, bones, old weapons, amulets and so on, everything covered with a thick layer of soot from the ever-smouldering fires. These “gamals” are a kind of club-house, where the men spend the day and occasionally the night. In rainy weather they sit round the fire, smoking, gossiping and working on some tool,—a club or a fine basket. Each clan has its own gamal, which is strictly taboo for the women, and to each gamal belongs a dancing-ground like the one described. On Vao there are five, corresponding to the number of clans.Near by are the dwelling-houses and family enclosures. Each family has its square, surrounded by a wall about 1 mètre high of loose stones simply piled up, so that it is unsafe to lean against it. Behind the walls are high screens of braided reeds, which preclude the possibility of looking into the enclosure; even the doors are so protected that no one can look in; for the men are very jealous,and do not want their wives observed by strangers. These enclosures are very close together, and only narrow lanes permit circulation. As we turn a corner we may see a woman disappear quickly, giggling, while children run away with terrified howls, for what the black man is to ours the white man is to them.Having won the confidence of a native, we may be taken into his courtyard, where there is little to be seen, as all the social life goes on in the gamals or on the dancing-grounds. A dozen simple huts stand irregularly about the square, some half decayed and serving as pigsties. One hut belongs to the master, and each of his wives has a house of her own, in which to bring up her children. The yard is alive with pigs and fowls and dogs and children, more or less peacefully at play.In Vao, as in all Melanesia, the pig is the most valued of animals. All the thoughts of the native circle round the pig; for with pigs he can buy whatever his heart desires: he can have an enemy killed, he can purchase many women, he can attain the highest social standing, he can win paradise. No wonder, then, that the Vao pigs are just as carefully nursed, if not more so, than the children, and that it is the most important duty of the old matrons to watch over the welfare of the pigs. To call a young beauty “pig’s foot,” “pig’s nose,” “pig’s tail,” or similar endearing names is the greatest compliment a lover can pay. But only the male pigs are esteemed, the females are of account only as a necessary instrumentfor propagating the species, and nobody takes care of them; so they run wild, and have to look out for themselves. They are much happier than the males, which are tied all their lives to a pole under a little roof; they are carefully fed, but this, their only pleasure, is spoilt by constant and terrific toothache, caused by cruel man, who has a horrible custom of knocking out the upper eye-teeth of the male pig. The lower eye-teeth, finding nothing to rub against, grow to a surprising size, first upward, then down, until they again reach the jaw, grow on and on, through the cheek, through the jaw-bone, pushing out a few other teethen passant, then they come out of the jaw again, and curve a second, sometimes a third time, if the poor beast lives long enough. These pigs with curved tusks are the pride and wealth of every native; they are the highest coin, and power and influence depend on the number of such pigs a man owns, as well as on the size of their tusks, and this is the reason why they are so carefully watched, so that no harm may come to them or their teeth. Very rich people may have quite a number of “tuskers,” people of average means own one or two, and paupers none at all, but they may have the satisfaction of looking at those of the others and feeding them if they like.It will be necessary to say a few words here about the pig-cult and the social organization of the natives, as they are closely connected and form a key to an understanding of the natives’ way of living and thinking. I wish to state at once, however, that thefollowing remarks do not pretend to be correct in all details. It is very hard to make any researches as to these matters, as the natives themselves have only the vaguest notions on the subject, and entirely lack abstract ideas, so that they fail to understand many of the questions put to them. Without an exact knowledge of the language, and much personal observation, it is hardly possible to obtain reliable results, especially as the old men are unwilling to tell all they know, and the young know very little, but rely on the knowledge of the old chiefs. Interpreters are of no use, and direct questioning has but little result, as the people soon become suspicious or tired of thinking, and answer as they suppose the white man would wish, so as to have done with the catechizing as soon as possible. Perfect familiarity with the language, habits and character of the natives is necessary, and their confidence must be won, in order to make any progress in the investigation of these problems. Missionaries are the men to unite these qualities, but, unfortunately, the missionaries of the New Hebrides do not seem to take much interest in the strange cult so highly developed here; so that, for want of something better, my own observations may be acceptable.The pig-cult, or “Suque,” is found almost all over Melanesia. It is most highly developed in the Banks Islands and the Central New Hebrides, and rules the entire life of the natives; yet it forms only a part of their religion, and probably a newer part, while the fundamental principle is ancestor-worship. We mustnot expect to find in the native mind clear conceptions of transcendental things. The religious ceremonies differ in adjoining villages, and so do the ideas concerning the other world. There is no regular dogma; and since even the conceptions of religions with well-defined dogmas are constantly changing, religions which are handed down by oral tradition only, and in the vaguest way, must necessarily be fluctuating. Following the natural laws of thought, religious conceptions split into numerous local varieties, and it is the task of the scientist to seek, amid this variety of exterior forms, the common underlying idea, long forgotten by everyone else, and to ascertain what it was in its original purity, without additions and deformations.My observations led me to the following results: according to native belief, the soul leaves the body after death, and wanders about near by. Apparently the idea is that it remains in connection with the body for a certain time, for in some districts the corpse is fed for five days or longer; in Vao a bamboo tube is used, which leads from the surface of the earth to the mouth of the buried body. The souls of low-caste people soon disappear, but the higher the caste, the longer the soul stays on earth. Still, the natives have some conception of a paradise in which the soul of the high-caste finds all bliss and delight, and which the soul ultimately enters. This idea may have come up since the arrival of Christianity. It is customary to hold a death-feast for a man of no caste after five days, for a low-caste after one hundred, and for ahigh-caste after three hundred or even one thousand days. The soul remains in contact with the world of the living, and may be perceived as a good or bad spirit of as much power as the man had when alive. To obtain the favour and assistance of these spirits seems to be the fundamental idea, the main object of religion in the New Hebrides. The spirit of an ancestor will naturally favour his descendants, unless they have offended him deeply; and the more powerful the dead ancestor was, the stronger and safer do his descendants feel under the protection of his spirit. If a man has no powerful ancestral ghost, he joins some strong clan, and strives for the favour of its tutelary spirit by means of rich sacrifices. The spirits admit those who bring many sacrifices to their special favour and intimacy; these people are supposed to have gone half-way to the spirit-world, and even in this life they are dreaded and enormously influential; for the spirits will help him in every way, the elements are his servants, and he can perform the most terrible sorceries. Thus he terrorizes the country, becomes chief, and after death he joins the other ghosts as a powerful member of their company.WOMAN FROM TANNA.WOMAN FROM TANNA.The “Suque” transferred the hierarchy of the spirit-world into this world, and regulated the number of castes and the method of rising in caste; it also originated the rules for entering into connection with the other world. Its origin probably goes back to one of those secret societies so highly developed in Melanesia, of which I shall speak later.Caste is obtained by sacrificing tusked pigs; it ispossible that this has taken the place of former human sacrifices. The “Suque” is the community of all the men who have sacrificed tusked pigs. It is an international society, divided into numerous groups composed of the men of different islands, districts, villages or clans. It is the only means to assure oneself of bliss hereafter, and to obtain power and wealth on earth, and whoever fails to join the “Suque” is an outcast, a man of no importance, without friends and without protectors, whether living men or spirits, and therefore exposed to every ill-treatment and utter contempt. This explains the all-important position of the “Suque” in the life of the natives, being the expression both of religion and of ambition.Frequently a young boy will join the “Suque,” an uncle on the mother’s side donating pigs to be sacrificed in his name after he has touched them with his hand. The boy is then free of the gamal, the “Suque” club-house. Later he works his way up in the society by attending numberless feasts and ceremonies, by having endless discussions on tusked pigs, by borrowing, buying and lending pigs, by plotting and sacrificing.The number of castes varies on different islands: in Ambrym there are fourteen, in Venua Lava twenty, in Aoba ten. On some islands, Santo, for example, the caste-system is connected with a severe separation of the fires; each caste cooks over its own fire, and loses its degree on eating food cooked on the fire of a lower caste. In these districts the floor of the gamal is frequently marked by bamboo rodsor sticks in as many divisions as there are castes each containing one fireplace. The highest castes sit at the front end of the gamal, the lower at the back; these are forbidden to enter the gamal from the front, in order not to touch or step over the fireplaces of their superiors. At each rise in caste the novice receives the new fire, rubbed on a special stick and decorated with flowers; certain ceremonies attend the cooking of the first food with this new fire. It is then carefully tended in the fireplace, and if it goes out it has to be rubbed afresh with the stick. The number of pigs necessary to a rise in caste also varies on the different islands. Generally, only tusked pigs are counted, and there are feasts at which as many as forty of these valuable animals are killed. Naturally, the high-castes cannot keep all the animals themselves, but they lend them, like money, to those who do not possess the number needed to rise in caste; in this way a complicated credit-system has developed, by which the so-called chiefs support and strengthen their influence and tyrannize the country.A young man, as a rule, owns no tusked pigs. If he wishes to raise his caste, he has to borrow from the rich high-castes, who are very willing to help him, but only at exorbitant rates of interest. First he has to win their favour by presents, and then he has to promise to return a more valuable pig later. The bargain made, the transaction takes place publicly with some ceremony. The population of the district assembles, and all the transactions are ratified which have been negotiated in private. Theowner holds the pig, the borrower dances around him and then takes the animal away. All the spectators serve as witnesses, and there is no need of a written bill. In this way nearly all the men of lower rank are in debt to the high-castes, and dependent on their goodwill, and these can obtain anything they like, simply by pressing their debtors to pay for their pigs.As a rule, the highest castes of a district work together; they are the high priests, who arrange everything connected with the “Suque,” set the dates for the feasts, and decide whether a man shall be permitted to raise his caste. They are practically omnipotent, until one of them rises by still larger sacrifices to a still higher caste, and becomes sole master. If there are no more degrees to reach, the whole scale is run through again an octave higher, so to speak. The jaws of the killed pigs are hung up in the gamal in bundles or rows, as a sign of the wealth and power of the proprietor. These chiefs are in connection with the mightiest spirits, have supernatural power and are as much hated as they are feared.There is another independent witchcraft beside the “Suque,” for weather-making, charms and poisoning, which is known to private men. They take expensive “lessons” from old sorcerers, and transmit their art to the young men they consider clever enough, for good wages. These are the real mischief-makers, for they will lend their murderous assistance to anyone for adequate payment.In some islands there is also a “Suque” for the women, but it is quite independent of that of the men, and its degrees are easier to reach. Still, women of high rank enjoy a certain consideration from the men.Real chiefs do not exist in the northern part of the New Hebrides, but the chiefs are the high-castes, who, according to their rank and the strength of their personality, have more or less influence. They cannot give direct orders, but rule indirectly through pressure, threats and encouragement. Officially, all decisions are taken in a meeting of the whole “Suque.” The chieftainship is not hereditary, but the sons and especially the nephews of high-castes generally reach high degrees themselves, being pushed by their relatives, who are naturally anxious to be surrounded by faithful and influential friends. Thus there have risen aristocratic families, who think themselves better than the others, and do not like to mix with common people. Daughters of these families command high prices, and are therefore accessible only to rich men, that is, men of high caste. Young men of less good family are naturally poor, and since a woman, as a rule, costs five pigs, it is almost impossible for them to marry, whereas old men can buy up all the young, pretty girls; the social consequences of this system are obvious. In Vao conditions are not quite so bad, because there is considerable wealth, and women are numerous, so that even young men are enabled to have a family; in consequence, the race here is healthier than elsewhere.In Vao I had occasion to attend a death-feast. The hero of the day was still alive and in excellent health; but he did not quite trust his family, and wishing to make sure that his death-feast would not be forgotten, he held it during his lifetime. His anxiety about the feast is explained by the following facts. According to Vao beliefs, the souls of the dead travel to the island of Ambrym, and after five days climb a narrow trail up to the volcano. In order that the soul may not starve on the way, the survivors often make a small canoe, load it with food and push it off into the sea, thinking it will drift after the soul. It is generally stranded behind the nearest point, bringing the neighbours a welcome addition to the day’s rations. This custom is in contradiction to the feeding of the body through a tube, and proves that quite contradictory customs can exist simultaneously, without the natives noticing it. Half-way up the volcano sits a monster with two immense shears, like a crab. If no pigs have been sacrificed for the soul by the fifth day, the poor soul is alone and the monster swallows it; but if the sacrifice has been performed, the souls of the sacrificed pigs follow after the human soul, and as the monster prefers pig, the human has time to escape and to reach the entrance to paradise on top of the volcano, where there are pigs, women, dancing and feasting in plenty.The feast I was to attend had been in preparation for some time. On all the dancing-grounds long bamboos were in readiness, loaded with yams and flowers, as presents to the host. Everything wasbrought to his gamal, and the whole morning passed in distributing the gifts, each family receiving a few yams, a little pig, some sprouted cocoa-nuts and a few rolls of money. This money consists of long, narrow, fringed mats, neatly rolled up; in this case they were supposed to be the mats in which the dead are buried, and which are taken out of the grave after a while. These mats formerly served as small coin, as similar mats are still used on other islands, and they still represent a value of about one shilling; but in daily life they have been quite replaced by European coin, and only appear on such ceremonial occasions.All the gifts were piled up, and when the host was convinced that every guest had received his just dues, he took a stick and smashed the heads of all the pigs that were tied up in readiness for this ceremony. They struggled for a moment, the dogs came and licked the blood, and then each guest took away his portion, to have a private feast at home. The whole performance made a desperately business-like impression, and everything was done most prosaically; as for me, having no better dinner than usual to look forward to, I quite missed the slightly excited holiday feeling that ought to go with a great feast. Formerly, the braining of the pigs was done with skilfully carved clubs, instead of mere sticks, and this alone must have given the action something of solemnity; but these clubs have long since been sold to collectors and never replaced.In spite of their frequent intercourse with whites,the people of Vao are still confirmed cannibals, only they have not many opportunities for gratifying their taste in this direction. Still, not many years ago, they had killed and eaten an enemy, and each individual, even the little children, had received a small morsel of the body to eat, either with the idea of destroying the enemy entirely, or as the greatest insult that could be offered to him.HOUSE FENCES ON VAO, MADE FROM STONE WALLS AND REED SCREENS.HOUSE FENCES ON VAO, MADE FROM STONE WALLS AND REED SCREENS.These same people can be so gay, childlike, kind and obliging, tactful and generous, that one can hardly believe the accounts one often hears of sudden outbreaks of brutal savagery, devilish wickedness, ingratitude and falsehood, until one has experienced them himself. The flattering and confiding child will turn suddenly and without apparent reason into a man full of gloom and hatred. All those repressing influences which lead the dwellers in civilized lands to some consistency of action are lacking here, and the morals of the natives run along other lines than ours. Faith and truth are no virtues, constancy and perseverance do not exist. The same man who can torture his wife to death from wanton cruelty, holding her limbs over the fire till they are charred, etc., will be inconsolable over the death of a son for a long time, and will wear a curl, a tooth or a finger-joint of the dead as a valuable relic round his neck; and the same man who is capable of preparing a murder in cold blood for days, may, in some propitious evening hour, relate the most charming and poetic fairy-tales. A priest whom I met knew quite a number of such stories from a man whom he haddigged alive out of the grave, where his relatives had buried him, thinking him old enough to die. This is not a rare occurrence; sometimes the old people themselves are tired of life and ask to be killed.What has preserved the old customs so well on Vao is the aversion of the natives to plantation work. But one day, while I was there, a ship rode at anchor off the coast, and a member of the French survey party landed, collected all the men on the beach, and told them that unless there were thirty men on board that evening, the whole tribe would be driven out of the island, as the island belonged to the French company. This was, to say the least, extremely doubtful; moreover, it would never have been feasible to expropriate the natives in this summary way. They were furious, but, unprotected as they were, they had to obey, and in the evening nearly all the young men assembled on the beach and were taken away in whale-boats, disappearing in the mist and darkness of the night. The old men and the women remained behind, crying loudly, so that the terrible wailing sounded sadly over the sea. Even to the mere spectator it was a tragic moment when the tribe was thus orphaned of its best men, and one could not help being revolted by the whole proceeding. It was not womanish pity for the men who were taken off to work, but regret for the consequent disappearance of immemorial forms of tribal life. Next day the beach was empty. Old men and women crossed over to the yam-fields, the little children played as usual, butthe gay shouts were silent, the beautiful, brown, supple-bodied young men were gone, and I no longer felt the joy of living which had been Vao’s greatest charm. The old men were sulky and sad, and spoke of leaving Vao for good and settling somewhere far inland. It is not surprising that the whole race has lost the will to live, and that children are considered an undesirable gift, of which one would rather be rid. What hopelessness lies in the words I once heard a woman of Vao say: “Why should we have any more children? Since the white man came they all die.” And die they certainly do. Regions that once swarmed with people are now lonely; where, ten years ago, there were large villages, we find the desert bush, and in some districts the population has decreased by one-third in the last seven years. In fifteen years the native race will have practically disappeared.Chapter VIPort Olry and a “Sing-Sing”The event just described reduced my chance of finding servants in Vao to a minimum, as all the able-bodied young men had been taken away. I therefore sailed with the missionary for his station at Port Olry. Our route lay along the east coast of Santo. Grey rain-clouds hung on the high mountains in the interior, the sun shone faintly through the misty atmosphere, the greyish-blue sea and the greyish-green shore, with the brown boulders on the beach, formed a study in grey, whose hypnotic effect was increased by a warm, weary wind. Whoever was not on duty at the tiller lay down on deck, and as in a dream we floated slowly along the coast past lonely islands and bays; whenever we looked up we saw the same picture, only the outlines seemed to have shifted a little. We anchored near a lonely isle, to find out whether its only inhabitant, an old Frenchman, was still alive. He had arrived there a year ago, full of the most brilliant hopes, which, however, had not materialized. He had no boat, hardly ever saw a human being, and lived on wild fruits. Hardly anyone knows him or visits him, but he had not lost courage, and asked for nothing but a little salt, which we gave him, and then sailed on.In Hog Harbour we spent the night and enjoyed a hearty English breakfast with the planters, the Messrs. Th., who have a large and beautiful plantation; then we continued our cruise. The country had changed somewhat; mighty banks of coral formed high tablelands that fell vertically down to the sea, and the living reef stretched seaward under the water. These tablelands were intersected by flat valleys, in the centre of which rose steep hills, like huge bastions dominating the country round. The islands off the coast were covered with thick vegetation, with white chalk cliffs gleaming through them at intervals. A thin mist filled the valleys with violet hues, the sea was bright and a fresh breeze carried us gaily along. The aspect of the country displayed the energies of elemental powers: nowhere can the origin of chalk mountains be more plainly seen than here, where we have the process before us in all its stages, from the living reef, shining purple through the sea, to the sandy beach strewn with bits of coral, to the high table mountain. We anchored at a headland near a small river, and were cordially welcomed by the missionary’s dogs, cats, pigs and native teacher. There was also a young girl whom the father had once dug out of her grave, where a hard-hearted mother had buried her.I had an extremely interesting time at Port Olry. The population here is somewhat different from that of the rest of Santo: very dark-skinned, tall and different in physiognomy. It may be called typically Melanesian, while many other races show Polynesianadmixture. The race here is very strong, coarse-featured and lives in the simplest way, without any industries, and is the primitive population in the New Hebrides.A few details as to personal appearance may be of interest. Among the ornaments used are very large combs, decorated with pigs’ tails. Pigs’ tails also are stuck into the hair and ears. The hair is worn very long, rolled into little curls and plentifully oiled. A most peculiar deformation is applied to the nose and results in extreme ugliness: the septum is perforated, and instead of merely inserting a stick, a springy spiral is used, which presses the nose upward and forward, so that in time it develops into an immense, shapeless lump, as if numberless wasps had stung it. It takes a long time to get used to this sight, especially as the nose is made still more conspicuous by being painted with a bright red stripe on its point, and two black ones on each side. A more attractive ornament are flowers, which the men stick into their hair, where they are very effective on the dark background. In the lobes of the ears they wear spirals of tortoise-shell or thin ornaments of bone; the men often paint their faces with a mixture of soot and grease, generally the upper half of the forehead, the lower part of the cheeks and the back of the nose. The women and children prefer the red juice of a fruit, with which they paint their faces in all sorts of mysterious designs.The dress of the men consists of a large belt, purposely worn very low so as to show the beautifulcurve of the loins. About six small mats hang down in front. Formerly, and even at the present day on festival occasions, they wore on the back an ovoid of wood; the purpose is quite unknown, but may originally have been a portable seat, as the Melanesian does not like to sit on the bare ground. Provided with this article of dress the wearer did not need to look about for a seat.If the appearance of the men, while not beautiful, is at least impressive, the women are so very much disfigured that it takes quite some time to grow accustomed to their style of beauty. They are not allowed to wear many ornaments, have to shave their heads, and generally rub them with lime, so that they look rather like white-headed vultures, all the more so as the deformed nose protrudes like a beak and the mouth is large. The two upper incisors are broken out as a sign of matrimony.Their figures, except in young girls, are generally wasted, yet one occasionally meets with a woman of fine and symmetrical build. The dress is restricted to a small leaf, attached to a thin loin-string. Both men and women generally wear at the back a bundle of leaves; women and boys have strongly scented herbs, the men coloured croton, the shade depending on the caste of the wearer. The highest castes wear the darkest, nearly black, varieties. These croton bushes are planted along the sides of the gamals, so as to furnish the men’s ornaments; and they lend the sombre places some brightness and colour.Half for ornament and half for purposes of healingare the large scars which may frequently be seen on the shoulders or breasts of the natives. The cuts are supposed to cure internal pains; the scabs are frequently scratched off, until the scar is large and high, and may be considered ornamental. Apropos of this medical detail I may mention another remedy, for rheumatism: with a tiny bow and arrow a great number of small cuts are shot into the skin of the part affected; the scars from these wounds form a network of fine, hardly noticeable designs on the skin.The life and cult of the natives are as simple as their dress. The houses are scattered and hidden in the bush, grouped vaguely around the gamal, which stands alone on a bare square. No statues stand there, nor tall, upright drums; only a few small drums lie in a puddle around the gamal.The dwelling-houses are simply gable-roofs, always without side-walls and often without any walls at all. They are divided into a pig-stable and a living-room, unless the owners prefer to have their pigs living in the same space with themselves.A few flat wooden dishes are the only implements the native does not find ready-made in nature. Cooking is done with heated stones heaped around the food, which has been previously wrapped up in banana leaves. Lime-stones naturally cannot be used for that purpose, and volcanic stones have often to be brought from quite a distance, so that these cooking-stones are treated with some care. In place of knives the natives use shells or inland bamboo-splinters,but both are rapidly being replaced by European knives.On approaching a village we are first frightened by a few pigs, which run away grunting and scolding into the thicket. Then a pack of dogs announce our arrival, threatening us with hypocritical zeal. A few children, playing in the dirt among the pigs, jump up and run away, then slowly return, take us by the hand and stare into our faces. At noon we will generally find all the men assembled in the gamal making “lap-lap.” Lap-lap is the national dish of the natives of the New Hebrides; quite one-fifth part of their lives is spent in making and eating lap-lap. The work is not strenuous. The cook sits on the ground and rubs the fruit, yam or taro, on a piece of rough coral or a palm-sheath, thus making a thick paste, which is wrapped up in banana leaves and cooked between stones. After a few hours’ cooking it looks like a thick pudding and does not taste at all bad. For flavouring, cocoa-nut milk is poured over it, or it is mixed with cabbage, grease, nuts, roasted and ground, or occasionally with maggots. Besides this principal dish, sweet potatoes, manioc, bread-fruit, pineapples, bananas, etc., are eaten in season, and if the natives were less careless, they would never need to starve, as frequently happens.The men are not much disturbed by our arrival. They offer us a log to sit on, and continue to rub their yam, talking us over the while. They seem to be a very peaceful and friendly crowd, yet in this district they are particularly cruel and treacherous,and only a few days after my departure war broke out. The gamal is bare, except for a few wooden dishes hanging in the roof, and weapons of all kinds, not in full sight, but ready at any moment. We can see rifles, arrows and clubs. The clubs are very simple, either straight or curved sticks. Old pieces are highly valued, and carry marks indicating how many victims have been killed with them: I saw one club with sixty-seven of these marks. In former years the spear with about two hundred and fifty points of human bones was much used, but is now quite replaced by the rifle. The bones for spear-points and arrow-heads are taken from the bodies of dead relatives and high-castes. The corpse is buried in the house, and when it is decayed the bones of the limbs are dug out, split, polished and used for weapons. The idea is that the courage and skill of the dead man may be transmitted to the owner of the weapon, also, that the dead man may take revenge on his murderer, as every death is considered to have been caused by some enemy. These bones are naturally full of the poisons of the corpse, and may cause tetanus at the slightest scratch. On the arrows they are extremely sharp and only slightly attached to the wood, so that they stick in the flesh and increase the inflammation. Besides, they are often dipped in some special poison.GAMAL NEAR PORT OLROY, ABOUT SIXTY YARDS LONG.GAMAL NEAR PORT OLROY, ABOUT SIXTY YARDS LONG.All over the archipelago the arrows are very carefully made, and almost every island has its own type, although they all resemble each other. Many are covered at the point with a fine spiral binding,and the small triangles thus formed are painted in rows—red, green and white. Much less care is bestowed on the fish- and bird-arrows, which are three-pointed as a rule, and often have no point at all, but only a knob, so as to stun the bird and not to stick in the branches of the trees.Shields are unknown. It would seem that the arrow was not, as elsewhere, the principal weapon, but rather the spear and club, and the wars were not very deadly, as the natives’ skill in handling their weapons was equalled by their skill in dodging them.Having inspected the gamal, we received from the highest caste present a gift of some yam, or taro, which we requited with some sticks of tobacco. The length of the gamal depends on the caste of the chief who builds it. I saw a gamal 60 mètres long, and while this length seems senseless to-day, because of the scanty population, it was necessary in former days, when the number of a man’s followers rose with his rank. Not many years ago these houses were filled at night with sleeping warriors, each with his weapons at hand, ready for a fight. To-day these long, dark, deserted houses are too dismal for the few remaining men, so that they generally build a small gamal beside the big one.To have killed a man, no matter in what way, is a great honour, and gives the right to wear a special plume of white and black feathers. Such plumes are not rare in Port Olry.Each man has his own fire, and cooks his own food; for, as I have said, it would mean the loss ofcaste to eat food cooked on the fire of a lower caste. Women are considered unworthy to cook a man’s meal; in fact, their standing here is probably the lowest in all the archipelago. Still, they do not lack amusement; they gather like the men for social carousals, and are giggling and chattering all day long. Their principal occupation is the cultivation of the fields, but where Nature is so open-handed this is not such a task as we might think when we see them coming home in the afternoon, panting under an immense load of fruit, with a pile of firewood on top, a child on their back and possibly dragging another by the hand. Port Olry is the only place in the New Hebrides where the women carry loads on their heads. Everywhere else they carry them on their backs in baskets of cocoa-nut leaves. In consequence the women here are remarkable for their erect and supple carriage.The work in the fields consists merely of digging out the yam and picking other fruit, and it is a sociable affair, with much talking and laughter. There is always something to eat, such as an unripe cocoa-nut or a banana. Serious work is not necessary except at the planting season, when the bush has to be cleared. Then a whole clan usually works together, the men helping quite energetically, until the fields are fenced in and ready for planting; then they hold a feast, a big “kai-kai,” and leave the rest of the work to the women. The fences are made to keep out the pigs, and are built in the simplest way: sticks of the wild cotton-wood tree,which grows rankly everywhere, are stuck into the ground at short intervals; they immediately begin to sprout, and after a short time form a living and impenetrable hedge. But they last much longer than is necessary, so that everywhere the fences of old gardens bar the road and force the traveller to make endless detours, all the more so as the natives have a way of making their fields right across the paths whenever it suits them.The number of women here amounts only to about one-fourth of that of the men. One reason for this is the custom of killing all the widows of a chief, a custom which was all the more pernicious as the chiefs, as a rule, owned most of the young females, while the young men could barely afford to buy an old widow. Happily this custom is dying out, owing to the influence of the planters and missionaries; they appealed, not unwisely, to the sensuality of the young men, who were thus depriving themselves of the women. Strange to say, the women were not altogether pleased with this change, many desiring to die, for fear they might be haunted by the offended spirit of their husband.When a chief died, the execution did not take place at once. The body was exposed in a special little hut in the thicket, and left to decay, which process was hastened by the climate and the flies. Then a death-feast was prepared, and the widows, half frantic with mad dancing and howling, were strangled.Ordinary people are buried in their own houses,which generally decay afterwards. Often the widow had to sleep beside the decaying body for one hundred days.Being short of boys, I could not visit many of the villages inland, and I stayed on at the mission station, where there was generally something for me to do, as the natives frequently came loitering about the station. I made use of their presence as much as possible for anthropological measurements, but I could not always find willing subjects. Everything depends on the humour of the crowd; if they make fun of the first victim, the case is lost, as no second man is willing to be the butt of the innumerable gibes showered on the person under the instruments. Things are more favourable if it is only fear of some dangerous enchantment that holds them back, for then persuasion and liberal gifts of tobacco generally overcome their fears. The best subjects are those who pretend to understand the scientific meaning of the operation, or the utterly indifferent, who never think about it at all, are quite surprised to be suddenly presented with tobacco, and go home, shaking their heads over the many queer madnesses of white men. I took as many photographs as possible, and my pictures made quite a sensation. Once, when I showed his portrait to one of the dandies with the oiled and curled wig, he ran away with a cry of terror at his undreamt-of ugliness, and returned after a short while with his hair cut. His deformed nose, however, resisted all attempts at restoration.The natives showed great reluctance in bringing me skulls and skeletons. As the bones decay very quickly in the tropics, only skulls of people recently deceased can be had. The demon, or soul, of the dead is supposed to be too lively as yet to be wantonly offended; in any case, one dislikes to disturb one’s own relatives, while there is less delicacy about those of others. Still, in course of time, I gathered quite a good collection of skulls at the station. They were brought carefully wrapped up in leaves, fastened with lianas, and tied to long sticks, with which the bearer held the disgusting object as far from him as possible. The bundles were laid down, and the people watched with admiring disgust as I untied the ropes and handled the bones as one would any other object. Everything that had touched the bones became to the natives an object of the greatest awe; still they enjoyed pushing the leaves that had wrapped them up under the feet of an unsuspecting friend, who presently, warned of the danger, escaped with a terrified shriek and a wild jump. It would seem that physical disgust had as much to do with all this as religious fear, although the natives show none of this disgust at handling the remains of pigs. Naturally, the old men were the most superstitious; the young ones were more emancipated, some of them even going the length of picking up a bone with their toes.Most of them had quite a similar dread of snakes, but some men handled them without muchfear, and brought me large specimens, which they had caught in a sling and then wrapped up in leaves. While I killed and skinned a big snake, a large crowd always surrounded me, ever ready for flight, and later my boys chased them with the empty skin, a performance which always ended in great laughing and dancing.I had been in Port Olry for three weeks, waiting anxiously every day for theMarie-Henry, which was to bring the luggage I had left behind at the Segond Channel. My outfit began to be insufficient; what I needed most was chemicals for the preservation of my zoological specimens, which I had plenty of time and occasion to collect here. One day theMarie-Henry, a large schooner, arrived, but my luggage had been forgotten. I was much disappointed, as I saw no means of recovering it in the near future. TheMarie-Henrywas bound for Talamacco, in Big Bay, and took the Rev. Father and myself along.One of the passengers was Mr. F., a planter and trader in Talamacco, and we soon became good friends with him and some of the others. Mr. F. was very kind, and promised to use all his influence to help me find boys. The weather was bad, and we had to tack about all night; happily, we were more comfortable on the big schooner than on the little cutters. At Talamacco Mr. F. offered us his hospitality, and as it rained continually, we were very glad to stay in his house, spending the time in sipping gin and winding up a hoarse gramophone.Thus two lazy days passed, during which our host was constantly working for me, sending his foreman, the “moli,” to all the neighbouring villages, with such good results that at last I was able to engage four boys for two months. I took them on board at once, well pleased to have the means, at last, of moving about independently.We sailed in the evening, and when, next morning, we rounded Cape Quiros, we found a heavy sea, so that the big ship pitched and ploughed with dull hissing through the foaming waves. She lay aslant under the pressure of the wind that whistled in the rigging, and the full curve of the great sails was a fine sight; but it was evident that the sails and ropes were in a very rotten condition, and soon, with anxious looks, we followed the growth of a tear in the mainsail, wondering whether the mast would stand the strain. A heavy sea broke the rudder, and altogether it was high time to land when we entered Port Olry in the late afternoon.A few days later I started for Hog Harbour, for the plantation of the Messrs. Th., near which I meant to attend a great feast, or “sing-sing.” This meant a march of several hours through the bush. My boys had all put on their best finery,—trousers, shirts, gay handkerchiefs,—and had painted their hair with fresh lime.“Well, boys, are you ready?” “Yes, Masta,” they answer, with conviction, though they are far from ready, as they are still tying their bundles. After waiting a while, I say, “Well, me, me go.”They answer, “All right, you go.” I take a few steps and wait again. One of them appears in front of the hut to look for a stick to hang his bundle on, another cannot find his pipe; still, after a quarter of an hour, we can really start. The boys sing and laugh, but as we enter the forest darkness they suddenly become quiet, as if the sternness of the bush oppressed their souls. We talk but little, and only in undertones. These woods have none of the happy, sensuous luxuriance which fancy lends to every tropical forest; there is a harshness, a selfish struggle for the first place among the different plants, a deadly battling for air and light. Giant trees with spreading crowns suppress everything around, kill every rival and leave only small and insignificant shrubs alive. Between them, smaller trees strive for light; on tall, straight, thin stems they have secured a place and developed a crown. Others look for light in roundabout ways, making use of every gap their neighbours leave, and rise upward in soft coils. All these form a high roof, under which younger and weaker plants lead a skimped life—hardwood trees on thin trunks, with small, unassuming leaves, and vulgar softwood with large, flabby foliage. Around and across all this wind the parasites, lianas, rotang, some stretched like ropes from one trunk to another, some rising in elegant curves from the ground, some attached to other trunks and sucking out their life with a thousand roots, others interlaced in the air in distorted curves. All these grow and thrive on the bodies of former generations on the damp,mouldy ground, where leaves rot and trunks decay, and where it is always wet, as never a sunbeam can strike in so far.Thus it is sad in the forest, and strangely quiet, as in a churchyard, for not even the wind can penetrate the green surface. It passes rushing through the crowns, so that sometimes we catch an upward glimpse of bright yellow sunshine as though out of a deep gully. And as men in sternest fight are silent, using all their energy for one purpose, so here there is no sign of gay and happy life, there are no flowers or coloured leaves, but the endless, dull green, in an infinity of shapes.Even the animals seem to shun the dark forest depths; only on the highest trees a few pigeons bathe in the sun, and as they fly heavily over the wood, their call sounds, melancholy as a sad dream, from afar. A lonely butterfly flutters among the trees, a delicate being, unused to this dark world, seeking in vain for a ray of sun and a breath of fresh air. Sometimes we hear the grunt of an invisible pig, the breaking of branches and the rustling of leaves as it runs away. Moisture and lowering gloom brood over the swampy earth; one would not be surprised if suddenly the ground were to move and wriggle like slimy snakes tightly knotted around each other. Thorns catch the limbs, vines catch the feet, and the wanderer, stumbling along, almost fancies he can hear the spiteful laughter of malicious demons. One feels tired, worried, unsafe, as if in an enemy’s country, helplessly following the guide, who walksnoiselessly on the soft ground. With a branch he sweeps aside the innumerable spider-webs that droop across the path, to keep them from hanging in our faces. Silently the other men follow behind; once in a while a dry branch snaps or a trunk creaks.In this dark monotony we go on for hours, without an outlook, and seemingly without purpose or direction, on a hardly visible path, in an endless wilderness. We pass thousands of trees, climb over hundreds of fallen trunks and brush past millions of creepers. Sometimes we enter a clearing, where agianttree has fallen or a village used to stand. Sometimes great coral rocks lie in the thicket; the pools at their foot are a wallowing-place for pigs.It is a confusing walk; one feels quite dizzy with the constantly passing stems and branches, and a white man would be lost in this wilderness without the native, whose home it is. He sees everything, every track of beast or bird, and finds signs on every tree and vine, peculiarities of shape or grouping, which he recognizes with unerring certainty. He describes the least suggestion of a trail, a footprint, or a knife-cut, or a torn leaf. As the white man finds his way about a city by means of street signs, so the savage reads his directions in the forest from the trees and the ground. He knows every plant and its uses, the best wood for fires; he knows when he may expect to find water, and which liana makes the strongest rope. Yet even he seems to feel somethingof the appalling loneliness of the primeval forest.Our path leads steeply up and down, over loose coral blocks, between ferns and mosses; lianas serve as ropes to help us climb over coral rocks, and with our knives we hew a passage through thorny creepers and thick bush. The road runs in zigzags, sometimes turning back to go round fallen trunks and swampy places, so that we really walk three or four times the distance to Hog Harbour. Our guide uses his bush-knife steadily and to good purpose: he sees where the creepers interlace and which branch is the chief hindrance, and in a few deft cuts the tangle falls.At last—it seems an eternity since we dived into the forest—we hear from afar, through the green walls, a dull roaring, and as we go on, we distinguish the thunder of the breakers like the beating of a great pulse. Suddenly the thicket lightens, and we stand on the beach, blinded by the splendour of light that pours on us, but breathing freely in the fresh air that blows from the far horizon. We should like to stretch out on the sand and enjoy the free space after the forest gloom; but after a short rest we go on, for this is only half-way to our destination, and we dive once more into the semi-darkness.Towards evening we reach the plantation of the Messrs. Th. They are Australians of good family, and their place is splendidly kept. I was struck by the cleanliness of the whole establishment, the good quarters of the native labourers, the quiet way inwhich work was done, the pleasant relations between masters and hands, and last, but not least, the healthy and happy appearance of the latter.The brothers had just finished the construction of what was quite a village, its white lime walls shining invitingly through the green of the cocoa-nut palms. There was a large kitchen, a storehouse, a tool-shed, a bakery, a dwelling-house and a light, open summer-house, a delightful spot, where we dined in the cool sea-breeze and sipped whisky in the moonlight, while the palm-leaves waved dreamily. Then there was a large poultry yard, pigsty and paddocks, and along the beach were the boat-houses, drying-sheds and storehouses, shaded by old trees. The boys’ quarters were roomy, eight sleeping together in an airy hut, while the married couples had houses of their own. The boys slept on high beds, each with his “bocase” underneath, to hold his possessions, while all sorts of common property hung in the roof—nets, fish-spears, bows, guns, etc.Such plantations, where the natives lack neither food nor good treatment, can only have a favourable influence on the race, and it is not quite clear why the Presbyterian missionaries do not like their young men to go in for plantation work. Owing to the good treatment of their hands the Messrs. Th. have always had enough labourers, and have been able to develop their plantation wonderfully. It consists almost exclusively of cocoa-nut palms, planted on ground wrested from the forest in a hard fight. When I was there the trees were not yet in fullbearing, but the proprietors had every reason to expect a very considerable income in a few years. The cultivation of the cocoa-nut is extremely simple; the only hard work is the first clearing of the ground, and keeping the young trees free from lianas. Once they are grown up, they are able to keep down the bush themselves to a certain extent, and then the work consists in picking up the ripe nuts from the ground, husking and drying them. The net profit from one tree is estimated at one shilling per annum. Besides the cultivation of their plantation the Messrs. Th. plied a flourishing trade in coprah and sandalwood all along the west coast of Santo, which they visited frequently in their cutter. This same cutter was often a great help to me, and, indeed, her owners always befriended me in the most generous way, and many are the pleasant hours I spent in their company.After dinner that first day we went to the village where the “sing-sing” was to take place. There was no moon, and the night was pitch dark. The boys had made torches of palm-leaves, which they kept burning by means of constant swinging. They flared up in dull, red flames, lighting up the nearest surroundings, and we wound our way upwards through the trunk vines and leaves that nearly shut in the path. It seemed as if we were groping about without a direction, as if looking for a match in a dark room. Soon, however, we heard the dull sound of the drums, and the noise led us to the plateau, till we could see the red glare of afire and hear the rough voices of men and the shrill singing of women.GROUP OF LARGE AND SMALL DRUMS ON A DANCING-GROUND NEAR PORT SANDWICH.GROUP OF LARGE AND SMALL DRUMS ON A DANCING-GROUND NEAR PORT SANDWICH.Unnoticed, we entered the dancing-ground. A number of men were standing in a circle round a huge fire, their silhouettes cutting sharply into the red glare. Out of a tangle of clubs, rifles, plumes, curly wigs, round heads, bows and violently gesticulating arms, sounds an irregular shrieking, yelling, whistling and howling, uniting occasionally to a monotonous song. The men stamp the measure, some begin to whirl about, others rush towards the fire; now and then a huge log breaks in two and crowns the dark, excited crowd with a brilliant column of circling sparks. Then everybody yells delightedly, and the shouting and dancing sets in with renewed vigour. Everyone is hoarse, panting and covered with perspiration, which paints light streaks on the sooty faces and bodies.Noticing us, a man rushes playfully towards us, threateningly swinging his club, his eyes and teeth shining in the darkness; then he returns to the shouting, dancing mob around the fire. Half-grown boys sneak through the crowd; they are the most excited of all, and stamp the ground wildly with their disproportionately large feet, kicking and shrieking in unpleasant ecstasy. All this goes on among the guests; the hosts keep a little apart, near a scaffolding, on which yams are attached. The men circle slowly round this altar, carrying decorated bamboos, with which they mark the measure, stamping them on the ground with a thud. They singa monotonous tune, one man starting and the others joining in; the dance consists of slow, springy jumps from one foot to the other.On two sides of this dancing circle the women stand in line, painted all over with soot. When the men’s deep song is ended, they chant the same melody with thin, shrill voices. Once in a while they join in the dance, taking a turn with some one man, then disappearing; they are all much excited; only a few old hags stand apart, who are past worldly pleasures, and have known such feasts for many, many years.The whole thing looks grotesque and uncanny, yet the pleasure in mere noise and dancing is childish and harmless. The picture is imposing and beautiful in its simplicity, gruesome in its wildness and sensuality, and splendid with the red lights which play on the shining, naked bodies. In the blackness of the night nothing is visible but that red-lit group of two or three hundred men, careless of to-morrow, given up entirely to the pleasure of the moment. The spectacle lasts all night, and the crowd becomes more and more wrought up, the leaps of the dancers wilder, the singing louder. We stand aside, incapable of feeling with these people or sharing their joy, realizing that theirs is a perfectly strange atmosphere which will never be ours.Towards morning we left, none too early, for a tremendous shower came down and kept on all next morning. I went up to the village again, tofind a most dismal and dejected crowd. Around the square, in the damp forest, seedy natives stood and squatted in small groups, shivering with cold and wet. Some tried to warm themselves around fires, but with poor success. Bored and unhappy, they stared at us as we passed, and did not move. Women and children had made umbrellas of large flat leaves, which they carried on their heads; the soot which had formed their festival dress was washed off by the rain. The square itself was deserted, save for a pack of dogs and a few little boys, rolling about in the mud puddles. Once in a while an old man would come out of the gamal, yawn and disappear. In short, it was alendemain de fêteof the worst kind.About once in a quarter of an hour a man would come to bring a tusked pig to the chief, who danced a few times round the animal, stamped his heel on the ground, uttered certain words, and retired with short, stiff steps, shaking his head, into the gamal. The morning was over by the time all the pigs were ready. I spent most of the time out of doors, rather than in the gamal, for there many of the dancers of the evening lay in all directions and in most uncomfortable positions, beside and across each other, snoring, shivering or staring sulkily into dark corners. I was offered a log to sit on, and it might have been quite acceptable had not one old man, trembling with cold, pressed closely against me to get warm, and then, half asleep, attempted to lay his shaggy, oil-soaked headon my shoulder, while legions of starved fleas attacked my limbs, forcing me to beat a hasty though belated retreat.In the afternoon about sixty pigs were tied to poles in front of the gamal, and the chief took an old gun-barrel and smashed their heads. They represented a value of about six hundred pounds! Dogs and men approached the quivering victims, the dogs to lick the blood that ran out of their mouths, the men to carry the corpses away for the feast. This was the prosaic end of the great “sing-sing.”As it is not always easy to borrow the number of pigs necessary to rise in caste, there are charms which are supposed to help in obtaining them. Generally, these are curiously shaped stones, sometimes carved in the shape of a pig, and are carried in the hand or in little baskets in the belt. Such charms are, naturally, very valuable, and are handed down for generations or bought for large sums. On this occasion the “big fellow-master” had sacrificed enough to attain a very high caste indeed, and had every reason to hold up his head with great pride.Formerly, these functions were generally graced with a special feature, in the shape of the eating of a man. As far as is known, the last cannibal meal took place in 1906; the circumstances were these: Some young men were walking through the forest, carrying their Snider rifles, loaded and cocked as usual, on their shoulders. Unluckily, one of the rifles went off, andkilled the man behind, the son of an influential native. Everyone was aware that the death was purely accidental, but the father demanded a considerable indemnity. The “murderer,” a poor and friendless youth, was unable to pay, and fled to a neighbouring village. He was received kindly enough, but his hosts sent secretly to the offended father to ask what they were to do with him. “Kill him and eat him,” was the reply. They therefore prepared a great feast, in honour, as they said, of their beloved guest, and while he was sitting cheerfully near the fire, in anticipation of the good meal to come, they killed him from behind with an axe. The body was roasted, and the people of his village were asked to the feast. One man had received the forearm and hand, and while he was chewing the muscles and pulling away at the inflectors of the fingers, the hand closed and scratched his cheek,—“all same he alive,”—whereupon the horrified guest threw his morsel away and fled into the forest.On my return to Port Olry I found that the Father had gone to visit a colleague, as his duties did not take up much of his time. His post at Port Olry was rather a forlorn hope, as the natives showed no inclination to become converts, especially not in connection with the poor Roman Catholic mission, which could not offer them any external advantages, like the rich and powerful Presbyterian mission. All the priests lived in the greatest poverty, in old houses, with very few servants. The one here had, besides a teacher from Malekula, an old native who hadquarrelled with his chief and separated from his clan. The good man was very anxious to marry, but no girl would have him, as he had had two wives, and had, quite without malice, strangled his second wife by way of curing her of an illness. I was reminded of this little episode every time I looked at the man’s long, bony fingers.One day a native asked me for medicine for his brother. I tried to find out the nature of the ailment, and decided to give him calomel, urging his brother to take it to him at once. The man had eaten a quarter of a pig all by himself, but, of course, it was said that he had been poisoned. His brother, instead of hurrying home, had a little visit with his friends at the coast, until it was dark and he was afraid to go home through the bush alone; so he waited till next morning, when it was too late. The man’s death naturally made the murder theory a certainty, so the body was not buried, but laid out in the hut, with all sorts of finery. Around it, in spite of the fearful odour, all the women sat for ten days, in a cloud of blow-flies. They burned strong-scented herbs to kill the smell, and dug a little trench across the floor, in order to keep the liquids from the decaying corpse from running into the other half of the house. The nose and mouth of the body were stopped up with clay and lime, probably to keep the soul from getting out, and the body was surrounded by a little hut. In the gamal close by sat all the men, sulky, revengeful, and planning war, which, in fact, broke out within a few days after my departure.The Messrs. Th. had been kind enough to invite me to go on a recruiting trip to Maevo, the most north-easterly island of the group. Here I found a very scanty population, showing many traces of Polynesian admixture in appearance and habits. The weather was nasty and our luck at recruiting poor, so that after a fortnight we returned to Hog Harbour. I went to Port Olry to my old priest’s house, and a few days later Mr. Th. came in his cutter to take me to Tassimaloun in Big Bay; so I bade a hearty farewell to the good Father, whom I have never had the pleasure of meeting again.
Chapter VVaoI had not yet solved the problem of how to get away from the Segond Channel and find a good field of labour, when, happily, the French priest from Port Olry came to stay a few days with his colleague at the channel, on his way to Vao, and he obligingly granted me a passage on his cutter. I left most of my luggage behind, and the schooner of the French survey party was to bring it to Port Olry later on.DANCING-GROUND ON VAO, WITH ANCESTOR HOUSES.DANCING-GROUND ON VAO, WITH ANCESTOR HOUSES.After a passage considerably prolonged by contrary winds, we arrived at Vao, a small island north-east of Malekula. When one has sailed along the lifeless, greyish-green shores of Malekula, Vao is like a sunbeam breaking through the mist. This change of mood comes gradually, as one notices the warm air of spring, and dry souls, weather-beaten captains and old pirates may hardly be aware of anything beyond a better appetite and greater thirst. And it is not easy to define what lends the little spot such a charm that the traveller feels revived as if escaped from some oppression. From a distance Vao looks like all the other islands and islets of the archipelago—a green froth floating on the white line of breakers; from near by we see, as everywhere else, the bright beach in front of the thick forest.But what impresses the traveller mournfully elsewhere,—the eternal loneliness and lifelessness of a country where nature has poured all its power into the vegetation, and seems to have forgotten man and beast,—is softened here, and an easy joy of living penetrates everything like a delicate scent, and lifts whatever meets the eye to greater significance and beauty. The celestial charm of the South Sea Islands, celebrated by the first discoverers, seems to be preserved here, warming the soul like the sweet remembrance of a happy dream. Hardly anyone who feels these impressions will wonder about their origin, but he will hasten ashore and dive into the forest, driven by a vague idea of finding some marvel. Later he will understand that the charm of Vao lies in the rich, busy human life that fills the island. It is probably the most thickly populated of the group, with about five hundred souls living in a space one mile long and three-fourths of a mile wide; and it is their happy, careless, lazy existence that makes Vao seem to the stranger like a friendly home. Here there are houses and fires, lively people who shout and play merrily, and after the loneliness which blows chill from the bush, the traveller is glad to rest and feel at home among cheerful fellow-men.About seventy outrigger boats of all sizes lie on the beach. On their bows they carry a carved heron, probably some half-forgotten totem. The bird is more or less richly carved, according to the social standing of the owner, and a severe watch is kept toprevent people from carrying carvings too fine for their degree. Similarly, we find little sticks like small seats fastened to the canoes, their number indicating the caste of the owner. Under big sheds, in the shade of the tall trees, lie large whale-boats of European manufacture, belonging to the different clans, in which the men undertake long cruises to the other islands, Santo, Aoba, Ambrym, to visit “sing-sings” and trade in pigs. Formerly they used large canoes composed of several trees fastened together with ropes of cocoa-nut fibre, and caulked with rosin, driven by sails of cocoa-nut sheaths; these would hold thirty to forty men, and were used for many murderous expeditions. For the inhabitants of Vao were regular pirates, dreaded all along the coast; they would land unexpectedly in the morning near a village, kill the men and children, steal the women and start for home with rich booty. European influences have put a stop to this sport, and with the introduction of whale-boats the picturesque canoes have disappeared from the water, and now lie rotting on the beach. Their successors (though according to old tradition, women may not enter them) are only used for peaceful purposes.In the early morning the beach is deserted, but a few hours after sunrise it is full of life. The different clans come down from their villages by narrow paths which divide near the shore into one path for the men and another for the women, leading to separate places. The men squat down near one of the boat-houses and stretch out comfortablyin the warm sand, smoking and chatting. The women, loaded with children and baskets, sit in the shade of the knobby trees which stretch their trunk-like branches horizontally over the beach, forming a natural roof against sun and rain. The half-grown boys are too lively to enjoy contemplative laziness; gossip and important deliberations about pigs and sacrifices do not interest them, and they play about between the canoes, wade in the water, look for shells on the sand, or hunt crabs or fish in the reef. Thus an hour passes. The sun has warmed the sand; after the cool night this is doubly agreeable, and a light breeze cools the air. Some mothers bathe their babies in the sea, washing and rubbing them carefully, until the coppery skin shines in the sun; the little creatures enjoy the bath immensely, and splash gaily in the element that will be their second home in days to come. Everyone on the beach is in the easiest undress: the men wear nothing but a bark belt, and the women a little apron of braided grass; the children are quite naked, unless bracelets, necklaces and ear-rings can count as dress. Having rested and amply fortified themselves for the painful resolution to take up the day’s work, people begin to prepare for departure to the fields. They have to cross the channel, about a mile wide, to reach the big island where the yam gardens lie, sheltered by the forest from the trade-winds; and this sail is the occasion for the prettiest sight Vao can offer.The tides drive the sea through the narrow channel so hard as to start a current which is almosta stream. The head-wind raises short, sharp, white-capped waves; shallow banks shine yellow through the clear water, and the coral reefs are patches of violet and crimson, and we are delighted by constant changes, new shades and various colourings, never without harmony and loveliness. A cloudless sky bends over the whole picture and shines on the red-brown bodies of the people, who bustle about their canoes, adding the bright red of their mats and dresses to the splendour of the landscape.With sudden energy the women have grabbed the boats and pushed them into the water. The girls are slim, supple and strong as the young men, the mothers and older women rather stiff, and usually hampered by at least one child, which they carry on their backs or on their hips, while another holds on to the garment which replaces our skirts. There is plenty of laughter and banter with the men, who look on unmoved at the efforts of the weaker sex, only rarely offering a helping hand.From the trees and hiding-places the paddles and the pretty triangular sails are fetched and fastened on the canoes; then the boats are pushed off and the whole crowd jumps in. The babies sit in their mothers’ laps or hang on their backs, perilously close to the water, into which they stare with big, dark eyes. By twos and threes the canoes push off, driven by vigorous paddling along the shore, against the current. Sometimes a young man wades after a canoe and joins some fair friends, sitting in front of them, as etiquette demands. The fresh breeze catchesthe sails, and the ten or fifteen canoes glide swiftly across the bright water, the spread sails looking like great red butterflies. The spray splashes from the bows, one woman steers, and the others bale out the water with cocoa-nuts,—a labour worthy of the Danaides; sometimes the outrigger lifts up and the canoe threatens to capsize, but, quick as thought, the women lean on the poles joining outrigger and canoe, and the accident is averted. In a few minutes the canoes enter the landings between the torn cliffs on the large island, the passengers jump out and carry the boats up the beach.A few stragglers, men of importance who have been detained by politics, and bachelors, who have nothing and nobody to care for but themselves, follow later on, and only a crowd of boys stays in Vao, to enjoy themselves on the beach and get into all sorts of mischief.Obliging as people sometimes are when the fancy strikes them, a youth took us over to the other island in his canoe, and was even skilful enough to keep us from capsizing. Narrow paths, bordered with impenetrable bush, led us from the beach across coral boulders up to the plantations on top of the tableland. Under some cocoa-nut palms our guide stopped, climbed nimbly up a slim trunk, as if mounting a ladder, and three green nuts dropped to the ground at our feet. Three clever strokes of the knife opened them, and we enjoyed the refreshing drink in its natural bowl. Sidepaths branched off to the gardens, where every individual or family had itspiece of ground. We saw big bananas, taro, with large, juicy leaves, yams, trained on a pretty basket-shaped trellis-work; when in bloom this looks like a huge bouquet. There were pine-apples, cabbages, cocoa-nut and bread-fruit trees, bright croton bushes and highly scented shrubs. In this green and confused abundance the native spends his day, working a little, loafing a great deal. He shoots big pigeons and little parakeets, roasts them on an improvised fire and eats them as a welcome addition to his regular meals. From sun and rain he is sheltered by simple roofs, under which everybody assembles at noon to gossip, eat and laugh.Long ago there were villages here. An enormous monolith, now broken, but once 5 mètres high, speaks for the energy of bygone generations, when this rock was carried up from the coast, probably for a monument to some great chief.While the women were gathering food for the evening meal we returned to Vao. The breeze had stiffened in the midst of the channel, and one old woman’s canoe had capsized. She clung to the boat, calling pitifully for help, which amused all the men on the shore immensely, until at last, none too soon, they went to her rescue. Such adventures are by no means harmless, as the channel swarms with sharks.We explored the interior of Vao, going first through the thicket on the shore, then through reed-grass over 6 feet high, then between low walls surrounding little plantations. Soon the path widened,and on both sides we saw stone slabs, set several rows deep; presently we found ourselves under the wide vault of one of those immense fig trees whose branches are like trunks, and the glare of the sun gave way to deep shadow, the heat of noonday to soft coolness.Gradually our eyes grow accustomed to the dimness, and we distinguish our surroundings. We are in a wide square, roofed by the long branches of the giant tree. At our left is its trunk, mighty enough in itself, but increased by the numerous air-roots that stretch like cables from the crown to the earth, covering the trunk entirely in some spots, or dangling softly in the wind, ending in large tassels of smaller roots. Lianas wind in distorted curves through the branches, like giant snakes stiffened while fighting. This square is one of the dancing-grounds of Vao. The rows of stones surround the square on three sides—two, three or more deep. Near the trunk of the great tree is a big altar of large slabs of rock; around it are stone tables of smaller size, and one or two immense coral plates, which cover the buried skull of some mighty chief. A large rock lies in the middle of the road on a primitive slide half covered by stones and earth. Long ago the islanders tried to bring it up from the beach; a strong vine served as a rope, and more than fifty men must have helped to drag the heavy rock up from the coast to the square. Half-way they got tired of the job and left the stone where it lies now, and will lie for ever.On the other side of the altar are the drums, hollow trunks, whose upper end is carved to represent a human face with wide, grinning mouth, and deep, round and hollow eyes. Rammed in aslant, leaning in all directions, they stand like clumsy, malicious demons, spiteful and brutal, as if holding their bellies with rude, immoderate laughter at their own hugeness and the puniness of mankind, at his miserable humanity, compared to the solemn repose of the great tree. In front of these are figures cut roughly out of logs, short-legged, with long bodies and exaggeratedly long faces; often they are nothing but a head, with the same smiling mouth, a long nose and narrow, oblique eyes. They are painted red, white and blue, and are hardly discernible in the dimness. On their forked heads they carry giant birds with outstretched wings,—herons,—floating as if they had just dropped through the branches on to the square.DANCING-GROUND ON VAO.DANCING-GROUND ON VAO.This is all we can see, but it is enough to make a deep impression. Outside, the sun is glaring, the leaves quiver, and the clouds are drifting across the sky, but here it is dim and cool as in a cathedral, not a breeze blows, everything is lapped in a holy calm. Abandonment, repose, sublime thoughtlessness drop down on us in the shadow of the giant tree; as if in a dream we breathe the damp, soft, mouldy air, feel the smooth earth and the green moss that covers everything like a velvet pall, and gaze at the altars, the drums and the statues.In a small clearing behind the square, surroundedby gaily coloured croton bushes, stands the men’s house—the “gamal.” Strong pillars support its gabled roof, that reaches down to the ground; the entrance is flanked by great stone slabs. Oddly branched dead trees form a hedge around the house, and on one side, on a sort of shelf, hang hundreds of boars’ jaws with curved tusks. Inside, there are a few fireplaces, simple holes in the ground, and a number of primitive stretchers of parallel bamboos, couches that the most ascetic of whites would disdain. Among the beams of the roof hang all kinds of curiosities: dancing-masks and sticks, rare fish, pigs’ jaws, bones, old weapons, amulets and so on, everything covered with a thick layer of soot from the ever-smouldering fires. These “gamals” are a kind of club-house, where the men spend the day and occasionally the night. In rainy weather they sit round the fire, smoking, gossiping and working on some tool,—a club or a fine basket. Each clan has its own gamal, which is strictly taboo for the women, and to each gamal belongs a dancing-ground like the one described. On Vao there are five, corresponding to the number of clans.Near by are the dwelling-houses and family enclosures. Each family has its square, surrounded by a wall about 1 mètre high of loose stones simply piled up, so that it is unsafe to lean against it. Behind the walls are high screens of braided reeds, which preclude the possibility of looking into the enclosure; even the doors are so protected that no one can look in; for the men are very jealous,and do not want their wives observed by strangers. These enclosures are very close together, and only narrow lanes permit circulation. As we turn a corner we may see a woman disappear quickly, giggling, while children run away with terrified howls, for what the black man is to ours the white man is to them.Having won the confidence of a native, we may be taken into his courtyard, where there is little to be seen, as all the social life goes on in the gamals or on the dancing-grounds. A dozen simple huts stand irregularly about the square, some half decayed and serving as pigsties. One hut belongs to the master, and each of his wives has a house of her own, in which to bring up her children. The yard is alive with pigs and fowls and dogs and children, more or less peacefully at play.In Vao, as in all Melanesia, the pig is the most valued of animals. All the thoughts of the native circle round the pig; for with pigs he can buy whatever his heart desires: he can have an enemy killed, he can purchase many women, he can attain the highest social standing, he can win paradise. No wonder, then, that the Vao pigs are just as carefully nursed, if not more so, than the children, and that it is the most important duty of the old matrons to watch over the welfare of the pigs. To call a young beauty “pig’s foot,” “pig’s nose,” “pig’s tail,” or similar endearing names is the greatest compliment a lover can pay. But only the male pigs are esteemed, the females are of account only as a necessary instrumentfor propagating the species, and nobody takes care of them; so they run wild, and have to look out for themselves. They are much happier than the males, which are tied all their lives to a pole under a little roof; they are carefully fed, but this, their only pleasure, is spoilt by constant and terrific toothache, caused by cruel man, who has a horrible custom of knocking out the upper eye-teeth of the male pig. The lower eye-teeth, finding nothing to rub against, grow to a surprising size, first upward, then down, until they again reach the jaw, grow on and on, through the cheek, through the jaw-bone, pushing out a few other teethen passant, then they come out of the jaw again, and curve a second, sometimes a third time, if the poor beast lives long enough. These pigs with curved tusks are the pride and wealth of every native; they are the highest coin, and power and influence depend on the number of such pigs a man owns, as well as on the size of their tusks, and this is the reason why they are so carefully watched, so that no harm may come to them or their teeth. Very rich people may have quite a number of “tuskers,” people of average means own one or two, and paupers none at all, but they may have the satisfaction of looking at those of the others and feeding them if they like.It will be necessary to say a few words here about the pig-cult and the social organization of the natives, as they are closely connected and form a key to an understanding of the natives’ way of living and thinking. I wish to state at once, however, that thefollowing remarks do not pretend to be correct in all details. It is very hard to make any researches as to these matters, as the natives themselves have only the vaguest notions on the subject, and entirely lack abstract ideas, so that they fail to understand many of the questions put to them. Without an exact knowledge of the language, and much personal observation, it is hardly possible to obtain reliable results, especially as the old men are unwilling to tell all they know, and the young know very little, but rely on the knowledge of the old chiefs. Interpreters are of no use, and direct questioning has but little result, as the people soon become suspicious or tired of thinking, and answer as they suppose the white man would wish, so as to have done with the catechizing as soon as possible. Perfect familiarity with the language, habits and character of the natives is necessary, and their confidence must be won, in order to make any progress in the investigation of these problems. Missionaries are the men to unite these qualities, but, unfortunately, the missionaries of the New Hebrides do not seem to take much interest in the strange cult so highly developed here; so that, for want of something better, my own observations may be acceptable.The pig-cult, or “Suque,” is found almost all over Melanesia. It is most highly developed in the Banks Islands and the Central New Hebrides, and rules the entire life of the natives; yet it forms only a part of their religion, and probably a newer part, while the fundamental principle is ancestor-worship. We mustnot expect to find in the native mind clear conceptions of transcendental things. The religious ceremonies differ in adjoining villages, and so do the ideas concerning the other world. There is no regular dogma; and since even the conceptions of religions with well-defined dogmas are constantly changing, religions which are handed down by oral tradition only, and in the vaguest way, must necessarily be fluctuating. Following the natural laws of thought, religious conceptions split into numerous local varieties, and it is the task of the scientist to seek, amid this variety of exterior forms, the common underlying idea, long forgotten by everyone else, and to ascertain what it was in its original purity, without additions and deformations.My observations led me to the following results: according to native belief, the soul leaves the body after death, and wanders about near by. Apparently the idea is that it remains in connection with the body for a certain time, for in some districts the corpse is fed for five days or longer; in Vao a bamboo tube is used, which leads from the surface of the earth to the mouth of the buried body. The souls of low-caste people soon disappear, but the higher the caste, the longer the soul stays on earth. Still, the natives have some conception of a paradise in which the soul of the high-caste finds all bliss and delight, and which the soul ultimately enters. This idea may have come up since the arrival of Christianity. It is customary to hold a death-feast for a man of no caste after five days, for a low-caste after one hundred, and for ahigh-caste after three hundred or even one thousand days. The soul remains in contact with the world of the living, and may be perceived as a good or bad spirit of as much power as the man had when alive. To obtain the favour and assistance of these spirits seems to be the fundamental idea, the main object of religion in the New Hebrides. The spirit of an ancestor will naturally favour his descendants, unless they have offended him deeply; and the more powerful the dead ancestor was, the stronger and safer do his descendants feel under the protection of his spirit. If a man has no powerful ancestral ghost, he joins some strong clan, and strives for the favour of its tutelary spirit by means of rich sacrifices. The spirits admit those who bring many sacrifices to their special favour and intimacy; these people are supposed to have gone half-way to the spirit-world, and even in this life they are dreaded and enormously influential; for the spirits will help him in every way, the elements are his servants, and he can perform the most terrible sorceries. Thus he terrorizes the country, becomes chief, and after death he joins the other ghosts as a powerful member of their company.WOMAN FROM TANNA.WOMAN FROM TANNA.The “Suque” transferred the hierarchy of the spirit-world into this world, and regulated the number of castes and the method of rising in caste; it also originated the rules for entering into connection with the other world. Its origin probably goes back to one of those secret societies so highly developed in Melanesia, of which I shall speak later.Caste is obtained by sacrificing tusked pigs; it ispossible that this has taken the place of former human sacrifices. The “Suque” is the community of all the men who have sacrificed tusked pigs. It is an international society, divided into numerous groups composed of the men of different islands, districts, villages or clans. It is the only means to assure oneself of bliss hereafter, and to obtain power and wealth on earth, and whoever fails to join the “Suque” is an outcast, a man of no importance, without friends and without protectors, whether living men or spirits, and therefore exposed to every ill-treatment and utter contempt. This explains the all-important position of the “Suque” in the life of the natives, being the expression both of religion and of ambition.Frequently a young boy will join the “Suque,” an uncle on the mother’s side donating pigs to be sacrificed in his name after he has touched them with his hand. The boy is then free of the gamal, the “Suque” club-house. Later he works his way up in the society by attending numberless feasts and ceremonies, by having endless discussions on tusked pigs, by borrowing, buying and lending pigs, by plotting and sacrificing.The number of castes varies on different islands: in Ambrym there are fourteen, in Venua Lava twenty, in Aoba ten. On some islands, Santo, for example, the caste-system is connected with a severe separation of the fires; each caste cooks over its own fire, and loses its degree on eating food cooked on the fire of a lower caste. In these districts the floor of the gamal is frequently marked by bamboo rodsor sticks in as many divisions as there are castes each containing one fireplace. The highest castes sit at the front end of the gamal, the lower at the back; these are forbidden to enter the gamal from the front, in order not to touch or step over the fireplaces of their superiors. At each rise in caste the novice receives the new fire, rubbed on a special stick and decorated with flowers; certain ceremonies attend the cooking of the first food with this new fire. It is then carefully tended in the fireplace, and if it goes out it has to be rubbed afresh with the stick. The number of pigs necessary to a rise in caste also varies on the different islands. Generally, only tusked pigs are counted, and there are feasts at which as many as forty of these valuable animals are killed. Naturally, the high-castes cannot keep all the animals themselves, but they lend them, like money, to those who do not possess the number needed to rise in caste; in this way a complicated credit-system has developed, by which the so-called chiefs support and strengthen their influence and tyrannize the country.A young man, as a rule, owns no tusked pigs. If he wishes to raise his caste, he has to borrow from the rich high-castes, who are very willing to help him, but only at exorbitant rates of interest. First he has to win their favour by presents, and then he has to promise to return a more valuable pig later. The bargain made, the transaction takes place publicly with some ceremony. The population of the district assembles, and all the transactions are ratified which have been negotiated in private. Theowner holds the pig, the borrower dances around him and then takes the animal away. All the spectators serve as witnesses, and there is no need of a written bill. In this way nearly all the men of lower rank are in debt to the high-castes, and dependent on their goodwill, and these can obtain anything they like, simply by pressing their debtors to pay for their pigs.As a rule, the highest castes of a district work together; they are the high priests, who arrange everything connected with the “Suque,” set the dates for the feasts, and decide whether a man shall be permitted to raise his caste. They are practically omnipotent, until one of them rises by still larger sacrifices to a still higher caste, and becomes sole master. If there are no more degrees to reach, the whole scale is run through again an octave higher, so to speak. The jaws of the killed pigs are hung up in the gamal in bundles or rows, as a sign of the wealth and power of the proprietor. These chiefs are in connection with the mightiest spirits, have supernatural power and are as much hated as they are feared.There is another independent witchcraft beside the “Suque,” for weather-making, charms and poisoning, which is known to private men. They take expensive “lessons” from old sorcerers, and transmit their art to the young men they consider clever enough, for good wages. These are the real mischief-makers, for they will lend their murderous assistance to anyone for adequate payment.In some islands there is also a “Suque” for the women, but it is quite independent of that of the men, and its degrees are easier to reach. Still, women of high rank enjoy a certain consideration from the men.Real chiefs do not exist in the northern part of the New Hebrides, but the chiefs are the high-castes, who, according to their rank and the strength of their personality, have more or less influence. They cannot give direct orders, but rule indirectly through pressure, threats and encouragement. Officially, all decisions are taken in a meeting of the whole “Suque.” The chieftainship is not hereditary, but the sons and especially the nephews of high-castes generally reach high degrees themselves, being pushed by their relatives, who are naturally anxious to be surrounded by faithful and influential friends. Thus there have risen aristocratic families, who think themselves better than the others, and do not like to mix with common people. Daughters of these families command high prices, and are therefore accessible only to rich men, that is, men of high caste. Young men of less good family are naturally poor, and since a woman, as a rule, costs five pigs, it is almost impossible for them to marry, whereas old men can buy up all the young, pretty girls; the social consequences of this system are obvious. In Vao conditions are not quite so bad, because there is considerable wealth, and women are numerous, so that even young men are enabled to have a family; in consequence, the race here is healthier than elsewhere.In Vao I had occasion to attend a death-feast. The hero of the day was still alive and in excellent health; but he did not quite trust his family, and wishing to make sure that his death-feast would not be forgotten, he held it during his lifetime. His anxiety about the feast is explained by the following facts. According to Vao beliefs, the souls of the dead travel to the island of Ambrym, and after five days climb a narrow trail up to the volcano. In order that the soul may not starve on the way, the survivors often make a small canoe, load it with food and push it off into the sea, thinking it will drift after the soul. It is generally stranded behind the nearest point, bringing the neighbours a welcome addition to the day’s rations. This custom is in contradiction to the feeding of the body through a tube, and proves that quite contradictory customs can exist simultaneously, without the natives noticing it. Half-way up the volcano sits a monster with two immense shears, like a crab. If no pigs have been sacrificed for the soul by the fifth day, the poor soul is alone and the monster swallows it; but if the sacrifice has been performed, the souls of the sacrificed pigs follow after the human soul, and as the monster prefers pig, the human has time to escape and to reach the entrance to paradise on top of the volcano, where there are pigs, women, dancing and feasting in plenty.The feast I was to attend had been in preparation for some time. On all the dancing-grounds long bamboos were in readiness, loaded with yams and flowers, as presents to the host. Everything wasbrought to his gamal, and the whole morning passed in distributing the gifts, each family receiving a few yams, a little pig, some sprouted cocoa-nuts and a few rolls of money. This money consists of long, narrow, fringed mats, neatly rolled up; in this case they were supposed to be the mats in which the dead are buried, and which are taken out of the grave after a while. These mats formerly served as small coin, as similar mats are still used on other islands, and they still represent a value of about one shilling; but in daily life they have been quite replaced by European coin, and only appear on such ceremonial occasions.All the gifts were piled up, and when the host was convinced that every guest had received his just dues, he took a stick and smashed the heads of all the pigs that were tied up in readiness for this ceremony. They struggled for a moment, the dogs came and licked the blood, and then each guest took away his portion, to have a private feast at home. The whole performance made a desperately business-like impression, and everything was done most prosaically; as for me, having no better dinner than usual to look forward to, I quite missed the slightly excited holiday feeling that ought to go with a great feast. Formerly, the braining of the pigs was done with skilfully carved clubs, instead of mere sticks, and this alone must have given the action something of solemnity; but these clubs have long since been sold to collectors and never replaced.In spite of their frequent intercourse with whites,the people of Vao are still confirmed cannibals, only they have not many opportunities for gratifying their taste in this direction. Still, not many years ago, they had killed and eaten an enemy, and each individual, even the little children, had received a small morsel of the body to eat, either with the idea of destroying the enemy entirely, or as the greatest insult that could be offered to him.HOUSE FENCES ON VAO, MADE FROM STONE WALLS AND REED SCREENS.HOUSE FENCES ON VAO, MADE FROM STONE WALLS AND REED SCREENS.These same people can be so gay, childlike, kind and obliging, tactful and generous, that one can hardly believe the accounts one often hears of sudden outbreaks of brutal savagery, devilish wickedness, ingratitude and falsehood, until one has experienced them himself. The flattering and confiding child will turn suddenly and without apparent reason into a man full of gloom and hatred. All those repressing influences which lead the dwellers in civilized lands to some consistency of action are lacking here, and the morals of the natives run along other lines than ours. Faith and truth are no virtues, constancy and perseverance do not exist. The same man who can torture his wife to death from wanton cruelty, holding her limbs over the fire till they are charred, etc., will be inconsolable over the death of a son for a long time, and will wear a curl, a tooth or a finger-joint of the dead as a valuable relic round his neck; and the same man who is capable of preparing a murder in cold blood for days, may, in some propitious evening hour, relate the most charming and poetic fairy-tales. A priest whom I met knew quite a number of such stories from a man whom he haddigged alive out of the grave, where his relatives had buried him, thinking him old enough to die. This is not a rare occurrence; sometimes the old people themselves are tired of life and ask to be killed.What has preserved the old customs so well on Vao is the aversion of the natives to plantation work. But one day, while I was there, a ship rode at anchor off the coast, and a member of the French survey party landed, collected all the men on the beach, and told them that unless there were thirty men on board that evening, the whole tribe would be driven out of the island, as the island belonged to the French company. This was, to say the least, extremely doubtful; moreover, it would never have been feasible to expropriate the natives in this summary way. They were furious, but, unprotected as they were, they had to obey, and in the evening nearly all the young men assembled on the beach and were taken away in whale-boats, disappearing in the mist and darkness of the night. The old men and the women remained behind, crying loudly, so that the terrible wailing sounded sadly over the sea. Even to the mere spectator it was a tragic moment when the tribe was thus orphaned of its best men, and one could not help being revolted by the whole proceeding. It was not womanish pity for the men who were taken off to work, but regret for the consequent disappearance of immemorial forms of tribal life. Next day the beach was empty. Old men and women crossed over to the yam-fields, the little children played as usual, butthe gay shouts were silent, the beautiful, brown, supple-bodied young men were gone, and I no longer felt the joy of living which had been Vao’s greatest charm. The old men were sulky and sad, and spoke of leaving Vao for good and settling somewhere far inland. It is not surprising that the whole race has lost the will to live, and that children are considered an undesirable gift, of which one would rather be rid. What hopelessness lies in the words I once heard a woman of Vao say: “Why should we have any more children? Since the white man came they all die.” And die they certainly do. Regions that once swarmed with people are now lonely; where, ten years ago, there were large villages, we find the desert bush, and in some districts the population has decreased by one-third in the last seven years. In fifteen years the native race will have practically disappeared.
I had not yet solved the problem of how to get away from the Segond Channel and find a good field of labour, when, happily, the French priest from Port Olry came to stay a few days with his colleague at the channel, on his way to Vao, and he obligingly granted me a passage on his cutter. I left most of my luggage behind, and the schooner of the French survey party was to bring it to Port Olry later on.
DANCING-GROUND ON VAO, WITH ANCESTOR HOUSES.DANCING-GROUND ON VAO, WITH ANCESTOR HOUSES.
DANCING-GROUND ON VAO, WITH ANCESTOR HOUSES.
After a passage considerably prolonged by contrary winds, we arrived at Vao, a small island north-east of Malekula. When one has sailed along the lifeless, greyish-green shores of Malekula, Vao is like a sunbeam breaking through the mist. This change of mood comes gradually, as one notices the warm air of spring, and dry souls, weather-beaten captains and old pirates may hardly be aware of anything beyond a better appetite and greater thirst. And it is not easy to define what lends the little spot such a charm that the traveller feels revived as if escaped from some oppression. From a distance Vao looks like all the other islands and islets of the archipelago—a green froth floating on the white line of breakers; from near by we see, as everywhere else, the bright beach in front of the thick forest.But what impresses the traveller mournfully elsewhere,—the eternal loneliness and lifelessness of a country where nature has poured all its power into the vegetation, and seems to have forgotten man and beast,—is softened here, and an easy joy of living penetrates everything like a delicate scent, and lifts whatever meets the eye to greater significance and beauty. The celestial charm of the South Sea Islands, celebrated by the first discoverers, seems to be preserved here, warming the soul like the sweet remembrance of a happy dream. Hardly anyone who feels these impressions will wonder about their origin, but he will hasten ashore and dive into the forest, driven by a vague idea of finding some marvel. Later he will understand that the charm of Vao lies in the rich, busy human life that fills the island. It is probably the most thickly populated of the group, with about five hundred souls living in a space one mile long and three-fourths of a mile wide; and it is their happy, careless, lazy existence that makes Vao seem to the stranger like a friendly home. Here there are houses and fires, lively people who shout and play merrily, and after the loneliness which blows chill from the bush, the traveller is glad to rest and feel at home among cheerful fellow-men.
About seventy outrigger boats of all sizes lie on the beach. On their bows they carry a carved heron, probably some half-forgotten totem. The bird is more or less richly carved, according to the social standing of the owner, and a severe watch is kept toprevent people from carrying carvings too fine for their degree. Similarly, we find little sticks like small seats fastened to the canoes, their number indicating the caste of the owner. Under big sheds, in the shade of the tall trees, lie large whale-boats of European manufacture, belonging to the different clans, in which the men undertake long cruises to the other islands, Santo, Aoba, Ambrym, to visit “sing-sings” and trade in pigs. Formerly they used large canoes composed of several trees fastened together with ropes of cocoa-nut fibre, and caulked with rosin, driven by sails of cocoa-nut sheaths; these would hold thirty to forty men, and were used for many murderous expeditions. For the inhabitants of Vao were regular pirates, dreaded all along the coast; they would land unexpectedly in the morning near a village, kill the men and children, steal the women and start for home with rich booty. European influences have put a stop to this sport, and with the introduction of whale-boats the picturesque canoes have disappeared from the water, and now lie rotting on the beach. Their successors (though according to old tradition, women may not enter them) are only used for peaceful purposes.
In the early morning the beach is deserted, but a few hours after sunrise it is full of life. The different clans come down from their villages by narrow paths which divide near the shore into one path for the men and another for the women, leading to separate places. The men squat down near one of the boat-houses and stretch out comfortablyin the warm sand, smoking and chatting. The women, loaded with children and baskets, sit in the shade of the knobby trees which stretch their trunk-like branches horizontally over the beach, forming a natural roof against sun and rain. The half-grown boys are too lively to enjoy contemplative laziness; gossip and important deliberations about pigs and sacrifices do not interest them, and they play about between the canoes, wade in the water, look for shells on the sand, or hunt crabs or fish in the reef. Thus an hour passes. The sun has warmed the sand; after the cool night this is doubly agreeable, and a light breeze cools the air. Some mothers bathe their babies in the sea, washing and rubbing them carefully, until the coppery skin shines in the sun; the little creatures enjoy the bath immensely, and splash gaily in the element that will be their second home in days to come. Everyone on the beach is in the easiest undress: the men wear nothing but a bark belt, and the women a little apron of braided grass; the children are quite naked, unless bracelets, necklaces and ear-rings can count as dress. Having rested and amply fortified themselves for the painful resolution to take up the day’s work, people begin to prepare for departure to the fields. They have to cross the channel, about a mile wide, to reach the big island where the yam gardens lie, sheltered by the forest from the trade-winds; and this sail is the occasion for the prettiest sight Vao can offer.
The tides drive the sea through the narrow channel so hard as to start a current which is almosta stream. The head-wind raises short, sharp, white-capped waves; shallow banks shine yellow through the clear water, and the coral reefs are patches of violet and crimson, and we are delighted by constant changes, new shades and various colourings, never without harmony and loveliness. A cloudless sky bends over the whole picture and shines on the red-brown bodies of the people, who bustle about their canoes, adding the bright red of their mats and dresses to the splendour of the landscape.
With sudden energy the women have grabbed the boats and pushed them into the water. The girls are slim, supple and strong as the young men, the mothers and older women rather stiff, and usually hampered by at least one child, which they carry on their backs or on their hips, while another holds on to the garment which replaces our skirts. There is plenty of laughter and banter with the men, who look on unmoved at the efforts of the weaker sex, only rarely offering a helping hand.
From the trees and hiding-places the paddles and the pretty triangular sails are fetched and fastened on the canoes; then the boats are pushed off and the whole crowd jumps in. The babies sit in their mothers’ laps or hang on their backs, perilously close to the water, into which they stare with big, dark eyes. By twos and threes the canoes push off, driven by vigorous paddling along the shore, against the current. Sometimes a young man wades after a canoe and joins some fair friends, sitting in front of them, as etiquette demands. The fresh breeze catchesthe sails, and the ten or fifteen canoes glide swiftly across the bright water, the spread sails looking like great red butterflies. The spray splashes from the bows, one woman steers, and the others bale out the water with cocoa-nuts,—a labour worthy of the Danaides; sometimes the outrigger lifts up and the canoe threatens to capsize, but, quick as thought, the women lean on the poles joining outrigger and canoe, and the accident is averted. In a few minutes the canoes enter the landings between the torn cliffs on the large island, the passengers jump out and carry the boats up the beach.
A few stragglers, men of importance who have been detained by politics, and bachelors, who have nothing and nobody to care for but themselves, follow later on, and only a crowd of boys stays in Vao, to enjoy themselves on the beach and get into all sorts of mischief.
Obliging as people sometimes are when the fancy strikes them, a youth took us over to the other island in his canoe, and was even skilful enough to keep us from capsizing. Narrow paths, bordered with impenetrable bush, led us from the beach across coral boulders up to the plantations on top of the tableland. Under some cocoa-nut palms our guide stopped, climbed nimbly up a slim trunk, as if mounting a ladder, and three green nuts dropped to the ground at our feet. Three clever strokes of the knife opened them, and we enjoyed the refreshing drink in its natural bowl. Sidepaths branched off to the gardens, where every individual or family had itspiece of ground. We saw big bananas, taro, with large, juicy leaves, yams, trained on a pretty basket-shaped trellis-work; when in bloom this looks like a huge bouquet. There were pine-apples, cabbages, cocoa-nut and bread-fruit trees, bright croton bushes and highly scented shrubs. In this green and confused abundance the native spends his day, working a little, loafing a great deal. He shoots big pigeons and little parakeets, roasts them on an improvised fire and eats them as a welcome addition to his regular meals. From sun and rain he is sheltered by simple roofs, under which everybody assembles at noon to gossip, eat and laugh.
Long ago there were villages here. An enormous monolith, now broken, but once 5 mètres high, speaks for the energy of bygone generations, when this rock was carried up from the coast, probably for a monument to some great chief.
While the women were gathering food for the evening meal we returned to Vao. The breeze had stiffened in the midst of the channel, and one old woman’s canoe had capsized. She clung to the boat, calling pitifully for help, which amused all the men on the shore immensely, until at last, none too soon, they went to her rescue. Such adventures are by no means harmless, as the channel swarms with sharks.
We explored the interior of Vao, going first through the thicket on the shore, then through reed-grass over 6 feet high, then between low walls surrounding little plantations. Soon the path widened,and on both sides we saw stone slabs, set several rows deep; presently we found ourselves under the wide vault of one of those immense fig trees whose branches are like trunks, and the glare of the sun gave way to deep shadow, the heat of noonday to soft coolness.
Gradually our eyes grow accustomed to the dimness, and we distinguish our surroundings. We are in a wide square, roofed by the long branches of the giant tree. At our left is its trunk, mighty enough in itself, but increased by the numerous air-roots that stretch like cables from the crown to the earth, covering the trunk entirely in some spots, or dangling softly in the wind, ending in large tassels of smaller roots. Lianas wind in distorted curves through the branches, like giant snakes stiffened while fighting. This square is one of the dancing-grounds of Vao. The rows of stones surround the square on three sides—two, three or more deep. Near the trunk of the great tree is a big altar of large slabs of rock; around it are stone tables of smaller size, and one or two immense coral plates, which cover the buried skull of some mighty chief. A large rock lies in the middle of the road on a primitive slide half covered by stones and earth. Long ago the islanders tried to bring it up from the beach; a strong vine served as a rope, and more than fifty men must have helped to drag the heavy rock up from the coast to the square. Half-way they got tired of the job and left the stone where it lies now, and will lie for ever.
On the other side of the altar are the drums, hollow trunks, whose upper end is carved to represent a human face with wide, grinning mouth, and deep, round and hollow eyes. Rammed in aslant, leaning in all directions, they stand like clumsy, malicious demons, spiteful and brutal, as if holding their bellies with rude, immoderate laughter at their own hugeness and the puniness of mankind, at his miserable humanity, compared to the solemn repose of the great tree. In front of these are figures cut roughly out of logs, short-legged, with long bodies and exaggeratedly long faces; often they are nothing but a head, with the same smiling mouth, a long nose and narrow, oblique eyes. They are painted red, white and blue, and are hardly discernible in the dimness. On their forked heads they carry giant birds with outstretched wings,—herons,—floating as if they had just dropped through the branches on to the square.
DANCING-GROUND ON VAO.DANCING-GROUND ON VAO.
DANCING-GROUND ON VAO.
This is all we can see, but it is enough to make a deep impression. Outside, the sun is glaring, the leaves quiver, and the clouds are drifting across the sky, but here it is dim and cool as in a cathedral, not a breeze blows, everything is lapped in a holy calm. Abandonment, repose, sublime thoughtlessness drop down on us in the shadow of the giant tree; as if in a dream we breathe the damp, soft, mouldy air, feel the smooth earth and the green moss that covers everything like a velvet pall, and gaze at the altars, the drums and the statues.
In a small clearing behind the square, surroundedby gaily coloured croton bushes, stands the men’s house—the “gamal.” Strong pillars support its gabled roof, that reaches down to the ground; the entrance is flanked by great stone slabs. Oddly branched dead trees form a hedge around the house, and on one side, on a sort of shelf, hang hundreds of boars’ jaws with curved tusks. Inside, there are a few fireplaces, simple holes in the ground, and a number of primitive stretchers of parallel bamboos, couches that the most ascetic of whites would disdain. Among the beams of the roof hang all kinds of curiosities: dancing-masks and sticks, rare fish, pigs’ jaws, bones, old weapons, amulets and so on, everything covered with a thick layer of soot from the ever-smouldering fires. These “gamals” are a kind of club-house, where the men spend the day and occasionally the night. In rainy weather they sit round the fire, smoking, gossiping and working on some tool,—a club or a fine basket. Each clan has its own gamal, which is strictly taboo for the women, and to each gamal belongs a dancing-ground like the one described. On Vao there are five, corresponding to the number of clans.
Near by are the dwelling-houses and family enclosures. Each family has its square, surrounded by a wall about 1 mètre high of loose stones simply piled up, so that it is unsafe to lean against it. Behind the walls are high screens of braided reeds, which preclude the possibility of looking into the enclosure; even the doors are so protected that no one can look in; for the men are very jealous,and do not want their wives observed by strangers. These enclosures are very close together, and only narrow lanes permit circulation. As we turn a corner we may see a woman disappear quickly, giggling, while children run away with terrified howls, for what the black man is to ours the white man is to them.
Having won the confidence of a native, we may be taken into his courtyard, where there is little to be seen, as all the social life goes on in the gamals or on the dancing-grounds. A dozen simple huts stand irregularly about the square, some half decayed and serving as pigsties. One hut belongs to the master, and each of his wives has a house of her own, in which to bring up her children. The yard is alive with pigs and fowls and dogs and children, more or less peacefully at play.
In Vao, as in all Melanesia, the pig is the most valued of animals. All the thoughts of the native circle round the pig; for with pigs he can buy whatever his heart desires: he can have an enemy killed, he can purchase many women, he can attain the highest social standing, he can win paradise. No wonder, then, that the Vao pigs are just as carefully nursed, if not more so, than the children, and that it is the most important duty of the old matrons to watch over the welfare of the pigs. To call a young beauty “pig’s foot,” “pig’s nose,” “pig’s tail,” or similar endearing names is the greatest compliment a lover can pay. But only the male pigs are esteemed, the females are of account only as a necessary instrumentfor propagating the species, and nobody takes care of them; so they run wild, and have to look out for themselves. They are much happier than the males, which are tied all their lives to a pole under a little roof; they are carefully fed, but this, their only pleasure, is spoilt by constant and terrific toothache, caused by cruel man, who has a horrible custom of knocking out the upper eye-teeth of the male pig. The lower eye-teeth, finding nothing to rub against, grow to a surprising size, first upward, then down, until they again reach the jaw, grow on and on, through the cheek, through the jaw-bone, pushing out a few other teethen passant, then they come out of the jaw again, and curve a second, sometimes a third time, if the poor beast lives long enough. These pigs with curved tusks are the pride and wealth of every native; they are the highest coin, and power and influence depend on the number of such pigs a man owns, as well as on the size of their tusks, and this is the reason why they are so carefully watched, so that no harm may come to them or their teeth. Very rich people may have quite a number of “tuskers,” people of average means own one or two, and paupers none at all, but they may have the satisfaction of looking at those of the others and feeding them if they like.
It will be necessary to say a few words here about the pig-cult and the social organization of the natives, as they are closely connected and form a key to an understanding of the natives’ way of living and thinking. I wish to state at once, however, that thefollowing remarks do not pretend to be correct in all details. It is very hard to make any researches as to these matters, as the natives themselves have only the vaguest notions on the subject, and entirely lack abstract ideas, so that they fail to understand many of the questions put to them. Without an exact knowledge of the language, and much personal observation, it is hardly possible to obtain reliable results, especially as the old men are unwilling to tell all they know, and the young know very little, but rely on the knowledge of the old chiefs. Interpreters are of no use, and direct questioning has but little result, as the people soon become suspicious or tired of thinking, and answer as they suppose the white man would wish, so as to have done with the catechizing as soon as possible. Perfect familiarity with the language, habits and character of the natives is necessary, and their confidence must be won, in order to make any progress in the investigation of these problems. Missionaries are the men to unite these qualities, but, unfortunately, the missionaries of the New Hebrides do not seem to take much interest in the strange cult so highly developed here; so that, for want of something better, my own observations may be acceptable.
The pig-cult, or “Suque,” is found almost all over Melanesia. It is most highly developed in the Banks Islands and the Central New Hebrides, and rules the entire life of the natives; yet it forms only a part of their religion, and probably a newer part, while the fundamental principle is ancestor-worship. We mustnot expect to find in the native mind clear conceptions of transcendental things. The religious ceremonies differ in adjoining villages, and so do the ideas concerning the other world. There is no regular dogma; and since even the conceptions of religions with well-defined dogmas are constantly changing, religions which are handed down by oral tradition only, and in the vaguest way, must necessarily be fluctuating. Following the natural laws of thought, religious conceptions split into numerous local varieties, and it is the task of the scientist to seek, amid this variety of exterior forms, the common underlying idea, long forgotten by everyone else, and to ascertain what it was in its original purity, without additions and deformations.
My observations led me to the following results: according to native belief, the soul leaves the body after death, and wanders about near by. Apparently the idea is that it remains in connection with the body for a certain time, for in some districts the corpse is fed for five days or longer; in Vao a bamboo tube is used, which leads from the surface of the earth to the mouth of the buried body. The souls of low-caste people soon disappear, but the higher the caste, the longer the soul stays on earth. Still, the natives have some conception of a paradise in which the soul of the high-caste finds all bliss and delight, and which the soul ultimately enters. This idea may have come up since the arrival of Christianity. It is customary to hold a death-feast for a man of no caste after five days, for a low-caste after one hundred, and for ahigh-caste after three hundred or even one thousand days. The soul remains in contact with the world of the living, and may be perceived as a good or bad spirit of as much power as the man had when alive. To obtain the favour and assistance of these spirits seems to be the fundamental idea, the main object of religion in the New Hebrides. The spirit of an ancestor will naturally favour his descendants, unless they have offended him deeply; and the more powerful the dead ancestor was, the stronger and safer do his descendants feel under the protection of his spirit. If a man has no powerful ancestral ghost, he joins some strong clan, and strives for the favour of its tutelary spirit by means of rich sacrifices. The spirits admit those who bring many sacrifices to their special favour and intimacy; these people are supposed to have gone half-way to the spirit-world, and even in this life they are dreaded and enormously influential; for the spirits will help him in every way, the elements are his servants, and he can perform the most terrible sorceries. Thus he terrorizes the country, becomes chief, and after death he joins the other ghosts as a powerful member of their company.
WOMAN FROM TANNA.WOMAN FROM TANNA.
WOMAN FROM TANNA.
The “Suque” transferred the hierarchy of the spirit-world into this world, and regulated the number of castes and the method of rising in caste; it also originated the rules for entering into connection with the other world. Its origin probably goes back to one of those secret societies so highly developed in Melanesia, of which I shall speak later.
Caste is obtained by sacrificing tusked pigs; it ispossible that this has taken the place of former human sacrifices. The “Suque” is the community of all the men who have sacrificed tusked pigs. It is an international society, divided into numerous groups composed of the men of different islands, districts, villages or clans. It is the only means to assure oneself of bliss hereafter, and to obtain power and wealth on earth, and whoever fails to join the “Suque” is an outcast, a man of no importance, without friends and without protectors, whether living men or spirits, and therefore exposed to every ill-treatment and utter contempt. This explains the all-important position of the “Suque” in the life of the natives, being the expression both of religion and of ambition.
Frequently a young boy will join the “Suque,” an uncle on the mother’s side donating pigs to be sacrificed in his name after he has touched them with his hand. The boy is then free of the gamal, the “Suque” club-house. Later he works his way up in the society by attending numberless feasts and ceremonies, by having endless discussions on tusked pigs, by borrowing, buying and lending pigs, by plotting and sacrificing.
The number of castes varies on different islands: in Ambrym there are fourteen, in Venua Lava twenty, in Aoba ten. On some islands, Santo, for example, the caste-system is connected with a severe separation of the fires; each caste cooks over its own fire, and loses its degree on eating food cooked on the fire of a lower caste. In these districts the floor of the gamal is frequently marked by bamboo rodsor sticks in as many divisions as there are castes each containing one fireplace. The highest castes sit at the front end of the gamal, the lower at the back; these are forbidden to enter the gamal from the front, in order not to touch or step over the fireplaces of their superiors. At each rise in caste the novice receives the new fire, rubbed on a special stick and decorated with flowers; certain ceremonies attend the cooking of the first food with this new fire. It is then carefully tended in the fireplace, and if it goes out it has to be rubbed afresh with the stick. The number of pigs necessary to a rise in caste also varies on the different islands. Generally, only tusked pigs are counted, and there are feasts at which as many as forty of these valuable animals are killed. Naturally, the high-castes cannot keep all the animals themselves, but they lend them, like money, to those who do not possess the number needed to rise in caste; in this way a complicated credit-system has developed, by which the so-called chiefs support and strengthen their influence and tyrannize the country.
A young man, as a rule, owns no tusked pigs. If he wishes to raise his caste, he has to borrow from the rich high-castes, who are very willing to help him, but only at exorbitant rates of interest. First he has to win their favour by presents, and then he has to promise to return a more valuable pig later. The bargain made, the transaction takes place publicly with some ceremony. The population of the district assembles, and all the transactions are ratified which have been negotiated in private. Theowner holds the pig, the borrower dances around him and then takes the animal away. All the spectators serve as witnesses, and there is no need of a written bill. In this way nearly all the men of lower rank are in debt to the high-castes, and dependent on their goodwill, and these can obtain anything they like, simply by pressing their debtors to pay for their pigs.
As a rule, the highest castes of a district work together; they are the high priests, who arrange everything connected with the “Suque,” set the dates for the feasts, and decide whether a man shall be permitted to raise his caste. They are practically omnipotent, until one of them rises by still larger sacrifices to a still higher caste, and becomes sole master. If there are no more degrees to reach, the whole scale is run through again an octave higher, so to speak. The jaws of the killed pigs are hung up in the gamal in bundles or rows, as a sign of the wealth and power of the proprietor. These chiefs are in connection with the mightiest spirits, have supernatural power and are as much hated as they are feared.
There is another independent witchcraft beside the “Suque,” for weather-making, charms and poisoning, which is known to private men. They take expensive “lessons” from old sorcerers, and transmit their art to the young men they consider clever enough, for good wages. These are the real mischief-makers, for they will lend their murderous assistance to anyone for adequate payment.
In some islands there is also a “Suque” for the women, but it is quite independent of that of the men, and its degrees are easier to reach. Still, women of high rank enjoy a certain consideration from the men.
Real chiefs do not exist in the northern part of the New Hebrides, but the chiefs are the high-castes, who, according to their rank and the strength of their personality, have more or less influence. They cannot give direct orders, but rule indirectly through pressure, threats and encouragement. Officially, all decisions are taken in a meeting of the whole “Suque.” The chieftainship is not hereditary, but the sons and especially the nephews of high-castes generally reach high degrees themselves, being pushed by their relatives, who are naturally anxious to be surrounded by faithful and influential friends. Thus there have risen aristocratic families, who think themselves better than the others, and do not like to mix with common people. Daughters of these families command high prices, and are therefore accessible only to rich men, that is, men of high caste. Young men of less good family are naturally poor, and since a woman, as a rule, costs five pigs, it is almost impossible for them to marry, whereas old men can buy up all the young, pretty girls; the social consequences of this system are obvious. In Vao conditions are not quite so bad, because there is considerable wealth, and women are numerous, so that even young men are enabled to have a family; in consequence, the race here is healthier than elsewhere.
In Vao I had occasion to attend a death-feast. The hero of the day was still alive and in excellent health; but he did not quite trust his family, and wishing to make sure that his death-feast would not be forgotten, he held it during his lifetime. His anxiety about the feast is explained by the following facts. According to Vao beliefs, the souls of the dead travel to the island of Ambrym, and after five days climb a narrow trail up to the volcano. In order that the soul may not starve on the way, the survivors often make a small canoe, load it with food and push it off into the sea, thinking it will drift after the soul. It is generally stranded behind the nearest point, bringing the neighbours a welcome addition to the day’s rations. This custom is in contradiction to the feeding of the body through a tube, and proves that quite contradictory customs can exist simultaneously, without the natives noticing it. Half-way up the volcano sits a monster with two immense shears, like a crab. If no pigs have been sacrificed for the soul by the fifth day, the poor soul is alone and the monster swallows it; but if the sacrifice has been performed, the souls of the sacrificed pigs follow after the human soul, and as the monster prefers pig, the human has time to escape and to reach the entrance to paradise on top of the volcano, where there are pigs, women, dancing and feasting in plenty.
The feast I was to attend had been in preparation for some time. On all the dancing-grounds long bamboos were in readiness, loaded with yams and flowers, as presents to the host. Everything wasbrought to his gamal, and the whole morning passed in distributing the gifts, each family receiving a few yams, a little pig, some sprouted cocoa-nuts and a few rolls of money. This money consists of long, narrow, fringed mats, neatly rolled up; in this case they were supposed to be the mats in which the dead are buried, and which are taken out of the grave after a while. These mats formerly served as small coin, as similar mats are still used on other islands, and they still represent a value of about one shilling; but in daily life they have been quite replaced by European coin, and only appear on such ceremonial occasions.
All the gifts were piled up, and when the host was convinced that every guest had received his just dues, he took a stick and smashed the heads of all the pigs that were tied up in readiness for this ceremony. They struggled for a moment, the dogs came and licked the blood, and then each guest took away his portion, to have a private feast at home. The whole performance made a desperately business-like impression, and everything was done most prosaically; as for me, having no better dinner than usual to look forward to, I quite missed the slightly excited holiday feeling that ought to go with a great feast. Formerly, the braining of the pigs was done with skilfully carved clubs, instead of mere sticks, and this alone must have given the action something of solemnity; but these clubs have long since been sold to collectors and never replaced.
In spite of their frequent intercourse with whites,the people of Vao are still confirmed cannibals, only they have not many opportunities for gratifying their taste in this direction. Still, not many years ago, they had killed and eaten an enemy, and each individual, even the little children, had received a small morsel of the body to eat, either with the idea of destroying the enemy entirely, or as the greatest insult that could be offered to him.
HOUSE FENCES ON VAO, MADE FROM STONE WALLS AND REED SCREENS.HOUSE FENCES ON VAO, MADE FROM STONE WALLS AND REED SCREENS.
HOUSE FENCES ON VAO, MADE FROM STONE WALLS AND REED SCREENS.
These same people can be so gay, childlike, kind and obliging, tactful and generous, that one can hardly believe the accounts one often hears of sudden outbreaks of brutal savagery, devilish wickedness, ingratitude and falsehood, until one has experienced them himself. The flattering and confiding child will turn suddenly and without apparent reason into a man full of gloom and hatred. All those repressing influences which lead the dwellers in civilized lands to some consistency of action are lacking here, and the morals of the natives run along other lines than ours. Faith and truth are no virtues, constancy and perseverance do not exist. The same man who can torture his wife to death from wanton cruelty, holding her limbs over the fire till they are charred, etc., will be inconsolable over the death of a son for a long time, and will wear a curl, a tooth or a finger-joint of the dead as a valuable relic round his neck; and the same man who is capable of preparing a murder in cold blood for days, may, in some propitious evening hour, relate the most charming and poetic fairy-tales. A priest whom I met knew quite a number of such stories from a man whom he haddigged alive out of the grave, where his relatives had buried him, thinking him old enough to die. This is not a rare occurrence; sometimes the old people themselves are tired of life and ask to be killed.
What has preserved the old customs so well on Vao is the aversion of the natives to plantation work. But one day, while I was there, a ship rode at anchor off the coast, and a member of the French survey party landed, collected all the men on the beach, and told them that unless there were thirty men on board that evening, the whole tribe would be driven out of the island, as the island belonged to the French company. This was, to say the least, extremely doubtful; moreover, it would never have been feasible to expropriate the natives in this summary way. They were furious, but, unprotected as they were, they had to obey, and in the evening nearly all the young men assembled on the beach and were taken away in whale-boats, disappearing in the mist and darkness of the night. The old men and the women remained behind, crying loudly, so that the terrible wailing sounded sadly over the sea. Even to the mere spectator it was a tragic moment when the tribe was thus orphaned of its best men, and one could not help being revolted by the whole proceeding. It was not womanish pity for the men who were taken off to work, but regret for the consequent disappearance of immemorial forms of tribal life. Next day the beach was empty. Old men and women crossed over to the yam-fields, the little children played as usual, butthe gay shouts were silent, the beautiful, brown, supple-bodied young men were gone, and I no longer felt the joy of living which had been Vao’s greatest charm. The old men were sulky and sad, and spoke of leaving Vao for good and settling somewhere far inland. It is not surprising that the whole race has lost the will to live, and that children are considered an undesirable gift, of which one would rather be rid. What hopelessness lies in the words I once heard a woman of Vao say: “Why should we have any more children? Since the white man came they all die.” And die they certainly do. Regions that once swarmed with people are now lonely; where, ten years ago, there were large villages, we find the desert bush, and in some districts the population has decreased by one-third in the last seven years. In fifteen years the native race will have practically disappeared.
Chapter VIPort Olry and a “Sing-Sing”The event just described reduced my chance of finding servants in Vao to a minimum, as all the able-bodied young men had been taken away. I therefore sailed with the missionary for his station at Port Olry. Our route lay along the east coast of Santo. Grey rain-clouds hung on the high mountains in the interior, the sun shone faintly through the misty atmosphere, the greyish-blue sea and the greyish-green shore, with the brown boulders on the beach, formed a study in grey, whose hypnotic effect was increased by a warm, weary wind. Whoever was not on duty at the tiller lay down on deck, and as in a dream we floated slowly along the coast past lonely islands and bays; whenever we looked up we saw the same picture, only the outlines seemed to have shifted a little. We anchored near a lonely isle, to find out whether its only inhabitant, an old Frenchman, was still alive. He had arrived there a year ago, full of the most brilliant hopes, which, however, had not materialized. He had no boat, hardly ever saw a human being, and lived on wild fruits. Hardly anyone knows him or visits him, but he had not lost courage, and asked for nothing but a little salt, which we gave him, and then sailed on.In Hog Harbour we spent the night and enjoyed a hearty English breakfast with the planters, the Messrs. Th., who have a large and beautiful plantation; then we continued our cruise. The country had changed somewhat; mighty banks of coral formed high tablelands that fell vertically down to the sea, and the living reef stretched seaward under the water. These tablelands were intersected by flat valleys, in the centre of which rose steep hills, like huge bastions dominating the country round. The islands off the coast were covered with thick vegetation, with white chalk cliffs gleaming through them at intervals. A thin mist filled the valleys with violet hues, the sea was bright and a fresh breeze carried us gaily along. The aspect of the country displayed the energies of elemental powers: nowhere can the origin of chalk mountains be more plainly seen than here, where we have the process before us in all its stages, from the living reef, shining purple through the sea, to the sandy beach strewn with bits of coral, to the high table mountain. We anchored at a headland near a small river, and were cordially welcomed by the missionary’s dogs, cats, pigs and native teacher. There was also a young girl whom the father had once dug out of her grave, where a hard-hearted mother had buried her.I had an extremely interesting time at Port Olry. The population here is somewhat different from that of the rest of Santo: very dark-skinned, tall and different in physiognomy. It may be called typically Melanesian, while many other races show Polynesianadmixture. The race here is very strong, coarse-featured and lives in the simplest way, without any industries, and is the primitive population in the New Hebrides.A few details as to personal appearance may be of interest. Among the ornaments used are very large combs, decorated with pigs’ tails. Pigs’ tails also are stuck into the hair and ears. The hair is worn very long, rolled into little curls and plentifully oiled. A most peculiar deformation is applied to the nose and results in extreme ugliness: the septum is perforated, and instead of merely inserting a stick, a springy spiral is used, which presses the nose upward and forward, so that in time it develops into an immense, shapeless lump, as if numberless wasps had stung it. It takes a long time to get used to this sight, especially as the nose is made still more conspicuous by being painted with a bright red stripe on its point, and two black ones on each side. A more attractive ornament are flowers, which the men stick into their hair, where they are very effective on the dark background. In the lobes of the ears they wear spirals of tortoise-shell or thin ornaments of bone; the men often paint their faces with a mixture of soot and grease, generally the upper half of the forehead, the lower part of the cheeks and the back of the nose. The women and children prefer the red juice of a fruit, with which they paint their faces in all sorts of mysterious designs.The dress of the men consists of a large belt, purposely worn very low so as to show the beautifulcurve of the loins. About six small mats hang down in front. Formerly, and even at the present day on festival occasions, they wore on the back an ovoid of wood; the purpose is quite unknown, but may originally have been a portable seat, as the Melanesian does not like to sit on the bare ground. Provided with this article of dress the wearer did not need to look about for a seat.If the appearance of the men, while not beautiful, is at least impressive, the women are so very much disfigured that it takes quite some time to grow accustomed to their style of beauty. They are not allowed to wear many ornaments, have to shave their heads, and generally rub them with lime, so that they look rather like white-headed vultures, all the more so as the deformed nose protrudes like a beak and the mouth is large. The two upper incisors are broken out as a sign of matrimony.Their figures, except in young girls, are generally wasted, yet one occasionally meets with a woman of fine and symmetrical build. The dress is restricted to a small leaf, attached to a thin loin-string. Both men and women generally wear at the back a bundle of leaves; women and boys have strongly scented herbs, the men coloured croton, the shade depending on the caste of the wearer. The highest castes wear the darkest, nearly black, varieties. These croton bushes are planted along the sides of the gamals, so as to furnish the men’s ornaments; and they lend the sombre places some brightness and colour.Half for ornament and half for purposes of healingare the large scars which may frequently be seen on the shoulders or breasts of the natives. The cuts are supposed to cure internal pains; the scabs are frequently scratched off, until the scar is large and high, and may be considered ornamental. Apropos of this medical detail I may mention another remedy, for rheumatism: with a tiny bow and arrow a great number of small cuts are shot into the skin of the part affected; the scars from these wounds form a network of fine, hardly noticeable designs on the skin.The life and cult of the natives are as simple as their dress. The houses are scattered and hidden in the bush, grouped vaguely around the gamal, which stands alone on a bare square. No statues stand there, nor tall, upright drums; only a few small drums lie in a puddle around the gamal.The dwelling-houses are simply gable-roofs, always without side-walls and often without any walls at all. They are divided into a pig-stable and a living-room, unless the owners prefer to have their pigs living in the same space with themselves.A few flat wooden dishes are the only implements the native does not find ready-made in nature. Cooking is done with heated stones heaped around the food, which has been previously wrapped up in banana leaves. Lime-stones naturally cannot be used for that purpose, and volcanic stones have often to be brought from quite a distance, so that these cooking-stones are treated with some care. In place of knives the natives use shells or inland bamboo-splinters,but both are rapidly being replaced by European knives.On approaching a village we are first frightened by a few pigs, which run away grunting and scolding into the thicket. Then a pack of dogs announce our arrival, threatening us with hypocritical zeal. A few children, playing in the dirt among the pigs, jump up and run away, then slowly return, take us by the hand and stare into our faces. At noon we will generally find all the men assembled in the gamal making “lap-lap.” Lap-lap is the national dish of the natives of the New Hebrides; quite one-fifth part of their lives is spent in making and eating lap-lap. The work is not strenuous. The cook sits on the ground and rubs the fruit, yam or taro, on a piece of rough coral or a palm-sheath, thus making a thick paste, which is wrapped up in banana leaves and cooked between stones. After a few hours’ cooking it looks like a thick pudding and does not taste at all bad. For flavouring, cocoa-nut milk is poured over it, or it is mixed with cabbage, grease, nuts, roasted and ground, or occasionally with maggots. Besides this principal dish, sweet potatoes, manioc, bread-fruit, pineapples, bananas, etc., are eaten in season, and if the natives were less careless, they would never need to starve, as frequently happens.The men are not much disturbed by our arrival. They offer us a log to sit on, and continue to rub their yam, talking us over the while. They seem to be a very peaceful and friendly crowd, yet in this district they are particularly cruel and treacherous,and only a few days after my departure war broke out. The gamal is bare, except for a few wooden dishes hanging in the roof, and weapons of all kinds, not in full sight, but ready at any moment. We can see rifles, arrows and clubs. The clubs are very simple, either straight or curved sticks. Old pieces are highly valued, and carry marks indicating how many victims have been killed with them: I saw one club with sixty-seven of these marks. In former years the spear with about two hundred and fifty points of human bones was much used, but is now quite replaced by the rifle. The bones for spear-points and arrow-heads are taken from the bodies of dead relatives and high-castes. The corpse is buried in the house, and when it is decayed the bones of the limbs are dug out, split, polished and used for weapons. The idea is that the courage and skill of the dead man may be transmitted to the owner of the weapon, also, that the dead man may take revenge on his murderer, as every death is considered to have been caused by some enemy. These bones are naturally full of the poisons of the corpse, and may cause tetanus at the slightest scratch. On the arrows they are extremely sharp and only slightly attached to the wood, so that they stick in the flesh and increase the inflammation. Besides, they are often dipped in some special poison.GAMAL NEAR PORT OLROY, ABOUT SIXTY YARDS LONG.GAMAL NEAR PORT OLROY, ABOUT SIXTY YARDS LONG.All over the archipelago the arrows are very carefully made, and almost every island has its own type, although they all resemble each other. Many are covered at the point with a fine spiral binding,and the small triangles thus formed are painted in rows—red, green and white. Much less care is bestowed on the fish- and bird-arrows, which are three-pointed as a rule, and often have no point at all, but only a knob, so as to stun the bird and not to stick in the branches of the trees.Shields are unknown. It would seem that the arrow was not, as elsewhere, the principal weapon, but rather the spear and club, and the wars were not very deadly, as the natives’ skill in handling their weapons was equalled by their skill in dodging them.Having inspected the gamal, we received from the highest caste present a gift of some yam, or taro, which we requited with some sticks of tobacco. The length of the gamal depends on the caste of the chief who builds it. I saw a gamal 60 mètres long, and while this length seems senseless to-day, because of the scanty population, it was necessary in former days, when the number of a man’s followers rose with his rank. Not many years ago these houses were filled at night with sleeping warriors, each with his weapons at hand, ready for a fight. To-day these long, dark, deserted houses are too dismal for the few remaining men, so that they generally build a small gamal beside the big one.To have killed a man, no matter in what way, is a great honour, and gives the right to wear a special plume of white and black feathers. Such plumes are not rare in Port Olry.Each man has his own fire, and cooks his own food; for, as I have said, it would mean the loss ofcaste to eat food cooked on the fire of a lower caste. Women are considered unworthy to cook a man’s meal; in fact, their standing here is probably the lowest in all the archipelago. Still, they do not lack amusement; they gather like the men for social carousals, and are giggling and chattering all day long. Their principal occupation is the cultivation of the fields, but where Nature is so open-handed this is not such a task as we might think when we see them coming home in the afternoon, panting under an immense load of fruit, with a pile of firewood on top, a child on their back and possibly dragging another by the hand. Port Olry is the only place in the New Hebrides where the women carry loads on their heads. Everywhere else they carry them on their backs in baskets of cocoa-nut leaves. In consequence the women here are remarkable for their erect and supple carriage.The work in the fields consists merely of digging out the yam and picking other fruit, and it is a sociable affair, with much talking and laughter. There is always something to eat, such as an unripe cocoa-nut or a banana. Serious work is not necessary except at the planting season, when the bush has to be cleared. Then a whole clan usually works together, the men helping quite energetically, until the fields are fenced in and ready for planting; then they hold a feast, a big “kai-kai,” and leave the rest of the work to the women. The fences are made to keep out the pigs, and are built in the simplest way: sticks of the wild cotton-wood tree,which grows rankly everywhere, are stuck into the ground at short intervals; they immediately begin to sprout, and after a short time form a living and impenetrable hedge. But they last much longer than is necessary, so that everywhere the fences of old gardens bar the road and force the traveller to make endless detours, all the more so as the natives have a way of making their fields right across the paths whenever it suits them.The number of women here amounts only to about one-fourth of that of the men. One reason for this is the custom of killing all the widows of a chief, a custom which was all the more pernicious as the chiefs, as a rule, owned most of the young females, while the young men could barely afford to buy an old widow. Happily this custom is dying out, owing to the influence of the planters and missionaries; they appealed, not unwisely, to the sensuality of the young men, who were thus depriving themselves of the women. Strange to say, the women were not altogether pleased with this change, many desiring to die, for fear they might be haunted by the offended spirit of their husband.When a chief died, the execution did not take place at once. The body was exposed in a special little hut in the thicket, and left to decay, which process was hastened by the climate and the flies. Then a death-feast was prepared, and the widows, half frantic with mad dancing and howling, were strangled.Ordinary people are buried in their own houses,which generally decay afterwards. Often the widow had to sleep beside the decaying body for one hundred days.Being short of boys, I could not visit many of the villages inland, and I stayed on at the mission station, where there was generally something for me to do, as the natives frequently came loitering about the station. I made use of their presence as much as possible for anthropological measurements, but I could not always find willing subjects. Everything depends on the humour of the crowd; if they make fun of the first victim, the case is lost, as no second man is willing to be the butt of the innumerable gibes showered on the person under the instruments. Things are more favourable if it is only fear of some dangerous enchantment that holds them back, for then persuasion and liberal gifts of tobacco generally overcome their fears. The best subjects are those who pretend to understand the scientific meaning of the operation, or the utterly indifferent, who never think about it at all, are quite surprised to be suddenly presented with tobacco, and go home, shaking their heads over the many queer madnesses of white men. I took as many photographs as possible, and my pictures made quite a sensation. Once, when I showed his portrait to one of the dandies with the oiled and curled wig, he ran away with a cry of terror at his undreamt-of ugliness, and returned after a short while with his hair cut. His deformed nose, however, resisted all attempts at restoration.The natives showed great reluctance in bringing me skulls and skeletons. As the bones decay very quickly in the tropics, only skulls of people recently deceased can be had. The demon, or soul, of the dead is supposed to be too lively as yet to be wantonly offended; in any case, one dislikes to disturb one’s own relatives, while there is less delicacy about those of others. Still, in course of time, I gathered quite a good collection of skulls at the station. They were brought carefully wrapped up in leaves, fastened with lianas, and tied to long sticks, with which the bearer held the disgusting object as far from him as possible. The bundles were laid down, and the people watched with admiring disgust as I untied the ropes and handled the bones as one would any other object. Everything that had touched the bones became to the natives an object of the greatest awe; still they enjoyed pushing the leaves that had wrapped them up under the feet of an unsuspecting friend, who presently, warned of the danger, escaped with a terrified shriek and a wild jump. It would seem that physical disgust had as much to do with all this as religious fear, although the natives show none of this disgust at handling the remains of pigs. Naturally, the old men were the most superstitious; the young ones were more emancipated, some of them even going the length of picking up a bone with their toes.Most of them had quite a similar dread of snakes, but some men handled them without muchfear, and brought me large specimens, which they had caught in a sling and then wrapped up in leaves. While I killed and skinned a big snake, a large crowd always surrounded me, ever ready for flight, and later my boys chased them with the empty skin, a performance which always ended in great laughing and dancing.I had been in Port Olry for three weeks, waiting anxiously every day for theMarie-Henry, which was to bring the luggage I had left behind at the Segond Channel. My outfit began to be insufficient; what I needed most was chemicals for the preservation of my zoological specimens, which I had plenty of time and occasion to collect here. One day theMarie-Henry, a large schooner, arrived, but my luggage had been forgotten. I was much disappointed, as I saw no means of recovering it in the near future. TheMarie-Henrywas bound for Talamacco, in Big Bay, and took the Rev. Father and myself along.One of the passengers was Mr. F., a planter and trader in Talamacco, and we soon became good friends with him and some of the others. Mr. F. was very kind, and promised to use all his influence to help me find boys. The weather was bad, and we had to tack about all night; happily, we were more comfortable on the big schooner than on the little cutters. At Talamacco Mr. F. offered us his hospitality, and as it rained continually, we were very glad to stay in his house, spending the time in sipping gin and winding up a hoarse gramophone.Thus two lazy days passed, during which our host was constantly working for me, sending his foreman, the “moli,” to all the neighbouring villages, with such good results that at last I was able to engage four boys for two months. I took them on board at once, well pleased to have the means, at last, of moving about independently.We sailed in the evening, and when, next morning, we rounded Cape Quiros, we found a heavy sea, so that the big ship pitched and ploughed with dull hissing through the foaming waves. She lay aslant under the pressure of the wind that whistled in the rigging, and the full curve of the great sails was a fine sight; but it was evident that the sails and ropes were in a very rotten condition, and soon, with anxious looks, we followed the growth of a tear in the mainsail, wondering whether the mast would stand the strain. A heavy sea broke the rudder, and altogether it was high time to land when we entered Port Olry in the late afternoon.A few days later I started for Hog Harbour, for the plantation of the Messrs. Th., near which I meant to attend a great feast, or “sing-sing.” This meant a march of several hours through the bush. My boys had all put on their best finery,—trousers, shirts, gay handkerchiefs,—and had painted their hair with fresh lime.“Well, boys, are you ready?” “Yes, Masta,” they answer, with conviction, though they are far from ready, as they are still tying their bundles. After waiting a while, I say, “Well, me, me go.”They answer, “All right, you go.” I take a few steps and wait again. One of them appears in front of the hut to look for a stick to hang his bundle on, another cannot find his pipe; still, after a quarter of an hour, we can really start. The boys sing and laugh, but as we enter the forest darkness they suddenly become quiet, as if the sternness of the bush oppressed their souls. We talk but little, and only in undertones. These woods have none of the happy, sensuous luxuriance which fancy lends to every tropical forest; there is a harshness, a selfish struggle for the first place among the different plants, a deadly battling for air and light. Giant trees with spreading crowns suppress everything around, kill every rival and leave only small and insignificant shrubs alive. Between them, smaller trees strive for light; on tall, straight, thin stems they have secured a place and developed a crown. Others look for light in roundabout ways, making use of every gap their neighbours leave, and rise upward in soft coils. All these form a high roof, under which younger and weaker plants lead a skimped life—hardwood trees on thin trunks, with small, unassuming leaves, and vulgar softwood with large, flabby foliage. Around and across all this wind the parasites, lianas, rotang, some stretched like ropes from one trunk to another, some rising in elegant curves from the ground, some attached to other trunks and sucking out their life with a thousand roots, others interlaced in the air in distorted curves. All these grow and thrive on the bodies of former generations on the damp,mouldy ground, where leaves rot and trunks decay, and where it is always wet, as never a sunbeam can strike in so far.Thus it is sad in the forest, and strangely quiet, as in a churchyard, for not even the wind can penetrate the green surface. It passes rushing through the crowns, so that sometimes we catch an upward glimpse of bright yellow sunshine as though out of a deep gully. And as men in sternest fight are silent, using all their energy for one purpose, so here there is no sign of gay and happy life, there are no flowers or coloured leaves, but the endless, dull green, in an infinity of shapes.Even the animals seem to shun the dark forest depths; only on the highest trees a few pigeons bathe in the sun, and as they fly heavily over the wood, their call sounds, melancholy as a sad dream, from afar. A lonely butterfly flutters among the trees, a delicate being, unused to this dark world, seeking in vain for a ray of sun and a breath of fresh air. Sometimes we hear the grunt of an invisible pig, the breaking of branches and the rustling of leaves as it runs away. Moisture and lowering gloom brood over the swampy earth; one would not be surprised if suddenly the ground were to move and wriggle like slimy snakes tightly knotted around each other. Thorns catch the limbs, vines catch the feet, and the wanderer, stumbling along, almost fancies he can hear the spiteful laughter of malicious demons. One feels tired, worried, unsafe, as if in an enemy’s country, helplessly following the guide, who walksnoiselessly on the soft ground. With a branch he sweeps aside the innumerable spider-webs that droop across the path, to keep them from hanging in our faces. Silently the other men follow behind; once in a while a dry branch snaps or a trunk creaks.In this dark monotony we go on for hours, without an outlook, and seemingly without purpose or direction, on a hardly visible path, in an endless wilderness. We pass thousands of trees, climb over hundreds of fallen trunks and brush past millions of creepers. Sometimes we enter a clearing, where agianttree has fallen or a village used to stand. Sometimes great coral rocks lie in the thicket; the pools at their foot are a wallowing-place for pigs.It is a confusing walk; one feels quite dizzy with the constantly passing stems and branches, and a white man would be lost in this wilderness without the native, whose home it is. He sees everything, every track of beast or bird, and finds signs on every tree and vine, peculiarities of shape or grouping, which he recognizes with unerring certainty. He describes the least suggestion of a trail, a footprint, or a knife-cut, or a torn leaf. As the white man finds his way about a city by means of street signs, so the savage reads his directions in the forest from the trees and the ground. He knows every plant and its uses, the best wood for fires; he knows when he may expect to find water, and which liana makes the strongest rope. Yet even he seems to feel somethingof the appalling loneliness of the primeval forest.Our path leads steeply up and down, over loose coral blocks, between ferns and mosses; lianas serve as ropes to help us climb over coral rocks, and with our knives we hew a passage through thorny creepers and thick bush. The road runs in zigzags, sometimes turning back to go round fallen trunks and swampy places, so that we really walk three or four times the distance to Hog Harbour. Our guide uses his bush-knife steadily and to good purpose: he sees where the creepers interlace and which branch is the chief hindrance, and in a few deft cuts the tangle falls.At last—it seems an eternity since we dived into the forest—we hear from afar, through the green walls, a dull roaring, and as we go on, we distinguish the thunder of the breakers like the beating of a great pulse. Suddenly the thicket lightens, and we stand on the beach, blinded by the splendour of light that pours on us, but breathing freely in the fresh air that blows from the far horizon. We should like to stretch out on the sand and enjoy the free space after the forest gloom; but after a short rest we go on, for this is only half-way to our destination, and we dive once more into the semi-darkness.Towards evening we reach the plantation of the Messrs. Th. They are Australians of good family, and their place is splendidly kept. I was struck by the cleanliness of the whole establishment, the good quarters of the native labourers, the quiet way inwhich work was done, the pleasant relations between masters and hands, and last, but not least, the healthy and happy appearance of the latter.The brothers had just finished the construction of what was quite a village, its white lime walls shining invitingly through the green of the cocoa-nut palms. There was a large kitchen, a storehouse, a tool-shed, a bakery, a dwelling-house and a light, open summer-house, a delightful spot, where we dined in the cool sea-breeze and sipped whisky in the moonlight, while the palm-leaves waved dreamily. Then there was a large poultry yard, pigsty and paddocks, and along the beach were the boat-houses, drying-sheds and storehouses, shaded by old trees. The boys’ quarters were roomy, eight sleeping together in an airy hut, while the married couples had houses of their own. The boys slept on high beds, each with his “bocase” underneath, to hold his possessions, while all sorts of common property hung in the roof—nets, fish-spears, bows, guns, etc.Such plantations, where the natives lack neither food nor good treatment, can only have a favourable influence on the race, and it is not quite clear why the Presbyterian missionaries do not like their young men to go in for plantation work. Owing to the good treatment of their hands the Messrs. Th. have always had enough labourers, and have been able to develop their plantation wonderfully. It consists almost exclusively of cocoa-nut palms, planted on ground wrested from the forest in a hard fight. When I was there the trees were not yet in fullbearing, but the proprietors had every reason to expect a very considerable income in a few years. The cultivation of the cocoa-nut is extremely simple; the only hard work is the first clearing of the ground, and keeping the young trees free from lianas. Once they are grown up, they are able to keep down the bush themselves to a certain extent, and then the work consists in picking up the ripe nuts from the ground, husking and drying them. The net profit from one tree is estimated at one shilling per annum. Besides the cultivation of their plantation the Messrs. Th. plied a flourishing trade in coprah and sandalwood all along the west coast of Santo, which they visited frequently in their cutter. This same cutter was often a great help to me, and, indeed, her owners always befriended me in the most generous way, and many are the pleasant hours I spent in their company.After dinner that first day we went to the village where the “sing-sing” was to take place. There was no moon, and the night was pitch dark. The boys had made torches of palm-leaves, which they kept burning by means of constant swinging. They flared up in dull, red flames, lighting up the nearest surroundings, and we wound our way upwards through the trunk vines and leaves that nearly shut in the path. It seemed as if we were groping about without a direction, as if looking for a match in a dark room. Soon, however, we heard the dull sound of the drums, and the noise led us to the plateau, till we could see the red glare of afire and hear the rough voices of men and the shrill singing of women.GROUP OF LARGE AND SMALL DRUMS ON A DANCING-GROUND NEAR PORT SANDWICH.GROUP OF LARGE AND SMALL DRUMS ON A DANCING-GROUND NEAR PORT SANDWICH.Unnoticed, we entered the dancing-ground. A number of men were standing in a circle round a huge fire, their silhouettes cutting sharply into the red glare. Out of a tangle of clubs, rifles, plumes, curly wigs, round heads, bows and violently gesticulating arms, sounds an irregular shrieking, yelling, whistling and howling, uniting occasionally to a monotonous song. The men stamp the measure, some begin to whirl about, others rush towards the fire; now and then a huge log breaks in two and crowns the dark, excited crowd with a brilliant column of circling sparks. Then everybody yells delightedly, and the shouting and dancing sets in with renewed vigour. Everyone is hoarse, panting and covered with perspiration, which paints light streaks on the sooty faces and bodies.Noticing us, a man rushes playfully towards us, threateningly swinging his club, his eyes and teeth shining in the darkness; then he returns to the shouting, dancing mob around the fire. Half-grown boys sneak through the crowd; they are the most excited of all, and stamp the ground wildly with their disproportionately large feet, kicking and shrieking in unpleasant ecstasy. All this goes on among the guests; the hosts keep a little apart, near a scaffolding, on which yams are attached. The men circle slowly round this altar, carrying decorated bamboos, with which they mark the measure, stamping them on the ground with a thud. They singa monotonous tune, one man starting and the others joining in; the dance consists of slow, springy jumps from one foot to the other.On two sides of this dancing circle the women stand in line, painted all over with soot. When the men’s deep song is ended, they chant the same melody with thin, shrill voices. Once in a while they join in the dance, taking a turn with some one man, then disappearing; they are all much excited; only a few old hags stand apart, who are past worldly pleasures, and have known such feasts for many, many years.The whole thing looks grotesque and uncanny, yet the pleasure in mere noise and dancing is childish and harmless. The picture is imposing and beautiful in its simplicity, gruesome in its wildness and sensuality, and splendid with the red lights which play on the shining, naked bodies. In the blackness of the night nothing is visible but that red-lit group of two or three hundred men, careless of to-morrow, given up entirely to the pleasure of the moment. The spectacle lasts all night, and the crowd becomes more and more wrought up, the leaps of the dancers wilder, the singing louder. We stand aside, incapable of feeling with these people or sharing their joy, realizing that theirs is a perfectly strange atmosphere which will never be ours.Towards morning we left, none too early, for a tremendous shower came down and kept on all next morning. I went up to the village again, tofind a most dismal and dejected crowd. Around the square, in the damp forest, seedy natives stood and squatted in small groups, shivering with cold and wet. Some tried to warm themselves around fires, but with poor success. Bored and unhappy, they stared at us as we passed, and did not move. Women and children had made umbrellas of large flat leaves, which they carried on their heads; the soot which had formed their festival dress was washed off by the rain. The square itself was deserted, save for a pack of dogs and a few little boys, rolling about in the mud puddles. Once in a while an old man would come out of the gamal, yawn and disappear. In short, it was alendemain de fêteof the worst kind.About once in a quarter of an hour a man would come to bring a tusked pig to the chief, who danced a few times round the animal, stamped his heel on the ground, uttered certain words, and retired with short, stiff steps, shaking his head, into the gamal. The morning was over by the time all the pigs were ready. I spent most of the time out of doors, rather than in the gamal, for there many of the dancers of the evening lay in all directions and in most uncomfortable positions, beside and across each other, snoring, shivering or staring sulkily into dark corners. I was offered a log to sit on, and it might have been quite acceptable had not one old man, trembling with cold, pressed closely against me to get warm, and then, half asleep, attempted to lay his shaggy, oil-soaked headon my shoulder, while legions of starved fleas attacked my limbs, forcing me to beat a hasty though belated retreat.In the afternoon about sixty pigs were tied to poles in front of the gamal, and the chief took an old gun-barrel and smashed their heads. They represented a value of about six hundred pounds! Dogs and men approached the quivering victims, the dogs to lick the blood that ran out of their mouths, the men to carry the corpses away for the feast. This was the prosaic end of the great “sing-sing.”As it is not always easy to borrow the number of pigs necessary to rise in caste, there are charms which are supposed to help in obtaining them. Generally, these are curiously shaped stones, sometimes carved in the shape of a pig, and are carried in the hand or in little baskets in the belt. Such charms are, naturally, very valuable, and are handed down for generations or bought for large sums. On this occasion the “big fellow-master” had sacrificed enough to attain a very high caste indeed, and had every reason to hold up his head with great pride.Formerly, these functions were generally graced with a special feature, in the shape of the eating of a man. As far as is known, the last cannibal meal took place in 1906; the circumstances were these: Some young men were walking through the forest, carrying their Snider rifles, loaded and cocked as usual, on their shoulders. Unluckily, one of the rifles went off, andkilled the man behind, the son of an influential native. Everyone was aware that the death was purely accidental, but the father demanded a considerable indemnity. The “murderer,” a poor and friendless youth, was unable to pay, and fled to a neighbouring village. He was received kindly enough, but his hosts sent secretly to the offended father to ask what they were to do with him. “Kill him and eat him,” was the reply. They therefore prepared a great feast, in honour, as they said, of their beloved guest, and while he was sitting cheerfully near the fire, in anticipation of the good meal to come, they killed him from behind with an axe. The body was roasted, and the people of his village were asked to the feast. One man had received the forearm and hand, and while he was chewing the muscles and pulling away at the inflectors of the fingers, the hand closed and scratched his cheek,—“all same he alive,”—whereupon the horrified guest threw his morsel away and fled into the forest.On my return to Port Olry I found that the Father had gone to visit a colleague, as his duties did not take up much of his time. His post at Port Olry was rather a forlorn hope, as the natives showed no inclination to become converts, especially not in connection with the poor Roman Catholic mission, which could not offer them any external advantages, like the rich and powerful Presbyterian mission. All the priests lived in the greatest poverty, in old houses, with very few servants. The one here had, besides a teacher from Malekula, an old native who hadquarrelled with his chief and separated from his clan. The good man was very anxious to marry, but no girl would have him, as he had had two wives, and had, quite without malice, strangled his second wife by way of curing her of an illness. I was reminded of this little episode every time I looked at the man’s long, bony fingers.One day a native asked me for medicine for his brother. I tried to find out the nature of the ailment, and decided to give him calomel, urging his brother to take it to him at once. The man had eaten a quarter of a pig all by himself, but, of course, it was said that he had been poisoned. His brother, instead of hurrying home, had a little visit with his friends at the coast, until it was dark and he was afraid to go home through the bush alone; so he waited till next morning, when it was too late. The man’s death naturally made the murder theory a certainty, so the body was not buried, but laid out in the hut, with all sorts of finery. Around it, in spite of the fearful odour, all the women sat for ten days, in a cloud of blow-flies. They burned strong-scented herbs to kill the smell, and dug a little trench across the floor, in order to keep the liquids from the decaying corpse from running into the other half of the house. The nose and mouth of the body were stopped up with clay and lime, probably to keep the soul from getting out, and the body was surrounded by a little hut. In the gamal close by sat all the men, sulky, revengeful, and planning war, which, in fact, broke out within a few days after my departure.The Messrs. Th. had been kind enough to invite me to go on a recruiting trip to Maevo, the most north-easterly island of the group. Here I found a very scanty population, showing many traces of Polynesian admixture in appearance and habits. The weather was nasty and our luck at recruiting poor, so that after a fortnight we returned to Hog Harbour. I went to Port Olry to my old priest’s house, and a few days later Mr. Th. came in his cutter to take me to Tassimaloun in Big Bay; so I bade a hearty farewell to the good Father, whom I have never had the pleasure of meeting again.
The event just described reduced my chance of finding servants in Vao to a minimum, as all the able-bodied young men had been taken away. I therefore sailed with the missionary for his station at Port Olry. Our route lay along the east coast of Santo. Grey rain-clouds hung on the high mountains in the interior, the sun shone faintly through the misty atmosphere, the greyish-blue sea and the greyish-green shore, with the brown boulders on the beach, formed a study in grey, whose hypnotic effect was increased by a warm, weary wind. Whoever was not on duty at the tiller lay down on deck, and as in a dream we floated slowly along the coast past lonely islands and bays; whenever we looked up we saw the same picture, only the outlines seemed to have shifted a little. We anchored near a lonely isle, to find out whether its only inhabitant, an old Frenchman, was still alive. He had arrived there a year ago, full of the most brilliant hopes, which, however, had not materialized. He had no boat, hardly ever saw a human being, and lived on wild fruits. Hardly anyone knows him or visits him, but he had not lost courage, and asked for nothing but a little salt, which we gave him, and then sailed on.
In Hog Harbour we spent the night and enjoyed a hearty English breakfast with the planters, the Messrs. Th., who have a large and beautiful plantation; then we continued our cruise. The country had changed somewhat; mighty banks of coral formed high tablelands that fell vertically down to the sea, and the living reef stretched seaward under the water. These tablelands were intersected by flat valleys, in the centre of which rose steep hills, like huge bastions dominating the country round. The islands off the coast were covered with thick vegetation, with white chalk cliffs gleaming through them at intervals. A thin mist filled the valleys with violet hues, the sea was bright and a fresh breeze carried us gaily along. The aspect of the country displayed the energies of elemental powers: nowhere can the origin of chalk mountains be more plainly seen than here, where we have the process before us in all its stages, from the living reef, shining purple through the sea, to the sandy beach strewn with bits of coral, to the high table mountain. We anchored at a headland near a small river, and were cordially welcomed by the missionary’s dogs, cats, pigs and native teacher. There was also a young girl whom the father had once dug out of her grave, where a hard-hearted mother had buried her.
I had an extremely interesting time at Port Olry. The population here is somewhat different from that of the rest of Santo: very dark-skinned, tall and different in physiognomy. It may be called typically Melanesian, while many other races show Polynesianadmixture. The race here is very strong, coarse-featured and lives in the simplest way, without any industries, and is the primitive population in the New Hebrides.
A few details as to personal appearance may be of interest. Among the ornaments used are very large combs, decorated with pigs’ tails. Pigs’ tails also are stuck into the hair and ears. The hair is worn very long, rolled into little curls and plentifully oiled. A most peculiar deformation is applied to the nose and results in extreme ugliness: the septum is perforated, and instead of merely inserting a stick, a springy spiral is used, which presses the nose upward and forward, so that in time it develops into an immense, shapeless lump, as if numberless wasps had stung it. It takes a long time to get used to this sight, especially as the nose is made still more conspicuous by being painted with a bright red stripe on its point, and two black ones on each side. A more attractive ornament are flowers, which the men stick into their hair, where they are very effective on the dark background. In the lobes of the ears they wear spirals of tortoise-shell or thin ornaments of bone; the men often paint their faces with a mixture of soot and grease, generally the upper half of the forehead, the lower part of the cheeks and the back of the nose. The women and children prefer the red juice of a fruit, with which they paint their faces in all sorts of mysterious designs.
The dress of the men consists of a large belt, purposely worn very low so as to show the beautifulcurve of the loins. About six small mats hang down in front. Formerly, and even at the present day on festival occasions, they wore on the back an ovoid of wood; the purpose is quite unknown, but may originally have been a portable seat, as the Melanesian does not like to sit on the bare ground. Provided with this article of dress the wearer did not need to look about for a seat.
If the appearance of the men, while not beautiful, is at least impressive, the women are so very much disfigured that it takes quite some time to grow accustomed to their style of beauty. They are not allowed to wear many ornaments, have to shave their heads, and generally rub them with lime, so that they look rather like white-headed vultures, all the more so as the deformed nose protrudes like a beak and the mouth is large. The two upper incisors are broken out as a sign of matrimony.
Their figures, except in young girls, are generally wasted, yet one occasionally meets with a woman of fine and symmetrical build. The dress is restricted to a small leaf, attached to a thin loin-string. Both men and women generally wear at the back a bundle of leaves; women and boys have strongly scented herbs, the men coloured croton, the shade depending on the caste of the wearer. The highest castes wear the darkest, nearly black, varieties. These croton bushes are planted along the sides of the gamals, so as to furnish the men’s ornaments; and they lend the sombre places some brightness and colour.
Half for ornament and half for purposes of healingare the large scars which may frequently be seen on the shoulders or breasts of the natives. The cuts are supposed to cure internal pains; the scabs are frequently scratched off, until the scar is large and high, and may be considered ornamental. Apropos of this medical detail I may mention another remedy, for rheumatism: with a tiny bow and arrow a great number of small cuts are shot into the skin of the part affected; the scars from these wounds form a network of fine, hardly noticeable designs on the skin.
The life and cult of the natives are as simple as their dress. The houses are scattered and hidden in the bush, grouped vaguely around the gamal, which stands alone on a bare square. No statues stand there, nor tall, upright drums; only a few small drums lie in a puddle around the gamal.
The dwelling-houses are simply gable-roofs, always without side-walls and often without any walls at all. They are divided into a pig-stable and a living-room, unless the owners prefer to have their pigs living in the same space with themselves.
A few flat wooden dishes are the only implements the native does not find ready-made in nature. Cooking is done with heated stones heaped around the food, which has been previously wrapped up in banana leaves. Lime-stones naturally cannot be used for that purpose, and volcanic stones have often to be brought from quite a distance, so that these cooking-stones are treated with some care. In place of knives the natives use shells or inland bamboo-splinters,but both are rapidly being replaced by European knives.
On approaching a village we are first frightened by a few pigs, which run away grunting and scolding into the thicket. Then a pack of dogs announce our arrival, threatening us with hypocritical zeal. A few children, playing in the dirt among the pigs, jump up and run away, then slowly return, take us by the hand and stare into our faces. At noon we will generally find all the men assembled in the gamal making “lap-lap.” Lap-lap is the national dish of the natives of the New Hebrides; quite one-fifth part of their lives is spent in making and eating lap-lap. The work is not strenuous. The cook sits on the ground and rubs the fruit, yam or taro, on a piece of rough coral or a palm-sheath, thus making a thick paste, which is wrapped up in banana leaves and cooked between stones. After a few hours’ cooking it looks like a thick pudding and does not taste at all bad. For flavouring, cocoa-nut milk is poured over it, or it is mixed with cabbage, grease, nuts, roasted and ground, or occasionally with maggots. Besides this principal dish, sweet potatoes, manioc, bread-fruit, pineapples, bananas, etc., are eaten in season, and if the natives were less careless, they would never need to starve, as frequently happens.
The men are not much disturbed by our arrival. They offer us a log to sit on, and continue to rub their yam, talking us over the while. They seem to be a very peaceful and friendly crowd, yet in this district they are particularly cruel and treacherous,and only a few days after my departure war broke out. The gamal is bare, except for a few wooden dishes hanging in the roof, and weapons of all kinds, not in full sight, but ready at any moment. We can see rifles, arrows and clubs. The clubs are very simple, either straight or curved sticks. Old pieces are highly valued, and carry marks indicating how many victims have been killed with them: I saw one club with sixty-seven of these marks. In former years the spear with about two hundred and fifty points of human bones was much used, but is now quite replaced by the rifle. The bones for spear-points and arrow-heads are taken from the bodies of dead relatives and high-castes. The corpse is buried in the house, and when it is decayed the bones of the limbs are dug out, split, polished and used for weapons. The idea is that the courage and skill of the dead man may be transmitted to the owner of the weapon, also, that the dead man may take revenge on his murderer, as every death is considered to have been caused by some enemy. These bones are naturally full of the poisons of the corpse, and may cause tetanus at the slightest scratch. On the arrows they are extremely sharp and only slightly attached to the wood, so that they stick in the flesh and increase the inflammation. Besides, they are often dipped in some special poison.
GAMAL NEAR PORT OLROY, ABOUT SIXTY YARDS LONG.GAMAL NEAR PORT OLROY, ABOUT SIXTY YARDS LONG.
GAMAL NEAR PORT OLROY, ABOUT SIXTY YARDS LONG.
All over the archipelago the arrows are very carefully made, and almost every island has its own type, although they all resemble each other. Many are covered at the point with a fine spiral binding,and the small triangles thus formed are painted in rows—red, green and white. Much less care is bestowed on the fish- and bird-arrows, which are three-pointed as a rule, and often have no point at all, but only a knob, so as to stun the bird and not to stick in the branches of the trees.
Shields are unknown. It would seem that the arrow was not, as elsewhere, the principal weapon, but rather the spear and club, and the wars were not very deadly, as the natives’ skill in handling their weapons was equalled by their skill in dodging them.
Having inspected the gamal, we received from the highest caste present a gift of some yam, or taro, which we requited with some sticks of tobacco. The length of the gamal depends on the caste of the chief who builds it. I saw a gamal 60 mètres long, and while this length seems senseless to-day, because of the scanty population, it was necessary in former days, when the number of a man’s followers rose with his rank. Not many years ago these houses were filled at night with sleeping warriors, each with his weapons at hand, ready for a fight. To-day these long, dark, deserted houses are too dismal for the few remaining men, so that they generally build a small gamal beside the big one.
To have killed a man, no matter in what way, is a great honour, and gives the right to wear a special plume of white and black feathers. Such plumes are not rare in Port Olry.
Each man has his own fire, and cooks his own food; for, as I have said, it would mean the loss ofcaste to eat food cooked on the fire of a lower caste. Women are considered unworthy to cook a man’s meal; in fact, their standing here is probably the lowest in all the archipelago. Still, they do not lack amusement; they gather like the men for social carousals, and are giggling and chattering all day long. Their principal occupation is the cultivation of the fields, but where Nature is so open-handed this is not such a task as we might think when we see them coming home in the afternoon, panting under an immense load of fruit, with a pile of firewood on top, a child on their back and possibly dragging another by the hand. Port Olry is the only place in the New Hebrides where the women carry loads on their heads. Everywhere else they carry them on their backs in baskets of cocoa-nut leaves. In consequence the women here are remarkable for their erect and supple carriage.
The work in the fields consists merely of digging out the yam and picking other fruit, and it is a sociable affair, with much talking and laughter. There is always something to eat, such as an unripe cocoa-nut or a banana. Serious work is not necessary except at the planting season, when the bush has to be cleared. Then a whole clan usually works together, the men helping quite energetically, until the fields are fenced in and ready for planting; then they hold a feast, a big “kai-kai,” and leave the rest of the work to the women. The fences are made to keep out the pigs, and are built in the simplest way: sticks of the wild cotton-wood tree,which grows rankly everywhere, are stuck into the ground at short intervals; they immediately begin to sprout, and after a short time form a living and impenetrable hedge. But they last much longer than is necessary, so that everywhere the fences of old gardens bar the road and force the traveller to make endless detours, all the more so as the natives have a way of making their fields right across the paths whenever it suits them.
The number of women here amounts only to about one-fourth of that of the men. One reason for this is the custom of killing all the widows of a chief, a custom which was all the more pernicious as the chiefs, as a rule, owned most of the young females, while the young men could barely afford to buy an old widow. Happily this custom is dying out, owing to the influence of the planters and missionaries; they appealed, not unwisely, to the sensuality of the young men, who were thus depriving themselves of the women. Strange to say, the women were not altogether pleased with this change, many desiring to die, for fear they might be haunted by the offended spirit of their husband.
When a chief died, the execution did not take place at once. The body was exposed in a special little hut in the thicket, and left to decay, which process was hastened by the climate and the flies. Then a death-feast was prepared, and the widows, half frantic with mad dancing and howling, were strangled.
Ordinary people are buried in their own houses,which generally decay afterwards. Often the widow had to sleep beside the decaying body for one hundred days.
Being short of boys, I could not visit many of the villages inland, and I stayed on at the mission station, where there was generally something for me to do, as the natives frequently came loitering about the station. I made use of their presence as much as possible for anthropological measurements, but I could not always find willing subjects. Everything depends on the humour of the crowd; if they make fun of the first victim, the case is lost, as no second man is willing to be the butt of the innumerable gibes showered on the person under the instruments. Things are more favourable if it is only fear of some dangerous enchantment that holds them back, for then persuasion and liberal gifts of tobacco generally overcome their fears. The best subjects are those who pretend to understand the scientific meaning of the operation, or the utterly indifferent, who never think about it at all, are quite surprised to be suddenly presented with tobacco, and go home, shaking their heads over the many queer madnesses of white men. I took as many photographs as possible, and my pictures made quite a sensation. Once, when I showed his portrait to one of the dandies with the oiled and curled wig, he ran away with a cry of terror at his undreamt-of ugliness, and returned after a short while with his hair cut. His deformed nose, however, resisted all attempts at restoration.
The natives showed great reluctance in bringing me skulls and skeletons. As the bones decay very quickly in the tropics, only skulls of people recently deceased can be had. The demon, or soul, of the dead is supposed to be too lively as yet to be wantonly offended; in any case, one dislikes to disturb one’s own relatives, while there is less delicacy about those of others. Still, in course of time, I gathered quite a good collection of skulls at the station. They were brought carefully wrapped up in leaves, fastened with lianas, and tied to long sticks, with which the bearer held the disgusting object as far from him as possible. The bundles were laid down, and the people watched with admiring disgust as I untied the ropes and handled the bones as one would any other object. Everything that had touched the bones became to the natives an object of the greatest awe; still they enjoyed pushing the leaves that had wrapped them up under the feet of an unsuspecting friend, who presently, warned of the danger, escaped with a terrified shriek and a wild jump. It would seem that physical disgust had as much to do with all this as religious fear, although the natives show none of this disgust at handling the remains of pigs. Naturally, the old men were the most superstitious; the young ones were more emancipated, some of them even going the length of picking up a bone with their toes.
Most of them had quite a similar dread of snakes, but some men handled them without muchfear, and brought me large specimens, which they had caught in a sling and then wrapped up in leaves. While I killed and skinned a big snake, a large crowd always surrounded me, ever ready for flight, and later my boys chased them with the empty skin, a performance which always ended in great laughing and dancing.
I had been in Port Olry for three weeks, waiting anxiously every day for theMarie-Henry, which was to bring the luggage I had left behind at the Segond Channel. My outfit began to be insufficient; what I needed most was chemicals for the preservation of my zoological specimens, which I had plenty of time and occasion to collect here. One day theMarie-Henry, a large schooner, arrived, but my luggage had been forgotten. I was much disappointed, as I saw no means of recovering it in the near future. TheMarie-Henrywas bound for Talamacco, in Big Bay, and took the Rev. Father and myself along.
One of the passengers was Mr. F., a planter and trader in Talamacco, and we soon became good friends with him and some of the others. Mr. F. was very kind, and promised to use all his influence to help me find boys. The weather was bad, and we had to tack about all night; happily, we were more comfortable on the big schooner than on the little cutters. At Talamacco Mr. F. offered us his hospitality, and as it rained continually, we were very glad to stay in his house, spending the time in sipping gin and winding up a hoarse gramophone.Thus two lazy days passed, during which our host was constantly working for me, sending his foreman, the “moli,” to all the neighbouring villages, with such good results that at last I was able to engage four boys for two months. I took them on board at once, well pleased to have the means, at last, of moving about independently.
We sailed in the evening, and when, next morning, we rounded Cape Quiros, we found a heavy sea, so that the big ship pitched and ploughed with dull hissing through the foaming waves. She lay aslant under the pressure of the wind that whistled in the rigging, and the full curve of the great sails was a fine sight; but it was evident that the sails and ropes were in a very rotten condition, and soon, with anxious looks, we followed the growth of a tear in the mainsail, wondering whether the mast would stand the strain. A heavy sea broke the rudder, and altogether it was high time to land when we entered Port Olry in the late afternoon.
A few days later I started for Hog Harbour, for the plantation of the Messrs. Th., near which I meant to attend a great feast, or “sing-sing.” This meant a march of several hours through the bush. My boys had all put on their best finery,—trousers, shirts, gay handkerchiefs,—and had painted their hair with fresh lime.
“Well, boys, are you ready?” “Yes, Masta,” they answer, with conviction, though they are far from ready, as they are still tying their bundles. After waiting a while, I say, “Well, me, me go.”They answer, “All right, you go.” I take a few steps and wait again. One of them appears in front of the hut to look for a stick to hang his bundle on, another cannot find his pipe; still, after a quarter of an hour, we can really start. The boys sing and laugh, but as we enter the forest darkness they suddenly become quiet, as if the sternness of the bush oppressed their souls. We talk but little, and only in undertones. These woods have none of the happy, sensuous luxuriance which fancy lends to every tropical forest; there is a harshness, a selfish struggle for the first place among the different plants, a deadly battling for air and light. Giant trees with spreading crowns suppress everything around, kill every rival and leave only small and insignificant shrubs alive. Between them, smaller trees strive for light; on tall, straight, thin stems they have secured a place and developed a crown. Others look for light in roundabout ways, making use of every gap their neighbours leave, and rise upward in soft coils. All these form a high roof, under which younger and weaker plants lead a skimped life—hardwood trees on thin trunks, with small, unassuming leaves, and vulgar softwood with large, flabby foliage. Around and across all this wind the parasites, lianas, rotang, some stretched like ropes from one trunk to another, some rising in elegant curves from the ground, some attached to other trunks and sucking out their life with a thousand roots, others interlaced in the air in distorted curves. All these grow and thrive on the bodies of former generations on the damp,mouldy ground, where leaves rot and trunks decay, and where it is always wet, as never a sunbeam can strike in so far.
Thus it is sad in the forest, and strangely quiet, as in a churchyard, for not even the wind can penetrate the green surface. It passes rushing through the crowns, so that sometimes we catch an upward glimpse of bright yellow sunshine as though out of a deep gully. And as men in sternest fight are silent, using all their energy for one purpose, so here there is no sign of gay and happy life, there are no flowers or coloured leaves, but the endless, dull green, in an infinity of shapes.
Even the animals seem to shun the dark forest depths; only on the highest trees a few pigeons bathe in the sun, and as they fly heavily over the wood, their call sounds, melancholy as a sad dream, from afar. A lonely butterfly flutters among the trees, a delicate being, unused to this dark world, seeking in vain for a ray of sun and a breath of fresh air. Sometimes we hear the grunt of an invisible pig, the breaking of branches and the rustling of leaves as it runs away. Moisture and lowering gloom brood over the swampy earth; one would not be surprised if suddenly the ground were to move and wriggle like slimy snakes tightly knotted around each other. Thorns catch the limbs, vines catch the feet, and the wanderer, stumbling along, almost fancies he can hear the spiteful laughter of malicious demons. One feels tired, worried, unsafe, as if in an enemy’s country, helplessly following the guide, who walksnoiselessly on the soft ground. With a branch he sweeps aside the innumerable spider-webs that droop across the path, to keep them from hanging in our faces. Silently the other men follow behind; once in a while a dry branch snaps or a trunk creaks.
In this dark monotony we go on for hours, without an outlook, and seemingly without purpose or direction, on a hardly visible path, in an endless wilderness. We pass thousands of trees, climb over hundreds of fallen trunks and brush past millions of creepers. Sometimes we enter a clearing, where agianttree has fallen or a village used to stand. Sometimes great coral rocks lie in the thicket; the pools at their foot are a wallowing-place for pigs.
It is a confusing walk; one feels quite dizzy with the constantly passing stems and branches, and a white man would be lost in this wilderness without the native, whose home it is. He sees everything, every track of beast or bird, and finds signs on every tree and vine, peculiarities of shape or grouping, which he recognizes with unerring certainty. He describes the least suggestion of a trail, a footprint, or a knife-cut, or a torn leaf. As the white man finds his way about a city by means of street signs, so the savage reads his directions in the forest from the trees and the ground. He knows every plant and its uses, the best wood for fires; he knows when he may expect to find water, and which liana makes the strongest rope. Yet even he seems to feel somethingof the appalling loneliness of the primeval forest.
Our path leads steeply up and down, over loose coral blocks, between ferns and mosses; lianas serve as ropes to help us climb over coral rocks, and with our knives we hew a passage through thorny creepers and thick bush. The road runs in zigzags, sometimes turning back to go round fallen trunks and swampy places, so that we really walk three or four times the distance to Hog Harbour. Our guide uses his bush-knife steadily and to good purpose: he sees where the creepers interlace and which branch is the chief hindrance, and in a few deft cuts the tangle falls.
At last—it seems an eternity since we dived into the forest—we hear from afar, through the green walls, a dull roaring, and as we go on, we distinguish the thunder of the breakers like the beating of a great pulse. Suddenly the thicket lightens, and we stand on the beach, blinded by the splendour of light that pours on us, but breathing freely in the fresh air that blows from the far horizon. We should like to stretch out on the sand and enjoy the free space after the forest gloom; but after a short rest we go on, for this is only half-way to our destination, and we dive once more into the semi-darkness.
Towards evening we reach the plantation of the Messrs. Th. They are Australians of good family, and their place is splendidly kept. I was struck by the cleanliness of the whole establishment, the good quarters of the native labourers, the quiet way inwhich work was done, the pleasant relations between masters and hands, and last, but not least, the healthy and happy appearance of the latter.
The brothers had just finished the construction of what was quite a village, its white lime walls shining invitingly through the green of the cocoa-nut palms. There was a large kitchen, a storehouse, a tool-shed, a bakery, a dwelling-house and a light, open summer-house, a delightful spot, where we dined in the cool sea-breeze and sipped whisky in the moonlight, while the palm-leaves waved dreamily. Then there was a large poultry yard, pigsty and paddocks, and along the beach were the boat-houses, drying-sheds and storehouses, shaded by old trees. The boys’ quarters were roomy, eight sleeping together in an airy hut, while the married couples had houses of their own. The boys slept on high beds, each with his “bocase” underneath, to hold his possessions, while all sorts of common property hung in the roof—nets, fish-spears, bows, guns, etc.
Such plantations, where the natives lack neither food nor good treatment, can only have a favourable influence on the race, and it is not quite clear why the Presbyterian missionaries do not like their young men to go in for plantation work. Owing to the good treatment of their hands the Messrs. Th. have always had enough labourers, and have been able to develop their plantation wonderfully. It consists almost exclusively of cocoa-nut palms, planted on ground wrested from the forest in a hard fight. When I was there the trees were not yet in fullbearing, but the proprietors had every reason to expect a very considerable income in a few years. The cultivation of the cocoa-nut is extremely simple; the only hard work is the first clearing of the ground, and keeping the young trees free from lianas. Once they are grown up, they are able to keep down the bush themselves to a certain extent, and then the work consists in picking up the ripe nuts from the ground, husking and drying them. The net profit from one tree is estimated at one shilling per annum. Besides the cultivation of their plantation the Messrs. Th. plied a flourishing trade in coprah and sandalwood all along the west coast of Santo, which they visited frequently in their cutter. This same cutter was often a great help to me, and, indeed, her owners always befriended me in the most generous way, and many are the pleasant hours I spent in their company.
After dinner that first day we went to the village where the “sing-sing” was to take place. There was no moon, and the night was pitch dark. The boys had made torches of palm-leaves, which they kept burning by means of constant swinging. They flared up in dull, red flames, lighting up the nearest surroundings, and we wound our way upwards through the trunk vines and leaves that nearly shut in the path. It seemed as if we were groping about without a direction, as if looking for a match in a dark room. Soon, however, we heard the dull sound of the drums, and the noise led us to the plateau, till we could see the red glare of afire and hear the rough voices of men and the shrill singing of women.
GROUP OF LARGE AND SMALL DRUMS ON A DANCING-GROUND NEAR PORT SANDWICH.GROUP OF LARGE AND SMALL DRUMS ON A DANCING-GROUND NEAR PORT SANDWICH.
GROUP OF LARGE AND SMALL DRUMS ON A DANCING-GROUND NEAR PORT SANDWICH.
Unnoticed, we entered the dancing-ground. A number of men were standing in a circle round a huge fire, their silhouettes cutting sharply into the red glare. Out of a tangle of clubs, rifles, plumes, curly wigs, round heads, bows and violently gesticulating arms, sounds an irregular shrieking, yelling, whistling and howling, uniting occasionally to a monotonous song. The men stamp the measure, some begin to whirl about, others rush towards the fire; now and then a huge log breaks in two and crowns the dark, excited crowd with a brilliant column of circling sparks. Then everybody yells delightedly, and the shouting and dancing sets in with renewed vigour. Everyone is hoarse, panting and covered with perspiration, which paints light streaks on the sooty faces and bodies.
Noticing us, a man rushes playfully towards us, threateningly swinging his club, his eyes and teeth shining in the darkness; then he returns to the shouting, dancing mob around the fire. Half-grown boys sneak through the crowd; they are the most excited of all, and stamp the ground wildly with their disproportionately large feet, kicking and shrieking in unpleasant ecstasy. All this goes on among the guests; the hosts keep a little apart, near a scaffolding, on which yams are attached. The men circle slowly round this altar, carrying decorated bamboos, with which they mark the measure, stamping them on the ground with a thud. They singa monotonous tune, one man starting and the others joining in; the dance consists of slow, springy jumps from one foot to the other.
On two sides of this dancing circle the women stand in line, painted all over with soot. When the men’s deep song is ended, they chant the same melody with thin, shrill voices. Once in a while they join in the dance, taking a turn with some one man, then disappearing; they are all much excited; only a few old hags stand apart, who are past worldly pleasures, and have known such feasts for many, many years.
The whole thing looks grotesque and uncanny, yet the pleasure in mere noise and dancing is childish and harmless. The picture is imposing and beautiful in its simplicity, gruesome in its wildness and sensuality, and splendid with the red lights which play on the shining, naked bodies. In the blackness of the night nothing is visible but that red-lit group of two or three hundred men, careless of to-morrow, given up entirely to the pleasure of the moment. The spectacle lasts all night, and the crowd becomes more and more wrought up, the leaps of the dancers wilder, the singing louder. We stand aside, incapable of feeling with these people or sharing their joy, realizing that theirs is a perfectly strange atmosphere which will never be ours.
Towards morning we left, none too early, for a tremendous shower came down and kept on all next morning. I went up to the village again, tofind a most dismal and dejected crowd. Around the square, in the damp forest, seedy natives stood and squatted in small groups, shivering with cold and wet. Some tried to warm themselves around fires, but with poor success. Bored and unhappy, they stared at us as we passed, and did not move. Women and children had made umbrellas of large flat leaves, which they carried on their heads; the soot which had formed their festival dress was washed off by the rain. The square itself was deserted, save for a pack of dogs and a few little boys, rolling about in the mud puddles. Once in a while an old man would come out of the gamal, yawn and disappear. In short, it was alendemain de fêteof the worst kind.
About once in a quarter of an hour a man would come to bring a tusked pig to the chief, who danced a few times round the animal, stamped his heel on the ground, uttered certain words, and retired with short, stiff steps, shaking his head, into the gamal. The morning was over by the time all the pigs were ready. I spent most of the time out of doors, rather than in the gamal, for there many of the dancers of the evening lay in all directions and in most uncomfortable positions, beside and across each other, snoring, shivering or staring sulkily into dark corners. I was offered a log to sit on, and it might have been quite acceptable had not one old man, trembling with cold, pressed closely against me to get warm, and then, half asleep, attempted to lay his shaggy, oil-soaked headon my shoulder, while legions of starved fleas attacked my limbs, forcing me to beat a hasty though belated retreat.
In the afternoon about sixty pigs were tied to poles in front of the gamal, and the chief took an old gun-barrel and smashed their heads. They represented a value of about six hundred pounds! Dogs and men approached the quivering victims, the dogs to lick the blood that ran out of their mouths, the men to carry the corpses away for the feast. This was the prosaic end of the great “sing-sing.”
As it is not always easy to borrow the number of pigs necessary to rise in caste, there are charms which are supposed to help in obtaining them. Generally, these are curiously shaped stones, sometimes carved in the shape of a pig, and are carried in the hand or in little baskets in the belt. Such charms are, naturally, very valuable, and are handed down for generations or bought for large sums. On this occasion the “big fellow-master” had sacrificed enough to attain a very high caste indeed, and had every reason to hold up his head with great pride.
Formerly, these functions were generally graced with a special feature, in the shape of the eating of a man. As far as is known, the last cannibal meal took place in 1906; the circumstances were these: Some young men were walking through the forest, carrying their Snider rifles, loaded and cocked as usual, on their shoulders. Unluckily, one of the rifles went off, andkilled the man behind, the son of an influential native. Everyone was aware that the death was purely accidental, but the father demanded a considerable indemnity. The “murderer,” a poor and friendless youth, was unable to pay, and fled to a neighbouring village. He was received kindly enough, but his hosts sent secretly to the offended father to ask what they were to do with him. “Kill him and eat him,” was the reply. They therefore prepared a great feast, in honour, as they said, of their beloved guest, and while he was sitting cheerfully near the fire, in anticipation of the good meal to come, they killed him from behind with an axe. The body was roasted, and the people of his village were asked to the feast. One man had received the forearm and hand, and while he was chewing the muscles and pulling away at the inflectors of the fingers, the hand closed and scratched his cheek,—“all same he alive,”—whereupon the horrified guest threw his morsel away and fled into the forest.
On my return to Port Olry I found that the Father had gone to visit a colleague, as his duties did not take up much of his time. His post at Port Olry was rather a forlorn hope, as the natives showed no inclination to become converts, especially not in connection with the poor Roman Catholic mission, which could not offer them any external advantages, like the rich and powerful Presbyterian mission. All the priests lived in the greatest poverty, in old houses, with very few servants. The one here had, besides a teacher from Malekula, an old native who hadquarrelled with his chief and separated from his clan. The good man was very anxious to marry, but no girl would have him, as he had had two wives, and had, quite without malice, strangled his second wife by way of curing her of an illness. I was reminded of this little episode every time I looked at the man’s long, bony fingers.
One day a native asked me for medicine for his brother. I tried to find out the nature of the ailment, and decided to give him calomel, urging his brother to take it to him at once. The man had eaten a quarter of a pig all by himself, but, of course, it was said that he had been poisoned. His brother, instead of hurrying home, had a little visit with his friends at the coast, until it was dark and he was afraid to go home through the bush alone; so he waited till next morning, when it was too late. The man’s death naturally made the murder theory a certainty, so the body was not buried, but laid out in the hut, with all sorts of finery. Around it, in spite of the fearful odour, all the women sat for ten days, in a cloud of blow-flies. They burned strong-scented herbs to kill the smell, and dug a little trench across the floor, in order to keep the liquids from the decaying corpse from running into the other half of the house. The nose and mouth of the body were stopped up with clay and lime, probably to keep the soul from getting out, and the body was surrounded by a little hut. In the gamal close by sat all the men, sulky, revengeful, and planning war, which, in fact, broke out within a few days after my departure.
The Messrs. Th. had been kind enough to invite me to go on a recruiting trip to Maevo, the most north-easterly island of the group. Here I found a very scanty population, showing many traces of Polynesian admixture in appearance and habits. The weather was nasty and our luck at recruiting poor, so that after a fortnight we returned to Hog Harbour. I went to Port Olry to my old priest’s house, and a few days later Mr. Th. came in his cutter to take me to Tassimaloun in Big Bay; so I bade a hearty farewell to the good Father, whom I have never had the pleasure of meeting again.