Chapter VII

Chapter VIISantoThere are hardly any natives left in the south of the Bay of St. Philip and St. James, generally called Big Bay. Only to the north of Talamacco there are a few villages, in which the remnants of a once numerous population, mostly converts of the Presbyterian mission, have collected. It is a very mixed crowd, without other organization than that which the mission has created, and that is not much. There are a few chiefs, but they have even less authority than elsewhere, and the feeling of solidarity is lacking entirely, so that I have hardly ever found a colony where there was so much intrigue, immorality and quarrelling. A few years ago the population had been kept in order by a Presbyterian missionary of the stern and cruel type; but he had been recalled, and his place was taken by a man quite unable to cope with the lawlessness of the natives, so that every vice developed freely, and murders were more frequent than in heathen districts. Matters were not improved by the antagonism between the Roman Catholic and Presbyterian missions and the traders; each worked against the others, offering the natives the best of opportunities to fish in troubled waters. The result of all this was a rapid decrease of the population andfrequent artificial sterility. The primitive population has disappeared completely in some places, and is only to be found in any numbers far inland among the western mountains. The situation is a little better in the north, where we find a number of flourishing villages along the coast around Cape Cumberland.VIEW ALONG THE SHORE OF A CORAL ISLAND.VIEW ALONG THE SHORE OF A CORAL ISLAND.The nearest village to Talamacco was Tapapa. Sanitary conditions there were most disheartening, as at least half of the inhabitants were leprous, and most of them suffered from tuberculosis or elephantiasis. I saw hardly any children, so that the village will shortly disappear, like so many others.Native customs along the coast are much the same as at Port Olry, but less primitive, and the houses are better built. There is wood-carving, or was. I found the doorposts of old gamals beautifully carved, and plates prettily decorated; but these were all antiques, and nothing of the kind is made at the present day.The race, however, is quite different from that around Port Olry. There are two distinct types: one, Melanesian, dark, tall or short, thin, curly-haired, with a broad nose and a brutal expression; and one that shows distinct traces of Polynesian blood in its finer face, a larger body, which is sometimes fat, light skin and frequently straight hair. Just where this Polynesian element comes from it is hard to say, but the islands in general are very favourable to race-mixture along the coasts. As I said before, the Melanesian type shows two distinct varieties, a tall dark one, and a short light one. At first I did not realize the significance of the latter until I becameaware of the existence of a negroid element, of which I saw clear traces. The two varieties, however, are much intermingled, and the resulting blends have mixed with the Polynesian-Melanesian type, so that the number of types is most confusing, and it will be hard to determine the properties of the original one.Finding little of interest in the immediate surroundings of Talamacco, I determined to make an excursion into the interior of the island. Mr. F. put his foreman, or moli, at my disposal, and he engaged my bearers, made himself useful during the trip in superintending the boys, and proved valuable in every way, as he was never afraid, and was known to nearly all the inland chiefs.After a rainy spell of six weeks we had a clear day at last; and although the weather could not be taken into consideration when making my plans, still, the bright sunshine created that happy and expectant sensation which belongs to the beginning of a journey. The monthly steamer had arrived the day before, had shipped a little coprah, and brought some provisions for the trader and myself. I had completed my preparations, engaged my boys and was ready to start.In the white glare of a damp morning we pulled from the western shore of Big Bay to the mouth of the Jordan River. The boat was cramped and overloaded, and we were all glad to jump ashore after a row of several hours. The boys carried the luggage ashore and pulled the boat up into the bush with much noise and laughter. Then we settled down inthe shade for our first meal, cooking being an occupation of which the boys are surprisingly fond. Their rations are rice and tea, with a tin of meat for every four. This discussed, we packed up, and began our march inland.The road leads through a thin bush, over rough coral boulders and gravel deposited by the river. We leave the Jordan to our right, and march south-east. After about an hour we come to a swampy plain, covered with tall reed-grass. Grassy plains are an unusual sight in Santo; the wide expanse of yellowish green is surrounded by dark walls of she-oak, in the branches of which hang thousands of flying-foxes. At a dirty pond we fill our kettles with greenish water, for our night camp will be on the mountain slope ahead of us, far from any spring. Even the moli has to carry a load of water, as I can hardly ask the boys to take any more. He feels rather humiliated, as a moli usually carries nothing but a gun, but he is good enough to see the necessity of the case, and condescends to carry a small kettle.Straight ahead are the high coral plateaux across which our road lies. While we tackle the ascent, the sky has become overcast, the gay aspect of the landscape has changed to sad loneliness and a heavy shower soaks us to the skin. The walk through the jungle is trying, and even the moli loses the way now and again. Towards nightfall we enter a high forest with but little underbrush, and work our way slowly up a steep and slippery slope to an overhanging coral rock, where we decide to camp. We havelost our way, but as night is closing in fast, we cannot venture any farther.The loads are thrown to the ground in disorder, and the boys drop down comfortably; strong language on my part is needed before they make up their minds to pile up the luggage, collect wood and begin to cook. Meanwhile my own servant has prepared my bed and dried my clothes. Soon it is quite dark, the boys gather round the fires, and do not dare to go into the yawning darkness any more, for fear of ghosts.The rain has ceased, and the soft damp night air hangs in the trees. The firelight is absorbed by the darkness, and only the nearest surroundings shine in its red glare; the boys are stretched out in queer attitudes round the fire on the hard rocks. Soon I turn out the lamp and lie listening to the night, where vague life and movement creeps through the trunks. Sometimes a breath of wind shivers through the trees, shaking heavy drops from the leaves. A wild pig grunts, moths and insects circle round the fires, and thousands of mosquitoes hum about my net and sing me to sleep. Once in a while I am roused by the breaking of a rotten tree, or a mournful cry from one of the dreaming boys; or one of them wakes up, stirs the fire, turns over and snores on. Long before daybreak a glorious concert of birds welcomes the new day. Half asleep, I watch the light creep across the sky, while the bush is still in utter darkness; suddenly, like a bugle-call, the first sunbeams strike the trees and it is broad day.Chilly and stiff, the boys get up and crowd round the fires. As we have no more water there is no tea, and breakfast is reduced to dry biscuits. The moli has found the lost trail by this time, and we continue the ascent. On the plateau we again strike nearly impenetrable bush, and lose the trail again, so that after a few hours’ hard work with the knives we have to retrace our steps for quite a distance. It is a monotonous climb, varied only by an occasional shot at a wild pig and fair sport with pigeons. Happily for the thirsty boys, we strike a group of bamboos, which yield plenty of water. All that is needed is to cut the joint of the stems, and out of each section flows a pint of clear water, which the boys collect by holding their huge mouths under the opening. Their clothes are soaked, but their thirst is satisfied and our kettles filled for the midday meal.Presently we pass a native “camp” under an overhanging rock: it consists of a few parallel sticks, on which the native sleeps as well as any European on a spring-mattress, and a hollow in the ground, with a number of cooking-stones.After a stiff climb we stop for our meal, then follow a path which gradually widens and improves, a sign that we are nearing a village. Towards evening we come to some gardens, where the natives plant their yam and taro. At the entrance of the village I make my boys close up ranks; although the natives are not supposed to be hostile, my people show signs of uneasiness, keeping close togetherand carrying the few weapons we have very conspicuously.We cross the village square to the gamal, a simple place, as they all are, with a door about a yard from the ground, in order to keep out the pigs which roam all over the village. In line with the front of the house is a row of tall bamboo posts, wound with vines; their hollow interior is filled with yam and taro, the remains of a great feast. The village seems quite deserted, and we peep cautiously into the interior of the gamal, where, after a while, we discern a man, lying on the damp and dirty ground, who stares at us in silent fright. He gets up and comes slowly out, and we can see that he has lost half of one foot from leprosy. From him the moli learns that the two chiefs are away at a great “sing-sing,” and the rest of the men in the fields or in their wives’ houses. There is nothing for us to do but sit down and wait, and be sniffed at by pigs, barked at by dogs and annoyed by fowls. The moli beats vigorously on one of the wooden drums that lie in the mud in front of the house. He has his own signal, which most of the natives know, so that all the country round is soon informed of his arrival.One by one the men arrive, strolling towards the gamal as if unconscious of our presence; some of them greet one or the other of my boys whom they have met when visiting at the shore. Nearly all of them are sick with leprosy or elephantiasis or tuberculosis, and after the long rainy period they all have colds and coughs and suffer from rheumatism;altogether they present a sad picture of degeneration and misery, and there are few healthy men to be seen.My luggage is taken into the gamal, and I order the boys to buy and prepare food, whereupon the natives hurry away and fetch a quantity of supplies: pigs, fowls, yam, taro, of which I buy a large stock, paying in matches and tobacco. There are also eggs, which, I am assured, are delicious; but this is according to native taste, which likes eggs best when half hatched. While the boys are cooking, I spend the time in measuring the villagers. At first they are afraid of the shiny, pointed instruments, but the tobacco they receive, after submitting to the operation, dispels their fears. The crowd sits round us on the ground, increasing the uneasiness of my victims by sarcastic remarks.Meanwhile, the women have arrived, and crouch in two groups at the end of the square, which they are forbidden to enter. There are about twenty of them, not many for nearly fifty men, but I see only three or four babies, and many faded figures and old-looking girls of coarse and virile shape, the consequence of premature abuse and artificial sterility. But they chat away quite cheerfully, giggle, wonder, clap their hands, and laugh, taking hold of each other, and rocking to and fro.At last the two chiefs arrive, surprisingly tall and well-built men, with long beards carefully groomed, and big mops of hair. Like all the men, they are dressed in a piece of calico that hangs down in front, and a branch of croton behind. They have bigbracelets, and wear the curved tusks of pigs on their wrists. There is just time before nightfall to take their measures and photographs, then I retire into the gamal for my supper, during which I am closely observed by the entire male population. They make remarks about the spoons and the Worcester sauce, and when I put sugar into my tea, they whisper to each other, “Salt!” which idea is almost enough to spoil one’s appetite, only the delicious roast sucking-pig is too tempting.My toilet for the night is watched with the same attention; then, while I am still reading on my bed, the men seek their couches in the long, low house. They stir up all the fires, which smoke terribly, then they lie down on their bamboo beds, my boys among them, and talk and talk till they fall asleep,—a houseful of leprous and consumptive men, who cough and groan all night.In front of me, near the entrance, is the chiefs place. He spends a long time in preparing his kava, and drinks it noisily. Kava is a root which is ground with a piece of sharp coral; the fibres are then mixed with water, which is contained in a long bamboo, and mashed to a soft pulp; the liquid is then squeezed out, strained through a piece of cocoa-nut bark into a cocoa-nut bowl and drunk. The liquid has a muddy, thick appearance, tastes like soapy water, stings like peppermint and acts as a sleeping-draught. In Santo only chiefs are allowed to drink kava.At first, innumerable dogs disturbed my sleep,and towards morning it grew very cold. When I came out of the hut, the morning sun was just getting the better of the mist, and spreading a cheery light over the square, which had looked dismal enough under a grey, rainy sky. I made all the women gather on the outskirts of the square to be measured and photographed. They were very bashful, and I almost pitied them, for the whole male population sat around making cruel remarks about them; indeed, if it had not been for the chiefs explicit orders, they would all have run away. They were not a very pleasant spectacle, on the whole. I was struck by the tired, suffering expression of even the young girls, a hopeless and uninterested look, in contradiction with their lively behaviour when unobserved. For they are natural and happy only when among themselves, and in the presence of the men they feel that they are under the eye of their master, often a brutal master, whose property they are. Probably they are hardly conscious of this, and take their position and destiny as a matter of course; but they are constrained in the presence of their owners, knowing that at any moment they may be displeased or angry, for any reason or for none, and may ill-treat or even kill them. Aside from these considerations their frightened awkwardness was extremely funny, especially when posing before the camera. Some could not stand straight, others twisted their arms and legs into impossible positions. The idea of a profile view seemed particularly strange to them, and they always presented either their back or theirfront view. The poor things got more and more nervous, the men roared, I was desperate,—altogether it was rather unsatisfactory.I was in need of more bearers to carry the provisions I had bought, and the chiefs were quite willing to supply them; but their orders had absolutely no effect on the men, who were too lazy, and I should have been in an awkward position had not one of the chiefs hit on the expedient of employing his women. They obeyed without a moment’s hesitation; each took a heavy load of yam, all but the favourite wife, the only pretty one of the number; her load was small, but she had to clear the trail, walking at the head of the procession.The women led the way, chatting and giggling, patient and steady as mules, and as sure-footed and supple. Nothing stops them; with a heavy load on their heads they walk over fallen trunks, wade through ditches, twist through vines, putting out a hand every now and then to feel whether the bunch of leaves at their back is in place. They were certainly no beauties, but there was a charm in their light, soft step, in the swaying of their hips, in the dainty poise of their slim ankles and feet, and the softness and harmony of all their movements. And the light playing on their dark, velvety, shining bodies increased this charm, until one almost forgot the many defects, the dirt, the sores, the disease. This pleasant walk in the cool, dewy forest, under the bright leaves, did not last long, and after two hours’ tramp we reached our destination.At the edge of the square the women sat down beside their loads, and were soon joined by the women of the village. Our hostesses were at once informed of every detail of our outfit, our food and our doings, and several dozen pairs of big dark eyes followed our every movement. The women were all quite sure that I was a great doctor and magician, and altogether a dangerous man, and this belief was not at all favourable to my purposes.INTERIOR OF A GAMAL ON VENUA LAVA.INTERIOR OF A GAMAL ON VENUA LAVA.We men soon withdrew to the gamal, where the men likewise had to be informed of everything relating to our doings and character. The gamal was low and dirty, and the state of health of the inhabitants still worse than in the first village, but at least there were a few more babies than elsewhere. The chief suffered from a horrible boil in his loin, which he poulticed with chewed leaves, and the odour was so unbearable that I had to leave the house and sit down outside, where I was surrounded by many lepers, without toes or even feet, a very dismal sight.I now paid my carriers the wages agreed upon, but they claimed that I ought to pay the men extra, although their services had been included in the price. I took this for one of the tricks by which the natives try to get the better of a good-natured foreigner, and refused flatly, whereupon the whole crowd sat down in front of the house and waited in defiant silence. I left them there for half an hour, during which they whispered and deliberated in rather an uncomfortable way. I finally told themthat I would not pay any more, and that they had better go away at once. The interpreter said they were waiting for the chiefs to get through with something they had to talk over, and they stayed on a while longer. My refusal may have been a mistake, and there may really have been a misunderstanding, at any rate, I had to suffer for my unyielding way, inasmuch as the behaviour of our hosts immediately changed from talkative hospitality and childish curiosity to dull silence and suspicious reticence. The people sat around us, sullen and silent, and would not help us in any way, refused to bring firewood or show us the water-hole, and seemed most anxious to get rid of us. Under these circumstances it was useless to try to do any of my regular work, and I had to spend an idle and unpleasant afternoon. At last I induced a young fellow to show me the way to a high plateau near by, from which I had a beautiful view across trees to the east coast of the island, with the sea in a blue mist far away. As my guide, consumptive like all the others, was quite out of breath with our short walk, I soon had to return, and I paid him well. This immediately changed the attitude of all the rest. Their sullenness disappeared, they came closer, began to talk, and at last we spent the afternoon in comparative friendship, and I could attend to my business.But the consequences of my short visit to the gamal became very noticeable. In my hat I found a flourishing colony of horrid bug-like insects; my pockets were alive, my camera was full of them, theyhad crawled into my shoes, my books, my luggage, they were crawling, flying, dancing everywhere. Perfectly disgusted, I threw off all my clothes, and had my boys shake and clean out every piece. For a week I had to have everything cleaned at least once a day, and even then I found the loathsome creatures in every fold, under straps, in pouches.On that afternoon I had a great success as an artist. My drawings of pigs, trees and men went the rounds and were quite immoderately admired, and preserved as we would a sketch of Holbein’s. These drawings have to be done as simply as possible and fairly large, else the natives do not understand them. They consider every line essential, and do not understand shadows or any impressionistic treatment. We must remember that in our civilized art we work with many symbols, some of which have but a vague resemblance to the object they represent, whose meaning we know, while the savage does not. This was the reason why I had often no success at all with what I considered masterpieces, while the natives went into raptures over drawings I thought utter failures. At any rate, they made me quite a popular person.The sick chief complained to me that a late wife of his had been poisoned, and as he took me for a great “witch-doctor,” he asked me to find out the murderer. To the native, sickness or death is not natural, but always the consequence of witchcraft, either on the part of enemies or spirits. The terribly high death-rate in the last years makes it seem allthe more probable that mysterious influences are at work, and the native suspects enemies everywhere, whom he tries to render harmless by killing them. This leads to endless murders and vendettas, which decimate the population nearly as much as the diseases do. The natives know probably something about poisons, but they are always poisons that have to be mixed with food, and this is not an easy thing to do, as every native prepares his food himself. Most of the dreaded poisons are therefore simply charms, stones or other objects, which would be quite harmless in themselves, but become capable of killing by the mere terror they inspire in the victim. If the belief in these charms could be destroyed, a great deal of the so-called poisoning would cease, and it may be a good policy to deny the existence of poison, even at the risk of letting a murderer go unpunished. I therefore felt justified in playing a little comedy, all the more, as I was sure that the woman had died of consumption, and I promised the chief my assistance for the next morning.I had my bed made in the open air; even the boys would not enter the dirty house any more, and we slept well under the open sky, in spite of the pigs that grunted around us and the dew that fell like rain.Next day the chief called all the men together; he was convinced that I could see through every one of them and tell who had done any wrong. So he made them all sit round me, and I looked very solemnly at each through the finder of my camera,the chief watching carefully to see that I did not omit any one. The men felt uneasy, but did not quite know what to make of the whole performance. I naturally could not find anything wrong, and told the chief so, but he was not satisfied, and shook his head doubtfully. Then I talked to him seriously and tried to convince him that everyone had to die once, and that sickness was something natural, especially considering the filth in which they lived; but I do not think my speech made much impression.The men had now become very suspicious, the women were away, and I had great trouble in finding bearers and guides to the next village. A pleasant march brought us to this settlement, whose houses were close together in a big clearing. We were received very coolly by the chief and a few men. My bearers and guides would not be induced to accompany us farther, so that I had to ask for boys here; but the chief said he had not a single able-bodied man, which I felt to be mere excuse. I also noticed that my own boys were very dissatisfied and sullen, and that something was in the wind. In order to raise their spirits, and not to leave our yam provisions behind, I had them cook the midday meal, but the sullen, threatening atmosphere remained the same. When it was time to continue our march, I heard them grumble and complain about their loads, and it all looked like rising mutiny. I was ahead with the chief, who had consented to show us the way, when the moli came after me andinformed me that the boys were unwilling to go on, that they were afraid to go farther inland and were ready to throw their loads away. Later on I learned that two of the boys had tried to bribe some natives to show them the road back to the coast and leave me alone with the moli. I assembled the boys and made them a speech, saying that their loads were not too heavy nor the marches too long, that they were all free to return home, but would have to take the consequences, and that I and the moli would go on without them. If they liked, I said, they could throw away their tinned meats, I did not care, and the two bottles of grog were not meant for me, and we could easily spare those. I grasped the bottles and offered to smash them, but that was too much for the boys; half crying, they begged me not to do that: the bottles were not too heavy, and they would gladly carry them as far as I liked. Hesitatingly I allowed myself to be persuaded, and kindly desisted from the work of destruction. I had won, but I had lost confidence in my boys, and was careful not to put their patience and fidelity to any more tests, conscious as I was of how much depended on their goodwill. After this episode they accomplished a long and tiresome march, up and down through thick bush on slippery clay, quite willingly. In the evening we reached a few huts in a clearing at a height of about 1200 feet, and went into camp for the night.While cooking, we heard dismal howling and weeping from a neighbouring hut; it was a womanmourning her husband, who had been dead ninety-nine days. To-morrow, on the hundredth day, there was to be a death-feast, to which all the neighbours were invited. Of course, this man, too, had been poisoned.The fire of revolt was smouldering in my boys. They sat round the camp-fire in groups, whispering and plotting, grumbling and undecided; but I felt safe enough, as they were evidently divided into two parties, one faithful and the other mutinous, and the former seemed rather more influential. They proved their goodwill to me by delightful servility, and took excellent care of me.Next morning we were wakened by the howls of the unhappy widow, and soon the guests appeared, some from far off, and all bringing contributions to the feast. They killed several pigs, and while the men cut them up in a manner rather more clever than appetizing, the women prepared the fires by lighting large quantities of wood to heat the cooking-stones. This lasted several hours. Meanwhile, every person present received his share of a half-rotten smoked pig, of the freshly killed pigs, yam, taro and sweet potatoes. The women took the entrails of the pigs, squeezed them out, rolled them up in banana leaves, and made them ready for cooking. When the fire was burnt down they took out half of the stones with forks of split bamboo, and then piled up the food in the hole, first the fruit, then the meat, so that the grease should run over the fruit; then the hole was covered with banana leaves, the hot stonespiled on top and covered with more leaves. Food cooked in this way is done in three or four hours, so that the “stoves” are usually opened in the afternoon, and enormous quantities eaten on the spot, while the rest is put in baskets to take home. The amount a native can eat at one sitting is tremendous, and one can actually watch their stomachs swell as the meal proceeds. Violent indigestion is generally the consequence of such a feast. On the whole, no one seemed to be thinking much of the dead man in whose honour it was given,—such things are said to happen in civilized countries as well.I stayed in this village for another day, and many chiefs from the neighbourhood came to consult me, always complaining of the one thing—poison. Each secretly accused the others, each wanted me to try my glass on all the others. I did not like my reputation of being a magician at all, as it made the people still more suspicious of me and more afraid of my instruments and my camera.These so-called chiefs were rather more intelligent than the average. Most of them had worked for whites at one time, and learned to speak pidgin-English; but they were as superstitious as anyone else, and certainly greater rogues. They were naked and dirty, but some had retained some traces of civilization, one, for instance, always took off his old felt hat very politely, and made quite a civilized bow; he must have been in Nouméa in former days.There was no leprosy or elephantiasis here, but a great deal of tuberculosis, and very few children,and nearly all the men complained that their women were unwilling to have any more children.From the next village I had a glimpse of the wild mountains of western Santo. I decided to spend the night here, left the boys behind, and went southward with the moli and a few natives. This was evidently the region where the volcanic and coral formations meet, for the character of the landscape suddenly changed, and instead of flat plateaux we found a wild, irregular country, with lofty hills and deep, narrow gullies. Walking became dangerous, though the path was fair. On top of a hill I found an apparently abandoned village, from which I could overlook all central Santo. To the west were the rugged, dark-looking mountains round Santo Peak, with white clouds floating on the summit, and a confusion of deep blue valleys and steep peaks; northward lay the wild Jordan valley, and far away I could distinguish the silver mirror of Big Bay. All around us rose the silent, stern, lonely forest—imposing, unapproachable.On our way back to camp we rested beside a fresh creek which gaily squeezed its way through rocks and rich vegetation. A little tea and a tin of sardines were all the menu, but we enjoyed a delightful bath in the cool water, and had as good a wash as we could without soap. It was a great luxury after the hot days in the coral country without any water. While our things were drying in the bright sun, we lay in the moss near the rushing stream, and it was like a summer day at home in the mountains. Thewater sounded familiar, the soft, cool breeze was the same, and while I lay watching the white clouds through the bright foliage I dreamt of home. At home I had dreamt of travel, and thus one wish follows the other and the soul is preserved from lazy content. I almost fancied I heard the sound of bells and the far-away lowing of cattle. And again the reality seemed like a dream when I roused myself and saw the dark figures crouching on the rocks, with their frizzy mops of hair and their Sniders on their knees.The village turned out to be too dirty to spend the night in, and I decided to go to one which seemed quite near, just across a gully. Had I known what an undertaking it would be, I would not have started, for the ravine was very deep and the sides unpleasantly steep; but my boys managed the descent, over rocks and fallen trees, with their usual cleverness. At the bottom we were rewarded by a beautiful sight. Beneath us, in a narrow cut it had eaten through the rock, roared a river, foaming out of the depths of the dark wilderness. It was like one of the celebrated gorges in the Alps, only the tropical vegetation which hung in marvellous richness and variety over the abyss gave a fairy-like aspect to the scene. The boys did not seem to appreciate it in the least, and prepared, sighing, for the steep ascent. A simple bridge led across the gully; it was made of a few trees, and even provided with a railing in the shape of a vine. The existence of this bridge surprised me very much; for, considering the thoughtless egotismwith which the natives pass through life, I had thought them incapable of any work of public utility. They rarely think of repairing a road or cutting a vine, nor do they remove trees that may have fallen across the path, but always rely on others to see to it.The second village was not much cleaner than the first, but we camped there, and the next day I went with the moli and a few of my boys to the western mountains. The natives warned us, saying that the people were “no good” and would kill us. But, for one thing, I could not see that they themselves were particularly “good,” and, for another, I knew that all natives consider other tribes especially dangerous; so I stuck to my intention, only we hung all our available weapons about us, leaving the rest of the boys defenceless.This turned out one of the most strenuous days I ever had in the islands, as the road—and what a road!—constantly led up and down the steepest slopes. It seemed to me we were climbing perpendicular mountains all day long, and I had many an opportunity of admiring the agility of my companions. I am a fair walker myself, but I had to crawl on my hands and knees in many spots where they jumped from a stone to a root, taking firm hold with their toes, never using their hands, never slipping, and always with a loaded and cocked rifle on their shoulders. My boys from the coast, good pedestrians though they were, always remained far behind.First we reached well-tended taro fields, then a few scattered huts. The natives received us very kindly,and more men kept joining us, till we formed a big, jolly crowd. The population here seemed very primitive, and evidently had but little contact with the shore, but they were clean and comparatively healthy and flourishing, and I found them rather more frank, childlike and confiding than others I had seen.We roasted our yam, and while we were enjoying our frugal but delicious meal, I witnessed rather an amusing episode. A bushman, painted black for mourning, suddenly called to one of my boys, and wanted to shake hands with him. My boy, a respectable “schoolboy,” was visibly annoyed by the idea of having anything to do with a naked “man-bush,” and behaved with icy reserve; but he could not long resist the rural cordiality of the other, and presently resigned himself to his fate, and made friends. It turned out that they had once worked together in Vila, and one had become an elegant young swell, while the other returned to simple country life.On the way back we rested by the river-bank, amusing ourselves by shooting pigeons with pistols and guns, feeling quite peaceful and happy. But the sound of our shots had an unexpected effect in the village where I had left the rest of my boys. All the natives jumped to their feet, shouting, “Did we not tell you that they would kill your master? Now you have heard them; he is dead, and now we will see what you have in your boxes and divide it among ourselves.”They approached my boys threateningly, whereuponthey all ran away, with the exception of the ringleader of the mutineers of the last few days, who sat down on the box containing the trading-stock and said they had better go and see whether I was really dead before plundering my luggage. The situation must have grown rather strained, until some one had the good sense to go and look out for us, whereupon he saw us sitting peacefully near the river below. This calmed the natives, they withdrew, much disappointed, and my boys returned and prepared everything for my arrival with remarkable zeal. I found dry clothes ready, and tea boiling, and was quite touched by so much thoughtfulness. I was not told of the day’s occurrence till after my return to the coast, and perhaps it was just as well.By this time I had seen a good part of south-east Santo, and I was eager to visit the south-west, with Santo Peak. But without guides and with marked symptoms of home-sickness on the part of my boys, I decided it would not be wise to attempt it. The news that we were going to start for home revived the boys at once. With enormous alacrity they packed up next day and raced homeward with astonishing speed and endurance; I had had to drag them along before, now I could hardly keep up with them. In two days we had reached the plain of the Jordan, had a delightful swim and a jolly last night in camp, free from pigs, dogs, fowls, fleas and bugs,—but not from mosquitoes!The last day we strolled in and along the river, through the forest swarming with wild pigs andpigeons, while a huge colony of flying-foxes circled in the air, forming an actual cloud, and then we came to the shore, with the wide expanse of Big Bay peaceful in the evening sun. A painful walk on the sharp pebbles of the beach brought us home towards nightfall.Chapter VIIISanto (continued)—PygmiesThe term of service of my boys had now expired, and I had to look about for others. Happily, now that I was known in the region, I had less trouble, especially as I held out the prospect of a visit to Nouméa. With six boys of my own and a few other men, I started on another journey.I had always suspected the existence of a race of pygmies in the islands, and had often asked the natives if they had ever seen “small fellow men.” Generally they stared at me without a sign of intelligence, or else began to tell fairy-tales of dwarfs they had seen in the bush, of little men with tails and goat’s feet (probably derived from what they had heard of the devil from missionaries), all beings of whose existence they were perfectly convinced, whom they often see in the daytime and feel at night, so that it is very hard to separate truth from imagination.I had heard stories of a colony of tailed men near Mele, and that, near Wora, north of Talamacco, tailed men lived in trees; that they were very shy and had long, straight hair. The natives pretended they had nearly caught one once. All this sounded interesting and improbable, and I was not anxious to start on a mere wild-goose chase. More exact information,however, was forthcoming. One of my servants told me that near a waterfall I could see shining out of a deep ravine far inland, there lived “small fellow men.”It was an exceptionally stormy morning when we started, so that Mr. F. advised me to postpone my departure; but in the New Hebrides it is no use to take notice of the weather, and that day it was so bad that it could not get any worse, which was some consolation. Soon we were completely soaked, but we kept on along the coast to some huts, where we were to meet our guide. Presently he arrived, followed by a crowd of children, as they seemed to me, who joined our party. While climbing inland toward the high mountains, I asked the guide if he knew anything about the little people; he told me that one of them was walking behind me. I looked more closely at the man in question, and saw that whereas I had taken him for a half-grown youth, he was really a man of about forty, and all the others who had come with him turned out to be full-grown but small individuals. Of course I was delighted with this discovery, and should have liked to begin measuring and photographing at once, had not the torrents of rain prevented.I may mention here that I found traces later on of this diminutive race in some other islands, but rarely in such purity as here. Everywhere else they had mingled with the taller population, while here they had kept somewhat apart, and represented an element by themselves, so that I was fortunate in having myattention drawn to them here, as elsewhere I might easily have overlooked them.WILD MOUNTAIN SCENERY IN THE DISTRICT OF THE PYGMY POPULATION.WILD MOUNTAIN SCENERY IN THE DISTRICT OF THE PYGMY POPULATION.The trail by which we were travelling was one of the worst I ever saw in the islands, and the weather did not improve. The higher up we went, the thicker was the fog; we seemed to be moving in a slimy mass, breathing the air from a boiler. At noon we reached the lonely hut, where a dozen men and women squatted, shivering with cold and wet, crowded together under wretched palm-leaf mats, near a smouldering fire. There were some children wedged into the gaps between the grown-ups. Our arrival seemed to rouse these poor people from their misery a little; one man after the other got up, yawning and chattering, the women remained sitting near the fire. We made them some hot tea, and then I began to measure and take pictures, to which they submitted quite good-humouredly.I was much struck by the fact of these men and women living together, a most unusual thing in a Melanesian district, where the separation of the sexes and the “Suque” rules are so rigorously observed.We started off once more in the icy rain, keeping along the crest of the hill, which was just wide enough for the path. The mountain sloped steeply down on either side, the thick mist made an early twilight, we could only see the spot where we set our feet, while all the surroundings were lost in grey fog, so that we felt as though we were walking in a void, far above all the world. At nightfall we arrived at a solitary hut—the home of our companions. Afterhaving repaired the broken roof, my boys succeeded in lighting a fire, though how they did it is a mystery, as matches and everything else were soaked. Soon tea and rice were boiling, while I tried to dry my instruments, especially my camera, whose watertight case had not been able to resist the rain. Then I wrapped myself up in my blanket, sipped my tea and ate my rice, and smoked a few pipes. It certainly is a reward for the day’s work, that evening hour, lying satisfied, tired and dreamy, under the low roof of the hut, while outside the wind roars through the valley and the rain rattles on the roof, and a far-off river rushes down a gorge. The red fire paints the beams above me in warm colours, and in the dark corners the smoke curls in blue clouds. Around a second fire the natives lie in ecstatic laziness, smoking and talking softly, pigs grunt and dogs scratch busily about.In the morning the storm had passed, and I could see that the house was set on the slope of a high mountain, much as a chalet is, and that we were at the end of a wild ravine, from every side of which fresh rivulets and cascades came pouring. Owing to the mountainous character of the country there are no villages here, but numerous huts scattered all along the mountains, two or three families at the utmost living together. The structure of the houses, too, was different from those on the coast; they had side walls and a basement of boulders, sometimes quite carefully built. Here men and women live together, and a separation of the fires does not seemto exist, nor does the “Suque” seem to have penetrated to this district.We passed several hamlets where the mode of life was the same as in this one. The dress of the men is the same as at the coast, except that they wind strings of shell-money about their waists in manifold rows. The women wear a bunch of leaves in front and behind. The weapons are the same as elsewhere, except that here we find the feathered arrows which are such a rarity in the Pacific. It is surprising to find these here, in these secluded valleys among the pygmy race, and only here, near Talamacco, nowhere else where the same race is found. It is an open question whether these feathered arrows are an original invention in these valleys, an importation or a remnant of an earlier culture.The population lives on the produce of the fields, mostly taro, which is grown in irrigated lands in the river bottoms.In appearance these people do not differ much from those of central Santo, who are by no means of a uniform type. The most important feature is their size, that of the men amounting to 152 cm., that of the women to 144 cm. The smallest man I measured was 138.0 cm., others measured 146.0, 149.2, 144.2, 146.6, 140.6, 149.0, 139.6, 138.4 cm. The maximum size is hard to state, as even here the small variety has mixed with taller tribes, so that we find all the intermediate sizes, from the pygmy 139.6 cm. high, to the tall Melanesian of 178.0 cm. My object, therefore, was to find a colony of pure pygmies,and I pursued it in many subsequent wanderings, but without success. The following description is based on the type as I constructed it in the course of my travels and observations.The hair is very curly, and seems black, but is in reality a dark, yellowish brown. Fil-fil is less frequent than among the tall variety. The forehead is straight, very slightly retreating, vaulted and rather narrow, the eyes are close together, straight, medium-sized and dark brown. The superciliar ridges are but slightly developed. The jaw-bones are large, but do not protrude, whereas the chewing muscles are well developed, which gives the face breadth, makes the chin-line round and the chin itself small and pointed. The mouth is not very large, with moderately thick lips, the nose is straight, hardly open toward the front, the nostrils not thick. As a rule, the growth of beard is not heavy, unlike that of the tall Melanesians; there is only a light moustache, a few tufts at the chin and near the jaw. Up to the age of forty this is all; in later years a heavier beard develops, but the face and the front of the chin remain free.Thus it will be seen that these people are not at all repulsive, as all the ridges of bone and the heavy muscle attachments which make the face of ordinary Melanesians so brutal are lacking. On the contrary, they look quite agreeable and childlike. Their bodies are vigorous, but lightly built: the chest broad and deep, the arms and legs fine, with beautiful delicate joints, the legs well proportioned, with handsomecalves. Their feet are short and broad, especially in front, but the great toe does not stand off from the others noticeably. Thus the pygmy has none of the proportions of a child, and shows no signs of degeneration, but is of harmonious build, only smaller than other Melanesians.The shade of the skin varies a good deal from a dull purple, brownish-black, to coffee colour; but the majority of individuals are light, and the dark ones probably inherited their shade from the tall race.Deformations of the body are not practised, save for an occasional perforation of the lobes of the ear. I never saw a perforation of the septum, nor women with incisors extracted.It seems as if the small race were better preserved here in Santo than the tall one. The diseases which destroy the other tribes are less frequent here, there are more children and a good number of women. All this may be due to a great extent to their living inland and not coming into touch with the unfavourable sides of civilization as the coast tribes do, but even more to the hardy outdoor life in the mountains. In their country one cannot walk three steps on a level, and the whole population is expert in climbing, very sure-footed, thinking nothing of jumping with a heavy load from one rock to another, or racing at full speed down the steep and uneven slopes.In character, too, they differ from the tribes near the water. They seem less malicious and more confiding, and show less of the distrust and shy reserve of the average Melanesian. They will laugh andchat in the presence of strangers, and are very hospitable. I do not know if these are accidental impressions, but I can only say that I always felt safer and more comfortable in a village where the majority of the inhabitants belonged to the small race.With all this the pygmies are by no means helpless or even inferior, compared to their tall neighbours. Possibly, in former days, they may have been driven from their homes in the plains back into the mountains, but at present they are quite equal to the tall race, and the “salt-water men” are even a little afraid of their small neighbours inland. What they lack in size and strength they make up in speed and suppleness and temperament. The barrier between the races has disappeared, and the mixing process is hastened by the fact that the small race frequently sells its women to the tall one. It is rare for a woman from the coast to settle in the mountains, still, it occurs frequently enough to alloy the purity of the pygmy race, and in no village have I found more than about 70 per cent. of real pygmies.In the afternoon we came to the chief’s dwelling. The old man lived there alone with his wife, quietly and happily, venerated by all the other people. It was touching to see the little couple, delicate as two dolls, who seemed to love each other sincerely, a most uncommon occurrence in Melanesia. I really had too much respect for the old people to trouble them with my measuring instruments, but I could not resist taking their pictures. After consulting herhusband with a look of the greatest confidence, the old lady consented shyly, while he stood beside her as if it was an everyday event to him, and a sort of tribute I was paying to his age and position and the beauty of his wife.From this point I had a fine view of the cascade that fell down in a wide silver ribbon through the forest. Some months later all that wild scenery was destroyed by an earthquake, which caused many land-slides and spoilt the cascade. Following the roaring river, jumping from one block of stone to another, we soon reached our camp, a large gamal. As we were nearing the coast its arrangements were adapted to the customs of the tall Melanesians. There were a few small individuals, but the tall race was predominant. The reign of the “Suque” was evident by the floor of the gamal being divided by parallel sticks into compartments corresponding to the number of fires and castes, and each man sat down in his division and cooked his own food.Next day, after having waded through the cold water of the river, we arrived at the coast. From the last hills I sent a farewell look into the wild green tangle of forest, rocks, ravines, cascades and valleys, over which heavy rain-clouds were gathering. Before me the greyish-blue mirror of Big Bay lay in the mist, and in the Jordan valley the rain fell heavily. The high reed-grass all around us rustled dismally, and the damp cold was depressing. I hurried home and arrived there in the night, wet as when I had started on my expedition.With regard to the pygmies I must not omit to mention the following experience. The fact that among them husband and wife live together, and that I had nowhere seen a man with two wives, made me suspect that this race was monogamous, as other pygmy races are. I made frequent inquiries, and was assured that each man was allowed but one wife. Still, I was not quite convinced, for it seemed strange to find a monogamous population in the midst of polygamous tribes. Others having given me similar information, I began to accept this theory as a fact. At last, however, I found I had been deceived, as all the people had taken me for a missionary, and had fancied I was asking them questions in order to interfere with their matrimonial customs by sending them a teacher or a “mission-police-man.” My error was cleared up, thanks to the investigations of a trader, for which I am much indebted to him.

Chapter VIISantoThere are hardly any natives left in the south of the Bay of St. Philip and St. James, generally called Big Bay. Only to the north of Talamacco there are a few villages, in which the remnants of a once numerous population, mostly converts of the Presbyterian mission, have collected. It is a very mixed crowd, without other organization than that which the mission has created, and that is not much. There are a few chiefs, but they have even less authority than elsewhere, and the feeling of solidarity is lacking entirely, so that I have hardly ever found a colony where there was so much intrigue, immorality and quarrelling. A few years ago the population had been kept in order by a Presbyterian missionary of the stern and cruel type; but he had been recalled, and his place was taken by a man quite unable to cope with the lawlessness of the natives, so that every vice developed freely, and murders were more frequent than in heathen districts. Matters were not improved by the antagonism between the Roman Catholic and Presbyterian missions and the traders; each worked against the others, offering the natives the best of opportunities to fish in troubled waters. The result of all this was a rapid decrease of the population andfrequent artificial sterility. The primitive population has disappeared completely in some places, and is only to be found in any numbers far inland among the western mountains. The situation is a little better in the north, where we find a number of flourishing villages along the coast around Cape Cumberland.VIEW ALONG THE SHORE OF A CORAL ISLAND.VIEW ALONG THE SHORE OF A CORAL ISLAND.The nearest village to Talamacco was Tapapa. Sanitary conditions there were most disheartening, as at least half of the inhabitants were leprous, and most of them suffered from tuberculosis or elephantiasis. I saw hardly any children, so that the village will shortly disappear, like so many others.Native customs along the coast are much the same as at Port Olry, but less primitive, and the houses are better built. There is wood-carving, or was. I found the doorposts of old gamals beautifully carved, and plates prettily decorated; but these were all antiques, and nothing of the kind is made at the present day.The race, however, is quite different from that around Port Olry. There are two distinct types: one, Melanesian, dark, tall or short, thin, curly-haired, with a broad nose and a brutal expression; and one that shows distinct traces of Polynesian blood in its finer face, a larger body, which is sometimes fat, light skin and frequently straight hair. Just where this Polynesian element comes from it is hard to say, but the islands in general are very favourable to race-mixture along the coasts. As I said before, the Melanesian type shows two distinct varieties, a tall dark one, and a short light one. At first I did not realize the significance of the latter until I becameaware of the existence of a negroid element, of which I saw clear traces. The two varieties, however, are much intermingled, and the resulting blends have mixed with the Polynesian-Melanesian type, so that the number of types is most confusing, and it will be hard to determine the properties of the original one.Finding little of interest in the immediate surroundings of Talamacco, I determined to make an excursion into the interior of the island. Mr. F. put his foreman, or moli, at my disposal, and he engaged my bearers, made himself useful during the trip in superintending the boys, and proved valuable in every way, as he was never afraid, and was known to nearly all the inland chiefs.After a rainy spell of six weeks we had a clear day at last; and although the weather could not be taken into consideration when making my plans, still, the bright sunshine created that happy and expectant sensation which belongs to the beginning of a journey. The monthly steamer had arrived the day before, had shipped a little coprah, and brought some provisions for the trader and myself. I had completed my preparations, engaged my boys and was ready to start.In the white glare of a damp morning we pulled from the western shore of Big Bay to the mouth of the Jordan River. The boat was cramped and overloaded, and we were all glad to jump ashore after a row of several hours. The boys carried the luggage ashore and pulled the boat up into the bush with much noise and laughter. Then we settled down inthe shade for our first meal, cooking being an occupation of which the boys are surprisingly fond. Their rations are rice and tea, with a tin of meat for every four. This discussed, we packed up, and began our march inland.The road leads through a thin bush, over rough coral boulders and gravel deposited by the river. We leave the Jordan to our right, and march south-east. After about an hour we come to a swampy plain, covered with tall reed-grass. Grassy plains are an unusual sight in Santo; the wide expanse of yellowish green is surrounded by dark walls of she-oak, in the branches of which hang thousands of flying-foxes. At a dirty pond we fill our kettles with greenish water, for our night camp will be on the mountain slope ahead of us, far from any spring. Even the moli has to carry a load of water, as I can hardly ask the boys to take any more. He feels rather humiliated, as a moli usually carries nothing but a gun, but he is good enough to see the necessity of the case, and condescends to carry a small kettle.Straight ahead are the high coral plateaux across which our road lies. While we tackle the ascent, the sky has become overcast, the gay aspect of the landscape has changed to sad loneliness and a heavy shower soaks us to the skin. The walk through the jungle is trying, and even the moli loses the way now and again. Towards nightfall we enter a high forest with but little underbrush, and work our way slowly up a steep and slippery slope to an overhanging coral rock, where we decide to camp. We havelost our way, but as night is closing in fast, we cannot venture any farther.The loads are thrown to the ground in disorder, and the boys drop down comfortably; strong language on my part is needed before they make up their minds to pile up the luggage, collect wood and begin to cook. Meanwhile my own servant has prepared my bed and dried my clothes. Soon it is quite dark, the boys gather round the fires, and do not dare to go into the yawning darkness any more, for fear of ghosts.The rain has ceased, and the soft damp night air hangs in the trees. The firelight is absorbed by the darkness, and only the nearest surroundings shine in its red glare; the boys are stretched out in queer attitudes round the fire on the hard rocks. Soon I turn out the lamp and lie listening to the night, where vague life and movement creeps through the trunks. Sometimes a breath of wind shivers through the trees, shaking heavy drops from the leaves. A wild pig grunts, moths and insects circle round the fires, and thousands of mosquitoes hum about my net and sing me to sleep. Once in a while I am roused by the breaking of a rotten tree, or a mournful cry from one of the dreaming boys; or one of them wakes up, stirs the fire, turns over and snores on. Long before daybreak a glorious concert of birds welcomes the new day. Half asleep, I watch the light creep across the sky, while the bush is still in utter darkness; suddenly, like a bugle-call, the first sunbeams strike the trees and it is broad day.Chilly and stiff, the boys get up and crowd round the fires. As we have no more water there is no tea, and breakfast is reduced to dry biscuits. The moli has found the lost trail by this time, and we continue the ascent. On the plateau we again strike nearly impenetrable bush, and lose the trail again, so that after a few hours’ hard work with the knives we have to retrace our steps for quite a distance. It is a monotonous climb, varied only by an occasional shot at a wild pig and fair sport with pigeons. Happily for the thirsty boys, we strike a group of bamboos, which yield plenty of water. All that is needed is to cut the joint of the stems, and out of each section flows a pint of clear water, which the boys collect by holding their huge mouths under the opening. Their clothes are soaked, but their thirst is satisfied and our kettles filled for the midday meal.Presently we pass a native “camp” under an overhanging rock: it consists of a few parallel sticks, on which the native sleeps as well as any European on a spring-mattress, and a hollow in the ground, with a number of cooking-stones.After a stiff climb we stop for our meal, then follow a path which gradually widens and improves, a sign that we are nearing a village. Towards evening we come to some gardens, where the natives plant their yam and taro. At the entrance of the village I make my boys close up ranks; although the natives are not supposed to be hostile, my people show signs of uneasiness, keeping close togetherand carrying the few weapons we have very conspicuously.We cross the village square to the gamal, a simple place, as they all are, with a door about a yard from the ground, in order to keep out the pigs which roam all over the village. In line with the front of the house is a row of tall bamboo posts, wound with vines; their hollow interior is filled with yam and taro, the remains of a great feast. The village seems quite deserted, and we peep cautiously into the interior of the gamal, where, after a while, we discern a man, lying on the damp and dirty ground, who stares at us in silent fright. He gets up and comes slowly out, and we can see that he has lost half of one foot from leprosy. From him the moli learns that the two chiefs are away at a great “sing-sing,” and the rest of the men in the fields or in their wives’ houses. There is nothing for us to do but sit down and wait, and be sniffed at by pigs, barked at by dogs and annoyed by fowls. The moli beats vigorously on one of the wooden drums that lie in the mud in front of the house. He has his own signal, which most of the natives know, so that all the country round is soon informed of his arrival.One by one the men arrive, strolling towards the gamal as if unconscious of our presence; some of them greet one or the other of my boys whom they have met when visiting at the shore. Nearly all of them are sick with leprosy or elephantiasis or tuberculosis, and after the long rainy period they all have colds and coughs and suffer from rheumatism;altogether they present a sad picture of degeneration and misery, and there are few healthy men to be seen.My luggage is taken into the gamal, and I order the boys to buy and prepare food, whereupon the natives hurry away and fetch a quantity of supplies: pigs, fowls, yam, taro, of which I buy a large stock, paying in matches and tobacco. There are also eggs, which, I am assured, are delicious; but this is according to native taste, which likes eggs best when half hatched. While the boys are cooking, I spend the time in measuring the villagers. At first they are afraid of the shiny, pointed instruments, but the tobacco they receive, after submitting to the operation, dispels their fears. The crowd sits round us on the ground, increasing the uneasiness of my victims by sarcastic remarks.Meanwhile, the women have arrived, and crouch in two groups at the end of the square, which they are forbidden to enter. There are about twenty of them, not many for nearly fifty men, but I see only three or four babies, and many faded figures and old-looking girls of coarse and virile shape, the consequence of premature abuse and artificial sterility. But they chat away quite cheerfully, giggle, wonder, clap their hands, and laugh, taking hold of each other, and rocking to and fro.At last the two chiefs arrive, surprisingly tall and well-built men, with long beards carefully groomed, and big mops of hair. Like all the men, they are dressed in a piece of calico that hangs down in front, and a branch of croton behind. They have bigbracelets, and wear the curved tusks of pigs on their wrists. There is just time before nightfall to take their measures and photographs, then I retire into the gamal for my supper, during which I am closely observed by the entire male population. They make remarks about the spoons and the Worcester sauce, and when I put sugar into my tea, they whisper to each other, “Salt!” which idea is almost enough to spoil one’s appetite, only the delicious roast sucking-pig is too tempting.My toilet for the night is watched with the same attention; then, while I am still reading on my bed, the men seek their couches in the long, low house. They stir up all the fires, which smoke terribly, then they lie down on their bamboo beds, my boys among them, and talk and talk till they fall asleep,—a houseful of leprous and consumptive men, who cough and groan all night.In front of me, near the entrance, is the chiefs place. He spends a long time in preparing his kava, and drinks it noisily. Kava is a root which is ground with a piece of sharp coral; the fibres are then mixed with water, which is contained in a long bamboo, and mashed to a soft pulp; the liquid is then squeezed out, strained through a piece of cocoa-nut bark into a cocoa-nut bowl and drunk. The liquid has a muddy, thick appearance, tastes like soapy water, stings like peppermint and acts as a sleeping-draught. In Santo only chiefs are allowed to drink kava.At first, innumerable dogs disturbed my sleep,and towards morning it grew very cold. When I came out of the hut, the morning sun was just getting the better of the mist, and spreading a cheery light over the square, which had looked dismal enough under a grey, rainy sky. I made all the women gather on the outskirts of the square to be measured and photographed. They were very bashful, and I almost pitied them, for the whole male population sat around making cruel remarks about them; indeed, if it had not been for the chiefs explicit orders, they would all have run away. They were not a very pleasant spectacle, on the whole. I was struck by the tired, suffering expression of even the young girls, a hopeless and uninterested look, in contradiction with their lively behaviour when unobserved. For they are natural and happy only when among themselves, and in the presence of the men they feel that they are under the eye of their master, often a brutal master, whose property they are. Probably they are hardly conscious of this, and take their position and destiny as a matter of course; but they are constrained in the presence of their owners, knowing that at any moment they may be displeased or angry, for any reason or for none, and may ill-treat or even kill them. Aside from these considerations their frightened awkwardness was extremely funny, especially when posing before the camera. Some could not stand straight, others twisted their arms and legs into impossible positions. The idea of a profile view seemed particularly strange to them, and they always presented either their back or theirfront view. The poor things got more and more nervous, the men roared, I was desperate,—altogether it was rather unsatisfactory.I was in need of more bearers to carry the provisions I had bought, and the chiefs were quite willing to supply them; but their orders had absolutely no effect on the men, who were too lazy, and I should have been in an awkward position had not one of the chiefs hit on the expedient of employing his women. They obeyed without a moment’s hesitation; each took a heavy load of yam, all but the favourite wife, the only pretty one of the number; her load was small, but she had to clear the trail, walking at the head of the procession.The women led the way, chatting and giggling, patient and steady as mules, and as sure-footed and supple. Nothing stops them; with a heavy load on their heads they walk over fallen trunks, wade through ditches, twist through vines, putting out a hand every now and then to feel whether the bunch of leaves at their back is in place. They were certainly no beauties, but there was a charm in their light, soft step, in the swaying of their hips, in the dainty poise of their slim ankles and feet, and the softness and harmony of all their movements. And the light playing on their dark, velvety, shining bodies increased this charm, until one almost forgot the many defects, the dirt, the sores, the disease. This pleasant walk in the cool, dewy forest, under the bright leaves, did not last long, and after two hours’ tramp we reached our destination.At the edge of the square the women sat down beside their loads, and were soon joined by the women of the village. Our hostesses were at once informed of every detail of our outfit, our food and our doings, and several dozen pairs of big dark eyes followed our every movement. The women were all quite sure that I was a great doctor and magician, and altogether a dangerous man, and this belief was not at all favourable to my purposes.INTERIOR OF A GAMAL ON VENUA LAVA.INTERIOR OF A GAMAL ON VENUA LAVA.We men soon withdrew to the gamal, where the men likewise had to be informed of everything relating to our doings and character. The gamal was low and dirty, and the state of health of the inhabitants still worse than in the first village, but at least there were a few more babies than elsewhere. The chief suffered from a horrible boil in his loin, which he poulticed with chewed leaves, and the odour was so unbearable that I had to leave the house and sit down outside, where I was surrounded by many lepers, without toes or even feet, a very dismal sight.I now paid my carriers the wages agreed upon, but they claimed that I ought to pay the men extra, although their services had been included in the price. I took this for one of the tricks by which the natives try to get the better of a good-natured foreigner, and refused flatly, whereupon the whole crowd sat down in front of the house and waited in defiant silence. I left them there for half an hour, during which they whispered and deliberated in rather an uncomfortable way. I finally told themthat I would not pay any more, and that they had better go away at once. The interpreter said they were waiting for the chiefs to get through with something they had to talk over, and they stayed on a while longer. My refusal may have been a mistake, and there may really have been a misunderstanding, at any rate, I had to suffer for my unyielding way, inasmuch as the behaviour of our hosts immediately changed from talkative hospitality and childish curiosity to dull silence and suspicious reticence. The people sat around us, sullen and silent, and would not help us in any way, refused to bring firewood or show us the water-hole, and seemed most anxious to get rid of us. Under these circumstances it was useless to try to do any of my regular work, and I had to spend an idle and unpleasant afternoon. At last I induced a young fellow to show me the way to a high plateau near by, from which I had a beautiful view across trees to the east coast of the island, with the sea in a blue mist far away. As my guide, consumptive like all the others, was quite out of breath with our short walk, I soon had to return, and I paid him well. This immediately changed the attitude of all the rest. Their sullenness disappeared, they came closer, began to talk, and at last we spent the afternoon in comparative friendship, and I could attend to my business.But the consequences of my short visit to the gamal became very noticeable. In my hat I found a flourishing colony of horrid bug-like insects; my pockets were alive, my camera was full of them, theyhad crawled into my shoes, my books, my luggage, they were crawling, flying, dancing everywhere. Perfectly disgusted, I threw off all my clothes, and had my boys shake and clean out every piece. For a week I had to have everything cleaned at least once a day, and even then I found the loathsome creatures in every fold, under straps, in pouches.On that afternoon I had a great success as an artist. My drawings of pigs, trees and men went the rounds and were quite immoderately admired, and preserved as we would a sketch of Holbein’s. These drawings have to be done as simply as possible and fairly large, else the natives do not understand them. They consider every line essential, and do not understand shadows or any impressionistic treatment. We must remember that in our civilized art we work with many symbols, some of which have but a vague resemblance to the object they represent, whose meaning we know, while the savage does not. This was the reason why I had often no success at all with what I considered masterpieces, while the natives went into raptures over drawings I thought utter failures. At any rate, they made me quite a popular person.The sick chief complained to me that a late wife of his had been poisoned, and as he took me for a great “witch-doctor,” he asked me to find out the murderer. To the native, sickness or death is not natural, but always the consequence of witchcraft, either on the part of enemies or spirits. The terribly high death-rate in the last years makes it seem allthe more probable that mysterious influences are at work, and the native suspects enemies everywhere, whom he tries to render harmless by killing them. This leads to endless murders and vendettas, which decimate the population nearly as much as the diseases do. The natives know probably something about poisons, but they are always poisons that have to be mixed with food, and this is not an easy thing to do, as every native prepares his food himself. Most of the dreaded poisons are therefore simply charms, stones or other objects, which would be quite harmless in themselves, but become capable of killing by the mere terror they inspire in the victim. If the belief in these charms could be destroyed, a great deal of the so-called poisoning would cease, and it may be a good policy to deny the existence of poison, even at the risk of letting a murderer go unpunished. I therefore felt justified in playing a little comedy, all the more, as I was sure that the woman had died of consumption, and I promised the chief my assistance for the next morning.I had my bed made in the open air; even the boys would not enter the dirty house any more, and we slept well under the open sky, in spite of the pigs that grunted around us and the dew that fell like rain.Next day the chief called all the men together; he was convinced that I could see through every one of them and tell who had done any wrong. So he made them all sit round me, and I looked very solemnly at each through the finder of my camera,the chief watching carefully to see that I did not omit any one. The men felt uneasy, but did not quite know what to make of the whole performance. I naturally could not find anything wrong, and told the chief so, but he was not satisfied, and shook his head doubtfully. Then I talked to him seriously and tried to convince him that everyone had to die once, and that sickness was something natural, especially considering the filth in which they lived; but I do not think my speech made much impression.The men had now become very suspicious, the women were away, and I had great trouble in finding bearers and guides to the next village. A pleasant march brought us to this settlement, whose houses were close together in a big clearing. We were received very coolly by the chief and a few men. My bearers and guides would not be induced to accompany us farther, so that I had to ask for boys here; but the chief said he had not a single able-bodied man, which I felt to be mere excuse. I also noticed that my own boys were very dissatisfied and sullen, and that something was in the wind. In order to raise their spirits, and not to leave our yam provisions behind, I had them cook the midday meal, but the sullen, threatening atmosphere remained the same. When it was time to continue our march, I heard them grumble and complain about their loads, and it all looked like rising mutiny. I was ahead with the chief, who had consented to show us the way, when the moli came after me andinformed me that the boys were unwilling to go on, that they were afraid to go farther inland and were ready to throw their loads away. Later on I learned that two of the boys had tried to bribe some natives to show them the road back to the coast and leave me alone with the moli. I assembled the boys and made them a speech, saying that their loads were not too heavy nor the marches too long, that they were all free to return home, but would have to take the consequences, and that I and the moli would go on without them. If they liked, I said, they could throw away their tinned meats, I did not care, and the two bottles of grog were not meant for me, and we could easily spare those. I grasped the bottles and offered to smash them, but that was too much for the boys; half crying, they begged me not to do that: the bottles were not too heavy, and they would gladly carry them as far as I liked. Hesitatingly I allowed myself to be persuaded, and kindly desisted from the work of destruction. I had won, but I had lost confidence in my boys, and was careful not to put their patience and fidelity to any more tests, conscious as I was of how much depended on their goodwill. After this episode they accomplished a long and tiresome march, up and down through thick bush on slippery clay, quite willingly. In the evening we reached a few huts in a clearing at a height of about 1200 feet, and went into camp for the night.While cooking, we heard dismal howling and weeping from a neighbouring hut; it was a womanmourning her husband, who had been dead ninety-nine days. To-morrow, on the hundredth day, there was to be a death-feast, to which all the neighbours were invited. Of course, this man, too, had been poisoned.The fire of revolt was smouldering in my boys. They sat round the camp-fire in groups, whispering and plotting, grumbling and undecided; but I felt safe enough, as they were evidently divided into two parties, one faithful and the other mutinous, and the former seemed rather more influential. They proved their goodwill to me by delightful servility, and took excellent care of me.Next morning we were wakened by the howls of the unhappy widow, and soon the guests appeared, some from far off, and all bringing contributions to the feast. They killed several pigs, and while the men cut them up in a manner rather more clever than appetizing, the women prepared the fires by lighting large quantities of wood to heat the cooking-stones. This lasted several hours. Meanwhile, every person present received his share of a half-rotten smoked pig, of the freshly killed pigs, yam, taro and sweet potatoes. The women took the entrails of the pigs, squeezed them out, rolled them up in banana leaves, and made them ready for cooking. When the fire was burnt down they took out half of the stones with forks of split bamboo, and then piled up the food in the hole, first the fruit, then the meat, so that the grease should run over the fruit; then the hole was covered with banana leaves, the hot stonespiled on top and covered with more leaves. Food cooked in this way is done in three or four hours, so that the “stoves” are usually opened in the afternoon, and enormous quantities eaten on the spot, while the rest is put in baskets to take home. The amount a native can eat at one sitting is tremendous, and one can actually watch their stomachs swell as the meal proceeds. Violent indigestion is generally the consequence of such a feast. On the whole, no one seemed to be thinking much of the dead man in whose honour it was given,—such things are said to happen in civilized countries as well.I stayed in this village for another day, and many chiefs from the neighbourhood came to consult me, always complaining of the one thing—poison. Each secretly accused the others, each wanted me to try my glass on all the others. I did not like my reputation of being a magician at all, as it made the people still more suspicious of me and more afraid of my instruments and my camera.These so-called chiefs were rather more intelligent than the average. Most of them had worked for whites at one time, and learned to speak pidgin-English; but they were as superstitious as anyone else, and certainly greater rogues. They were naked and dirty, but some had retained some traces of civilization, one, for instance, always took off his old felt hat very politely, and made quite a civilized bow; he must have been in Nouméa in former days.There was no leprosy or elephantiasis here, but a great deal of tuberculosis, and very few children,and nearly all the men complained that their women were unwilling to have any more children.From the next village I had a glimpse of the wild mountains of western Santo. I decided to spend the night here, left the boys behind, and went southward with the moli and a few natives. This was evidently the region where the volcanic and coral formations meet, for the character of the landscape suddenly changed, and instead of flat plateaux we found a wild, irregular country, with lofty hills and deep, narrow gullies. Walking became dangerous, though the path was fair. On top of a hill I found an apparently abandoned village, from which I could overlook all central Santo. To the west were the rugged, dark-looking mountains round Santo Peak, with white clouds floating on the summit, and a confusion of deep blue valleys and steep peaks; northward lay the wild Jordan valley, and far away I could distinguish the silver mirror of Big Bay. All around us rose the silent, stern, lonely forest—imposing, unapproachable.On our way back to camp we rested beside a fresh creek which gaily squeezed its way through rocks and rich vegetation. A little tea and a tin of sardines were all the menu, but we enjoyed a delightful bath in the cool water, and had as good a wash as we could without soap. It was a great luxury after the hot days in the coral country without any water. While our things were drying in the bright sun, we lay in the moss near the rushing stream, and it was like a summer day at home in the mountains. Thewater sounded familiar, the soft, cool breeze was the same, and while I lay watching the white clouds through the bright foliage I dreamt of home. At home I had dreamt of travel, and thus one wish follows the other and the soul is preserved from lazy content. I almost fancied I heard the sound of bells and the far-away lowing of cattle. And again the reality seemed like a dream when I roused myself and saw the dark figures crouching on the rocks, with their frizzy mops of hair and their Sniders on their knees.The village turned out to be too dirty to spend the night in, and I decided to go to one which seemed quite near, just across a gully. Had I known what an undertaking it would be, I would not have started, for the ravine was very deep and the sides unpleasantly steep; but my boys managed the descent, over rocks and fallen trees, with their usual cleverness. At the bottom we were rewarded by a beautiful sight. Beneath us, in a narrow cut it had eaten through the rock, roared a river, foaming out of the depths of the dark wilderness. It was like one of the celebrated gorges in the Alps, only the tropical vegetation which hung in marvellous richness and variety over the abyss gave a fairy-like aspect to the scene. The boys did not seem to appreciate it in the least, and prepared, sighing, for the steep ascent. A simple bridge led across the gully; it was made of a few trees, and even provided with a railing in the shape of a vine. The existence of this bridge surprised me very much; for, considering the thoughtless egotismwith which the natives pass through life, I had thought them incapable of any work of public utility. They rarely think of repairing a road or cutting a vine, nor do they remove trees that may have fallen across the path, but always rely on others to see to it.The second village was not much cleaner than the first, but we camped there, and the next day I went with the moli and a few of my boys to the western mountains. The natives warned us, saying that the people were “no good” and would kill us. But, for one thing, I could not see that they themselves were particularly “good,” and, for another, I knew that all natives consider other tribes especially dangerous; so I stuck to my intention, only we hung all our available weapons about us, leaving the rest of the boys defenceless.This turned out one of the most strenuous days I ever had in the islands, as the road—and what a road!—constantly led up and down the steepest slopes. It seemed to me we were climbing perpendicular mountains all day long, and I had many an opportunity of admiring the agility of my companions. I am a fair walker myself, but I had to crawl on my hands and knees in many spots where they jumped from a stone to a root, taking firm hold with their toes, never using their hands, never slipping, and always with a loaded and cocked rifle on their shoulders. My boys from the coast, good pedestrians though they were, always remained far behind.First we reached well-tended taro fields, then a few scattered huts. The natives received us very kindly,and more men kept joining us, till we formed a big, jolly crowd. The population here seemed very primitive, and evidently had but little contact with the shore, but they were clean and comparatively healthy and flourishing, and I found them rather more frank, childlike and confiding than others I had seen.We roasted our yam, and while we were enjoying our frugal but delicious meal, I witnessed rather an amusing episode. A bushman, painted black for mourning, suddenly called to one of my boys, and wanted to shake hands with him. My boy, a respectable “schoolboy,” was visibly annoyed by the idea of having anything to do with a naked “man-bush,” and behaved with icy reserve; but he could not long resist the rural cordiality of the other, and presently resigned himself to his fate, and made friends. It turned out that they had once worked together in Vila, and one had become an elegant young swell, while the other returned to simple country life.On the way back we rested by the river-bank, amusing ourselves by shooting pigeons with pistols and guns, feeling quite peaceful and happy. But the sound of our shots had an unexpected effect in the village where I had left the rest of my boys. All the natives jumped to their feet, shouting, “Did we not tell you that they would kill your master? Now you have heard them; he is dead, and now we will see what you have in your boxes and divide it among ourselves.”They approached my boys threateningly, whereuponthey all ran away, with the exception of the ringleader of the mutineers of the last few days, who sat down on the box containing the trading-stock and said they had better go and see whether I was really dead before plundering my luggage. The situation must have grown rather strained, until some one had the good sense to go and look out for us, whereupon he saw us sitting peacefully near the river below. This calmed the natives, they withdrew, much disappointed, and my boys returned and prepared everything for my arrival with remarkable zeal. I found dry clothes ready, and tea boiling, and was quite touched by so much thoughtfulness. I was not told of the day’s occurrence till after my return to the coast, and perhaps it was just as well.By this time I had seen a good part of south-east Santo, and I was eager to visit the south-west, with Santo Peak. But without guides and with marked symptoms of home-sickness on the part of my boys, I decided it would not be wise to attempt it. The news that we were going to start for home revived the boys at once. With enormous alacrity they packed up next day and raced homeward with astonishing speed and endurance; I had had to drag them along before, now I could hardly keep up with them. In two days we had reached the plain of the Jordan, had a delightful swim and a jolly last night in camp, free from pigs, dogs, fowls, fleas and bugs,—but not from mosquitoes!The last day we strolled in and along the river, through the forest swarming with wild pigs andpigeons, while a huge colony of flying-foxes circled in the air, forming an actual cloud, and then we came to the shore, with the wide expanse of Big Bay peaceful in the evening sun. A painful walk on the sharp pebbles of the beach brought us home towards nightfall.

There are hardly any natives left in the south of the Bay of St. Philip and St. James, generally called Big Bay. Only to the north of Talamacco there are a few villages, in which the remnants of a once numerous population, mostly converts of the Presbyterian mission, have collected. It is a very mixed crowd, without other organization than that which the mission has created, and that is not much. There are a few chiefs, but they have even less authority than elsewhere, and the feeling of solidarity is lacking entirely, so that I have hardly ever found a colony where there was so much intrigue, immorality and quarrelling. A few years ago the population had been kept in order by a Presbyterian missionary of the stern and cruel type; but he had been recalled, and his place was taken by a man quite unable to cope with the lawlessness of the natives, so that every vice developed freely, and murders were more frequent than in heathen districts. Matters were not improved by the antagonism between the Roman Catholic and Presbyterian missions and the traders; each worked against the others, offering the natives the best of opportunities to fish in troubled waters. The result of all this was a rapid decrease of the population andfrequent artificial sterility. The primitive population has disappeared completely in some places, and is only to be found in any numbers far inland among the western mountains. The situation is a little better in the north, where we find a number of flourishing villages along the coast around Cape Cumberland.

VIEW ALONG THE SHORE OF A CORAL ISLAND.VIEW ALONG THE SHORE OF A CORAL ISLAND.

VIEW ALONG THE SHORE OF A CORAL ISLAND.

The nearest village to Talamacco was Tapapa. Sanitary conditions there were most disheartening, as at least half of the inhabitants were leprous, and most of them suffered from tuberculosis or elephantiasis. I saw hardly any children, so that the village will shortly disappear, like so many others.

Native customs along the coast are much the same as at Port Olry, but less primitive, and the houses are better built. There is wood-carving, or was. I found the doorposts of old gamals beautifully carved, and plates prettily decorated; but these were all antiques, and nothing of the kind is made at the present day.

The race, however, is quite different from that around Port Olry. There are two distinct types: one, Melanesian, dark, tall or short, thin, curly-haired, with a broad nose and a brutal expression; and one that shows distinct traces of Polynesian blood in its finer face, a larger body, which is sometimes fat, light skin and frequently straight hair. Just where this Polynesian element comes from it is hard to say, but the islands in general are very favourable to race-mixture along the coasts. As I said before, the Melanesian type shows two distinct varieties, a tall dark one, and a short light one. At first I did not realize the significance of the latter until I becameaware of the existence of a negroid element, of which I saw clear traces. The two varieties, however, are much intermingled, and the resulting blends have mixed with the Polynesian-Melanesian type, so that the number of types is most confusing, and it will be hard to determine the properties of the original one.

Finding little of interest in the immediate surroundings of Talamacco, I determined to make an excursion into the interior of the island. Mr. F. put his foreman, or moli, at my disposal, and he engaged my bearers, made himself useful during the trip in superintending the boys, and proved valuable in every way, as he was never afraid, and was known to nearly all the inland chiefs.

After a rainy spell of six weeks we had a clear day at last; and although the weather could not be taken into consideration when making my plans, still, the bright sunshine created that happy and expectant sensation which belongs to the beginning of a journey. The monthly steamer had arrived the day before, had shipped a little coprah, and brought some provisions for the trader and myself. I had completed my preparations, engaged my boys and was ready to start.

In the white glare of a damp morning we pulled from the western shore of Big Bay to the mouth of the Jordan River. The boat was cramped and overloaded, and we were all glad to jump ashore after a row of several hours. The boys carried the luggage ashore and pulled the boat up into the bush with much noise and laughter. Then we settled down inthe shade for our first meal, cooking being an occupation of which the boys are surprisingly fond. Their rations are rice and tea, with a tin of meat for every four. This discussed, we packed up, and began our march inland.

The road leads through a thin bush, over rough coral boulders and gravel deposited by the river. We leave the Jordan to our right, and march south-east. After about an hour we come to a swampy plain, covered with tall reed-grass. Grassy plains are an unusual sight in Santo; the wide expanse of yellowish green is surrounded by dark walls of she-oak, in the branches of which hang thousands of flying-foxes. At a dirty pond we fill our kettles with greenish water, for our night camp will be on the mountain slope ahead of us, far from any spring. Even the moli has to carry a load of water, as I can hardly ask the boys to take any more. He feels rather humiliated, as a moli usually carries nothing but a gun, but he is good enough to see the necessity of the case, and condescends to carry a small kettle.

Straight ahead are the high coral plateaux across which our road lies. While we tackle the ascent, the sky has become overcast, the gay aspect of the landscape has changed to sad loneliness and a heavy shower soaks us to the skin. The walk through the jungle is trying, and even the moli loses the way now and again. Towards nightfall we enter a high forest with but little underbrush, and work our way slowly up a steep and slippery slope to an overhanging coral rock, where we decide to camp. We havelost our way, but as night is closing in fast, we cannot venture any farther.

The loads are thrown to the ground in disorder, and the boys drop down comfortably; strong language on my part is needed before they make up their minds to pile up the luggage, collect wood and begin to cook. Meanwhile my own servant has prepared my bed and dried my clothes. Soon it is quite dark, the boys gather round the fires, and do not dare to go into the yawning darkness any more, for fear of ghosts.

The rain has ceased, and the soft damp night air hangs in the trees. The firelight is absorbed by the darkness, and only the nearest surroundings shine in its red glare; the boys are stretched out in queer attitudes round the fire on the hard rocks. Soon I turn out the lamp and lie listening to the night, where vague life and movement creeps through the trunks. Sometimes a breath of wind shivers through the trees, shaking heavy drops from the leaves. A wild pig grunts, moths and insects circle round the fires, and thousands of mosquitoes hum about my net and sing me to sleep. Once in a while I am roused by the breaking of a rotten tree, or a mournful cry from one of the dreaming boys; or one of them wakes up, stirs the fire, turns over and snores on. Long before daybreak a glorious concert of birds welcomes the new day. Half asleep, I watch the light creep across the sky, while the bush is still in utter darkness; suddenly, like a bugle-call, the first sunbeams strike the trees and it is broad day.

Chilly and stiff, the boys get up and crowd round the fires. As we have no more water there is no tea, and breakfast is reduced to dry biscuits. The moli has found the lost trail by this time, and we continue the ascent. On the plateau we again strike nearly impenetrable bush, and lose the trail again, so that after a few hours’ hard work with the knives we have to retrace our steps for quite a distance. It is a monotonous climb, varied only by an occasional shot at a wild pig and fair sport with pigeons. Happily for the thirsty boys, we strike a group of bamboos, which yield plenty of water. All that is needed is to cut the joint of the stems, and out of each section flows a pint of clear water, which the boys collect by holding their huge mouths under the opening. Their clothes are soaked, but their thirst is satisfied and our kettles filled for the midday meal.

Presently we pass a native “camp” under an overhanging rock: it consists of a few parallel sticks, on which the native sleeps as well as any European on a spring-mattress, and a hollow in the ground, with a number of cooking-stones.

After a stiff climb we stop for our meal, then follow a path which gradually widens and improves, a sign that we are nearing a village. Towards evening we come to some gardens, where the natives plant their yam and taro. At the entrance of the village I make my boys close up ranks; although the natives are not supposed to be hostile, my people show signs of uneasiness, keeping close togetherand carrying the few weapons we have very conspicuously.

We cross the village square to the gamal, a simple place, as they all are, with a door about a yard from the ground, in order to keep out the pigs which roam all over the village. In line with the front of the house is a row of tall bamboo posts, wound with vines; their hollow interior is filled with yam and taro, the remains of a great feast. The village seems quite deserted, and we peep cautiously into the interior of the gamal, where, after a while, we discern a man, lying on the damp and dirty ground, who stares at us in silent fright. He gets up and comes slowly out, and we can see that he has lost half of one foot from leprosy. From him the moli learns that the two chiefs are away at a great “sing-sing,” and the rest of the men in the fields or in their wives’ houses. There is nothing for us to do but sit down and wait, and be sniffed at by pigs, barked at by dogs and annoyed by fowls. The moli beats vigorously on one of the wooden drums that lie in the mud in front of the house. He has his own signal, which most of the natives know, so that all the country round is soon informed of his arrival.

One by one the men arrive, strolling towards the gamal as if unconscious of our presence; some of them greet one or the other of my boys whom they have met when visiting at the shore. Nearly all of them are sick with leprosy or elephantiasis or tuberculosis, and after the long rainy period they all have colds and coughs and suffer from rheumatism;altogether they present a sad picture of degeneration and misery, and there are few healthy men to be seen.

My luggage is taken into the gamal, and I order the boys to buy and prepare food, whereupon the natives hurry away and fetch a quantity of supplies: pigs, fowls, yam, taro, of which I buy a large stock, paying in matches and tobacco. There are also eggs, which, I am assured, are delicious; but this is according to native taste, which likes eggs best when half hatched. While the boys are cooking, I spend the time in measuring the villagers. At first they are afraid of the shiny, pointed instruments, but the tobacco they receive, after submitting to the operation, dispels their fears. The crowd sits round us on the ground, increasing the uneasiness of my victims by sarcastic remarks.

Meanwhile, the women have arrived, and crouch in two groups at the end of the square, which they are forbidden to enter. There are about twenty of them, not many for nearly fifty men, but I see only three or four babies, and many faded figures and old-looking girls of coarse and virile shape, the consequence of premature abuse and artificial sterility. But they chat away quite cheerfully, giggle, wonder, clap their hands, and laugh, taking hold of each other, and rocking to and fro.

At last the two chiefs arrive, surprisingly tall and well-built men, with long beards carefully groomed, and big mops of hair. Like all the men, they are dressed in a piece of calico that hangs down in front, and a branch of croton behind. They have bigbracelets, and wear the curved tusks of pigs on their wrists. There is just time before nightfall to take their measures and photographs, then I retire into the gamal for my supper, during which I am closely observed by the entire male population. They make remarks about the spoons and the Worcester sauce, and when I put sugar into my tea, they whisper to each other, “Salt!” which idea is almost enough to spoil one’s appetite, only the delicious roast sucking-pig is too tempting.

My toilet for the night is watched with the same attention; then, while I am still reading on my bed, the men seek their couches in the long, low house. They stir up all the fires, which smoke terribly, then they lie down on their bamboo beds, my boys among them, and talk and talk till they fall asleep,—a houseful of leprous and consumptive men, who cough and groan all night.

In front of me, near the entrance, is the chiefs place. He spends a long time in preparing his kava, and drinks it noisily. Kava is a root which is ground with a piece of sharp coral; the fibres are then mixed with water, which is contained in a long bamboo, and mashed to a soft pulp; the liquid is then squeezed out, strained through a piece of cocoa-nut bark into a cocoa-nut bowl and drunk. The liquid has a muddy, thick appearance, tastes like soapy water, stings like peppermint and acts as a sleeping-draught. In Santo only chiefs are allowed to drink kava.

At first, innumerable dogs disturbed my sleep,and towards morning it grew very cold. When I came out of the hut, the morning sun was just getting the better of the mist, and spreading a cheery light over the square, which had looked dismal enough under a grey, rainy sky. I made all the women gather on the outskirts of the square to be measured and photographed. They were very bashful, and I almost pitied them, for the whole male population sat around making cruel remarks about them; indeed, if it had not been for the chiefs explicit orders, they would all have run away. They were not a very pleasant spectacle, on the whole. I was struck by the tired, suffering expression of even the young girls, a hopeless and uninterested look, in contradiction with their lively behaviour when unobserved. For they are natural and happy only when among themselves, and in the presence of the men they feel that they are under the eye of their master, often a brutal master, whose property they are. Probably they are hardly conscious of this, and take their position and destiny as a matter of course; but they are constrained in the presence of their owners, knowing that at any moment they may be displeased or angry, for any reason or for none, and may ill-treat or even kill them. Aside from these considerations their frightened awkwardness was extremely funny, especially when posing before the camera. Some could not stand straight, others twisted their arms and legs into impossible positions. The idea of a profile view seemed particularly strange to them, and they always presented either their back or theirfront view. The poor things got more and more nervous, the men roared, I was desperate,—altogether it was rather unsatisfactory.

I was in need of more bearers to carry the provisions I had bought, and the chiefs were quite willing to supply them; but their orders had absolutely no effect on the men, who were too lazy, and I should have been in an awkward position had not one of the chiefs hit on the expedient of employing his women. They obeyed without a moment’s hesitation; each took a heavy load of yam, all but the favourite wife, the only pretty one of the number; her load was small, but she had to clear the trail, walking at the head of the procession.

The women led the way, chatting and giggling, patient and steady as mules, and as sure-footed and supple. Nothing stops them; with a heavy load on their heads they walk over fallen trunks, wade through ditches, twist through vines, putting out a hand every now and then to feel whether the bunch of leaves at their back is in place. They were certainly no beauties, but there was a charm in their light, soft step, in the swaying of their hips, in the dainty poise of their slim ankles and feet, and the softness and harmony of all their movements. And the light playing on their dark, velvety, shining bodies increased this charm, until one almost forgot the many defects, the dirt, the sores, the disease. This pleasant walk in the cool, dewy forest, under the bright leaves, did not last long, and after two hours’ tramp we reached our destination.

At the edge of the square the women sat down beside their loads, and were soon joined by the women of the village. Our hostesses were at once informed of every detail of our outfit, our food and our doings, and several dozen pairs of big dark eyes followed our every movement. The women were all quite sure that I was a great doctor and magician, and altogether a dangerous man, and this belief was not at all favourable to my purposes.

INTERIOR OF A GAMAL ON VENUA LAVA.INTERIOR OF A GAMAL ON VENUA LAVA.

INTERIOR OF A GAMAL ON VENUA LAVA.

We men soon withdrew to the gamal, where the men likewise had to be informed of everything relating to our doings and character. The gamal was low and dirty, and the state of health of the inhabitants still worse than in the first village, but at least there were a few more babies than elsewhere. The chief suffered from a horrible boil in his loin, which he poulticed with chewed leaves, and the odour was so unbearable that I had to leave the house and sit down outside, where I was surrounded by many lepers, without toes or even feet, a very dismal sight.

I now paid my carriers the wages agreed upon, but they claimed that I ought to pay the men extra, although their services had been included in the price. I took this for one of the tricks by which the natives try to get the better of a good-natured foreigner, and refused flatly, whereupon the whole crowd sat down in front of the house and waited in defiant silence. I left them there for half an hour, during which they whispered and deliberated in rather an uncomfortable way. I finally told themthat I would not pay any more, and that they had better go away at once. The interpreter said they were waiting for the chiefs to get through with something they had to talk over, and they stayed on a while longer. My refusal may have been a mistake, and there may really have been a misunderstanding, at any rate, I had to suffer for my unyielding way, inasmuch as the behaviour of our hosts immediately changed from talkative hospitality and childish curiosity to dull silence and suspicious reticence. The people sat around us, sullen and silent, and would not help us in any way, refused to bring firewood or show us the water-hole, and seemed most anxious to get rid of us. Under these circumstances it was useless to try to do any of my regular work, and I had to spend an idle and unpleasant afternoon. At last I induced a young fellow to show me the way to a high plateau near by, from which I had a beautiful view across trees to the east coast of the island, with the sea in a blue mist far away. As my guide, consumptive like all the others, was quite out of breath with our short walk, I soon had to return, and I paid him well. This immediately changed the attitude of all the rest. Their sullenness disappeared, they came closer, began to talk, and at last we spent the afternoon in comparative friendship, and I could attend to my business.

But the consequences of my short visit to the gamal became very noticeable. In my hat I found a flourishing colony of horrid bug-like insects; my pockets were alive, my camera was full of them, theyhad crawled into my shoes, my books, my luggage, they were crawling, flying, dancing everywhere. Perfectly disgusted, I threw off all my clothes, and had my boys shake and clean out every piece. For a week I had to have everything cleaned at least once a day, and even then I found the loathsome creatures in every fold, under straps, in pouches.

On that afternoon I had a great success as an artist. My drawings of pigs, trees and men went the rounds and were quite immoderately admired, and preserved as we would a sketch of Holbein’s. These drawings have to be done as simply as possible and fairly large, else the natives do not understand them. They consider every line essential, and do not understand shadows or any impressionistic treatment. We must remember that in our civilized art we work with many symbols, some of which have but a vague resemblance to the object they represent, whose meaning we know, while the savage does not. This was the reason why I had often no success at all with what I considered masterpieces, while the natives went into raptures over drawings I thought utter failures. At any rate, they made me quite a popular person.

The sick chief complained to me that a late wife of his had been poisoned, and as he took me for a great “witch-doctor,” he asked me to find out the murderer. To the native, sickness or death is not natural, but always the consequence of witchcraft, either on the part of enemies or spirits. The terribly high death-rate in the last years makes it seem allthe more probable that mysterious influences are at work, and the native suspects enemies everywhere, whom he tries to render harmless by killing them. This leads to endless murders and vendettas, which decimate the population nearly as much as the diseases do. The natives know probably something about poisons, but they are always poisons that have to be mixed with food, and this is not an easy thing to do, as every native prepares his food himself. Most of the dreaded poisons are therefore simply charms, stones or other objects, which would be quite harmless in themselves, but become capable of killing by the mere terror they inspire in the victim. If the belief in these charms could be destroyed, a great deal of the so-called poisoning would cease, and it may be a good policy to deny the existence of poison, even at the risk of letting a murderer go unpunished. I therefore felt justified in playing a little comedy, all the more, as I was sure that the woman had died of consumption, and I promised the chief my assistance for the next morning.

I had my bed made in the open air; even the boys would not enter the dirty house any more, and we slept well under the open sky, in spite of the pigs that grunted around us and the dew that fell like rain.

Next day the chief called all the men together; he was convinced that I could see through every one of them and tell who had done any wrong. So he made them all sit round me, and I looked very solemnly at each through the finder of my camera,the chief watching carefully to see that I did not omit any one. The men felt uneasy, but did not quite know what to make of the whole performance. I naturally could not find anything wrong, and told the chief so, but he was not satisfied, and shook his head doubtfully. Then I talked to him seriously and tried to convince him that everyone had to die once, and that sickness was something natural, especially considering the filth in which they lived; but I do not think my speech made much impression.

The men had now become very suspicious, the women were away, and I had great trouble in finding bearers and guides to the next village. A pleasant march brought us to this settlement, whose houses were close together in a big clearing. We were received very coolly by the chief and a few men. My bearers and guides would not be induced to accompany us farther, so that I had to ask for boys here; but the chief said he had not a single able-bodied man, which I felt to be mere excuse. I also noticed that my own boys were very dissatisfied and sullen, and that something was in the wind. In order to raise their spirits, and not to leave our yam provisions behind, I had them cook the midday meal, but the sullen, threatening atmosphere remained the same. When it was time to continue our march, I heard them grumble and complain about their loads, and it all looked like rising mutiny. I was ahead with the chief, who had consented to show us the way, when the moli came after me andinformed me that the boys were unwilling to go on, that they were afraid to go farther inland and were ready to throw their loads away. Later on I learned that two of the boys had tried to bribe some natives to show them the road back to the coast and leave me alone with the moli. I assembled the boys and made them a speech, saying that their loads were not too heavy nor the marches too long, that they were all free to return home, but would have to take the consequences, and that I and the moli would go on without them. If they liked, I said, they could throw away their tinned meats, I did not care, and the two bottles of grog were not meant for me, and we could easily spare those. I grasped the bottles and offered to smash them, but that was too much for the boys; half crying, they begged me not to do that: the bottles were not too heavy, and they would gladly carry them as far as I liked. Hesitatingly I allowed myself to be persuaded, and kindly desisted from the work of destruction. I had won, but I had lost confidence in my boys, and was careful not to put their patience and fidelity to any more tests, conscious as I was of how much depended on their goodwill. After this episode they accomplished a long and tiresome march, up and down through thick bush on slippery clay, quite willingly. In the evening we reached a few huts in a clearing at a height of about 1200 feet, and went into camp for the night.

While cooking, we heard dismal howling and weeping from a neighbouring hut; it was a womanmourning her husband, who had been dead ninety-nine days. To-morrow, on the hundredth day, there was to be a death-feast, to which all the neighbours were invited. Of course, this man, too, had been poisoned.

The fire of revolt was smouldering in my boys. They sat round the camp-fire in groups, whispering and plotting, grumbling and undecided; but I felt safe enough, as they were evidently divided into two parties, one faithful and the other mutinous, and the former seemed rather more influential. They proved their goodwill to me by delightful servility, and took excellent care of me.

Next morning we were wakened by the howls of the unhappy widow, and soon the guests appeared, some from far off, and all bringing contributions to the feast. They killed several pigs, and while the men cut them up in a manner rather more clever than appetizing, the women prepared the fires by lighting large quantities of wood to heat the cooking-stones. This lasted several hours. Meanwhile, every person present received his share of a half-rotten smoked pig, of the freshly killed pigs, yam, taro and sweet potatoes. The women took the entrails of the pigs, squeezed them out, rolled them up in banana leaves, and made them ready for cooking. When the fire was burnt down they took out half of the stones with forks of split bamboo, and then piled up the food in the hole, first the fruit, then the meat, so that the grease should run over the fruit; then the hole was covered with banana leaves, the hot stonespiled on top and covered with more leaves. Food cooked in this way is done in three or four hours, so that the “stoves” are usually opened in the afternoon, and enormous quantities eaten on the spot, while the rest is put in baskets to take home. The amount a native can eat at one sitting is tremendous, and one can actually watch their stomachs swell as the meal proceeds. Violent indigestion is generally the consequence of such a feast. On the whole, no one seemed to be thinking much of the dead man in whose honour it was given,—such things are said to happen in civilized countries as well.

I stayed in this village for another day, and many chiefs from the neighbourhood came to consult me, always complaining of the one thing—poison. Each secretly accused the others, each wanted me to try my glass on all the others. I did not like my reputation of being a magician at all, as it made the people still more suspicious of me and more afraid of my instruments and my camera.

These so-called chiefs were rather more intelligent than the average. Most of them had worked for whites at one time, and learned to speak pidgin-English; but they were as superstitious as anyone else, and certainly greater rogues. They were naked and dirty, but some had retained some traces of civilization, one, for instance, always took off his old felt hat very politely, and made quite a civilized bow; he must have been in Nouméa in former days.

There was no leprosy or elephantiasis here, but a great deal of tuberculosis, and very few children,and nearly all the men complained that their women were unwilling to have any more children.

From the next village I had a glimpse of the wild mountains of western Santo. I decided to spend the night here, left the boys behind, and went southward with the moli and a few natives. This was evidently the region where the volcanic and coral formations meet, for the character of the landscape suddenly changed, and instead of flat plateaux we found a wild, irregular country, with lofty hills and deep, narrow gullies. Walking became dangerous, though the path was fair. On top of a hill I found an apparently abandoned village, from which I could overlook all central Santo. To the west were the rugged, dark-looking mountains round Santo Peak, with white clouds floating on the summit, and a confusion of deep blue valleys and steep peaks; northward lay the wild Jordan valley, and far away I could distinguish the silver mirror of Big Bay. All around us rose the silent, stern, lonely forest—imposing, unapproachable.

On our way back to camp we rested beside a fresh creek which gaily squeezed its way through rocks and rich vegetation. A little tea and a tin of sardines were all the menu, but we enjoyed a delightful bath in the cool water, and had as good a wash as we could without soap. It was a great luxury after the hot days in the coral country without any water. While our things were drying in the bright sun, we lay in the moss near the rushing stream, and it was like a summer day at home in the mountains. Thewater sounded familiar, the soft, cool breeze was the same, and while I lay watching the white clouds through the bright foliage I dreamt of home. At home I had dreamt of travel, and thus one wish follows the other and the soul is preserved from lazy content. I almost fancied I heard the sound of bells and the far-away lowing of cattle. And again the reality seemed like a dream when I roused myself and saw the dark figures crouching on the rocks, with their frizzy mops of hair and their Sniders on their knees.

The village turned out to be too dirty to spend the night in, and I decided to go to one which seemed quite near, just across a gully. Had I known what an undertaking it would be, I would not have started, for the ravine was very deep and the sides unpleasantly steep; but my boys managed the descent, over rocks and fallen trees, with their usual cleverness. At the bottom we were rewarded by a beautiful sight. Beneath us, in a narrow cut it had eaten through the rock, roared a river, foaming out of the depths of the dark wilderness. It was like one of the celebrated gorges in the Alps, only the tropical vegetation which hung in marvellous richness and variety over the abyss gave a fairy-like aspect to the scene. The boys did not seem to appreciate it in the least, and prepared, sighing, for the steep ascent. A simple bridge led across the gully; it was made of a few trees, and even provided with a railing in the shape of a vine. The existence of this bridge surprised me very much; for, considering the thoughtless egotismwith which the natives pass through life, I had thought them incapable of any work of public utility. They rarely think of repairing a road or cutting a vine, nor do they remove trees that may have fallen across the path, but always rely on others to see to it.

The second village was not much cleaner than the first, but we camped there, and the next day I went with the moli and a few of my boys to the western mountains. The natives warned us, saying that the people were “no good” and would kill us. But, for one thing, I could not see that they themselves were particularly “good,” and, for another, I knew that all natives consider other tribes especially dangerous; so I stuck to my intention, only we hung all our available weapons about us, leaving the rest of the boys defenceless.

This turned out one of the most strenuous days I ever had in the islands, as the road—and what a road!—constantly led up and down the steepest slopes. It seemed to me we were climbing perpendicular mountains all day long, and I had many an opportunity of admiring the agility of my companions. I am a fair walker myself, but I had to crawl on my hands and knees in many spots where they jumped from a stone to a root, taking firm hold with their toes, never using their hands, never slipping, and always with a loaded and cocked rifle on their shoulders. My boys from the coast, good pedestrians though they were, always remained far behind.

First we reached well-tended taro fields, then a few scattered huts. The natives received us very kindly,and more men kept joining us, till we formed a big, jolly crowd. The population here seemed very primitive, and evidently had but little contact with the shore, but they were clean and comparatively healthy and flourishing, and I found them rather more frank, childlike and confiding than others I had seen.

We roasted our yam, and while we were enjoying our frugal but delicious meal, I witnessed rather an amusing episode. A bushman, painted black for mourning, suddenly called to one of my boys, and wanted to shake hands with him. My boy, a respectable “schoolboy,” was visibly annoyed by the idea of having anything to do with a naked “man-bush,” and behaved with icy reserve; but he could not long resist the rural cordiality of the other, and presently resigned himself to his fate, and made friends. It turned out that they had once worked together in Vila, and one had become an elegant young swell, while the other returned to simple country life.

On the way back we rested by the river-bank, amusing ourselves by shooting pigeons with pistols and guns, feeling quite peaceful and happy. But the sound of our shots had an unexpected effect in the village where I had left the rest of my boys. All the natives jumped to their feet, shouting, “Did we not tell you that they would kill your master? Now you have heard them; he is dead, and now we will see what you have in your boxes and divide it among ourselves.”

They approached my boys threateningly, whereuponthey all ran away, with the exception of the ringleader of the mutineers of the last few days, who sat down on the box containing the trading-stock and said they had better go and see whether I was really dead before plundering my luggage. The situation must have grown rather strained, until some one had the good sense to go and look out for us, whereupon he saw us sitting peacefully near the river below. This calmed the natives, they withdrew, much disappointed, and my boys returned and prepared everything for my arrival with remarkable zeal. I found dry clothes ready, and tea boiling, and was quite touched by so much thoughtfulness. I was not told of the day’s occurrence till after my return to the coast, and perhaps it was just as well.

By this time I had seen a good part of south-east Santo, and I was eager to visit the south-west, with Santo Peak. But without guides and with marked symptoms of home-sickness on the part of my boys, I decided it would not be wise to attempt it. The news that we were going to start for home revived the boys at once. With enormous alacrity they packed up next day and raced homeward with astonishing speed and endurance; I had had to drag them along before, now I could hardly keep up with them. In two days we had reached the plain of the Jordan, had a delightful swim and a jolly last night in camp, free from pigs, dogs, fowls, fleas and bugs,—but not from mosquitoes!

The last day we strolled in and along the river, through the forest swarming with wild pigs andpigeons, while a huge colony of flying-foxes circled in the air, forming an actual cloud, and then we came to the shore, with the wide expanse of Big Bay peaceful in the evening sun. A painful walk on the sharp pebbles of the beach brought us home towards nightfall.

Chapter VIIISanto (continued)—PygmiesThe term of service of my boys had now expired, and I had to look about for others. Happily, now that I was known in the region, I had less trouble, especially as I held out the prospect of a visit to Nouméa. With six boys of my own and a few other men, I started on another journey.I had always suspected the existence of a race of pygmies in the islands, and had often asked the natives if they had ever seen “small fellow men.” Generally they stared at me without a sign of intelligence, or else began to tell fairy-tales of dwarfs they had seen in the bush, of little men with tails and goat’s feet (probably derived from what they had heard of the devil from missionaries), all beings of whose existence they were perfectly convinced, whom they often see in the daytime and feel at night, so that it is very hard to separate truth from imagination.I had heard stories of a colony of tailed men near Mele, and that, near Wora, north of Talamacco, tailed men lived in trees; that they were very shy and had long, straight hair. The natives pretended they had nearly caught one once. All this sounded interesting and improbable, and I was not anxious to start on a mere wild-goose chase. More exact information,however, was forthcoming. One of my servants told me that near a waterfall I could see shining out of a deep ravine far inland, there lived “small fellow men.”It was an exceptionally stormy morning when we started, so that Mr. F. advised me to postpone my departure; but in the New Hebrides it is no use to take notice of the weather, and that day it was so bad that it could not get any worse, which was some consolation. Soon we were completely soaked, but we kept on along the coast to some huts, where we were to meet our guide. Presently he arrived, followed by a crowd of children, as they seemed to me, who joined our party. While climbing inland toward the high mountains, I asked the guide if he knew anything about the little people; he told me that one of them was walking behind me. I looked more closely at the man in question, and saw that whereas I had taken him for a half-grown youth, he was really a man of about forty, and all the others who had come with him turned out to be full-grown but small individuals. Of course I was delighted with this discovery, and should have liked to begin measuring and photographing at once, had not the torrents of rain prevented.I may mention here that I found traces later on of this diminutive race in some other islands, but rarely in such purity as here. Everywhere else they had mingled with the taller population, while here they had kept somewhat apart, and represented an element by themselves, so that I was fortunate in having myattention drawn to them here, as elsewhere I might easily have overlooked them.WILD MOUNTAIN SCENERY IN THE DISTRICT OF THE PYGMY POPULATION.WILD MOUNTAIN SCENERY IN THE DISTRICT OF THE PYGMY POPULATION.The trail by which we were travelling was one of the worst I ever saw in the islands, and the weather did not improve. The higher up we went, the thicker was the fog; we seemed to be moving in a slimy mass, breathing the air from a boiler. At noon we reached the lonely hut, where a dozen men and women squatted, shivering with cold and wet, crowded together under wretched palm-leaf mats, near a smouldering fire. There were some children wedged into the gaps between the grown-ups. Our arrival seemed to rouse these poor people from their misery a little; one man after the other got up, yawning and chattering, the women remained sitting near the fire. We made them some hot tea, and then I began to measure and take pictures, to which they submitted quite good-humouredly.I was much struck by the fact of these men and women living together, a most unusual thing in a Melanesian district, where the separation of the sexes and the “Suque” rules are so rigorously observed.We started off once more in the icy rain, keeping along the crest of the hill, which was just wide enough for the path. The mountain sloped steeply down on either side, the thick mist made an early twilight, we could only see the spot where we set our feet, while all the surroundings were lost in grey fog, so that we felt as though we were walking in a void, far above all the world. At nightfall we arrived at a solitary hut—the home of our companions. Afterhaving repaired the broken roof, my boys succeeded in lighting a fire, though how they did it is a mystery, as matches and everything else were soaked. Soon tea and rice were boiling, while I tried to dry my instruments, especially my camera, whose watertight case had not been able to resist the rain. Then I wrapped myself up in my blanket, sipped my tea and ate my rice, and smoked a few pipes. It certainly is a reward for the day’s work, that evening hour, lying satisfied, tired and dreamy, under the low roof of the hut, while outside the wind roars through the valley and the rain rattles on the roof, and a far-off river rushes down a gorge. The red fire paints the beams above me in warm colours, and in the dark corners the smoke curls in blue clouds. Around a second fire the natives lie in ecstatic laziness, smoking and talking softly, pigs grunt and dogs scratch busily about.In the morning the storm had passed, and I could see that the house was set on the slope of a high mountain, much as a chalet is, and that we were at the end of a wild ravine, from every side of which fresh rivulets and cascades came pouring. Owing to the mountainous character of the country there are no villages here, but numerous huts scattered all along the mountains, two or three families at the utmost living together. The structure of the houses, too, was different from those on the coast; they had side walls and a basement of boulders, sometimes quite carefully built. Here men and women live together, and a separation of the fires does not seemto exist, nor does the “Suque” seem to have penetrated to this district.We passed several hamlets where the mode of life was the same as in this one. The dress of the men is the same as at the coast, except that they wind strings of shell-money about their waists in manifold rows. The women wear a bunch of leaves in front and behind. The weapons are the same as elsewhere, except that here we find the feathered arrows which are such a rarity in the Pacific. It is surprising to find these here, in these secluded valleys among the pygmy race, and only here, near Talamacco, nowhere else where the same race is found. It is an open question whether these feathered arrows are an original invention in these valleys, an importation or a remnant of an earlier culture.The population lives on the produce of the fields, mostly taro, which is grown in irrigated lands in the river bottoms.In appearance these people do not differ much from those of central Santo, who are by no means of a uniform type. The most important feature is their size, that of the men amounting to 152 cm., that of the women to 144 cm. The smallest man I measured was 138.0 cm., others measured 146.0, 149.2, 144.2, 146.6, 140.6, 149.0, 139.6, 138.4 cm. The maximum size is hard to state, as even here the small variety has mixed with taller tribes, so that we find all the intermediate sizes, from the pygmy 139.6 cm. high, to the tall Melanesian of 178.0 cm. My object, therefore, was to find a colony of pure pygmies,and I pursued it in many subsequent wanderings, but without success. The following description is based on the type as I constructed it in the course of my travels and observations.The hair is very curly, and seems black, but is in reality a dark, yellowish brown. Fil-fil is less frequent than among the tall variety. The forehead is straight, very slightly retreating, vaulted and rather narrow, the eyes are close together, straight, medium-sized and dark brown. The superciliar ridges are but slightly developed. The jaw-bones are large, but do not protrude, whereas the chewing muscles are well developed, which gives the face breadth, makes the chin-line round and the chin itself small and pointed. The mouth is not very large, with moderately thick lips, the nose is straight, hardly open toward the front, the nostrils not thick. As a rule, the growth of beard is not heavy, unlike that of the tall Melanesians; there is only a light moustache, a few tufts at the chin and near the jaw. Up to the age of forty this is all; in later years a heavier beard develops, but the face and the front of the chin remain free.Thus it will be seen that these people are not at all repulsive, as all the ridges of bone and the heavy muscle attachments which make the face of ordinary Melanesians so brutal are lacking. On the contrary, they look quite agreeable and childlike. Their bodies are vigorous, but lightly built: the chest broad and deep, the arms and legs fine, with beautiful delicate joints, the legs well proportioned, with handsomecalves. Their feet are short and broad, especially in front, but the great toe does not stand off from the others noticeably. Thus the pygmy has none of the proportions of a child, and shows no signs of degeneration, but is of harmonious build, only smaller than other Melanesians.The shade of the skin varies a good deal from a dull purple, brownish-black, to coffee colour; but the majority of individuals are light, and the dark ones probably inherited their shade from the tall race.Deformations of the body are not practised, save for an occasional perforation of the lobes of the ear. I never saw a perforation of the septum, nor women with incisors extracted.It seems as if the small race were better preserved here in Santo than the tall one. The diseases which destroy the other tribes are less frequent here, there are more children and a good number of women. All this may be due to a great extent to their living inland and not coming into touch with the unfavourable sides of civilization as the coast tribes do, but even more to the hardy outdoor life in the mountains. In their country one cannot walk three steps on a level, and the whole population is expert in climbing, very sure-footed, thinking nothing of jumping with a heavy load from one rock to another, or racing at full speed down the steep and uneven slopes.In character, too, they differ from the tribes near the water. They seem less malicious and more confiding, and show less of the distrust and shy reserve of the average Melanesian. They will laugh andchat in the presence of strangers, and are very hospitable. I do not know if these are accidental impressions, but I can only say that I always felt safer and more comfortable in a village where the majority of the inhabitants belonged to the small race.With all this the pygmies are by no means helpless or even inferior, compared to their tall neighbours. Possibly, in former days, they may have been driven from their homes in the plains back into the mountains, but at present they are quite equal to the tall race, and the “salt-water men” are even a little afraid of their small neighbours inland. What they lack in size and strength they make up in speed and suppleness and temperament. The barrier between the races has disappeared, and the mixing process is hastened by the fact that the small race frequently sells its women to the tall one. It is rare for a woman from the coast to settle in the mountains, still, it occurs frequently enough to alloy the purity of the pygmy race, and in no village have I found more than about 70 per cent. of real pygmies.In the afternoon we came to the chief’s dwelling. The old man lived there alone with his wife, quietly and happily, venerated by all the other people. It was touching to see the little couple, delicate as two dolls, who seemed to love each other sincerely, a most uncommon occurrence in Melanesia. I really had too much respect for the old people to trouble them with my measuring instruments, but I could not resist taking their pictures. After consulting herhusband with a look of the greatest confidence, the old lady consented shyly, while he stood beside her as if it was an everyday event to him, and a sort of tribute I was paying to his age and position and the beauty of his wife.From this point I had a fine view of the cascade that fell down in a wide silver ribbon through the forest. Some months later all that wild scenery was destroyed by an earthquake, which caused many land-slides and spoilt the cascade. Following the roaring river, jumping from one block of stone to another, we soon reached our camp, a large gamal. As we were nearing the coast its arrangements were adapted to the customs of the tall Melanesians. There were a few small individuals, but the tall race was predominant. The reign of the “Suque” was evident by the floor of the gamal being divided by parallel sticks into compartments corresponding to the number of fires and castes, and each man sat down in his division and cooked his own food.Next day, after having waded through the cold water of the river, we arrived at the coast. From the last hills I sent a farewell look into the wild green tangle of forest, rocks, ravines, cascades and valleys, over which heavy rain-clouds were gathering. Before me the greyish-blue mirror of Big Bay lay in the mist, and in the Jordan valley the rain fell heavily. The high reed-grass all around us rustled dismally, and the damp cold was depressing. I hurried home and arrived there in the night, wet as when I had started on my expedition.With regard to the pygmies I must not omit to mention the following experience. The fact that among them husband and wife live together, and that I had nowhere seen a man with two wives, made me suspect that this race was monogamous, as other pygmy races are. I made frequent inquiries, and was assured that each man was allowed but one wife. Still, I was not quite convinced, for it seemed strange to find a monogamous population in the midst of polygamous tribes. Others having given me similar information, I began to accept this theory as a fact. At last, however, I found I had been deceived, as all the people had taken me for a missionary, and had fancied I was asking them questions in order to interfere with their matrimonial customs by sending them a teacher or a “mission-police-man.” My error was cleared up, thanks to the investigations of a trader, for which I am much indebted to him.

The term of service of my boys had now expired, and I had to look about for others. Happily, now that I was known in the region, I had less trouble, especially as I held out the prospect of a visit to Nouméa. With six boys of my own and a few other men, I started on another journey.

I had always suspected the existence of a race of pygmies in the islands, and had often asked the natives if they had ever seen “small fellow men.” Generally they stared at me without a sign of intelligence, or else began to tell fairy-tales of dwarfs they had seen in the bush, of little men with tails and goat’s feet (probably derived from what they had heard of the devil from missionaries), all beings of whose existence they were perfectly convinced, whom they often see in the daytime and feel at night, so that it is very hard to separate truth from imagination.

I had heard stories of a colony of tailed men near Mele, and that, near Wora, north of Talamacco, tailed men lived in trees; that they were very shy and had long, straight hair. The natives pretended they had nearly caught one once. All this sounded interesting and improbable, and I was not anxious to start on a mere wild-goose chase. More exact information,however, was forthcoming. One of my servants told me that near a waterfall I could see shining out of a deep ravine far inland, there lived “small fellow men.”

It was an exceptionally stormy morning when we started, so that Mr. F. advised me to postpone my departure; but in the New Hebrides it is no use to take notice of the weather, and that day it was so bad that it could not get any worse, which was some consolation. Soon we were completely soaked, but we kept on along the coast to some huts, where we were to meet our guide. Presently he arrived, followed by a crowd of children, as they seemed to me, who joined our party. While climbing inland toward the high mountains, I asked the guide if he knew anything about the little people; he told me that one of them was walking behind me. I looked more closely at the man in question, and saw that whereas I had taken him for a half-grown youth, he was really a man of about forty, and all the others who had come with him turned out to be full-grown but small individuals. Of course I was delighted with this discovery, and should have liked to begin measuring and photographing at once, had not the torrents of rain prevented.

I may mention here that I found traces later on of this diminutive race in some other islands, but rarely in such purity as here. Everywhere else they had mingled with the taller population, while here they had kept somewhat apart, and represented an element by themselves, so that I was fortunate in having myattention drawn to them here, as elsewhere I might easily have overlooked them.

WILD MOUNTAIN SCENERY IN THE DISTRICT OF THE PYGMY POPULATION.WILD MOUNTAIN SCENERY IN THE DISTRICT OF THE PYGMY POPULATION.

WILD MOUNTAIN SCENERY IN THE DISTRICT OF THE PYGMY POPULATION.

The trail by which we were travelling was one of the worst I ever saw in the islands, and the weather did not improve. The higher up we went, the thicker was the fog; we seemed to be moving in a slimy mass, breathing the air from a boiler. At noon we reached the lonely hut, where a dozen men and women squatted, shivering with cold and wet, crowded together under wretched palm-leaf mats, near a smouldering fire. There were some children wedged into the gaps between the grown-ups. Our arrival seemed to rouse these poor people from their misery a little; one man after the other got up, yawning and chattering, the women remained sitting near the fire. We made them some hot tea, and then I began to measure and take pictures, to which they submitted quite good-humouredly.

I was much struck by the fact of these men and women living together, a most unusual thing in a Melanesian district, where the separation of the sexes and the “Suque” rules are so rigorously observed.

We started off once more in the icy rain, keeping along the crest of the hill, which was just wide enough for the path. The mountain sloped steeply down on either side, the thick mist made an early twilight, we could only see the spot where we set our feet, while all the surroundings were lost in grey fog, so that we felt as though we were walking in a void, far above all the world. At nightfall we arrived at a solitary hut—the home of our companions. Afterhaving repaired the broken roof, my boys succeeded in lighting a fire, though how they did it is a mystery, as matches and everything else were soaked. Soon tea and rice were boiling, while I tried to dry my instruments, especially my camera, whose watertight case had not been able to resist the rain. Then I wrapped myself up in my blanket, sipped my tea and ate my rice, and smoked a few pipes. It certainly is a reward for the day’s work, that evening hour, lying satisfied, tired and dreamy, under the low roof of the hut, while outside the wind roars through the valley and the rain rattles on the roof, and a far-off river rushes down a gorge. The red fire paints the beams above me in warm colours, and in the dark corners the smoke curls in blue clouds. Around a second fire the natives lie in ecstatic laziness, smoking and talking softly, pigs grunt and dogs scratch busily about.

In the morning the storm had passed, and I could see that the house was set on the slope of a high mountain, much as a chalet is, and that we were at the end of a wild ravine, from every side of which fresh rivulets and cascades came pouring. Owing to the mountainous character of the country there are no villages here, but numerous huts scattered all along the mountains, two or three families at the utmost living together. The structure of the houses, too, was different from those on the coast; they had side walls and a basement of boulders, sometimes quite carefully built. Here men and women live together, and a separation of the fires does not seemto exist, nor does the “Suque” seem to have penetrated to this district.

We passed several hamlets where the mode of life was the same as in this one. The dress of the men is the same as at the coast, except that they wind strings of shell-money about their waists in manifold rows. The women wear a bunch of leaves in front and behind. The weapons are the same as elsewhere, except that here we find the feathered arrows which are such a rarity in the Pacific. It is surprising to find these here, in these secluded valleys among the pygmy race, and only here, near Talamacco, nowhere else where the same race is found. It is an open question whether these feathered arrows are an original invention in these valleys, an importation or a remnant of an earlier culture.

The population lives on the produce of the fields, mostly taro, which is grown in irrigated lands in the river bottoms.

In appearance these people do not differ much from those of central Santo, who are by no means of a uniform type. The most important feature is their size, that of the men amounting to 152 cm., that of the women to 144 cm. The smallest man I measured was 138.0 cm., others measured 146.0, 149.2, 144.2, 146.6, 140.6, 149.0, 139.6, 138.4 cm. The maximum size is hard to state, as even here the small variety has mixed with taller tribes, so that we find all the intermediate sizes, from the pygmy 139.6 cm. high, to the tall Melanesian of 178.0 cm. My object, therefore, was to find a colony of pure pygmies,and I pursued it in many subsequent wanderings, but without success. The following description is based on the type as I constructed it in the course of my travels and observations.

The hair is very curly, and seems black, but is in reality a dark, yellowish brown. Fil-fil is less frequent than among the tall variety. The forehead is straight, very slightly retreating, vaulted and rather narrow, the eyes are close together, straight, medium-sized and dark brown. The superciliar ridges are but slightly developed. The jaw-bones are large, but do not protrude, whereas the chewing muscles are well developed, which gives the face breadth, makes the chin-line round and the chin itself small and pointed. The mouth is not very large, with moderately thick lips, the nose is straight, hardly open toward the front, the nostrils not thick. As a rule, the growth of beard is not heavy, unlike that of the tall Melanesians; there is only a light moustache, a few tufts at the chin and near the jaw. Up to the age of forty this is all; in later years a heavier beard develops, but the face and the front of the chin remain free.

Thus it will be seen that these people are not at all repulsive, as all the ridges of bone and the heavy muscle attachments which make the face of ordinary Melanesians so brutal are lacking. On the contrary, they look quite agreeable and childlike. Their bodies are vigorous, but lightly built: the chest broad and deep, the arms and legs fine, with beautiful delicate joints, the legs well proportioned, with handsomecalves. Their feet are short and broad, especially in front, but the great toe does not stand off from the others noticeably. Thus the pygmy has none of the proportions of a child, and shows no signs of degeneration, but is of harmonious build, only smaller than other Melanesians.

The shade of the skin varies a good deal from a dull purple, brownish-black, to coffee colour; but the majority of individuals are light, and the dark ones probably inherited their shade from the tall race.

Deformations of the body are not practised, save for an occasional perforation of the lobes of the ear. I never saw a perforation of the septum, nor women with incisors extracted.

It seems as if the small race were better preserved here in Santo than the tall one. The diseases which destroy the other tribes are less frequent here, there are more children and a good number of women. All this may be due to a great extent to their living inland and not coming into touch with the unfavourable sides of civilization as the coast tribes do, but even more to the hardy outdoor life in the mountains. In their country one cannot walk three steps on a level, and the whole population is expert in climbing, very sure-footed, thinking nothing of jumping with a heavy load from one rock to another, or racing at full speed down the steep and uneven slopes.

In character, too, they differ from the tribes near the water. They seem less malicious and more confiding, and show less of the distrust and shy reserve of the average Melanesian. They will laugh andchat in the presence of strangers, and are very hospitable. I do not know if these are accidental impressions, but I can only say that I always felt safer and more comfortable in a village where the majority of the inhabitants belonged to the small race.

With all this the pygmies are by no means helpless or even inferior, compared to their tall neighbours. Possibly, in former days, they may have been driven from their homes in the plains back into the mountains, but at present they are quite equal to the tall race, and the “salt-water men” are even a little afraid of their small neighbours inland. What they lack in size and strength they make up in speed and suppleness and temperament. The barrier between the races has disappeared, and the mixing process is hastened by the fact that the small race frequently sells its women to the tall one. It is rare for a woman from the coast to settle in the mountains, still, it occurs frequently enough to alloy the purity of the pygmy race, and in no village have I found more than about 70 per cent. of real pygmies.

In the afternoon we came to the chief’s dwelling. The old man lived there alone with his wife, quietly and happily, venerated by all the other people. It was touching to see the little couple, delicate as two dolls, who seemed to love each other sincerely, a most uncommon occurrence in Melanesia. I really had too much respect for the old people to trouble them with my measuring instruments, but I could not resist taking their pictures. After consulting herhusband with a look of the greatest confidence, the old lady consented shyly, while he stood beside her as if it was an everyday event to him, and a sort of tribute I was paying to his age and position and the beauty of his wife.

From this point I had a fine view of the cascade that fell down in a wide silver ribbon through the forest. Some months later all that wild scenery was destroyed by an earthquake, which caused many land-slides and spoilt the cascade. Following the roaring river, jumping from one block of stone to another, we soon reached our camp, a large gamal. As we were nearing the coast its arrangements were adapted to the customs of the tall Melanesians. There were a few small individuals, but the tall race was predominant. The reign of the “Suque” was evident by the floor of the gamal being divided by parallel sticks into compartments corresponding to the number of fires and castes, and each man sat down in his division and cooked his own food.

Next day, after having waded through the cold water of the river, we arrived at the coast. From the last hills I sent a farewell look into the wild green tangle of forest, rocks, ravines, cascades and valleys, over which heavy rain-clouds were gathering. Before me the greyish-blue mirror of Big Bay lay in the mist, and in the Jordan valley the rain fell heavily. The high reed-grass all around us rustled dismally, and the damp cold was depressing. I hurried home and arrived there in the night, wet as when I had started on my expedition.

With regard to the pygmies I must not omit to mention the following experience. The fact that among them husband and wife live together, and that I had nowhere seen a man with two wives, made me suspect that this race was monogamous, as other pygmy races are. I made frequent inquiries, and was assured that each man was allowed but one wife. Still, I was not quite convinced, for it seemed strange to find a monogamous population in the midst of polygamous tribes. Others having given me similar information, I began to accept this theory as a fact. At last, however, I found I had been deceived, as all the people had taken me for a missionary, and had fancied I was asking them questions in order to interfere with their matrimonial customs by sending them a teacher or a “mission-police-man.” My error was cleared up, thanks to the investigations of a trader, for which I am much indebted to him.

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