Two Years with the Natives in the Western Pacific Part 4

The weather cleared towards evening. Some natives stayed on the sh.o.r.e all night, lighted fires and sang songs in antic.i.p.ation of the coming dance. Our boys mimicked them, laughed at them and felt very superior, though we whites failed to see much difference, and, as a matter of fact, a short time after having returned home these boys can hardly be told from ordinary bushmen. The shrieks of the savages pierced the velvet of the night like daggers, but by and by they quieted down, and we heard nothing more but the rhythmic rise and fall of the surf.

In the silver light of the rising moon the boats rolled gently behind the s.h.i.+p like dark spots, and light clouds glided westward across the stars, eternally rising behind the black cliffs and disappearing in the universal dimness. We were asleep on deck, when suddenly a violent shower woke us up and banished us into that terrible cabin.

No natives came next day; they were all busy preparing the feast. We had nothing to do but to loaf on the beach or on board, and smoke, as we had no fis.h.i.+ng-tackle and no animals to shoot. The grey sky, the vague light, the thin rain, were depressing, and all sorts of useless thoughts came to us. We noticed the hards.h.i.+ps of our existence on board, felt that we were wasting time, grew irritable and dissatisfied. If only my companion had been less sulky! But with him there could be no pleasant chat, no cosy evening hour over a cup of tea and a pipe; and I would almost have preferred being alone to this solitude a deux. I sat on deck and listened to the breakers. Often they sounded like a rus.h.i.+ng express train and awakened reminiscences of travel and movement. The cool wind blew softly from afar, and I could understand for the first time that longing that asks the winds for news of home and friends. I gave myself up wholly to this vague dreaming, call it home-sickness, or what you will, it enlivened the oppressive colourlessness of the days and the loneliness of the nights. As usual, a heavy shower came, luckily, perhaps, to interrupt all softer thoughts.

Then followed a few clear days, which changed our mood entirely. The cutter rolled confidingly in the morning breeze, and the sun glowed warm and golden. In picturesque cascades the green forest seemed to rush down the slopes to the bright coral beach, on which the sea broke playfully. Once in a while a bird called far off in the depths of the woods. It was delicious to lie on the warm beach and be dried and roasted by the sun, to think of nothing in particular, but just to exist. Two wild pigs came to the beach in the evening to dig for yam that the natives had buried there; a chase, though unsuccessful, gave excitement and movement. We could venture far inland now without fear, for the natives were all away at the feast. Brilliant sunsets closed the days in royal splendour. Behind a heavy cloud-bank which hid the sun, he seemed to melt in the sea and to form one golden element. Out of the cloud five yellow rays shot across the steel-blue sky, so that it looked like one of those old-fas.h.i.+oned engravings of G.o.d behind a cloud. When everything had melted into one gorgeous fire, and we were still helpless before all that glory, the colours faded away to the most delicate combinations of half-tones; soon the stars came out glittering on the deep sky, first of all the Southern Cross. Halley's comet was still faintly visible.

In the morning the sky was cloudless, and changed from one lovely colour to the other, until the sun rose to give it its bright blue and paint the sh.o.r.e in every tint. Then every stone at the bottom of the sea was visible, and all the marvellous coral formations, with their weird shapes and fiery colours, glowed in rose and violet and pure golden yellow. Above lay big sea-stars, and large fish in bright hues floated between the cliffs in soft, easy movements, while bright blue little ones shot hither and thither like mad.

Bourbaki arrived with his younger brother, a neat and gentle-looking boy. The feast was to begin that evening, and I asked Bourbaki if they had plenty of pigs to eat. "Oh no," he said; "but that is of no importance: we have a man to eat! Yesterday we killed him in the bush, and to-day we will eat him." He said this with the most innocent expression, as if he were talking about the weather. I had to force myself not to draw away from him, and looked somewhat anxiously into his face; but Bourbaki stared quietly into the distance, as if dreaming of the past excitements and the coming delights; then he picked up a cocoa-nut and tore the husk off with his strong teeth. It made me shudder to watch his brutish movements, but he was perfectly happy that morning, willing and obedient. At noon he went away to his horrid feast, and for two days we saw n.o.body.

We pa.s.sed the time as usual; the weather was rainy again, and everything seemed grey,--the sky, the sea and the sh.o.r.e, and our mood. One is so dependent on surroundings.

On the third day Bourbaki came back, a little tired, but evidently satisfied. Some of his friends accompanied him, and he brought word that the chief had given permission for a few boys to enlist, but that we would have to wait about ten days until he could come to the sh.o.r.e himself. Not wis.h.i.+ng to spend the ten days there, doing absolutely nothing, we decided to go farther south, to Tesbel Bay, and try our luck at recruiting there, as we had another boy, Macao, from that district. George gave leave to Bourbaki, who had been somewhat savage these last days, to stay at home till our return, and he seemed delighted to have a holiday. We were all the more surprised when, just before we weighed anchor, Bourbaki came back, shaking hands without a word. We were quite touched by this remarkable sign of his affection, pardoned his many objectionable ways, and never thought that perhaps he might have ample reason not to feel altogether safe and comfortable at home.

The wind being contrary, we had to tack about all night long without advancing. Squalls rushed over the water, and then, again, the breeze died down completely, only black, jagged clouds drifted westward across the sky, and here and there a few stars were visible. The cutter's deck was crowded with stuff, and there seemed less room for us than ever, except in the hateful cabin. The boys sang monotonously "for wind," quite convinced that the next breeze would be due to their efforts. A fat old man sang all night long in falsetto in three notes; it was unbearably silly and irritating, yet one could hardly stop the poor devil and rob him of his only pleasure in that dark night. We felt damp, restless and sleepless, and tried in vain to find some comfort. Next evening we reached the entrance of Tesbel Bay, and the wind having died down, we had to work our way in with the oars, a slow and hard task. Bourbaki yelled and pulled at the oars with all his might, encouraging the others. These are the joys of sailing.

Tesbel Bay is framed on two sides by high cliffs. Big boulders lie in picturesque confusion where the surf foams white against the narrow beach. Wherever there is a foot of ground, luxurious vegetation thrives. Ahead of us lies a level valley that stretches far inland to the foot of a high mountain, whose head is lost in grey clouds. A little creek runs into the bay through high reed-gra.s.s, behind a sandbank. Just before setting, the sun shone through the clouds and smiled on the lovely, peaceful landscape, seeming to promise us a pleasant stay. The smoke of many village fires rose out of the bush at a distance. Two ragged natives were loafing on the beach, and I engaged one of them for the next day, to guide me to some villages. Bourbaki and Macao marched gaily off, as they were to spend the night in Macao's village.

Next morning, while being pulled ash.o.r.e for my excursion inland, I saw Macao on the beach, crying, waving and behaving like a madman. He called out that Bourbaki was dead, and that we must come to the village. I took him into the boat and we returned to the cutter. Macao was trembling all over, uttering wild curses, sighing and sobbing like a child. Between the fingers of his left hand he frantically grasped his cartridges, and nervously kept hold of his old rifle. We could not get much out of him; all we could make out was that Bourbaki had been shot towards morning and that he himself had run away. We guessed that Bourbaki must have committed some misdemeanour; as there was a possibility of his still being alive, we decided to go and look for him; for satisfaction it was idle to hope.

According to Macao the village was quite near, so we took our rifles, armed the boys, and in ten minutes we were ash.o.r.e. The youngest, a fourteen-year-old boy, was left in the whale-boat, so as to be ready to pick us up in case of need. His elder brother, a tall, stout fellow, also preferred to stay in the boat; we left him behind, and this left five of us for the expedition. Macao showed us the way, and as we followed him we watched right and left for a possible ambush. It was a disagreeable moment when we dived into the thicket, where we expected to be attacked any moment, and I could hardly blame another fat boy for dropping behind, too, to "watch the sh.o.r.e," as he said. Not wis.h.i.+ng to lose any time, we let him go, for we were anxious to be in the village before the natives should have time to rally and prepare for resistance.

The path was miserable--slippery slopes, wildly knotted roots, stones, creeks and high reeds. We were kept quite busy enough watching our path, and were not careful at all about watching the bush; but we were confident that the natives, being very poor shots, would betray their presence by a random shot. We were exposed, of course, to shots from close quarters alongside the path, but we trusted to Macao's sharp eyes to detect a hidden enemy. After an hour's brisk walk, we asked Macao whether the village was still far off; every time we asked, his answer was the same: "Bim by you me catch him," or, "Him he close up." However, after an hour and a half, we began to feel worried. We had no idea whether we would find a peaceful village or an armed tribe, and in the latter case a retreat would doubtless have been fatal, owing to the long distance we would have had to go in the forest, where the white man is always at a disadvantage. But we had undertaken the adventure, and we had to see it through.

After two hours we unexpectedly came upon a village. A dozen men and a few women were squatting about, evidently expecting some event. The presence of the women was a sign that the people were peacefully inclined. An old man, a relative of Macao's, joined us, and a short walk through a gully brought us quite suddenly into a village square. About thirty men were awaiting us, armed with rifles and clubs, silent and shy. Macao spoke to them, whereupon they laid down their rifles and led us to a hut, where we found Bourbaki, lying on his back, dead. He had been sitting in the house when some one shot him from behind; he had jumped up and tried to fly, but had broken down and fallen where he was then lying. He must have died almost at once, as the bullet had torn a great hole in his body. His rifle and cartridges were missing, that was all.

The villagers stood around us, talking excitedly; we could not understand them, but they were evidently not hostile, and we told them to bury Bourbaki. They began at once, digging a hole in the soft earth with pointed sticks. We then asked for the rifle, the cartridges and the murderer, and were informed that two men had done the killing. After some deliberation a number of men walked off, one of them a venerable old man, armed after the old fas.h.i.+on with a bow and a handful of poisoned arrows, which he handled with deliberate care; he also carried a club in a sling over his shoulder. Of all those strong men, this old one seemed to me the most dangerous but also the most beautiful and the most genuine. After a while they returned, and two other men slunk in and stood apart.

The natives seemed undecided what to do, and squatted about, talking among themselves, until at last one of them pulled me by the sleeve and led us towards the two newcomers. We understood that they were the murderers, and each of us took hold of one of them. They made no resistance, but general excitement arose in the crowd, all the other natives shouting and gesticulating, even threatening each other with their rifles. They were split in two parties,--one that wanted to give up the murderers, and their relatives, who wanted to keep them. We told them that the affair would be settled if they gave up the murderers; if not, the man-of-war would come and punish the whole village. As my prisoner tried to get loose, I bound him, and while I was busy with this I heard a shot. Seeing that all the men had their rifles ready, I expected the fight to begin, but George told me his prisoner had escaped and he had shot after him. The man had profited by George's indecision to run away.

This actual outbreak of the hostilities excited the people so that we thought it best to retire, taking our single prisoner with us. A few of the natives followed us, and when we left the village the relatives of the murderer broke out in violent wailing and weeping, thinking, as did the prisoner, Belni, himself, that we were going to eat him up, after having tortured him to death. Belni trembled all over, was very gentle and inclined to weep like a punished child, but quite resigned and not even offering any resistance. He only asked Macao anxiously what we were going to do with him. Macao, furious at the death of his comrade, for whom he seemed to have felt real affection, put him in mortal fear, and was quite determined to avenge his murdered friend. We shut Belni up in the hold of the cutter and told the natives that they would have to hand over Bourbaki's rifle and cartridges, and pay us two tusked pigs by noon of the next day.

On this occasion we learned the reason for the murder: Belni's brother had had an intrigue with the wife of the chief, and had been condemned by the latter to pay a few pigs. Being too poor to do this, he decided to pay his debt in an old-fas.h.i.+oned way by killing a man, and Bourbaki was unlucky enough to arrive just at the right time, and being a man from a distant district, there was no revenge to be feared. Belni, therefore, chose him as his victim. The two brothers chatted all night with him and Macao, and asked to see Bourbaki's rifle, which he carelessly handed to them. When, towards morning, Macao left them for a few moments, they profited by the opportunity to shoot Bourbaki from behind, and to run away. Macao, rus.h.i.+ng back, found his friend dead, and fled to the sh.o.r.e. By this deed the wrong to the chief was supposed to be made good--a very peculiar practice in native justice. It may be a remnant of old head-hunting traditions, inasmuch as Belni's brother would have given the dead man's head to the chief in payment, this being even more valuable than pigs.

The first excitement over, our boys were seized by fear, even Macao and the other one who had accompanied us. Although they were in perfect safety on board the cutter they feared all sorts of revenge from Belni's relatives,--for instance, that they might cause a storm and wreck the cutter. We laughed at them, but they would not be cheered up, and, after all, Macao's horrible dread that his old father was surely being eaten up by this time in the village was not quite groundless. We were not in the brightest of humours ourselves, as this event had considerably lessened our chances of recruiting at Big Nambas; the chief made us responsible for Bourbaki's death, and asked an indemnity which we could hardly pay, except with the tusked pigs we demanded here.

We could not stay longer in Tesbel Bay, as our boys were too much frightened, and the natives might turn against us at any moment. We could hardly get the boys to go ash.o.r.e for water and firewood, for fear of an ambush. In the evening we fetched Belni out of the hold. He was still doleful and ready to cry, but seemed unconscious of any fault; he had killed a man, but that was rather an honourable act than a crime, and he only seemed to regret that it had turned out so unsatisfactorily. He did not seem to have much appet.i.te, but swallowed his yam mechanically in great lumps. The boys shunned him visibly, all but Macao, who squatted down close before him, and gave him food with wild hatred in his eyes, and muttering awful threats. Icy-cold, cruel, with compressed lips and poisonous looks like a serpent's, he hissed his curses and tortured Belni, who excused himself clumsily and shyly, playing with the yam and looking from one dark corner to the other, like a boy being scolded. The scene was so gruesome that I had Belni shut up again, and we watched all night, for Macao was determined to take the murderer's life. It was a dry, moonlit night; one of the boys was writhing with a pain in his stomach, and we could do nothing to help him, so they were all convinced it was caused by Belni's relatives, and wanted to sail immediately. A warm breeze had driven mosquitoes to the cutter; it was a most unpleasant night.

Next noon the natives appeared, about twenty strong, but without the second murderer. They said the shot had hit him, and that he had died during the night. This might have been true, and as we could do nothing against the village anyway, we let the matter drop, especially as they had brought us Bourbaki's rifle and two tusked pigs. The chief said he hoped we were satisfied with him, and would not trouble anyone but the murderers.

We returned to the cutter, and the pigs were put in the hold, where they seem to have kept good company with Belni, after a little preliminary squealing and shrieking. Then we sailed northward, with a breeze that carried us in four hours over the same distance for which we had taken twenty-four last time. It was a bitterly cold night. We decided to return home, fearing the boys would murder Belni in an unwatched moment, as they had asked several times, when the sea was high, whether we would not throw Belni into the water now. The pa.s.sage to Santo was very rough. The waves thundered against the little old cutter, and we had a nasty tide-rip. We were quite soaked, and looking in through the portholes, we could see everything floating about in the cabin--blankets, saucepans, tins and pistols. We did not mind much, as we hoped to be at home by evening.

Rest, cleanliness and a little comfort were very tempting after a fortnight in the filthy narrowness of the little craft. We had no reason to be vain of our success; but such trips are part of the game, and we planned a second visit to Big Nambas to reconcile the chief. We were glad to greet the cloud-hung coast of Santo, and soon entered the Segond Channel. There we discovered that the old boat had leaked to such an extent that we could have kept afloat for only a few hours longer, and had every reason to be glad the voyage was at an end. It was just as well that we had not noticed the leak during the pa.s.sage.

We brought Belni ash.o.r.e; the thin, flabby fellow was a poor compensation for vigorous Bourbaki. He was set to work on the plantation, and as the Government was never informed of the affair, he is probably there to this day, and will stay until he dies.

CHAPTER V

VAO

I had not yet solved the problem of how to get away from the Segond Channel and find a good field of labour, when, happily, the French priest from Port Olry came to stay a few days with his colleague at the channel, on his way to Vao, and he obligingly granted me a pa.s.sage on his cutter. I left most of my luggage behind, and the schooner of the French survey party was to bring it to Port Olry later on.

After a pa.s.sage considerably prolonged by contrary winds, we arrived at Vao, a small island north-east of Malekula. When one has sailed along the lifeless, greyish-green sh.o.r.es of Malekula, Vao is like a sunbeam breaking through the mist. This change of mood comes gradually, as one notices the warm air of spring, and dry souls, weather-beaten captains and old pirates may hardly be aware of anything beyond a better appet.i.te and greater thirst. And it is not easy to define what lends the little spot such a charm that the traveller feels revived as if escaped from some oppression. From a distance Vao looks like all the other islands and islets of the archipelago--a green froth floating on the white line of breakers; from near by we see, as everywhere else, the bright beach in front of the thick forest. But what impresses the traveller mournfully elsewhere,--the eternal loneliness and lifelessness of a country where nature has poured all its power into the vegetation, and seems to have forgotten man and beast,--is softened here, and an easy joy of living penetrates everything like a delicate scent, and lifts whatever meets the eye to greater significance and beauty. The celestial charm of the South Sea Islands, celebrated by the first discoverers, seems to be preserved here, warming the soul like the sweet remembrance of a happy dream. Hardly anyone who feels these impressions will wonder about their origin, but he will hasten ash.o.r.e and dive into the forest, driven by a vague idea of finding some marvel. Later he will understand that the charm of Vao lies in the rich, busy human life that fills the island. It is probably the most thickly populated of the group, with about five hundred souls living in a s.p.a.ce one mile long and three-fourths of a mile wide; and it is their happy, careless, lazy existence that makes Vao seem to the stranger like a friendly home. Here there are houses and fires, lively people who shout and play merrily, and after the loneliness which blows chill from the bush, the traveller is glad to rest and feel at home among cheerful fellow-men.

About seventy outrigger boats of all sizes lie on the beach. On their bows they carry a carved heron, probably some half-forgotten totem. The bird is more or less richly carved, according to the social standing of the owner, and a severe watch is kept to prevent people from carrying carvings too fine for their degree. Similarly, we find little sticks like small seats fastened to the canoes, their number indicating the caste of the owner. Under big sheds, in the shade of the tall trees, lie large whale-boats of European manufacture, belonging to the different clans, in which the men undertake long cruises to the other islands, Santo, Aoba, Ambrym, to visit "sing-sings" and trade in pigs. Formerly they used large canoes composed of several trees fastened together with ropes of cocoa-nut fibre, and caulked with rosin, driven by sails of cocoa-nut sheaths; these would hold thirty to forty men, and were used for many murderous expeditions. For the inhabitants of Vao were regular pirates, dreaded all along the coast; they would land unexpectedly in the morning near a village, kill the men and children, steal the women and start for home with rich booty. European influences have put a stop to this sport, and with the introduction of whale-boats the picturesque canoes have disappeared from the water, and now lie rotting on the beach. Their successors (though according to old tradition, women may not enter them) are only used for peaceful purposes.

In the early morning the beach is deserted, but a few hours after sunrise it is full of life. The different clans come down from their villages by narrow paths which divide near the sh.o.r.e into one path for the men and another for the women, leading to separate places. The men squat down near one of the boat-houses and stretch out comfortably in the warm sand, smoking and chatting. The women, loaded with children and baskets, sit in the shade of the k.n.o.bby trees which stretch their trunk-like branches horizontally over the beach, forming a natural roof against sun and rain. The half-grown boys are too lively to enjoy contemplative laziness; gossip and important deliberations about pigs and sacrifices do not interest them, and they play about between the canoes, wade in the water, look for sh.e.l.ls on the sand, or hunt crabs or fish in the reef. Thus an hour pa.s.ses. The sun has warmed the sand; after the cool night this is doubly agreeable, and a light breeze cools the air. Some mothers bathe their babies in the sea, was.h.i.+ng and rubbing them carefully, until the coppery skin s.h.i.+nes in the sun; the little creatures enjoy the bath immensely, and splash gaily in the element that will be their second home in days to come. Everyone on the beach is in the easiest undress: the men wear nothing but a bark belt, and the women a little ap.r.o.n of braided gra.s.s; the children are quite naked, unless bracelets, necklaces and ear-rings can count as dress. Having rested and amply fortified themselves for the painful resolution to take up the day's work, people begin to prepare for departure to the fields. They have to cross the channel, about a mile wide, to reach the big island where the yam gardens lie, sheltered by the forest from the trade-winds; and this sail is the occasion for the prettiest sight Vao can offer.

The tides drive the sea through the narrow channel so hard as to start a current which is almost a stream. The head-wind raises short, sharp, white-capped waves; shallow banks s.h.i.+ne yellow through the clear water, and the coral reefs are patches of violet and crimson, and we are delighted by constant changes, new shades and various colourings, never without harmony and loveliness. A cloudless sky bends over the whole picture and s.h.i.+nes on the red-brown bodies of the people, who bustle about their canoes, adding the bright red of their mats and dresses to the splendour of the landscape.

With sudden energy the women have grabbed the boats and pushed them into the water. The girls are slim, supple and strong as the young men, the mothers and older women rather stiff, and usually hampered by at least one child, which they carry on their backs or on their hips, while another holds on to the garment which replaces our skirts. There is plenty of laughter and banter with the men, who look on unmoved at the efforts of the weaker s.e.x, only rarely offering a helping hand.

From the trees and hiding-places the paddles and the pretty triangular sails are fetched and fastened on the canoes; then the boats are pushed off and the whole crowd jumps in. The babies sit in their mothers'

laps or hang on their backs, perilously close to the water, into which they stare with big, dark eyes. By twos and threes the canoes push off, driven by vigorous paddling along the sh.o.r.e, against the current. Sometimes a young man wades after a canoe and joins some fair friends, sitting in front of them, as etiquette demands. The fresh breeze catches the sails, and the ten or fifteen canoes glide swiftly across the bright water, the spread sails looking like great red b.u.t.terflies. The spray splashes from the bows, one woman steers, and the others bale out the water with cocoa-nuts,--a labour worthy of the Danaides; sometimes the outrigger lifts up and the canoe threatens to capsize, but, quick as thought, the women lean on the poles joining outrigger and canoe, and the accident is averted. In a few minutes the canoes enter the landings between the torn cliffs on the large island, the pa.s.sengers jump out and carry the boats up the beach.

A few stragglers, men of importance who have been detained by politics, and bachelors, who have nothing and n.o.body to care for but themselves, follow later on, and only a crowd of boys stays in Vao, to enjoy themselves on the beach and get into all sorts of mischief.

Obliging as people sometimes are when the fancy strikes them, a youth took us over to the other island in his canoe, and was even skilful enough to keep us from capsizing. Narrow paths, bordered with impenetrable bush, led us from the beach across coral boulders up to the plantations on top of the tableland. Under some cocoa-nut palms our guide stopped, climbed nimbly up a slim trunk, as if mounting a ladder, and three green nuts dropped to the ground at our feet. Three clever strokes of the knife opened them, and we enjoyed the refres.h.i.+ng drink in its natural bowl. Sidepaths branched off to the gardens, where every individual or family had its piece of ground. We saw big bananas, taro, with large, juicy leaves, yams, trained on a pretty basket-shaped trellis-work; when in bloom this looks like a huge bouquet. There were pine-apples, cabbages, cocoa-nut and bread-fruit trees, bright croton bushes and highly scented shrubs. In this green and confused abundance the native spends his day, working a little, loafing a great deal. He shoots big pigeons and little parakeets, roasts them on an improvised fire and eats them as a welcome addition to his regular meals. From sun and rain he is sheltered by simple roofs, under which everybody a.s.sembles at noon to gossip, eat and laugh.

Long ago there were villages here. An enormous monolith, now broken, but once 5 metres high, speaks for the energy of bygone generations, when this rock was carried up from the coast, probably for a monument to some great chief.

While the women were gathering food for the evening meal we returned to Vao. The breeze had stiffened in the midst of the channel, and one old woman's canoe had capsized. She clung to the boat, calling pitifully for help, which amused all the men on the sh.o.r.e immensely, until at last, none too soon, they went to her rescue. Such adventures are by no means harmless, as the channel swarms with sharks.

We explored the interior of Vao, going first through the thicket on the sh.o.r.e, then through reed-gra.s.s over 6 feet high, then between low walls surrounding little plantations. Soon the path widened, and on both sides we saw stone slabs, set several rows deep; presently we found ourselves under the wide vault of one of those immense fig trees whose branches are like trunks, and the glare of the sun gave way to deep shadow, the heat of noonday to soft coolness.

Gradually our eyes grow accustomed to the dimness, and we distinguish our surroundings. We are in a wide square, roofed by the long branches of the giant tree. At our left is its trunk, mighty enough in itself, but increased by the numerous air-roots that stretch like cables from the crown to the earth, covering the trunk entirely in some spots, or dangling softly in the wind, ending in large ta.s.sels of smaller roots. Lianas wind in distorted curves through the branches, like giant snakes stiffened while fighting. This square is one of the dancing-grounds of Vao. The rows of stones surround the square on three sides--two, three or more deep. Near the trunk of the great tree is a big altar of large slabs of rock; around it are stone tables of smaller size, and one or two immense coral plates, which cover the buried skull of some mighty chief. A large rock lies in the middle of the road on a primitive slide half covered by stones and earth. Long ago the islanders tried to bring it up from the beach; a strong vine served as a rope, and more than fifty men must have helped to drag the heavy rock up from the coast to the square. Half-way they got tired of the job and left the stone where it lies now, and will lie for ever.

On the other side of the altar are the drums, hollow trunks, whose upper end is carved to represent a human face with wide, grinning mouth, and deep, round and hollow eyes. Rammed in aslant, leaning in all directions, they stand like clumsy, malicious demons, spiteful and brutal, as if holding their bellies with rude, immoderate laughter at their own hugeness and the puniness of mankind, at his miserable humanity, compared to the solemn repose of the great tree. In front of these are figures cut roughly out of logs, short-legged, with long bodies and exaggeratedly long faces; often they are nothing but a head, with the same smiling mouth, a long nose and narrow, oblique eyes. They are painted red, white and blue, and are hardly discernible in the dimness. On their forked heads they carry giant birds with outstretched wings,--herons,--floating as if they had just dropped through the branches on to the square.

This is all we can see, but it is enough to make a deep impression. Outside, the sun is glaring, the leaves quiver, and the clouds are drifting across the sky, but here it is dim and cool as in a cathedral, not a breeze blows, everything is lapped in a holy calm. Abandonment, repose, sublime thoughtlessness drop down on us in the shadow of the giant tree; as if in a dream we breathe the damp, soft, mouldy air, feel the smooth earth and the green moss that covers everything like a velvet pall, and gaze at the altars, the drums and the statues.

In a small clearing behind the square, surrounded by gaily coloured croton bushes, stands the men's house--the "gamal." Strong pillars support its gabled roof, that reaches down to the ground; the entrance is flanked by great stone slabs. Oddly branched dead trees form a hedge around the house, and on one side, on a sort of shelf, hang hundreds of boars' jaws with curved tusks. Inside, there are a few fireplaces, simple holes in the ground, and a number of primitive stretchers of parallel bamboos, couches that the most ascetic of whites would disdain. Among the beams of the roof hang all kinds of curiosities: dancing-masks and sticks, rare fish, pigs' jaws, bones, old weapons, amulets and so on, everything covered with a thick layer of soot from the ever-smouldering fires. These "gamals" are a kind of club-house, where the men spend the day and occasionally the night. In rainy weather they sit round the fire, smoking, gossiping and working on some tool,--a club or a fine basket. Each clan has its own gamal, which is strictly taboo for the women, and to each gamal belongs a dancing-ground like the one described. On Vao there are five, corresponding to the number of clans.

Near by are the dwelling-houses and family enclosures. Each family has its square, surrounded by a wall about 1 metre high of loose stones simply piled up, so that it is unsafe to lean against it. Behind the walls are high screens of braided reeds, which preclude the possibility of looking into the enclosure; even the doors are so protected that no one can look in; for the men are very jealous, and do not want their wives observed by strangers. These enclosures are very close together, and only narrow lanes permit circulation. As we turn a corner we may see a woman disappear quickly, giggling, while children run away with terrified howls, for what the black man is to ours the white man is to them.

Having won the confidence of a native, we may be taken into his courtyard, where there is little to be seen, as all the social life goes on in the gamals or on the dancing-grounds. A dozen simple huts stand irregularly about the square, some half decayed and serving as pigsties. One hut belongs to the master, and each of his wives has a house of her own, in which to bring up her children. The yard is alive with pigs and fowls and dogs and children, more or less peacefully at play.

In Vao, as in all Melanesia, the pig is the most valued of animals. All the thoughts of the native circle round the pig; for with pigs he can buy whatever his heart desires: he can have an enemy killed, he can purchase many women, he can attain the highest social standing, he can win paradise. No wonder, then, that the Vao pigs are just as carefully nursed, if not more so, than the children, and that it is the most important duty of the old matrons to watch over the welfare of the pigs. To call a young beauty "pig's foot," "pig's nose,"

"pig's tail," or similar endearing names is the greatest compliment a lover can pay. But only the male pigs are esteemed, the females are of account only as a necessary instrument for propagating the species, and n.o.body takes care of them; so they run wild, and have to look out for themselves. They are much happier than the males, which are tied all their lives to a pole under a little roof; they are carefully fed, but this, their only pleasure, is spoilt by constant and terrific toothache, caused by cruel man, who has a horrible custom of knocking out the upper eye-teeth of the male pig. The lower eye-teeth, finding nothing to rub against, grow to a surprising size, first upward, then down, until they again reach the jaw, grow on and on, through the cheek, through the jaw-bone, pus.h.i.+ng out a few other teeth en pa.s.sant, then they come out of the jaw again, and curve a second, sometimes a third time, if the poor beast lives long enough. These pigs with curved tusks are the pride and wealth of every native; they are the highest coin, and power and influence depend on the number of such pigs a man owns, as well as on the size of their tusks, and this is the reason why they are so carefully watched, so that no harm may come to them or their teeth. Very rich people may have quite a number of "tuskers," people of average means own one or two, and paupers none at all, but they may have the satisfaction of looking at those of the others and feeding them if they like.

It will be necessary to say a few words here about the pig-cult and the social organization of the natives, as they are closely connected and form a key to an understanding of the natives' way of living and thinking. I wish to state at once, however, that the following remarks do not pretend to be correct in all details. It is very hard to make any researches as to these matters, as the natives themselves have only the vaguest notions on the subject, and entirely lack abstract ideas, so that they fail to understand many of the questions put to them. Without an exact knowledge of the language, and much personal observation, it is hardly possible to obtain reliable results, especially as the old men are unwilling to tell all they know, and the young know very little, but rely on the knowledge of the old chiefs. Interpreters are of no use, and direct questioning has but little result, as the people soon become suspicious or tired of thinking, and answer as they suppose the white man would wish, so as to have done with the catechizing as soon as possible. Perfect familiarity with the language, habits and character of the natives is necessary, and their confidence must be won, in order to make any progress in the investigation of these problems. Missionaries are the men to unite these qualities, but, unfortunately, the missionaries of the New Hebrides do not seem to take much interest in the strange cult so highly developed here; so that, for want of something better, my own observations may be acceptable.

The pig-cult, or "Suque," is found almost all over Melanesia. It is most highly developed in the Banks Islands and the Central New Hebrides, and rules the entire life of the natives; yet it forms only a part of their religion, and probably a newer part, while the fundamental principle is ancestor-wors.h.i.+p. We must not expect to find in the native mind clear conceptions of transcendental things. The religious ceremonies differ in adjoining villages, and so do the ideas concerning the other world. There is no regular dogma; and since even the conceptions of religions with well-defined dogmas are constantly changing, religions which are handed down by oral tradition only, and in the vaguest way, must necessarily be fluctuating. Following the natural laws of thought, religious conceptions split into numerous local varieties, and it is the task of the scientist to seek, amid this variety of exterior forms, the common underlying idea, long forgotten by everyone else, and to ascertain what it was in its original purity, without additions and deformations.