HEAD-HUNTERS
BLACK, WHITE, AND BROWN

THE SCOTT-KELTIE FALLS, MOUNT DULIT, BARAM DISTRICT, SARAWAK

HEAD-HUNTERS

BLACK, WHITE, AND BROWN

BY
ALFRED C. HADDON, Sc.D., F.R.S.
FELLOW OF CHRIST’S COLLEGE
AND UNIVERSITY LECTURER IN ETHNOLOGY, CAMBRIDGE

WITH THIRTY-TWO PLATES, FORTY ILLUSTRATIONS IN THE TEXT
AND SIX MAPS

METHUEN & CO.
36 ESSEX STREET W.C.
LONDON
1901

TO
MY WIFE
AND
TO THE MEMORY OF
MY MOTHER
WHO FIRST TAUGHT ME TO OBSERVE
I DEDICATE
THIS RECORD OF MY TRAVELS

PREFACE

In 1888 I went to Torres Straits to study the coral reefs and marine zoology of the district; whilst prosecuting these studies I naturally came much into contact with the natives, and soon was greatly interested in them. I had previously determined not to study the natives, having been told that a good deal was known already about them; but I was not long in discovering that much still remained to be learned. Indeed, it might be truly said that practically nothing was known of the customs and beliefs of the natives, even by those who we had every reason to expect would have acquired that information.

Such being the case, I felt it to be my duty to gather what information I could when not actually engaged in my zoological investigations. I found, even then, that the opportunities of learning about the pagan past of the natives were limited, and that it would become increasingly more difficult, as the younger men knew comparatively little of the former customs and beliefs, and the old men were dying off.

On my return home I found that my inquiries into the ethnography of the Torres Straits islanders were of some interest to anthropologists, and I was encouraged to spend some time in writing out my results. Gradually this has led me to devote myself to anthropological studies, and, not unnaturally, one of my first projects was to attempt a monograph on the Torres Straits Islanders. It was soon apparent that my information was of too imperfect a nature to make a satisfactory memoir, and therefore I delayed publishing until I could go out again to collect further material.

In course of time I was in a position to organise an expedition for this purpose, which, being mainly endowed from University funds, had the honour of being closely associated with the University of Cambridge. It was my good fortune to be able to secure the co-operation of a staff of colleagues, each of whom had some special qualification.

For a long time it had appeared to me that investigations in experimental psychology in the field were necessary if we were ever to gauge the mental and sensory capabilities of primitive peoples. This expedition presented the requisite opportunity, and the organisation of this department was left to Dr. W. H. R. Rivers, of St. John’s College, the University lecturer in physiological and experimental psychology. The co-operation of Dr. C. S. Myers, of Caius College, had been secured early, and as he is a good musician, he specialised more particularly in the study of the hearing and music of the natives. Mr. W. McDougall, Fellow of St. John’s College, also volunteered to assist in the experimental psychology department of the expedition.

When the early arrangements were being made one of the first duties was to secure the services of a linguist, and the obvious person to turn to was Mr. Sidney H. Ray, who has long been a recognised authority on Melanesian and Papuan languages. Fortunately, he was able to join the expedition.

Mr. Anthony Wilkin, of King’s College, took the photographs for the expedition, and he assisted me in making the physical measurements and observations. He also investigated the construction of the houses, land tenure, transference of property, and other social data of various districts.

When this book was being brought out the sad news arrived in England of the death by dysentery of my pupil, friend, and colleague in Cairo on the 17th of May (1901), on his return home from a second winter’s digging in Upper Egypt. Poor Wilkin! barely twenty-four years of age, and with the promise of a brilliant career before him. I invited him to accompany me while he was still an undergraduate, having been struck by his personal and mental qualities. He was a man of exceptional ability and of frank, pleasing manner, and a thorough hater of humbug. Although he was originally a classical scholar, Wilkin read for the History Tripos, but his interests were wider than the academic course, and he paid some attention to sociology, and was also interested in natural science. In his early undergraduate days he published a brightly written book, On the Nile with a Camera. Immediately after his first winter’s digging in Egypt with Professor Flinders Petrie, he went with Mr. D. Randall-Maciver to Algeria to study the problem of the supposed relationship, actual or cultural, of the Berbers with the Ancient Egyptians. An interesting exhibition of the objects then collected was displayed at the Anthropological Institute in the summer (1900), and later in the year Wilkin published a well-written and richly illustrated popular account of their experiences, entitled, Among the Berbers of Algeria. Quite recently the scientific results were published in a sumptuously illustrated joint work entitled, Libyan Notes. Wilkin was an enthusiastic traveller, and was projecting important schemes for future work. There is little doubt that had he lived he would have distinguished himself as a thoroughly trained field-ethnologist and scientific explorer.

Finally, Mr. C. G. Seligmann volunteered to join the party. He paid particular attention to native medicine and to the diseases of the natives as well as to various economic plants and animals.

Such was the personnel of the expedition. Several preliminary communications have been published by various members; but the complete account of our investigations in Torres Straits is being published by the Cambridge University Press in a series of special memoirs. The observations made on the mainland of British New Guinea and in Sarawak will be published in various journals as opportunity offers.

The book I now offer to the public contains a general account of our journeyings and of some of the sights we witnessed and facts that we gleaned.

I would like to take this opportunity of expressing my thanks to my comrades for all the assistance they have rendered me, both in the field and at home. I venture to prophesy that when all the work of the expedition is concluded my colleagues will be found to have performed their part in a most praiseworthy manner.

Our united thanks are due to many people, from H.H. the Rajah of Sarawak down to the least important native who gave us information. Wherever we went, collectively or individually, we were hospitably received and assisted in our work. Experience and information were freely offered us, and what success the expedition has attained must be largely credited to these friends.

I cannot enumerate all who deserve recognition, but, taking them in chronological order, the following rendered us noteworthy service.

The Queensland Government, through the Hon. T. J. Byrnes, then Premier, sent us the following cordial welcome by telegraph on our arrival at Thursday Island:—

“Permit me on behalf of Government to welcome you and your party to Queensland and to express our sincere hope that your expedition will meet with the success which it deserves. We shall be glad if at any time we can afford any assistance towards the object of the expedition or to its individual members, and trust that you will not hesitate to advise us if we can be of service to you. Have asked Mr. Douglas to do anything in his power and to afford you any information concerning the objects of your mission he may be in a position to impart.”

The Hon. John Douglas, C.M.G., the Government Resident at Thursday Island, not merely officially, but privately and of his spontaneous good nature, afforded us every facility in his power. Through his kind offices the Queensland Government made a special grant of £100 towards the expenses of the expedition, and in connection with this a very friendly telegram was sent by the late Sir James R. Dickson, K.C.M.G., who was then the Home Secretary.

The Government of British New Guinea did what it could to further our aims. Unfortunately, His Excellency Sir William Macgregor, K.C.M.G., M.D., Sc.D., the then Lieutenant-Governor of the Possession, was away on a tour of inspection during my visit to the Central District; but he afterwards showed much kindness to Seligmann. The Hon. A. Musgrave, of Port Moresby, was most cordial and helpful, and we owe a great deal to him. The Hon. D. Ballantine, the energetic Treasurer and Collector of Customs, proved himself a very good friend and benefactor to the expedition. The Hon. B. A. Hely, Resident Magistrate of the Western Division, helped us on our way, and we are greatly indebted in many ways to Mr. A. C. English, the Government Agent of the Rigo District.

All travellers to British New Guinea receive many benefits directly and indirectly from the New Guinea Mission of the London Missionary Society. Everywhere we went we were partakers of the hospitality of the missionaries and South Sea teachers; the same genuine friendliness and anxiety to help permeates the whole staff, so much so that it seems invidious to mention names, but the great assistance afforded us by the late Rev. James Chalmers deserves special recognition, as does also the kindness of Dr. and Mrs. Lawes. The Mission boats were also freely placed at our disposal as far as the service of the Mission permitted; but for this liberality on the part of Mr. Chalmers we should several times have been in an awkward predicament. If any words of mine could induce any practical assistance being given to the Mission I would feel most gratified, for I sadly realise that our indebtedness to the Mission can only be acknowledged adequately by proxy.

It is a sad duty to chronicle the irreparable loss which all those who are connected with British New Guinea have undergone in the tragic death of the devoted Tamate. Mrs. Chalmers died in the autumn of 1900 under most distressing circumstances in the Mission boat when on her way to Thursday Island. A few months later, when endeavouring to make peace during a tribal war on the Aird River, Chalmers crowned a life of hardship and self-sacrifice by martyrdom in the cause of peace. A glorious end for a noble life. With him were murdered twelve native Mission students and the Rev. O. Tomkins, a young, intelligent, and enthusiastic missionary, from whom much was expected.

Very pleasing is it to record the brotherly kindness that we received at the hands of the Sacred Heart Mission. None of our party belonged to their Communion, but from the Archbishop to the lowliest Brother we received nothing but the friendliest treatment. Nor would we omit our thanks to the good Sisters for the cheerful way in which they undertook the increased cares of catering which our presence necessitated. The insight which we gained into the ethnography of the Mekeo District is solely due to the good offices of the various members of the Sacred Heart Mission.

In the course of the following pages I often refer to Mr. John Bruce, the Government Schoolmaster on Murray Island. It would be difficult to exaggerate the influence he exerts for good by his instruction, advice, and unostentatious example. His help and influence were invaluable to us, and when our researches are finally published, anthropologists will cordially admit how much their science owes to “Jack Bruce.”

We found Mr. Cowling, of Mabuiag, very helpful, not only at the time but subsequently, as he has since sent us much valuable information, and he also deserves special thanks.

Our visit to Sarawak was due to a glowing invitation I received from Mr. Charles Hose, the Resident of the Baram District. I have so frequently referred in print and speech to his generosity and erudition, that I need only add here that his University has conferred on him the greatest honour it is in her power to bestow—the degree of Doctor in Science honoris causa.

But it was Rajah Sir Charles Brooke’s interest in the expedition that made many things possible, and to him we offer our hearty thanks, both for facilities placed at our disposal and for the expression of his good-will.

At Kuching we received great hospitality from the white residents. Particular mention must be made of the Hon. C. A. Bampfylde, Resident of Sarawak; on our arrival he was administrating the country in the absence of the Rajah, who was in England; nor should Dr. A. J. G. Barker, Principal Medical Officer of Sarawak, and Mr. R. Shelford, the Curator of the Museum, be omitted.

Great kindness and hospitality were shown us by Mr. O. F. Ricketts, Resident of the Limbang District. We had a most enjoyable visit to his beautiful Residency, and he arranged for us all the details of our journey up-river.

One fact through all our journeyings has continually struck me. Travellers calmly and uninvitedly plant themselves on residents by whom they are received with genuine kindness and hospitably entertained with the best that can be offered. Experience, information, and influence are cheerfully and ungrudgingly placed at the disposal of the guests, who not unfrequently palm off, without acknowledgment, on an unsuspecting public the facts that others have gleaned.

The warm welcome that one receives is as refreshing to the spirit as the shower-bath is to the body and daintily served food to the appetite when one has been wandering in the wilds.

In order to render my descriptions of the places and people more continuous I have practically ignored the exact order in which events happened or journeys were made. For those who care about chronology I append a bare statement of the location of the various members of the expedition at various times. I have also not hesitated to include certain of my experiences, or some of the information I gained, during my first expedition to Torres Straits in 1888-9; but the reader will always be able to discriminate between the two occasions.

The following is the system of spelling which has been adopted in this book:—

• a as in “father.”
• ă as in “at.”
• e as a in “date.”
• ĕ as in “debt.”
• i as ee in “feet.”
• ĭ as in “it.”
• o as in “own.”
• ŏ as in “on.”
• ö as German ö in “schön.”
• ò as aw in “law.”
• u as oo in “soon.”
• ŭ as in “up.”
• ai as in “aisle.”
• au as ow in “cow.”

The consonants are sounded as in English.

• ng as in “sing.”
• ngg as in “finger.”

CONTENTS

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

The photographs for Plates i.-iv. A., vi. B., vii. B., viii. B.-xi. A., xii. A., xiii.-xvi., xvii. A., xviii. A., xix.-xxii. were taken by the late A. Wilkin; those for Plates xvii. B., xxv. A., xxvii. B., xxx. A. were taken by C. G. Seligmann; Plate iv. B. by Dr. C. S. Myers; xii. B. by H. Oldland; and the Frontispiece and Plates v., vii. A., viii. A., xviii. B., xxiii., xxiv., xxv. B., xxvi., xxvii. A., xxviii., xxix., xxx. B., xxxi. by the Author. Plates vi. A. and xi. B. were drawn from photographs taken by the Author by his brother Trevor Haddon. With the exception of Plate xxx. B. none of the photographs have been retouched.

The [skulls depicted on the cover] are drawn from a photograph of a trophy collected by the Author at Mawatta, [p. 115].

LIST OF FIGURES IN THE TEXT

All the above illustrations except Figs. 13, 14, 17, and 19 were drawn by the Author.

LIST OF MAPS

THE LOST LEGION

And some of us drift to Sarawak,

And some of us drift up the Fly.

The Seven Seas, by Rudyard Kipling

HEAD-HUNTERS
BLACK, WHITE, AND BROWN

CHAPTER I
THURSDAY ISLAND TO MURRAY ISLAND

We arrived at Torres Straits early in the morning of April 22nd, 1898, and dropped anchor off Friday Island, as the steamers of the Ducal Line are not allowed now to tie up at the hulk at Thursday Island. Shortly afterwards we were met by the Hon. John Douglas, the Resident Magistrate, and Dr. Salter, both of whom were old friends who had shown me much kindness during my previous expedition. They were accompanied by Seligmann, who had left London some months previously in order to visit Australia, and as a handsel had already done a little work on a hitherto unknown tribe of North Queensland natives.

The township of Thursday Island, or Port Kennedy, as it is officially termed, had increased considerably during the past decade. This was partly due to the natural growth of the frontier town of North Queensland, and partly to the fact that it has become a fortified port which commands the only safe passage for large vessels through these dangerous straits. So assiduous have been the coral polyps in defending the northernmost point of Australia, that although the straits measure some eighty miles between Cape York and the nearest coast of New Guinea, what with islands and the very extensive series of intricate coral reefs, there is only one straightforward passage for vessels of any size, and that is not more than a quarter of a mile wide.

Although the town has increased in size its character has not altered to any considerable extent. It is still the same assemblage of corrugated iron and wooden buildings which garishly broil under a tropical sun, unrelieved by that vegetation which renders beautiful so many tropical towns. It is true a little planting has been done, but the character of the soil, or perhaps the absence of sufficient water, render those efforts melancholy rather than successful.

Many of the old desert lots are now occupied by stores and lodging-houses. The characteristic mountains of eviscerated tins, kerosine cases, and innumerable empty bottles which betoken a thirsty land, have been removed and cast into the sea. Thriving two- or three-storied hotels proclaim increase in trade and comparative luxury.

There is the same medley of nationalities—British, Colonial, French, German, Scandinavian, Greek, and other European job lots, in addition to an assortment from Asia and her islands. As formerly, the Pacific islands are well represented, and a few Torres Straits islanders are occasionally to be seen. Some of the latter are resident as policemen, others visit the island to sell pearl-shell, bêche-de-mer, and sometimes a little garden produce, and to purchase what they need from the stores.

One great change in the population is very striking, and that is the great preponderance of the Japanese. So far as I remember they were few in number ten years previously, and were, I believe, outnumbered by the Manila men; now they form the bulk of the population, much to the disgust of most of the Europeans and Colonials. Various reasons are assigned for this jealousy of the Japanese, and different grounds are taken for asserting that the influx should be checked, and restrictions enforced on those who have already settled.

It appeared to me that the bed-rock of discontent was in the fact that the Japanese beat the white men at their own game, mainly because they live at a lower rate than do the white men. A good proportion of the pearl-shelling industry is now carried on by the Japanese, who further play into each other’s hands as far as possible. A good example of their enterprise is shown by the fact that they have now cut out the white boat-builders. A few years ago, I was informed, some Japanese took to boat-building and built their first boats from printed directions in some English manual. Their first craft were rather clumsy, but they discovered their mistakes, and now they turn out very satisfactory sailing boats. It is impossible not to feel respect for men who combine brains with diligence, and who command success by frugality and combination.

The white men grumble that the Japanese spend so little in the colony and send their money away; but the very same white men admit they would themselves clear out as soon as they had made their pile. Their intentions are the same as are the performances of the Japanese; but the white men cannot, under the present conditions, make a fortune quickly, and certain of them cannot keep what they do make. There are white men acting as divers for coloured men’s pay who some years ago owned boats of their own. The fall in value of pearl-shell a few years since is scarcely the sole reason for this change of fortune; bad management and drink have a good deal to answer for.

Some white men contend that as this is a British colony, and has been developed by British capital and industry, the Japanese should not be allowed to reap the benefit; but a similar argument might be applied to many of the industrial enterprises of the British in various parts of the world. As an outsider, it appears to me that it is some of those very qualities that have made the British colonist what he is that manifest themselves in the Japanese. In other words, the Japanese are feared because they are so British in many ways, saving perhaps the British expensive mode of life. It is probably largely this latter factor that renders the Japanese such deadly competitors.

Formerly there were in Torres Straits regular bêche-de-mer and copra industries, now there is very little of the former, and none of the latter. Large, slimy, leathery sea-slugs gorge the soft mud on the coral reefs; these when boiled and smoke-dried shrivel into hard rough rolls, which are exported in large numbers to China. These bêche-de-mer, or, as the Malays call them, “tripang,” are scientifically known as Holothuria, and are related to sea-urchins and starfish. Copra is the dried kernel of the coconut.

When one walks about the township and sees the amount of capital invested, and when one considers what is spent and how much money is sent away, it is hard to realise that all this wealth comes out of pearl-shell and pearls. During the past thirty years very many thousands of pounds have been made out of pearl-shell in Torres Straits; but now the waters have been overfished, and unless measures are taken to protect the pearl oysters, the harvest will become yet scantier and scantier. In any case the time for big hauls and rapid fortunes is probably over.

About the year 1890 gold was found in some of the islands, but I believe that the working only pays in one island, though it may be resumed at Horn Island, which at one time promised to be a lucrative goldfield.

At Thursday Island we met with much helpful kindness. Mr. Douglas entertained a couple of us, and did all he could to expedite matters. Unfortunately he was then without a steamer, and so could not tranship us and our gear to Murray Island, which otherwise he would have gladly done. It took a week to overhaul our baggage, get in stores, and to arrange about transport, and eventually I arranged with Neil Andersen to take us across; but even then there was neither room for all our baggage nor accommodation for the whole of our party. Rivers, Ray, and Seligmann and myself went on in the Freya, leaving the others to follow in the Governor Cairns, an official schooner that was shortly to start for Darnley Island.

It was not till the late afternoon of Saturday, April 30th, that we actually started, and then we were only able to beat up the passage between Thursday Island and Hammond Island, and anchored about six o’clock in the lee of Tuesday Island. There are very strong tides between these islands, and I have seen even a large ocean steamer steaming full speed against a tide race, and only just able to hold her own, much less make way against it.

The Freya was a ketch, a kind of fore-and-aft schooner, 47 feet 6 inches long and 11 feet 2 inches in the beam, and could carry about twenty tons of cargo. We had a strange medley of races on board—European skipper and passengers, our Javanese “boy,” the Japanese diver, two Polynesian sailors from Rotumah, and three Papuans from Parama, near the mouth of the Fly River. Our captain was a fine, big man, probably a good type of the Dubhgaill, or “black (dark) strangers,” who a thousand years ago ravaged the southern and eastern coast of Ireland as far north as Dublin. We “turned in” early—this consisted in wrapping oneself up in a blanket, extemporising a pillow, and lying on the deck.

Left Tuesday Island at 4 a.m. in a stiff breeze and chopping sea, and so could only make Dungeness Island by 4 p.m. Twelve hours to go fifty-five miles! We landed at the mangrove swamp, but there was little of interest. We hoped to have reached Darnley Island next day, but only fetched Rennel Island by 5.30 p.m. This is a large vegetated sandbank, on which we found traces of occupation, mainly where the natives had camped when bêche-de-mer fishing. We all suffered a good deal from sunburnt feet, the scorching by the sun being aggravated by the salt water. Some of our party were still seasick; one lay on the deck as limp as damp blotting-paper, and let the seas break over him without stirring even a finger. We had a wet night of it, what with the rain from above and the sea-water swishing in at the open stern and flooding the sleepers on the deck.

We made an early start next morning and reached Erub, or Darnley Island, at three in the afternoon. Immediately on landing I went to Massacre Bay to photograph the stratified volcanic ash that occurs only at this spot in the island, and which is the sole visible remains of the crater of an old volcano. The rest of the island is composed of basalt, which rises to a height of over 500 feet, and is well wooded and fertile—indeed, it is perhaps the most beautiful island in Torres Straits. Save for rocky headlands which separate lovely little coves fringed with white coral sand, the whole coast is skirted with groves of coconut palms and occasional patches of mangroves. The almost impenetrable jungle clothes the hills, except at those spots that have been cleared for “gardens.” Even the tops of the hills are covered with trees.

Very shortly after landing, a fine, honest-faced Murray Island native, Alo by name, who was visiting Erub, came up and greeted me very warmly. I regret to say I had quite forgotten him, but he perfectly remembered me, and he beamed with pleasure at seeing me. We walked along the coast to the village where the chief lives, and saw Captain H⸺, and I made arrangements with Koko Lifu, a South Sea man, to lighter our goods off the Governor Cairns and to take the cargo and our three comrades to Murray Island.

Captain H⸺ is one of those remarkable men one so constantly meets in out-of-the-way places. It is the common man one comes across at home. On the confines of savagery and civilisation one meets the men who have dared and suffered, rugged like broken quartz, and maybe as hard too, but withal streaked with gold—ay, and good gold too. Captain H⸺ started in life as a middy in the Navy; owing to a tiff with his people he quitted the Service and entered the Merchant Service. He advanced quickly, and when still very young obtained a command. He has made two fortunes, and lost both owing to bank failures, and is at present a ruined old recluse, living on a remote island along with Papuans, Polynesians, and other races that now inhabit Erub. He is a kind of Government Agent, and patrols the deep-water fishing grounds. I have previously mentioned that the ordinary fishing grounds for pearl-shell are practically exhausted, and the shellers have to go further afield or have to dive in deeper water in order to get large shells. Near Darnley Island are some good fishing grounds, but the water is so deep as to render the fishing dangerous to life, and the Queensland Government has prohibited fishing in these waters. There are, however, always a number of men who are willing to run the risk for the sake of increased gain, and it is all they can do to dodge the vigilance of the wary old sea-dog.

Captain H⸺ lives entirely by himself, and has no intercourse with the natives beyond what is absolutely necessary. He puts in his spare time in attending to his gardens and reading. Amongst other accomplishments he is a fluent speaker of French and Italian, and it was a strange experience to meet a weather-worn old man in frontier dishabille acting and speaking like a refined gentleman.

As on previous nights, except the first, Andersen made a tent for us on board the Freya out of the mainsail, the boom forming the ridge-pole. Ontong, the cook I had engaged at Thursday Island, woke us up at 2.30 a.m. to tell us tea was ready, and it was too! The pungent smell of the smoke prevented me from going to sleep for some time. In the morning Ontong said he thought it was “close up daylight”; and with an energy which is not usually credited to the Oriental character, he had made tea so as to be prepared for an early start.

We started early next morning with Alo as pilot; for the coral reefs between Darnley and Murray are extensive, intricate, and mainly uncharted. Andersen started for the “big passage” that large boats always take; but after some time it was discovered that Alo did not know this passage, but another one to the south-west of Darnley. As half the tide had by this time turned and the weather was very squally and the reefs could not be seen with certainty, we returned to our old anchorage by 9.30, and so another day was lost. We spent a lazy day to give our sore legs a rest. Alo left us in the evening, as he said he was “sick.” The truth was he did not care about the job, so Andersen went ashore and brought another pilot, named Spear. His father was a native of Parama; his mother was an Erub woman. Spear told us he had first married a Murray Island girl, and then half a dozen New Guinea women; but Dr. Macfarlane, the pioneer missionary in these parts, had made him “chuck” the latter.

Next day we started betimes, and sailed down channels in the reefs not marked in the charts. The day was dull, and the little wind was southerly when we wanted it easterly, whereas the previous day the reverse was the case. Later it became squally with rain, and finding it hopeless to reach Murray Island, Spear piloted us to a sheltered spot in the lee of a reef and close to a sandbank. We were only about four miles from our destination, and we could hear the roaring of the breakers of the Pacific Ocean as they dashed themselves against the Great Barrier Reef ten miles distant.

We had a very disturbed night. About eight o’clock, whilst we were yarning, the skipper jumped up and said the anchor was dragging. Then ensued a scene of intense excitement, as we were close not only to the sandbank, but also to a jagged coral reef. It was horrid to feel the boat helplessly drifting, for not only were the sails down, but the mainsail was unlashed below to make our tent, and further, it was tied down in various places. The first thing to do was to haul up the anchor, and furl the jib and mainsail, and unship the tent. We all lent a hand to the best of our ability, and soon we were sailing down the narrow passage. Andersen’s voice was hoarse and trembling with excitement, but he kept perfectly cool, and he never lost his temper, though in the confusion and babel of tongues some lost their heads through fright and did not do the right thing at the right moment, and each of the crew was ordering the others about in his own language.

After sailing about a little we made another attempt to anchor, and again the anchor dragged and we had another little cruise. Again we tried and again we failed, and it may be imagined that our sensations were not of a very cheerful nature, as we were in a really grave predicament; sometimes we actually sailed over the reef, and might any moment have knocked a hole in the ship’s bottom or have become stranded. If he could not effect an anchorage, two courses were open to Andersen. One was to cruise about all night, and it was very dark, keeping the reef in sight, or rather sailing up and down the passage, for if he had sailed out into the open he would probably strike a reef or coral patch that was unnoticed. The second alternative was to run the boat on to the sandbank and let it float off at high water in the morning. The reason why we drifted was because the anchor was let down on a steep gravelly slope, and the movement of the boat, which was naturally away from the bank, prevented the flukes from getting a firm grip.

On the fourth essay the anchor was put on the sandbank in a depth of three fathoms while we swung in fourteen or fifteen fathoms. After waiting some time in anxiety, we found to our relief that the anchor held, and we wrapped ourselves up in our blankets and slept on deck, pretty well exhausted. We had such confidence in the skill and alertness of Andersen, whom we knew to be a pre-eminently safe man, that we soon composed ourselves and slept soundly.

Friday, May 6th.—Again the wind was against us and the weather was squally, and it was not till one o’clock that we dropped anchor off the Mission premises at Murray Island.

I have briefly described our tedious trip to Murray Island, not because there was anything at all unusual in it, but merely to give some idea of the difficulty and uncertainty in sailing in these waters. There is no need, therefore, for surprise at the isolation of Murray Island, a fact which had influenced me in deciding to make it the scene of our more detailed investigations.

On landing we were welcomed by Mr. John Bruce, the schoolmaster and magistrate. He is the only white man now resident on the island, and he plays a paternal part in the social life of the people. I was very affectionately greeted by Ari the Mamoose, or chief of the island, and by my old friend Pasi, the chief of the neighbouring island of Dauar, and we walked up and down the sand beach talking of old times, concerning which I found Pasi’s memory was far better than mine.

I found that one of the two Mission residences on the side of the hill that were there ten years before was still standing and was empty, so I decided to occupy that, although it was rather dilapidated; and it answered our purpose admirably. The rest of the day and all the next was busily spent in landing our stuff and in unpacking and putting things to rights. We slept the first night at Bruce’s house, which is on the strand. When I went up next morning to our temporary home I found that the Samoan teacher Finau and his amiable wife had caused the house to be swept, more or less, and had put down mats, and placed two brightly coloured tablecloths on the table, which was further decorated with two vases of flowers! It seemed quite homely, and was a delicate attention that we much appreciated.

I engaged two natives, Jimmy Rice and Debe Wali, to get wood and water for us and to help Ontong. We had various vicissitudes with these two “boys,” but we retained them all through our stay, and they afforded us much amusement, no little instruction, and a very fair amount of moral discipline. The legs of two of our party were still so sore that they had to be carried up the hill, and on Saturday night we were established in our own quarters, and eager to commence the work for which we had come so far.

We had a deal of straightening up to do on Sunday morning, but I found time to go half-way down the hill to the schoolhouse, and was again impressed, as on my former visit, with the heartiness of the singing, which was almost deafening. The congregation waited for me to go out first, and I stood at the door and shook hands with nearly all the natives of the island as they came down the steps, and many were the old friends I greeted. I invited them to come up and see some photographs after the afternoon service.

We made the place as tidy as possible, and we had a great reception in the afternoon. Nearly all my old friends that were still alive turned up, besides many others. To their intense and hilarious delight I showed them some of the photographs I had taken during my last visit, not only of themselves, but also of other islands in the Straits. We had an immense time. The yells of delight, the laughter, clicking, flicking of the teeth, beaming faces and other expressions of joy as they beheld photographs of themselves or of friends would suddenly change to tears and wailing when they saw the portrait of someone since deceased. It was a steamy and smelly performance, but it was very jolly to be again among my old friends, and equally gratifying to find them ready to take up our friendship where we had left it.

Next morning when we were yarning with some natives others solemnly came one by one up the hill with bunches of bananas and coconuts, and soon there was a great heap of garden produce on the floor. By this time the verandah was filled with natives, men and women, and I again showed the photographs, but not a word was said about the fruit. They looked at the photographs over and over again, and the men added to the noise made by the women. On this occasion there was more crying, which, however, was enlivened with much hilarity. Then the Mamoose told Pasi to inform me in English, for the old man has a very imperfect command even of the jargon English that is spoken out here, that the stack of bananas and coconuts was a present to me. I made a little speech in reply, and they slowly dispersed.

On Tuesday evening McDougall, Myers, and Wilkin arrived, and our party was complete.

CHAPTER II
THE MURRAY ISLANDS

Torres Straits were discovered and passed through in August, 1606, by Luis Vaez de Torres. They were first partially surveyed by Captain Cook in 1770, and more thoroughly during the years 1843-5 by Captain Blackwood of H.M.S. Fly, and in 1848-9 by Captain Owen Stanley of H.M.S. Rattlesnake. H.M. cutter Bramble was associated with both these ships in the survey. But in the meantime other vessels had passed through: of these the most famous were the French vessels the Astrolabe and Zélée, which in the course of the memorable voyage of discovery under M. Dumont d’Urville were temporarily stranded in the narrow passage of the Island of Tut in 1840.

Bampton and Alt, the adventurous traders and explorers of the Papuan Gulf, came in the last years of the eighteenth century, and since then there have not been wanting equally daring men who, unknown to fame, have sailed these dangerous waters in search of a livelihood.

Mr. John Jardine was sent from Brisbane in 1862 to form a settlement at Somerset, in Albany Pass; but the place did not grow, and in 1877 the islands of Torres Straits were annexed to Queensland, and the settlement was transferred from the mainland to Thursday Island.

The islands of Torres Straits, geographically speaking, fall into three groups, the lines of longitude 140° 48′ E. and 143° 29′ E. conveniently demarcating these subdivisions.

The western group contains all the largest islands, and these, as well as many scattered islets, are composed of ancient igneous rocks, such as eurites, granites, quartz andesites, and rhyolitic tuff. These islands are, in fact, the submerged northern extremity of the great Australian cordillera that extends from Tasmania along the eastern margin of Australia, the northernmost point of which is the hill of Mabudauan, on the coast of New Guinea, near Saibai. This low granitic hill may be regarded as one of the Torres Straits islands that has been annexed to New Guinea by the seaward extension of the alluvial deposits brought down by the Fly River. Coral islets also occur among these rocky islands.

The shallow sea between Cape York peninsula and New Guinea is choked with innumerable coral reefs. By wind and wave action sandy islets have been built up on some of these reefs, and the coral sand has been enriched by enormous quantities of floating pumice. Wind-wafted or water-borne seeds have germinated and clothed the sandbanks with vegetation. Owing to the length of the south-east monsoon, the islands have a tendency to extend in a south-easterly direction, and consequently the north-west end of an island is the oldest, hence one sometimes finds that in the smaller islands a greater vegetable growth, or the oldest and largest trees, is at that end of an island; but in time the vegetation extends uniformly over the whole surface. The islands of the central division are entirely vegetated sandbanks.

The eastern division of Torres Straits includes the islands of Masaramker (Bramble Cay), Zapker (Campbell I.), Uga (Stephen’s I.), Edugor (Nepean I.), Erub (Darnley I.), and the Murray Islands (Mer, Dauar, and Waier), besides several sandbanks, or “cays.”

All the above-named islands are of volcanic origin. The first five consist entirely of lava with the exception of two patches of volcanic ash at Massacre Bay, in Erub, to which I have already referred. Mer, the largest of the Murray Islands, is composed of lava and ash in about equal proportions, while Dauar and Waier consist entirely of the latter rock. It is interesting to note that where the Great Barrier Reef ends there we find this great outburst of volcanic activity. It was evidently an area of weakness in one corner of the continental plateau of Australia. In pre-Carboniferous times the tuffs were ejected and the lava welled forth that have since been metamorphosed into the rocks of the Western Islands; but the basaltic lavas of the Eastern Islands belong to a recent series of earth movements, possibly of Pliocene age.

MAP OF TORRES STRAITS

Strictly speaking, to the three islands of Mer, Dauar, and Waier should the name of Murray Islands, or Murray’s Islands, be confined; but in Torres Straits the name of Murray Island has become so firmly established for the largest of them that, contrary to my usual custom, I propose to adopt the popular rather than the native name.

Mer, or Murray Island, is only about five miles in circumference, and is roughly oval in outline with its long axis running roughly north-east to south-west. The southerly half consists of an extinct crater, or caldera, which is breached to the north-east by the lava stream that forms the remainder of the high part of the island. This portion is very fertile, and supports a luxuriant vegetation, which, when left to itself, forms an almost impenetrable jungle; it is here that the natives have the bulk of their gardens, and every portion of it is or has been under cultivation. The great crescentic caldera valley, being formed of porous volcanic ash and being somewhat arid, is by no means so fertile; the vegetation, which consists of grass, low scrub, and scattered coconut palms, presents a marked contrast to that of the rest of the island. The slopes of the hills are usually simply grass-covered.

Fig. 1. The Hill of Gelam, Murray Island

The most prominent feature of Mer is the long steep hill of Gelam, which culminates in a peak, 750 feet in height. It extends along the western side of the island, and at its northern end terminates in a low hill named Zomar, which splays out into two spurs, the outer of which is called Upimager and the inner Mĕkernurnur. Gelam rises up from a narrow belt of cultivated soil behind the sand beach at an angle of 30 degrees, forming a regular even slope, covered with grass save for occasional patches of bare rock and low shrubs. At the southern end the ground is much broken. The termination of the smooth portion is marked by a conspicuous curved escarpment; beyond this is a prominent block of rock about half-way up the hill. This is known as the “eye.” The whole hill seen from some distance at sea bears a strong resemblance to an animal, and the natives speak of it as having once been a dugong, the history of which is enshrined in the legend of Gelam, a youth who is fabled to have come from Moa. The terminal hill and the north end of Gelam represents the lobed tail of the dugong, the curved escarpment corresponds to the front edge of its paddle, while the “eye” and the broken ground which indicates the nose and mouth complete the head.

The highest part of Gelam on its landward side forms bold, riven precipices of about fifty feet in height. A small gorge (Werbadupat) at the extreme south end of the island drains the great valley; beyond it rises the small, symmetrical hill Dĕbĕmad, which passes into the short crest of Mergar. The latter corresponds to Gelam on the opposite side of the island; it terminates in the steep hill Pitkir.

Fig. 2. Murray Island from the South, with its Fringing Reef

Gelam and Mergar form a somewhat horseshoe-shaped range, the continuity of which is interrupted at its greatest bend, and it is here the ground is most broken up. The rock is a beautifully stratified volcanic ash, with an outward dip of 30 degrees. Within this crater is a smaller horseshoe-shaped hill, which is the remains of the central cone of the old volcano. The eastern limit of the degraded cone is named Gur; the western, which is known as Zaumo, is prolonged into a spur called Ai. In the valley (Deaudupat) between these hills and Gelam arises a stream which flows in a northerly and north-easterly direction, and after receiving two other affluents empties itself into the sea at Korog. It should be remembered that the beds of all the streams are dry for a greater portion of the year, and it is only during the rainy season—i.e. from November to March, inclusive—and then only immediately after the rain, that the term “stream” can be applicable to them. There are, however, some water-holes in the bed of the stream which hold water for many months.

The great lava stream extends with an undulating surface from the central cone to the northern end of the island. It forms a fertile tableland, which is bounded by a steep slope. On its west side this slope is practically a continuation of the sides (Zaumo and Ai) of the central cone, and bounds the eastern side of the miniature delta valley of the Deaudupat stream. At the northern and eastern sides of the island the lava stream forms an abrupt or steep declivity, extending either right down to the water’s edge or occasionally leaving a narrow shore.

A fringing coral reef extends all round Mer, but has its greatest width along the easterly side of the island, where it forms an extensive shallow shelf which dries, or very nearly so, at spring tides, and constitutes an admirable fishing ground for the natives.

A mile and a quarter to the south of Mer are the islands of Dauar and Waier. The former consists of two hills—Au Dauar, 605 feet in height, and Kebe Dauar, of less than half that height. Au Dauar is a steep, grassy hill like Gelam, but the saddle-shaped depression between the two hills supports a luxuriant vegetation. There is a sand-spit at each end.

Waier is a remarkable little island, as it practically consists solely of a pinnacled and fissured crescentic wall of coarse volcanic ash about 300 feet in height. There is a small sand-spit on the side facing Dauar, and a sand beach along the concavity of the island. At these spots and in many of the gullies there is some vegetation, otherwise the island presents a barren though very picturesque appearance.

Fig. 3. Waier and Dauar, with their Fringing Reef

Dauar and Waier are surrounded by a continuous reef, which extends for a considerable distance towards the south-east, far beyond the region that was occupied by the other side of the crater of Waier. We must regard Dauar and Waier as the remnants of two craters, the south-easterly side of both of which having been blown out by a volcanic outburst, but in neither case is there any trace of a lava stream.

The climate, though hot, is not very trying, owing to the persistence of a strong south-east tide wind for at least seven months in the year—that is, from April to October. This is the dry season, but rain often falls during its earlier half. Sometimes there is a drought in the island, and the crops fail and a famine ensues. During the dry season the temperature ranges between 72° and 87° F. in the shade, but in the dead calm of the north-west monsoon a much greater temperature is reached, and the damp, muggy heat becomes at such times very depressing.

The reading of the barograph shows that there is a wonderful uniformity of atmospheric pressure. Every day there is a remarkable double rise and fall of one degree; the greatest rise occurs between eight and ten o’clock, morning and evening, while the deepest depression is similarly between two and four o’clock. In June, that is in the middle of a dry season, the barograph records a pressure varying between 31 and 33, which gradually decreases to 28 to 30 in December, again to rise gradually to the midsummer maximum. These data are obtained from inspection of the records made on the island by Mr. John Bruce on the barograph we left with him for this purpose.

Like the other natives of Torres Straits, the Murray Islanders belong to the Melanesian race, the dark-skinned people of the West Pacific who are characterised by their black frizzly or woolly hair. They are a decidedly narrow-headed people. The colour of the skin is dark chocolate, often burning to almost black in the exposed portions. The accompanying illustrations give a far better impression of the appearance and expression of the people than can be conveyed by any verbal description. Suffice it to say, the features are somewhat coarse, but by no means bestial; there is usually an alert look about the men, some of whom show decided strength of character in the face. The old men have usually quite a venerable appearance.

PLATE I

ARI, THE MAMOOSE OF MER

PASI, THE MAMOOSE OF DAUAR

Their mental and moral character will be incidentally illustrated in the following pages, and considering the isolation and favourable conditions of existence with the consequent lack of example and stimulus to exertion, we must admit that they have proved themselves to be very creditable specimens of savage humanity.

The Murray Islanders have often been accused of being lazy, and during my former visit I came across several examples of laziness and ingratitude to the white missionaries. As to the first count, well, there is some truth in it from one point of view. The natives certainly do not like to be made to work. One can always get them to work pretty hard in spurts, but continuous labour is very irksome to them; but after all, this is pretty much the same with everybody. Nature deals so bountifully with the people that circumstances have not forced them into the discipline of work.

The people are not avaricious. They have no need for much money; their wants are few and easily supplied. Surely they are to be commended for not wearing out their lives to obtain what is really of no use to them. The truth is, we call them lazy because they won’t work for the white man more than they care to. Why should they?

As to ingratitude. They take all they can get and, it is true, rarely appear as grateful as the white man expects; but this is by no means confined to these people. How often do we find exactly the same trait amongst our own acquaintances! They may feel grateful, but they have not the habit of expressing it. On the other hand, it is not beyond the savage mind for the argument thus to present itself. I did not ask the white man to come here. I don’t particularly want him. I certainly don’t want him to interfere with my customs. He comes here to please himself. If he gives me medicines and presents that is his look-out, that is his fashion. I will take all I can get. I will give as little as I can. If he goes away I don’t care.

Less than thirty years ago in Torres Straits might was right, and wrongs could only be redressed by superior physical force, unless the magic of the sorcery man was enlisted. For the last fifteen years the Queensland Government has caused a court-house to be erected in every island that contains a fair number of inhabitants, and the chief has the status of magistrate, and policemen, usually four in number, watch over the public morality.

The policemen are civil servants, enjoying the following annual emoluments—a suit of clothes, one pound sterling in cash, and one pound of tobacco. In addition, they have the honour and glory of their position; they row out in their uniforms in the Government whale-boat to meet the Resident Magistrate on his visits of inspection to the various islands, and they go to church on Sundays dressed in their newest clothes. There are doubtless other amenities which do not appear on the surface.

The Mamoose, or chief, being a great man, “all along same Queen Victoria,” as they proudly claim and honestly imagine, is not supposed to receive payment. I well remember the complex emotion shown on my former visit by the Mamoose of Murray Island, who was torn by conflicting desires. Whether to share the golden reward with his subordinates, or to forego the coin on account of his being a great man, was more than he could determine; it was clear that he preferred the lower alternative—for what worth is honour if another man gets the money? I suspected he almost felt inclined to abdicate his sovereignty on the spot for the sake of one pound sterling; but the Hon. John Douglas, who was then on his tour of inspection, kept him up to the dignity of his position, and pointed out that great men in his position could not take money like policemen. Possibly the poor man thought that reigning sovereigns ruled simply for the honour and glory of it, and had no emoluments. Mr. Douglas’ intention was solely to support the dignity of Ari’s office, for, to do him justice, when old Ari visited the Government steamer on the following morning a little matter was privately transacted in the cabin which had the effect of making Ari beamingly happy.

But there are recognised perquisites for the Mamoose in the shape of free labour by the prisoners. It would seem as if such a course was not conducive to impartial justice, for it would clearly be to the judge’s interest to commit every prisoner; this temptation is, however, checked by the fact that all trials are public, and popular opinion can make itself directly felt.

Most of the cases are for petty theft or disputes about land. It is painful to have to confess that during our recent stay in Murray Island many of the cases were for wife-beating or for wife-slanging. The Mamoose is supplied with a short list of the offences with which he is empowered to deal and the penalties he may inflict. The technical error is usually made of confusing moral and legal crimes. I gathered that very fair justice is meted out in the native courts when left to themselves.

The usual punishment is a “moon” of enforced labour on any public work that is in operation at the time, such as making a road or jetty, or on work for the chief, such as making a pig-sty or erecting fences. The alternative fine used to be husking coconuts and making copra; the natives in some cases had to supply their own coconuts for this purpose—the number varied from 100 to 1,000, according to the offence. This was chiefly the punishment of the women, the copra was one of the Mamoose’s perquisites. Fines are now paid in money.

At night-time the prisoners are supposed to sleep in jail—an ordinary native house set apart for this purpose—but at the present time in Murray Island, owing to the absence of a jail, they sleep at home! and during the whole of the time they are under the surveillance of one or more policemen. Very often it appeared to me that a policeman’s chief duty consisted in watching a prisoner doing nothing. Very bad, or often repeated, offenders are taken to Thursday Island to be tried by the Resident Magistrate.

CHAPTER III
WORK AND PLAY IN MURRAY ISLAND

The first thing we did after arranging the house was to convert a little room into a dispensary, and very soon numbers of natives came to get medicine and advice. McDougall, Myers, and Seligmann worked hard at this, partly because they were really interested in the various cases, and partly since it brought natives to the house who could be utilised for our other investigations.

The doctors also paid visits to bad cases in their homes. As the former white missionaries on the island in days gone by had been accustomed to dispense, to the best of their ability, from their somewhat large assortment of drugs, the natives took it for granted that we should do the same; hence there were no special signs of gratitude on their part. Bruce, too, does what he can for the natives, but his remedies are naturally of a simple, though often drastic, character.

The medical skill and gratuitous advice and drugs of our doctors did a great deal to facilitate the work of the expedition. Towards the end of our time, hearing Captain H⸺ of Darnley Island was seriously ill, McDougall volunteered to go over and nurse him, and he remained there for a week or two.

It was a great safeguard for us, too, having so many doctors about; but fortunately we only required their aid, or they each other’s, for malarial fever or for minor ailments like sores. Only on three occasions during the time we were away, till we left Borneo, were there sufficiently bad cases of fever to cause the least anxiety. So, on the whole, we came off remarkably well on the score of health.

Although we have a fair amount of information about the external appearance, the shape of the head, and such-like data of most of the races of mankind, very little indeed is known about the keenness of their senses and those other matters that constitute the subject commonly known as experimental psychology. My colleagues were the first thoroughly to investigate primitive people in their own country, and it was the first time that a well-equipped psychological laboratory had been established among a people scarcely a generation removed from perfect savagery.

Dr. Rivers undertook the organisation of this department, and there were great searchings of heart as to what apparatus to take out and which to leave behind. There was no previous experience to go upon, and there was the fear of delicate apparatus failing at the critical time, or that the natives would not be amenable to all that might be required of them. Fortunately the latter fear was groundless. It was only in the most tedious operations, or in those in which they were palpably below the average, that the natives exhibited a strong disinclination to be experimented upon. Sometimes they required a little careful handling—always patience and tact were necessary, but taking them as a whole, it would be difficult to find a set of people upon whom more reliable and satisfactory observations could be made. I refer more particularly to the Torres Straits islanders.

In his work in Murray Island, Rivers was assisted by Myers and McDougall. During his trips to New Guinea, Seligmann made some supplemental observations of interest. The subjects investigated included visual acuity, sensitiveness to light, colour vision, including colour blindness, binocular vision, and visual space perception; acuity and range of hearing; appreciation of differences of tone and rhythm; tactile acuity and localisation; sensibility to pain; estimation of weight, smell, and taste; simple reaction times to auditory and visual stimuli, and choice reaction times; estimation of intervals of time; memory; strength of grasp and accuracy of aim; reading, writing, and drawing; the influence of various mental states on blood-pressure, and the influence of fatigue and practice on mental work.

The visual acuity of these people was found to be superior to that of normal Europeans, though not in any very marked degree. The visual powers of savages, which have excited the admiration of travellers, may be held to depend upon the faculty of observation. Starting with somewhat superior acuteness of vision, by long attention to minute details coupled with familiarity with their surroundings, they become able to recognise things in a manner that at first sight seems quite wonderful.

The commonest defect of eyesight among Europeans is myopia, or short-sightedness, but this was found to be almost completely absent amongst savages. The opposite condition, hypermetropia, which is apparently the normal condition of the European child, was very common among them.

The colour vision of the natives was investigated in several ways. A hundred and fifty natives of Torres Straits and Kiwai were tested by means of the usual wool test for colour-blindness without finding one case. The names used for colours by the natives of Murray Island, Mabuiag, and Kiwai were very fully investigated, and the derivation of such names in most cases established. The colour vocabularies of these islands showed the special feature which appears to characterise many primitive languages. There were definite names for red, less definite for yellow, and still less so for green, while a definite name for blue was either absent or borrowed from English.

The three languages mentioned, and some Australian languages investigated by Rivers, seemed to show different stages in the evolution of a colour vocabulary. Several North Queensland natives (from Seven Rivers and the Fitzroy River) appeared to be almost limited to words for red, white, and black; perhaps it would be better to call the latter light and dark. In all the islands there was a name for yellow, but in Kiwai, at the mouth of the Fly River, the name applied to green appeared to be inconstant and indefinite, while there was no word for blue, for which colour the same word was used as for black. In Torres Straits there are terms for green. In Murray Island the native word for blue was the same as that used for black, but the English word had been adopted and modified into bŭlu-bŭlu. The language of Mabuiag was more advanced; there was a word for blue (maludgamulnga, sea-colour), but it was often also used for green. In these four vocabularies four stages may be seen in the evolution of colour languages, exactly as deducted by Geiger, red being the most definitive, and the colours at the other end of the spectrum the least so. As Rivers has also pointed out, it was noteworthy, too, that the order of these people in respect to culture was the same as in regard to development of words for colours. Rivers found that though the people showed no confusion between red and green they did between blue and green. The investigation of these colour-names, he thought, showed that to them blue must be a duller and darker colour than it is to us, and indeed the experiments carried out with an apparatus known as Lovibond’s tintometer afforded evidence of a distinct quantitative deficiency in their perception of blue, though the results were far from proving blindness to blue.

Numerous observations were made by Rivers on writing and drawing, the former chiefly in the case of children. The most striking result was the ease and correctness with which mirror writing was performed. Mirror writing is that reversed form of writing that comes right when looked at in a looking-glass. In many cases native children, when asked to write with the left hand, spontaneously wrote mirror writing, and all were able to write in this fashion readily. In some cases children, when asked to write with the left hand, wrote upside down.

Experiments were made on the estimation of time. The method adopted was to give signals marking off a given interval; another signal was then given as the commencement of a second interval, which the native had to finish by a similar signal when he judged it to be equal to the previous given interval. Rivers found that this somewhat difficult procedure met with unexpected success, and intervals of ten seconds, twenty seconds, and one minute, were estimated with fairly consistent results.

The conditions for testing acuity of hearing were very unfavourable on Murray Island, owing to the noise of the sea and the rustle of the coconut palms. Myers found that few Murray Islanders surpassed a hyper-acute European in auditory acuity, while the majority could not hear as far. No great weight, however, could be attached to the observations, because all the men were divers, an occupation that certainly damaged the ears to some extent. To investigate their range of hearing a Galton’s whistle was used, and it was found they could hear very high notes. Twelve Murray Islanders were tested for their sense of rhythm; this was found to be remarkably accurate for 120 beats of the metronome to the minute, and somewhat less so for 60 beats.

Myers tested their sense of smell by means of a series of tubes containing solutions, of varying strength, of odorous substances like valerian and camphor, and the results, while not altogether satisfactory, tended to show that they had no marked superiority in this respect over the members of the expedition.

With regard to taste it was very difficult to get information, as the natives, naturally enough, did not like strange substances being put into their mouths. Sugar and salt were readily recognised, acid was compared to unripe fruit, bitter is most uncertain, and there is no distinctive name for it in the Murray Island vocabulary.

Numerous time reaction experiments were made by Myers. The time of the simple reaction is not sensibly longer, but probably in many cases even shorter, than would be that given by a corresponding class of Europeans. Myers points out that the experiments clearly showed the great difference of temperament among the individuals investigated. There was at one extreme the slow, steady-going man, who reacted with almost uniform speed on each occasion; at the other extreme was the nervous, high-strung individual, who was frequently reacting prematurely.

There is a consensus of opinion that savages are less sensitive to pain than Europeans, but there is always the doubt whether they are really able to bear pain with fortitude. However, the conclusion McDougall arrived at, that the Murray Islanders were distinctly less sensitive than the Europeans in the expedition, was supported not only by their statements, but also by tests depending on simple pressure of the skin made by a small piece of apparatus. It should be understood that the degree of pain produced was in all cases so slight as not to spoil the pleasure and interest of the subjects in the proceedings.

It was found that the natives had points on their skin specially sensitive to cold, exactly as in the case with Europeans. As to touch, when tested by McDougall to see how close the points of a pair of compasses must be put on the skin before they cease to be felt as two, their sensitiveness was in general better than that of the members of the expedition.

A series of tin canisters of the same size and appearance, but variously weighted, was prepared by McDougall; another series having the same weight, but of different sizes, was also provided: the first experiment was to test the delicacy of discrimination of the differences of weight, and the second to determine the degree of their suggestibility by the effect of size, as appreciated by sight and grasp, on the judgment of weight. It was interesting to find that although the abstract idea of weight seemed entirely new to the minds of these people, who had no word to express it, and who, moreover, could have had no practice, yet they were more accurate than a practised European.

It would be tedious to recount all the work that was accomplished in the psychological laboratory; but it was most interesting to watch the different operations and to see what earnestness, I may say conscientiousness, most of the subjects exhibited in the performance of the tasks set them. We never knew what they thought of it all, or of us—perhaps it was as well that we did not.

In the preliminary report Rivers has published, he notes that our observations were in most cases made with very little difficulty, and, with some exceptions, we could feel sure that the natives were doing their best in all we asked them to do. This opinion is based not only on observation of their behaviour and expression while the tests were being carried out, but on the consistency of the results; the usually small deviations showed that the observations were made with due care and attention.

Attempts were made, but with very little success, to find out what was actually passing in the minds of the natives while making these observations.

One general result was to show very considerable variability. It was obvious that in general character and temperament the natives varied greatly from one another, and very considerable individual differences also came out in our experimental observations. How great the variations were as compared with those in a more complex community can only be determined after a large number of comparative data have been accumulated.

Another general result pointed out by Rivers is that these natives did not appear to be especially susceptible to suggestion, but exhibited a very considerable independence of opinion. This observation is of importance, as there is a widely spread idea that the reverse is the case for backward peoples. Leading questions were found not to be so dangerous as was expected.

Whenever possible I spent the mornings in measuring the natives. In this I was helped by Wilkin, who also photographed them. It is not always easy to obtain good portraits when the accessories of a well-lighted studio are absent, but the expedition is to be congratulated on the success of Wilkin’s labours. Most of the Murray Island photographs were developed on the spot, and in a considerable number of cases copies of the portraits were given to the sitters in consideration for their submitting to be psychologised.

Nearly all the Torres Straits and New Guinea photographs were taken by Wilkin, and it is greatly to his credit that there were very few failures.

Wilkin also paid some attention to native architecture in Torres Straits and on the mainland of New Guinea, and to the laws regulating land tenure and inheritance of property in Torres Straits.

As Seligmann did not return with Ray, Wilkin, and myself after our trip to the Central District of British New Guinea, he had only two and a half weeks on Murray Island. During that time he collected some natural history and botanical specimens, and paid attention to native medicine and surgery as well, and he also made some clinical observations on the diseases of the natives. During his New Guinea trips, and when he rejoined us in the western islands of Torres Straits, he continued on much the same lines; so that in the end he gained a very fair insight into “folk-medicine.” He also at various times made some interesting ethnological observations and measured some tribes I was not able to visit. Frequently he assisted Rivers and myself in our investigations in Mabuiag.

Myers and McDougall left Murray Island on August 24th, so as to get up the Baram River, Sarawak, before the north-east monsoon set in. The work carried on in Kiwai and Mabuiag and other of the western islands of the Straits was very much of the same character as that which we did in Murray Island. Fewer psychological observations could be made, owing to the fact that most of the apparatus had been taken on to Borneo. The subjects investigated were chiefly visual acuity and colour vision, auditory acuity, smell and touch, writing and drawing.

Ray was engaged practically the whole of every morning in studying the Miriam language with Ari, the Mamoose of Mer, and Pasi, the Mamoose of Dauar. He worked them very hard, and often I had to go into the inner room in which he studied and liberate the poor chiefs, who frequently were quite done up, while Ray himself was as keen and fresh as ever. The good men conscientiously turned up regularly, though I am sure they must often have been heartily sick of the whole concern. Giving the names of things is one matter, but it is quite a different affair to plod through empty phrases in all their possible moods and tenses, hour after hour, day after day, and week after week. They were not the first, nor will they be the last, to feel repugnance at the study of grammar.

The construction of the language was found to be very complex, modifications of sense in the verb being expressed by an elaborate system of prefixes and suffixes, for example:—

• Kaka mari natagfri, I tell you.
• Kaka abi detageri, I tell him.
• E wiabi daratagereda, he tells them.
• E netat le detageri, he tells one man.
• E neis le daratagri, he tells two men.
• Neis netat le abi detagridare, three men tell him.

Nouns are declined through several cases by means of suffixes: e.g. tulik, a knife; tuliku, by means of a knife; tulikra, of a knife; tuliklam, from a knife, etc.

Ray distinguishes two groups of languages in British New Guinea, which he has termed respectively “Papuan” and “Melanesian.” The former he regards as indigenous to New Guinea, or at all events it may be regarded as such for all practical purposes. The latter group of languages bears such close resemblances to the language spoken in the great chain of islands in the Western Pacific (or Melanesia) that there is no doubt they are all derived from the same source. A third group of languages, current in this part of the world, is that spoken on the Australian continent. It is thus a matter of some interest to discover to which linguistic group we must assign the languages of Torres Straits.

I have to thank my colleague for giving me the following information, which will sufficiently explain the differences between these three groups of languages.

The Papuan languages agree with one another in very few characteristics, and totally differ in vocabulary and constructive particles. Consonantal sounds are very fully used, but closed syllables are not common except in the western languages. Demonstrative words indicating the place or direction of actions are numerous. Nouns and pronouns are declined through various cases by means of suffixes. Adjectives precede substantives. The pronoun in some languages has a trial as well as a singular, dual, and plural; but the inclusion or exclusion of the person addressed is rarely indicated. The verb is very complicated, and is modified by prefixes and suffixes, its forms indicating the number of subject and object, as well as tense and mood. Numeration is limited, and rarely goes beyond two. Parts of the body are much used in counting.

The Melanesian languages have a very general agreement among themselves in grammatical construction and vocabulary. They use consonants very freely and have some consonantal sounds which are difficult to transliterate. Many syllables are closed. Demonstrative words pointing hither and thither are much used. Nouns are divided into two classes, with or without pronominal suffixes, according to the nearness or remoteness of the connection between possessor or possessed. Words may represent any part of speech without change, but the use of a word is sometimes shown by prefix or affix. Number and case are shown by separate words preceding the noun. Adjectives follow the noun. Pronouns are numerous, and often of four numbers—singular, dual, trial, and plural. The first person always has forms including or excluding the person addressed. Any word is made into a verb by the use of a preceding particle, which usually marks tense and mood, and in some languages person and number. Verbs have a causative, reciprocal, frequentative and intensive form. Numeration is extensive, and there is counting up to high numbers.

The Australian languages are in some respects similar to the Papuan, though prefixes are not commonly used. Certain consonantal sounds are rarely heard. Nouns and pronouns are declined by means of suffixes through various cases. Adjectives precede the noun. The pronoun has no trial number, and some languages have the inclusive and exclusive forms in the first person. The verb is modified as to time and mood, and sometimes number, by suffixes, and has numerous but, as a rule, simple forms. Numeration does not proceed beyond two, or three at the utmost.

The grammar of the Murray Island (or Miriam) language bears no resemblance to the Melanesian, and but little to the Australian. It must therefore be regarded as belonging to the Papuan group. The speech used by the Mission is a debased form of the original, as Pasi told Ray “they cut it short.” Ray is of opinion that as most of the young people know English, it is very probable the pure language will die out with the older folk.

Several of the elder men used to come and talk to me at various times, but they came more regularly after we had witnessed the Malu performances, and while the excitement about them was still fresh. Baton and Mamai were the first to come, they were policemen during my previous visit, and were consequently old friends. I obtained, however, more valuable information from Enocha and Wano, who were pillars of the Church, but being old men they also knew about the past; unfortunately there were very few alive at the time of our stay in the island who knew first-hand about those matters that interested us most.

These good people enjoyed describing the old ceremonies. Often they brought me something that was formerly employed in their mysteries or a model of it.

When any action was described the old fellows jumped up and danced it in the room, sometimes two or three would perform at once. I always had a drum handy to be in readiness when they broke forth into song, and for the dance they took bows and arrows or whatever may have been appropriate from the stack of implements that was in a corner of the room.

We had many interesting séances, and it enabled us to get a glimmer of the old ceremonies that was most tantalising. If only we could have seen the real thing, how different would the description be! How little, after all our efforts, could we accomplish by mere hearsay! But even an undress rehearsal or an imperfectly performed representation was better than nothing at all.

For example, Bruce and I were independently trying to work out the rain-making ceremony or charm. We obtained more or less full descriptions that agreed on the whole and which supplemented each other. He got some zogo mer, or “sacred words”—that is, the magical incantation employed—from Gasu, a noted and credited rain-maker. I tried these on Ulai, a somewhat disreputable old man, who has been of considerable use to us, and who at the same time gave us much amusement; he immediately reeled off a lot more words. Gasu then admitted that most of these were correct. I next tried Enocha, who had the reputation of being a great master in the art of rain-making. He passed most of Ulai’s words, denied others, and gave me fresh ones. Eventually we arrived at a version that may be taken as authentic; but doubtless each rain-maker has his traditional formula, which may differ in details from that of a rival magician.

A little incident was rather curious. Late one evening, when Gasu was teaching Bruce the zogo mer of the rain charm, a smart little shower came suddenly and unexpectedly from an apparently cloudless sky. There was not a native next morning who had not his own opinion as to the origin of the shower.

It seemed very strange to us that our informants, however friendly and anxious to help us, so often kept back something till their hands were forced, so to speak, by information gained from another source. Then it became possible to go one step further. I think this was due in many cases simply to a lack of appreciation of what we wanted to know; in other instances there appeared to be an ingrained reticence which prevented their speaking freely about sacred or magical ceremonies. When, however, it became evident to them that we already knew something about the ceremony or formula in question, there was but little reluctance in giving information, especially when they did not know how much or how little we knew.

I mention these details in order to give some idea of the method we adopted of gaining our information. It is comparatively easy to get an account of a ceremony or custom from one man, but we invariably checked this information by inquiring from other men, always selecting the oldest men available. Even amongst ourselves no two people will describe any occurrence in the same manner, and one will emphasise a certain point which another may omit. Hence, in collecting from natives, we were very careful to obtain as many versions as possible and to sift the evidence. The results often appear meagre for the really considerable amount of time and pains we spent on attaining them; but, on the other hand, we feel fairly confident as to their accuracy. Interesting as all this was, it involved a great deal of very tedious work. One had to let the old men ramble on, and it often happened that they got on to side issues and barren narrations; but even so our patience was occasionally rewarded by a hint of something which we would not otherwise have come across, and which, followed out later, led to a really interesting record. Tact and patience are necessary in extracting reliable information from primitive folk.

I should perhaps add that although we communicated with one another in jargon, or pidgin-English, we used native words whenever there was a possibility of a misunderstanding arising, and by the context we could usually make certain as to the significance of new or obscure native terms. If the context failed to elucidate the meaning, we arrived at it by questioning all round the subject, or by allowing our informant to give his explanation in his own way. I have given several examples of the pidgin-English spoken, in the Torres Straits in the course of this narrative. It is a quaint, though not an ideal mode of communication of ideas, but with practice and the employment of suitable illustrations and similes, one can get along fairly well. I found, too, one could often elucidate a statement by acting it, or by using sticks and stones as dummies; it is remarkable what can be done in that way, and the natives quite enter into the spirit of the thing.

One day Bruce surprised me by showing a minute bull-roarer that was hung round the neck of a doiom, A doiom is the stone effigy of a man that is used in the rain-making ceremony. I had all along felt that a bull-roarer should appear in the performance, but I could not hear of one. Well, here it was, worn as a neck pendant, with two seed rattles. I showed it to Ulai; he said it was not correct, and brought me another model, which was much larger. Then I showed them both to Enocha. He scoffed at Gasu’s little bull-roarer, admitted that Ulai’s was more correct, but added that Ulai didn’t know about it. He then promised to let me have the correct thing. This was probably little more than professional jealousy, as Gasu was noted as a successful rain-maker.

That same morning Enocha and Wano were alone with me, and I turned the conversation to rain-making; then a happy inspiration seized me, and I asked them to give me a demonstration. They agreed. I provided one of the several doioms I had already collected, and we adjourned to the shade of a neighbouring tree, where, hidden by bushes, we would be quite unobserved and undisturbed. Although we had not the proper appurtenances, a pantomime was gone through, and I jotted down full notes. It was strange to see these dear old men doing everything half seriously, and at the same time laughing as if they were truant schoolboys at some forbidden pleasure. By a strange coincidence the school children were singing “Auld Lang Syne” in the schoolhouse down the hill, whilst the old men were rehearsing “old-time fashion” a short distance off.

A couple of days later Gasu gave us a complete demonstration at the other end of the island, with all the accessories. Four large plaited coconut leaves were erected to represent rain clouds; there was a blackened patch on each of these to mimic the blackness of a rain cloud, and one or two pendant leaves imitated the falling rain. The four screens inclosed a small space in which a hole was made in the ground. The doiom was decorated with certain leaves, and packed in a banana leaf with various minced leaves and numbers of red seeds; the leaf was filled with water and placed in the hole, the rain-maker all the while muttering the magical formulæ. During part of the performance a lighted brand was waved about, and at another a bamboo clapper was rattled. Thus were simulated the lightning and thunder. Several instances came to my notice during my recent and earlier visits to Murray Island of the employment of this ceremony.

When I was arranging for the purchase of Gasu’s doiom, Jimmy Dei, the sergeant of the police—a very intelligent man and a devout churchgoer—objected to the transaction, as they might not be able to obtain rain in the future when they required it. The very day after I had bought Gasu’s doiom he wanted it back, and would gladly have returned the goods I gave him in exchange, for his was a very famous charm, and it even had the proud distinction of having a name of its own. Sometimes even a potent charm like this will fail in its function, and once this mischance befell this particular doiom, whereat Gasu was much enraged and threw it on the ground, and, alas! the head broke off; then Gasu repented, and fastened the head on again with wire. I must confess I felt very sorry for Gasu when he regretted having yielded to my importunity and wanted his doiom back, but the collecting instinct was stronger than pure sentiment, and I had to inform him that it was then too late. Recently I have had a letter from Mr. Bruce, in which he says, “Gasu is always speaking of you and his doiom, and adds, ‘Mind you, if he had not asked for it, I would not have given it to the Professor.’” Poor old Gasu! he was half blind when we were there, now he has completely lost his eyesight, and I am afraid he does not bear a pleasing memory of our visit, but still mourns the loss of his old and powerful charm.

PLATE II

RAIN SHRINE

DOIOM WITH BULL-ROARER

In the same letter Bruce writes: “We have still some very powerful doioms left on the island. The new church was badly injured last year by the foundations settling, owing to the rain of a very heavy thunderstorm, but all the natives maintained it was the thunder that did the damage. But the storm must have been made by someone. Enocha was first suspected, but he denied his ability to do so, as he says he does not make thunder and lightning to spoil things; he only makes good rain to make men’s gardens grow, and ‘besides,’ he said, ‘I am an ekalesia, I did not spoil the sacred house.’ So they had to fall back on Wali, as he was not an ekalesia, or member of the Church, and he had been angry with Finau, the teacher, about something. They have now made Wali an ekalesia to protect the building from further damage.”

The worthy Finau never appeared to realise the nature of our work or its effect upon the natives. He evidently thought that the interest we took in the old customs and ceremonies would tend to a recrudescence of paganism, and there is little doubt that he intentionally hindered and hampered our investigations. He was not sufficiently alert to appreciate the fact that we were really playing into his hands. We bought and took away many legendary and magical stones, including a large number of rain charms, and in having representations of the Malu ceremonies we must have stripped off some of the glamour that ignorance throws round the unknown. We doubtless revived impressions in the memory of a few old men, but the younger men would be disillusioned by what they witnessed. It is needless to add that we never undermined his influence as a teacher, nor did anything that would be a stumbling-block to the feeblest of his adherents.

Finau often preached loudly against native dancing, and consigned those who attempted a little of it to hell, where, he informed them, they would have kerosene poured over them, and then they would be burnt; but, perhaps as he was himself a Samoan, he allowed certain South Sea dances, which the natives constantly practised under the tuition of a native of Rotumah who was living on Murray Island. These dances were to be performed at the opening of the new church in Darnley, which was to take place in several months’ time, and doubtless the opening of the church Finau was building in Murray Island would be commemorated in its turn in a similar manner.

In the Rotumah dances that we saw the men stood side by side in three or four rows, and went through rather graceful movements with heads, arms, and legs. Most of the movements appeared to be conventionalised representations of hauling ropes and other nautical actions. After a series of evolutions had been performed the front rank retired behind, and the second rank took its place. All was gone through again, and so on in succession until the last rank had danced in the front row.

One evening soon after our arrival there was a “play” in a village close by. It now seems to be the fashion for the people on one side of the island to learn new songs from Thursday Island or from the crews of fishing-boats. When they consider themselves proficient they go to other villages on the opposite side of the island and there sing them. Shortly afterwards a return visit is paid.

This custom of one side of the island challenging the other in friendly rivalry is apparently an old one, and seems to point to a dual division of the population such as we found later in the western tribe, and which is of fundamental, social importance among the Australians and many Papuan and Melanesian peoples. Dr. Rivers has gathered a good deal of information on this point, but he has not yet had time to work up his material. This particular performance was certainly trivial and mean; but surely the white man and not the native must be criticised for this. The visitors from Las and other villages were all dressed in their Sunday best, the girls stood in a clump in the middle and sang Japanese and other songs. Then a man blowing a whistle walked round and round and called out, “Twenty-five cents a ride,” or something to that effect. Next a number of men ranged themselves in pairs, like the spokes of a wheel radiating from a hub of girls. The latter sang, and the men walked round and round the girls, gradually going faster and faster. This was in imitation of a merry-go-round which had paid a couple of visits to Thursday Island. So popular was this merry-go-round that I was informed the owners made a profit of £1,600 for three months’ work!

To a sing-song tune of “la, la, la—la, la, la,” sundry very solemn couples of girls separated themselves from the throng and danced a polka—of a sort—slowly and carefully. One or two pairs of men danced more vigorously. I saw only two couples of opposite sex dancing together, and though these good people are considerably emancipated from the past and were actually copying a white-man’s dance, still their feeling of delicacy was too strong to permit them to indulge in promiscuous dancing.

One funny man, dressed in a long figured-calico dressing-gown, danced by himself; his antics were greatly appreciated. Some of the girls had covered their faces with white, and had painted a dab of red pigment on each cheek, perhaps in imitation of the Japanese women of the settlement in Thursday Island, which goes by the name of “Yokohama.”

A few days after our arrival we gave an evening entertainment in the schoolhouse, at which there was a large attendance. I opened the proceedings with an address in jargon English, and referred to my last visit and told them what we wanted to do this time. Ray next gave a couple of tunes on the phonograph, Myers was to have performed on his violin, but unfortunately the violin had suffered from damp, had become unglued and had fallen to pieces. I showed a number of lantern slides of local interest by means of a lantern Wilkin had brought out at my request. I commenced with a copy of the plate in Juke’s Voyage of the “Fly”, which illustrated Captain Blackwood’s reception at Murray Island in 1845. In this interesting picture the ship’s boats are surrounded by a noisy, gesticulating crowd of naked savages. The second slide I showed was the present of fruit which they themselves had given me four days previously, and which Wilkin had photographed and made into a lantern-slide. After showing photographs I took ten years previously of a congregation in the building in which we were then assembled, I showed a photograph of a wedding that had taken place in the same room two days previously. Several other slides were shown made from the photographs I had taken on my last visit; these were received with great excitement, and the audience quickly recognised the various views and people, many of the latter were actually present, a few were dead. When a group of children taken ten years before was thrown on the screen I asked if any of them were present, and a lad and a lass came before the screen and stood beside their portraits. Then followed a phonographic interlude, and I gave a second lantern show, mostly of slides of native decorative art and native drawings of animals. Wilkin, who kindly acted as “operator,” then showed a number of his comic slides which were much appreciated, finishing off with the children’s perennial favourite of rats running down a snoring man’s throat. I made a point of procuring this slide before I left England, and my anticipations of its popularity were not unfounded, it simply brought down the house, and “Man he sleep, he kaikai mokeis,” was always vociferously welcomed. A couple of phonograph records concluded the performance.

Our friends were greatly pleased, and all behaved remarkably well. Of course I expected them to behave properly, but I did not think they would have so much control over their excitable feelings, and I suspected they might be carried away in the exuberance of their joy. Continually the more uproarious were called to order by various members of the audience.

Every now and again we ran one thing hard on Murray Island; for example, for a week or so some of us studied “cat’s cradle” games. McDougall soon became fascinated by these, and Myers eventually succumbed. But kamut, as the natives call their string puzzles, is a very different matter from the uninteresting and simple performance to which we were accustomed as children.

Two distinct kinds of operations may be performed with string, namely, tricks and puzzles. The former usually are movements which appear to form knots or ties, but which really run out freely. The puzzles are complicated figures which are supposed to bear some resemblance to natural objects. Our “cat’s cradle” belongs to the latter category, but we have also numerous string tricks.

Some of the string tricks are the same as those practised at home. One was intended to represent some food held in the hand which was offered to the spectator, but when the latter attempted to take it, saying, “You got some food for me?” the food disappeared as the player replied, “No got.” A similar, apparently knotted puzzle terminated in two loops, which represented a mouse’s ears, but on attempting to catch it the whole ran out.

Some of the string puzzles represented divers objects, as a bird’s nest, coconut palm, the setting sun, a fish spear, a crab, a canoe, and many others. Quite a number were moving puzzles—working models, in fact; such were, for example, a sea-snake swimming, a man dancing, and so forth. Some of these were indelicate. The most interesting was a fight between a Dauar man and a Murray Islander. In this kamut, by working the strings, two loose knots collided in the centre and became mixed up, but eventually one knot returns with a loop on it, which is the successful Murray Islander returning with the head of his adversary!

Little songs are sung to many string puzzles as they are being played, which may be the relics of some magical formulæ. Several kamut puzzles illustrate legendary beings such as Geigi, the boy king-fish, or his mother Nageg, the trigger-fish. One represents the taboo grounds of Gazir and Kiam, where some of the Malu ceremonies were held.

We learnt a good many of these kamut, but they were very difficult to remember, owing to the extreme complication of the processes in making the figures, and we had to practise them constantly. Eventually we invented a system of nomenclature, by means of which we found it possible to write down all the stages of manipulation; and we found as a rule the more complex the figure the easier it was to describe. By rigorous adherence to our system it will be possible for others to reproduce the Murray Island figures and to record others from elsewhere. Generally Rivers and Ray first learnt a particular puzzle, and gradually worked out the description by slowly performing the movements and dictating the processes to me, but I did not watch what they were doing.

Then one of them read out the description while I endeavoured to reproduce the puzzle from the verbal description alone. We were never satisfied until it can be so done without any possibility of mistake. We had many fights over the descriptions, and always felt very proud of ourselves when one account was satisfactorily finished. But I can very well imagine that had we been observed some people would have thought we were demented, or, at least, were wasting our time.

One afternoon some of us went to a kaikai, or feast. The word kaikai means food, a meal, a feast, or to eat. It is in use all over the South Seas, and is derived from the Polynesian kai (food). The Miriam (i.e. the Murray Island) name for a feast is wetpur. This was a funeral feast for the son of “Captain Cook,” of Erub; the boy had died about a year previously.

The proceedings opened with a kolap, or top-spinning match. Top-spinning was a great institution in Murray Island during the time of our stay there. On one occasion there were thirty tops spinning at the same time. The men sang songs, and there was great cheering-on of slackening tops, and shouting and jeering when one stopped. At the critical time, as a top was dying, great care was taken to shelter it from the wind so as to prolong its “life” a few seconds longer. At one match we timed the four best tops, and found they span for 27½, 26¾, 25¼, and 24 minutes respectively.

The tops are made of a fine-grained volcanic ash, and have the shape of a split-pea, with a diameter of from about 4 to 7½ inches. There is a long palm-wood stem. The flat upper surface of the top is almost invariably painted in coloured rings or with various devices, red, white, yellow, and blue being the usual colours. Objects or incidents of everyday life are often drawn, but not infrequently their legends are depicted.

The top is spun by repeated slow, steady, sliding movements of the outstretched palms. Formerly the tops were spun on pieces of shell, now pieces of broken crockery, or the under surface of a cup or saucer are usually employed. The tops are kept in specially made round baskets, in which a nest of calico is often placed as a further protection to the top. It is very amusing to see grown men gingerly carrying with both hands a top ensconced in its basket, with at least as much care and seriousness as a young wife carries her firstborn. We have seen men of all ages engaged in these matches, the grizzled taking as much interest in the performance of their tops as the young men. Usually one section or side of the island is pitted against another.

There is a decided tendency for the enthusiasm of the natives to carry their amusements beyond bounds. One time it will be Tamar, and the good people will so impoverish their gardens by vying with one another in heaping up food that scarcity often results. During our stay top-spinning became almost a debauch, and the men played kolap so assiduously every weekday that they had no time to attend to their gardens, and on Saturdays they did not bring in enough food to last till the Monday. The Puritan Sabbath is in full force, and none would dream of breaking it by getting food on Sunday, consequently numbers of children came to school on Monday morning without having had any breakfast. This made them peevish and inattentive, so Mr. Bruce had to complain to the Mamoose, and an edict was issued prohibiting the kolap matches on Saturday, and the men were told to go to their gardens on that day as heretofore.

PLATE III

ULAI

A TOP-SPINNING MATCH

PLATE IV

REMOVING SAND FROM A COPPER MAORI

A MURRAY ISLAND FEAST

After this particular match two “copper Maoris” were opened. A “copper Maori,” or earth-oven, is a large shallow hole in the ground, in which stones are placed and a fire lighted—this makes the stones red hot. “Native food” of various kinds—yams, sweet potatoes, taro, etc.—is wrapped in banana leaves and placed on the hot stones. Small pigs are put in whole. The food is then covered over with leaves, and sometimes mats and earth are heaped over all. In an hour or two the food is cooked to perfection. It is the best method of cooking food, as the juices and flavours are retained.

The name “copper Maori,” or kŏpa Mauri, as it is here pronounced, is now common all over the Pacific, though this method of cooking has everywhere in the West Pacific its local name, and therefore is an indigenous and not introduced custom. In Torres Straits the earth-oven is called ame or amai, but the introduced word alone is used when speaking to foreigners. The word kopa is the Maori name for the ordinary earth-oven, or more correctly for the hole in the ground. The similarity of sound between kopa and “copper” has led to the current belief that as the whalers in New Zealand used large coppers for boiling down the blubber, the native method of cooking came to be called “copper Maori,” that is, the Maori copper.

By this time a mat was spread apart from the others, to which we were invited along with the two Mamooses, Ari and Pasi. We had pork, yams, pumpkins and bananas, and green coconuts to drink. Most of the men sat on each side of a long row of mats, the food being placed down the middle. They ate from the packets with their fingers, and munched chunks of roast pork with evident gusto. They gave us plates and knives and forks, but I preferred a banana leaf, native fashion, to a plate. The women and children had their food apart in various family groups.

After all was over the women placed their baskets in two rows, and the hosts filled each with an equal amount of raw native food. The party then broke up.

CHAPTER IV
THE MALU CEREMONIES

In various parts of the world there are very important ceremonies in which the lads are formally received into the community of men. Before undergoing these initiation ceremonies they have no social position, but subsequently they are recognised as men, and are at liberty to marry. There may be numerous grades of rank through which it may take many years to pass, but the first series of ceremonies are all-important.

Initiation ceremonies are observed all over Australia and throughout the greater part of Melanesia, as well as in portions of the Indonesian Archipelago, not to mention other regions of the earth. It would take too long if I were to attempt even the briefest description and analysis of the various customs connected with these important rites in this quarter of the globe; but the following features are fairly widely spread.

When the lads show by the sprouting hair on their face that they are attaining manhood, their male relations agree that they shall be initiated. This ceremony may take place annually or at intervals of two or three years.

The lads are secluded in a tabooed spot in the bush, access to which is strictly prohibited to any non-initiated person. Sacred emblems are frequently shown to the lads; these are often masked men who symbolise some legendary or mystical person or event. Usually a flat, thin piece of wood shaped like a willow leaf is shown to them, this is the so-called bull-roarer. It is fastened to one end of a piece of string, the other being lashed on to a stick. The apparatus is whirled round and round above the head of the operator, and according to its size and shape it makes a buzzing or a humming noise; the movement may be varied by violently lashing it backwards and forwards, when it gives rise to a siren-like shriek. The weird and mysterious sounds issuing from the bush terrify the women and children, who regard them as the voices of spirits. The secret is soon learnt by the young initiate, who is given a bull-roarer and warned never to show it to a woman or child on penalty of death.

Whatever may be done, or shown, or told to the lads is to be kept secret by them, and by way of emphasising this they are usually frightened in various ways or subjected to severe treatment.

Certain restrictions, or taboos, are generally placed on the lads for a variable time, and during the probationary period they are instructed in the moral code, social customs, and sacred legends of the community, and, in fact, all that it behoves a “man” to know.

Every tribe is composed of several divisions or clans, and it is the rule in Australia and in some parts of Melanesia for each clan to be intimately associated with at least one class of animals, plants, or natural objects. This animal, or whatever it may be, is spoken of as the totem of the clan or individual, and it should be borne in mind that the totem is a species of animal, or plant, not an individual one. Thus all cassowaries, and not any one particular bird, are the totem of the whole cassowary clan, or of each member of that clan. It is the business of the clan relatives of the boy to see that he is duly instructed in the duties and prohibitions that his particular totem imposes on him.

In communities at this stage of culture there are certain definite restrictions as to marriage and intercourse with women. It is now nearly universally the rule that a man may have nothing to do with a woman who belongs to the same totem as himself. In some cases the group from which he may choose his wife is yet more restricted. Any infringement of this rule is a most heinous offence, for the perpetration of which the death penalty may be inflicted on one or both offenders.

Although a tribe may be subdivided into quite a number of clans, these usually fall into two groups. For example, the clan groups of “Eaglehawk” and “Crow” are very widely spread throughout Australia. Members of any particular clan of one tribe have friendly relations with the members of a corresponding clan in another tribe; these two clans may or may not have the same totem, but in either case they are recognised as affiliated.

In the foregoing account I have very briefly sketched some of the main features of a totemistic society. It is probable that in its more primitive stage all the members of a community had an approximately equal position according to their grade and irrespective of their particular clan or totem. We find, however, in the present day that there are various interesting stages of the disintegration of this old social system; especially is this the case in Melanesia.

Speaking in general terms, what happens is as follows. One clan or group becomes more influential than the others and arrogates privileges to its members, who thus constitute a powerful secret society. Although at first membership was restricted to those who were born into the clan, eventually it seems as if anyone who could afford to pay the charges might be admitted.

Other secret societies or clubs would be formed by ambitious men, which might in turn acquire more or less power, or, on the other hand, might prove of no account. Gradually the system breaks down—as Dr. Codrington has shown us was the case in Melanesia—and in Florida, for example, the old men sat and wept over the profanation of the ancient mysteries and the loss of their own power and privilege.

In our travels we came across peoples in various stages of culture, as will be narrated in due course. In Murray Island true totemism does not exist now, whatever may have been the case in the past; but there is an important secret society or brotherhood, the power of which was broken by the missionaries.

For a long time I had been trying to get the natives of the village of Las, on the eastern side of the island, to give us a demonstration of the ancient initiation ceremonies connected with the Malu cult. All was supposed to be ready on Thursday afternoon, July 28th, so we walked over, but found no preparations made. We were greatly disappointed, and I spoke rather strongly to some of the influential men, but I did not feel at all hopeful as to the result.

After a meal in Gododo’s house, we spent the evening yarning and recording some songs on the phonograph.

Next day, after an early breakfast, I walked to Ulag to inquire after a star-shaped stone club that was used in the old Malu ceremonies; this I borrowed, and also arranged for a similar club and the sacred drum to be brought. Of all the paraphernalia appertaining to this cult only these three implements remain.

In the afternoon matters began to look more lively, and it was soon evident that something was about to happen.

We were taken to the taboo ground at Gazir, and shortly afterwards the men assembled and went through a representation of the first ceremony, at which the sacred masks were shown to the lads (kersi) who were to be initiated. Now no masks remain, and we had to be content with an exceedingly poor counterfeit of what must have been a very awe-inspiring ceremony. There were just sufficient echoes of it, as it were, to enable us to catch something of the old solemnity. The meaning of the reiterated couplet that was sung on this occasion is to the effect that Malu had bad teeth! Could anything be more trivial? It quite pained me when I heard the translation of the chant.

When this was over we hastened down to the sand beach at Las, and shortly afterwards the second ceremony was performed, very much as I had seen it ten years before. There were many discordant elements in the performance, but these it is now impossible to eliminate.

What threatened to be a fiasco turned out to be quite a success, and several points that were obscure to me before were cleared up. Myers helped me a great deal, and as he has noted down quite a number of the Malu songs and tunes, we can now restore the ceremonies at Gazir, Las, and Dam with a very fair degree of accuracy.

After this exhibition we spent many days in going over the details of the ceremonies and songs. Information of this kind which appears so simple when written is surprisingly difficult and tedious to collect. It is by no means easy to get the natives to understand precisely what one requires. There is also little doubt that they do not care to speak freely about the sacred rites they revered in the past. I allude, of course, to the old men, for even the middle-aged know very little of their ancient customs, and the young men nothing at all.

The habit of secrecy was too ingrained to be readily relinquished. In nearly every inquiry of this sort we found there were certain zogo mer, or “sacred words,” which it was always very difficult to obtain. Sometimes these are magical phrases, as in the charm for making rain, or a formula that was known to but a very few men, like that employed at Tomog Zogo. Naturally the zogo mer of the Malu ceremonies were not to be repeated lightly.

There were some sacred words which they disliked mentioning: for example, the culture hero in the “Myth of Origin” of these ceremonies is always spoken of as Malu, and this name is known to women and children—it is, in fact, what they call an au ne, i.e. a “big” or “general” name; but his real name is Bomai—this is the zogo ne (sacred name) or gumik ne (secret name), which only initiates may learn, and is one of those “unspeakable words which it is not lawful for a man to utter.”

On the occasion of my previous visit to Murray Island I quite failed to get models made of the Malu masks, and it was not till the close of the present visit that I could persuade anyone to make us some; but by this time we had worked up a temporary recrudescence of interest in these and other ceremonies, and eventually our good friends Wano and Enocha agreed to make the models for me, but on the understanding that I should give each of them ten shillings, which they particularly requested should be paid in gold, as they wanted to put it in the plate at the annual missionary meeting. I provided them with the requisite cardboard, as it was out of the question to get the masks constructed of turtle-shell (“tortoise-shell”) like the originals. Nearly every day one or other came to tell me how well they were getting on, and how pleased I should be with the result; they were evidently hugely delighted with themselves.

One evening, on their way to the weekly prayer-meeting, they brought the masks very carefully hidden, and by this time I was almost as excited as they were. Both models were slightly different from what I expected, but there is no doubt they are as accurate representations of the old masks as it is now possible to obtain. The face-mask is of open work, painted red, and stuck on it are scattered white feathers. The raised nose is made of beeswax; the eyes are two red seeds; a ring of wax represents the lips. Cardboard models represent the beard of human lower jawbones. Above are feathers of the Torres Straits pigeon and croton leaves. Behind is a model of a turtle.

Next morning I incautiously showed these masks to a woman who happened to be about the place. Later in the day Enocha came to me in a great hurry and besought me not to let any woman see them, and, of course, I respected his wish. This was an interesting proof of the sanctity in which the original was held. The ceremonies had not been held for a quarter of a century, the people are all Christian, and yet even now a woman may not see cardboard models of the tabooed masks!

We had many male visitors to see the masks, and it was quite pathetic to see the expressions of pleasure tempered with sadness manifested by the old men. They shook their heads and clicked, and even the tears started to their eyes. Ichabod!

I seized the opportunity of the possession of these models to induce some of my friends to give us another performance of that part of the Malu ceremony in which masks were worn. Two days before we left the island we went to Kiam, the other taboo ground where the ceremony was held. One year it was held at Gazir, and the following at Kiam, on the opposite side of the island. Gadodo, Kilerup, and another man dressed up, and I had the satisfaction of being able to take a cinematograph picture of the processional dance. The grotesque masks worn by ruddled men, girt with leafy kilts, had a strange effect as they emerged from the jungle, and very weird was the dance in the mottled shade of the tropical foliage, a fantasy in red and green, lit up by spots of sunshine.

Fig. 4. Model of the Bomai Mask of the Malu Ceremonies

In order to give the reader a substantially accurate idea of the Malu ceremonies, I do not propose to describe exactly only what we saw, but I shall endeavour, as briefly as possible, to resuscitate the past. Full details will be published elsewhere. The kersi, painted and decorated in a peculiar manner, were marshalled on the taboo ground by some elders; beyond was the round house, in which the emblems were kept. Between the hut and the boys was an avenue of men with long staves, who performed rhythmic movements, which bore some resemblance to those made in energetically punting a boat. Near the kersi sat the drum-beaters, and round about in their allotted places, according to their clans, were former initiates. The kersi sat tailorwise in a semicircle, with hands resting on their legs, feeling very frightened. Suddenly the fearsome procession appeared at the other end of the avenue of men, and the three Zogole slowly marched with peculiar movements. They alone wore leafy girdles (it should be remembered that at that time the Torres Straits men invariably went nude except the performers of certain ceremonies). The head of the first zogole was covered with a ruddled turtle-shell mask, representing a human face, which had a beard of human jawbones; above the face were leaves and feathers, and hanging from it behind was a painted carapace of a turtle, the latter was supported by a long string by the second zogole. The third zogole bore a turtle-shell mask representing a hammer-headed shark, on which was a human face; it was provided with human arms and hands, and decorated with leaves, feathers, and turtle-shell figures of birds, frogs, and centipedes. When the zogole came to the semicircle of kersi they turned round and kicked out behind. They retired and advanced again, and then once more. The sacred words were uttered and the chant sung. The kersi were told the hidden name, and they had to make a present of food to the zogole.

This was certainly the essential initiation ceremony; it was followed by another, which had not the same sacred character, as women and children were allowed to be present. The latter was, in fact, a public recognition service, an acknowledgment that the kersi had been duly initiated, and that henceforth, after the completion of all the ceremonies, they were to rank as members of the fraternity.

The second ceremony took place in the afternoon or early evening on the sand beach between the village of Las and the sea. The spectators sat in a confused crowd along the village fence, the newly initiated lads occupying a prominent position.

PLATE V

THE DANCE OF THE MALU ZOGOLE

PLATE VI

THE MALU CEREMONY AT LAS

ULAI SINGING MALU SONGS INTO A PHONOGRAPH, GASU IS BEATING THE MALU DRUM

The drum-men appearing from behind a point at the southern end of the beach, ran forward and beat their drums with the characteristic staccato rhythm, and as the chant slowly augmented in sound, all the other voices were hushed, and the audience sat motionless in hushed expectancy.

Two or three pairs of omai le rushed forward, with bent body and trailing arms; with their hands they jerked up sand behind them as they ran, ever and again stopping and playing about and jumping over each other after the manner of the dogs they personated.

These were followed by several pairs of daumer-le, who, in the intervals of running forward, jumped about in a crouching attitude, and beat their chests with the palms of their hands, thereby imitating the perching and the flapping of the wings of the Torres Straits pigeon (daumer).

They were succeeded by a group of girigirile. The bird that they personified is a native of New Guinea, but what it is I was unable to discover.

With a whirl and a rush a revolving group of men next swept along the sand beach, the inner circle of young men brandished stone clubs, while the outer circle of old men carried sticks.

These operations were watched by the three zogole, who slowly and sedately marched along till they arrived opposite the spectators, and they then stood still. The reddened bodies of the zogole were entirely covered with white feathers, and their heads were similarly obscured; each carried five wands in his right hand. Although they were visible to the women, the personality of the zogole was supposed to be unknown to them, and should any woman divulge the name of one of the zogole, “she die that night.”

The old women heaped up food in front of the zogole, and the ceremony concluded, as usual, with a big feast.

After initiation the lads underwent a long course of instruction, and had to submit to certain taboos. They were told to make a large garden and build a big house and a fence. They were also instructed in certain agricultural details; for example, one variety of yam, the ketai, should be planted beside a big tree and allowed to remain there for four or five years, and clusters of green bananas were to be tied up to form what is known as sopsop. They were cautioned not to spend all their time in fishing, and not to steal bananas and yams from other people’s gardens, nor to filch anything from another man; neither were they to play any more, nor to talk too much. During the whole of that dry season they were not to cut or dress their hair, to dance or feast or smoke or behave unseemly in any way. If they divulged what happened at the mysteries to any woman or child or to a man who did not belong to the favoured clans, they were threatened with the penalty of death, and it would have been inflicted too.

One must admit that a course of instruction in the work that men have to do, in addition to information as to rules of conduct, the customs of the tribe and the traditions of the elders was a training of some importance, and I believe lasted for some eight months. Especially as it occurred at an impressionable age of life, when new ideas and sensations are surging up, and when the fuller life of adult manhood is looming in the immediate future. The emotions of the lads were quickened by the remarkable ceremonies in which they had recently participated, and their minds were kept more or less on the stretch by the knowledge of others yet to follow.

Part of the Main ceremonies consisted in thoroughly frightening the kersi with “Devil belong Malu.” This was accomplished by men disguised by being completely covered with coconut and banana leaves, who rushed about making noises by hitting or rubbing together two rough clam shells. The lads were beaten with clubs; sometimes they were merely bruised, but some old men still bear the scars of wounds they received at this time. Naturally the fright the boys then received left a lasting impression on them. They were informed that if they divulged any of the Malu secrets magur would kill them. Every man who offended against Malu would also be punished. The kersi were also told “no keep word close to heart, he go speak quick; but in big toe, then you keep him long, when grey hair, no speak.” In other words they had to bury the secrets deep so that they would not be revealed, even should the lads grow to be old men, but otherwise the secrets might escape. The kersi were informed later that the magur were not spirits, but only men dressed up. Women and un-initiates had a great dread of magur, and the women and children, at all events, believed them to be spirits. They only knew of them by this name; but the zogo ne, known only to the initiates, was Ib.

It is pretty evident that magur was essentially the disciplinary executive of the Malu cult. All breaches of discipline, acts of sacrilege, and the like were punished by magur. Magur was also the means of terrorising the women and thereby keeping up the fear and mystery of the Malu ceremonies. There is no doubt that this great power was often abused to pay off personal grudges or for the aggrandisement or indulgence of the Malu officials. A somewhat similar institution occurs in the Papuan Gulf and Mekeo districts of British New Guinea. The rukruk of North Bougainville, in the Solomon Islands, and the dukduk of the Gazelle Peninsula, in New Britain, are apparently also of the same nature.

The life of the Torres Straits Islanders was at all times hedged in with observances, for the powers of the unseen world are very real to savages, and most of the ordinary events in Nature have to be supplemented by magical processes. Indeed, the magic connected with planting is as essential as is the agricultural process itself, and without certain specific magical rites it would be foolish to expect abundant crops of fruit or success in fishing. In the course of this narration I incidentally allude to many of these customs, but it would be tedious to enumerate all those concerning which we have gathered some information, and we recognise that quite a number must have escaped our ken altogether.

But of all the ceremonies of the eastern tribe, that of the great and sacred Malu Mystery was certainly the most famous, for, as far as we could learn, there was nothing to approach it in Erub. The fame of it had spread to the western tribe, but doubtless the initiation ceremonies of the different islands had a similar overwhelming sanctity for their initiates.

It is difficult for us to realise the awe and reverence that was felt by these people for these sacred ceremonies, and it must be admitted that this intense feeling, combined as it was with reticence and discipline, had a strong educative effect on the people. For this reason, if for no other, these ceremonies are worthy of a very careful study. Whatever tends to take a man out of himself and to weld him into a solidarity, limited though that may be, is an upward step in the slow and laborious evolution of man, and deserves our sympathetic respect.

The paraphernalia of nearly every ceremony of all peoples are generally foolish, and often grotesque, to the outsider; but they awaken deep religious sentiment in the true believer, who, when duly instructed, beholds in them a symbolism that visualises the sacred legends and aspirations of his community. There cannot be the least doubt that these sentiments exist among so-called savages, and those who scoff at their ceremonies thereby condemn themselves.

CHAPTER V
ZOGOS

We all like to know what has happened recently, or what will probably take place in the immediate future, and so we read the daily paper to learn the news. Savages, after all, are not very different in many ways from ourselves, and they, too, want to know what is going on. Although our Murray Island friends had no written language, and consequently could have no newspapers, they managed to invent a system for finding out about things which appeared to answer their purpose admirably—at all events they were very proud of it. The cynical might hazard a suggestion that the news imparted by the Murray Island oracle was not appreciably more fallible than that which appears in many of our newspapers.

I discovered the old Murray Island oracle ten years ago, and being anxious to renew my acquaintance with Tomog Zogo, as it is called, we went to have a look at it; but we found it dreadfully overgrown with vegetation. I grubbed about for some time, but gave it up as hopeless till we had some help; so we went on to visit some other relics of the past. As we were going through the bush to see a garden zogo stone that had “come by itself” from Erub, thirty miles off, we came across a party of men who had been collecting wood to burn the lime for the new church. They were having a “spell” and eating in groups; then some of them began to dance the Rotumah dance that they so often practised, and which they intended to perform on the occasion of opening of the new church at Erub. It was pleasingly unexpected to come suddenly upon a convivial group of twenty to thirty men. We chatted, joked, and passed on.

Next morning I sent the sergeant, Jimmy Dei, and some policemen to cut away the bamboos and undergrowth that obstructed Tomog Zogo, and Ray and I spent a long afternoon in mapping it. We placed two long bamboos east and west along each side of the large group of stones that constitute the zogo. Then we tied taut strings across from the one to the other bamboo at intervals of two feet. Next we marked on a sheet of squared paper the positions of the bamboos and strings, each square of the paper representing six square inches on the ground; there were thus four squares between each two lines of string on the paper. Ray measured the distance of every stone from the nearest bamboo and string, and thus I was able to put down each stone on paper with a very fair degree of accuracy.

The following afternoon we all went to the zogo; Bruce came too. Strangely enough he had not previously seen or heard of this zogo. We had with us the Mamoose, Enocha, Jimmy Dei, Ulai, and Kaige, all of whom belonged to the zogo. We learnt the names of the stones, and then at our request the zogo men placed themselves in the right position and attitude for consulting the zogo, and then they were photographed. It was very suggestive to see the reverent affection the old men had for the zogo, and they seemed gratified at the care with which it had been cleaned and mapped.

This famous zogo consists of a collection of stones, on each of which was formerly placed a large shell, usually a great Fusus or a helmet-shell; each stone, with its shell, represented a village or a district of the island. A little way off was a single stone and shell that stood for the whole island. Divination was accomplished by the voices and movements of birds, lizards, insects, or the appearance of natural objects. Anything that happened to the separate stone and shell concerned all the inhabitants of the island; but anything that happened to one of the grouped stones and shells related only to the man or men who live in the house or district represented by that particular stone and shell. There was thus a means for both analysis and synthesis.

At the eastern end of the group of stones were a large number of giant-clam shells; many were concentrically arranged, and formerly there were more of them, the smaller within the larger, so that the whole must have looked like a huge white rosette, and safely ensconced in the centre was a small star-shaped stone, the zogo itself; the concentric clam shells formed the “house of the zogo”. In other words, the small stone was the oracle, the clam shells were its shrine. Tomog Zogo acted as The Police News, The Hue and Cry, and a morning newspaper, with a little prophesying thrown in.

PLATE VII

THE SHRINE OF ZABARKER

TOMOG ZOGO

A very limited number of men belonged to this zogo, and they consulted it only at daybreak, “small fellow daylight.” Those who came to inquire of the oracle would stand up in a particular spot and say, “Tomog Zogo, you know everything, tell us the truth.” After they had asked the definite question for which they required an answer, they sat down on some leaves, with their legs crossed under them, with their closed fists on their knees.

It is a fixed belief amongst most savage peoples that no one gets ill or even dies from natural causes, but that all these misfortunes are due to magic, and it is necessary to find out who perpetrated this evil. Supposing, for example, someone in the island was sick, the friends of the invalid would approach the men who belonged to Tomog Zogo, and would ask them to find out who had brought this misfortune on their friend. Next morning the zogo men would start before sunrise, and would ask the zogo, “Who made So-and-so sick? where does he live?”

Then the inquirers would sit down in a row and wait. By-and-by a lizard might come out of one of the shells; this would indicate the house where the man lived, and later, by means of careful inquiries in the village, they would try to discover who he was. When they had satisfied themselves, they would tell him to take his sorcery stone and to put it in the sea. As the stone was cooled by the water, so the patient would recover from his illness. Whether the man had made sorcery or not, he would always own to it and do as he was told, partly to save trouble and partly because he was pleased to have the reputation of being able to perform this kind of magic.

The Tomog Zogo was also consulted if a man was very ill, in order to find out whether he would recover. If a dead lizard was seen, he would be expected to die, and it is pretty certain he would do so.

It was the custom to attend the zogo every morning to discover if anything was going to happen. If a spider’s web was seen hanging on the bushes, it would foretell the appearance of a white man’s ship coming from the direction in which the web was hanging.

The appearance of a certain wild fowl would foretell the approach of a canoe from that particular quarter whence the fowl emerged from the bush, and its behaviour would indicate how soon the canoe might be expected.

If a red spot was seen on a leaf it would mean a fight, and its position would show whence the danger would come.

When an evil-smelling fungus sprung up within the area of stones there would be a famine, or a scarcity of yams.

Should a stream of ants come from the bush to the northward of the zogo, the diviners would expect a visit from the natives of the mainland of New Guinea, and if the ants carried their cocoons (the so-called “ants’ eggs”) in their mouths, it would mean that the men would bring some sago with them.

If there was no “news,” nothing would happen.

Supposing the zogo was consulted for a definite purpose and no answer was vouchsafed. The men would sit watching patiently till the sun was high, then they would consult together, and probably would agree that the silence indicated a “big sick,” and that some sickness or epidemic was in store for the island.

As an illustration of the power of Tomog Zogo I was told the following story:—

The first missionaries to this island were Mataika and his wife; they had been brought from Lifu, in the Loyalty Islands, to Erub in 1872. Towards the end of that year, in a canoe of his own making, Mataika crossed from Darnley to convert the Murray Islanders. After Mataika had been there for some time, he wanted fresh stores, and so he went to the headquarters of the Mission, which were then at Somerset, Cape York.

Mataika was away such a long time that his wife became very anxious, and feared that he was dead. Being unable to bear the suspense any longer, she spoke to Obra, the father of Kaige the policeman, and said, “Very good; you go to your zogo, and ask him where Mataika he stop. I think him dead.” He said, “All right; to-morrow small daylight I go.”

On consulting Tomog Zogo at daybreak next morning, Obra could not see anything happen in the clearing in the direction of Somerset. After some time two kead birds came out from the bush which lay in the direction of Erub and looked at Obra, and immediately they disappeared.

Obra came back and said to the anxious wife, “Mataika, he leave Somerset long time ago; he go to Erub; close up he come.” Next morning Obra went up the hill Gelam, and espied a canoe coming from Erub. He told Mataika’s wife that her husband was on board, and sure enough he was, with one other man and three boys.

On his arrival Mataika was informed what had been done, and he told the natives to burn and break up all their other zogos, charms, and images. “They all devil-devil; but good thing you keep Tomog Zogo; he speak true. Ah! he all right; all same dream.”

I never heard whether this oracle was ever consulted again; at all events, Tomog Zogo has shared the fate of all the other zogos, and it is now broken and partially destroyed.

When one remembers how many civilised nations have believed in and consulted oracles, one need not be surprised if these people were reluctant to give up their old sacred places. The wonder is that they have so readily embraced the new faith and the new ideas.

The Mamoose promised to give us a private rehearsal of Tomog Zogo the next morning at daybreak. I was up in time, but he did not come. I had a little talk with him later in the day, and the following morning he arrived, and one or two of us went just before sunrise in the “old-time fashion.” We told the Mamoose we were anxious for the speedy arrival of the Mission vessel, the Nieue, and wanted to know when she was coming. We heard some birds twittering in the bushes, which Mamoose gravely assured us meant a boat was approaching. After sitting a long time on dew-bespangled dead leaves, we retired. The chief point of interest to me was the fact that the steady-going old chief, who had long been a deacon of the church, was still a believer in this famous zogo to which he and his ancestors belonged, and whilst he was sitting motionless in the old spot and intently gazing at the zogo and listening for the message from the birds, the church bell was ringing summoning the people to the early morning prayer-meeting.

Later in the day George Rotumah’s lugger came in and brought us a mail, so the birds had not twittered in vain.

On the opposite side of Murray Island from the Mission Station is the village of Las, perhaps the largest and most important village in the island in former times. As it was the main centre of the ancient Malu ceremonies, I thought it would be well for me to stay there for a day or two. So in the afternoon of Wednesday, May 18th, Rivers and I walked over along the new road, made by prison labour, that skirts the greater part of the island. Rivers went with me, as he wanted to see if it would be practicable to take some psychological apparatus over there to test those people who would not, or could not, come across to us.

We had a pleasant walk. The faithful Pasi accompanied us, as did Gadodo, Pasi’s cousin and our host. We found Gadodo had a large grass house of the now usual South Sea type—that is, oblong, with one doorway and no other opening. In the interior, along the end walls, were bamboo stagings, about three to four feet from the ground, which served as beds. All the houses of the eastern tribe of Torres Straits (i.e. Uga, Erub, and the Murray Islands) were formerly circular and quite small. There is only one beehive house remaining in Murray Island. After we had dumped our swag, or, as some people would say, after we had deposited our luggage in the house, we had the usual drink of coconut water, and squatted on a mat by Mrs. Gadodo’s side to have a chat. Then we had a walk along the sand beach. Our dinner consisted of a plate of boiled sweet potatoes, bananas, and pumpkin, all mixed up together, with a coconut for drink.

After the evening meal we sat on mats by the light of lamps in the village inclosure, and yarned and played “cat’s cradle.” Soon the bell sounded for prayers, and Enocha came with his service-book, and several others gathered together. Pasi started the hymn, read the lesson, and prayed, of course, all in Murray Island language.

Very soon after this the small boys arranged themselves round some branched posts which had been planted in the sand so as to inclose an oval space, and clamoured out for tamar. Tamar is a sort of market that was introduced here by Loyalty Islanders from Lifu and Mare, and which appears now to be firmly established, though its popularity waxes and wanes from time to time. I heard of it ten years before, but never witnessed it, so I was very pleased at the present opportunity.

A crowd soon collected, made up chiefly of children, and a fire was lit in the centre of the area. We sat apart, as this was our first appearance at a tamar. There was a great deal of noise and fun going on. The game is as follows. The players bring firewood (i.e. coconut-palm leaves and other fuel) and food; the “master” (of ceremonies) goes round the circle, standing in front of each player in turn. The latter holds up the object he has brought, saying, “Tamar,” and mentions what he holds up. The “master” asks, “Where did you get this?” And a reply is made which is supposed to be a true answer, but as a laugh often followed, I suspect some humbugging went on. This took some time. Then a prayer was made!—why, I don’t know; it seemed very comical in a game—and then “New man, new man!” was shouted out, and Pasi, Rivers, and I went into a circle near the fire, and a small mat was placed there too. Several brought us coconuts as a present, which were placed on the mat. Then the “master” pointed a glowing fire-stick at me, and said words to this effect: “You see this fire-stick; you go home and look after wife belong you. If you do not bring firewood and food next time, you will be thrown into the sea.” The tamar concluded after Rivers had been similarly introduced, and Rivers and I very shortly turned in, as we were very tired; but Pasi stayed up, as he wanted to hear the small boys practise their songs!

We were up early next morning, and got the local legend of the disreputable Iruam from Pasi and Gadodo. Soon after an early breakfast of wild sweet potatoes and green coconuts, and an attendance at morning prayers, I took my camera and notebook, and went along the beach to pick up some information of which I had previously gained clues.

Soon after starting I heard about an ancient fighting custom associated with Ziriam Zogo, at a place called Meket. There was a turtle-shell mask, which no woman was allowed to see, that was kept in a hole in the rock. I asked Pasi to sketch the mask for me in the sand; then I asked another man to do so. Of course I did not let either look at the other man’s representation until they had finished. As I found they differed, I made further inquiries, and found that an old man named Wano, who lived closed by, knew all about the ceremony; so he was fetched, and he drew a diagram on the sand. By dint of much questioning and pantomimic action, I found out something about the ceremony and the character of the mask. This consisted of a turtle-shell face, with pearl-shell eyes surmounted by a turtle-shell crescent about three feet across, decorated on each horn with a black-tipped feather of the white Torres Straits pigeon and two seed rattles. Attached to the chin of the mask was a rope about six feet long, to which a large number of human lower jawbones were tied. Before I left Murray Island Wano made a rough wooden model of the mask for me.

After a fight a number of men would come here with bows and arrows and clubs, especially with the former. The men formed a circle and danced with appropriate shooting gestures; two men painted red and wearing dance-petticoats danced in crouching attitudes in the centre, and all sang a weird song. One of the central dancers would wear the mask and would carry in his right hand a club, and in his left a bleeding, decapitated human head. The other man supported the rope of human jawbones.

At the back of my old friend Mamai’s house at Warwe was a shrine of stones and shells, on which were two stones called Zabarker. Zabarker was formerly a woman who came from New Guinea, and Mamai told me her short, but not very edifying story. She is now a somewhat pyramidal black stone resting on a saucer-shaped stone of granite, which represents her canoe. The upper stone is a piece of the local lava, but the granite occurs only in the western islands, some hundred and twenty miles or more away, or in the hill of Mabudauan, in New Guinea, also about the same distance from Murray Island. I now find there are quite a number of these foreign stones in the island, which evidently point to some forgotten migration from, or former intercourse with, the western islands.

A little further along the coast is the ancient and efficacious Wag Zogo, at the small cape called Tur Pit. In a sandy-bottomed recess in a block of lava on the foreshore lie an oval and a spherical granitic boulder, named respectively Neiu and Sager. Some four or five men used to take a number of plants called geribe and coconut leaves, which they pointed repeatedly at the stones, and “a big wind” would immediately come from the south-east. As long as the leaves remained there, so long would the wind continue. Here again we find foreign stones, which I was informed came from New Guinea. I asked if they could make a south-east wind during the north-west monsoon, but I was informed that the ceremony could only be done during the south-east season. In this, as in other cases, I found that the impossible was never attempted. A rain charm would not be made when there was no expectation of rain coming, or a south-east wind raised during the wrong season.

The sun beat fiercely on the sand beach, and the heat and glare, combined with the talking and excitement, tired us much, so we went back to Las and lay down for an hour or two in the cool, dark house. After another meal of boiled yams and a coconut drink, I went along the shore in the opposite direction and photographed an oblong stone on the beach, that was once a man named Iruam, who deservedly came to a bad end.

An old dancing-ground, Dam, associated with the Malu ceremonies, was next visited. It was situated to the north-east of Las in the bush, a few yards from the beach. This was overgrown by vegetation, so we set to work and cleared it. A quadrangular area of shells, mostly the large Fusus, amongst which were five stones, was laid bare. This had a general N.N.W. to S.S.E. direction. At right angles to this group of shells was a series of stones, arranged like a fish-hook, extending for a distance of about fourteen feet. About fifteen feet to the south-east was another stone, Zugared. Three of the stones were foreign; all the remainder were, I believe, local stones—two of them were blocks of coral.

When this particular ceremony was carried on, a taboo was put for some distance on each side of the sand beach to warn off all unauthorised persons. The four officiating men mixed the ashes of a scented root with oil in a couple of shells; two of them held the shells while the other two anointed the initiates between the first two toes and on the knee and shoulder of the right side. Four men next held a large Fusus shell in each hand, the first two stood side by side, the second two crouched behind them, and a number of pairs of men crouched behind these; this double row formed up between Zugared and the other stones. On the opposite side of the island stones the kersi clung in fright round the three zogole, who stood close together.

Finally all went and jumped in the sea; after swimming about for a short time the kersi were rubbed with coconut oil and painted in a particular manner and given a pigeon’s feather to wear. The boys were shown the stones and told their names, and were informed that they were placed there by Malu. There can be little doubt that these stones formed a kind of map, or chart, for the instruction of the youths, and to impress upon them the wanderings of Malu on his voyage to Murray Island. I could not help recalling a parallel instance to this that occurred during my former visit to Murray Island, when the white missionary was instructing, by means of a map, the young native teachers in the three journeys of St. Paul.

We next went up the hill to Gazir, where, in a thicket of bamboos, the first of the Malu ceremonies was held. These ceremonies have already been dealt with. There is no doubt that if reliable information is to be obtained on sacred customs, one must go to the very spot where the ceremony took place in order to gain it, for not only does a right comprehension often depend on a knowledge of local conditions, but the place itself, by the association of ideas, recalls incidents to the narrator’s memory.

On our way back we met Seligmann, who had come across to join us. We had the usual meal of boiled yams and coconuts. Prayers were followed by another tamar, which was a little better than that of the night before. Pasi and I joined the circle, and Seligmann was left outside. When the “master” came round to me I showed a piece of firewood, which I threw into the fire, then I said “Tamar ⸺” (the native name for the variety of cooked yam Pasi had given me; I have forgotten what it was). The “master” said, “Who gave it you?” and I said, “My wife in England cooked it for me,” at which there was a laugh. Then I held up a coconut Gadodo had given me, and lastly some tobacco, a piece of which I gave to the “master.” Thus I fulfilled the injunction laid upon me the previous night, and I was not ducked in the sea. When the round was finished a prayer was offered, and Seligmann was next admitted as Rivers and I previously had been. After this preliminary ceremony a sort of auction, or market, is supposed to take place; but these were very small tamars, and very little trading was done. Bruce tells me that at large tamars a great deal of buying and selling may occur, and good prices are often realised. As in some other matters, the natives overdo tamar, and rivalry in buying food results in the paralysing of ordinary routine daily work.

After tamar I persuaded Enocha and another man to sing to me. Both belonged to the zŭgareb, or “drum” clan, the members of which used formerly to beat the drum and sing the songs at the ceremonies; they were, in fact, the bards of the islands. One quite beautiful mournful couplet was a funeral dirge for a deceased Malu initiate.

Another Malu chant, which ran as follows—“O welwa, O lelelewar, O welwatamera, O gulabatamera, O wei—wei, wei—wei,” etc., sounded most pathetic, and led one to expect a suitable meaning; but the translation, so far as I could make out, is—“O feathers! O yams! O feathered stone-club! O dry banana leaf!”

We were then interrupted by a “play.” The people from our side of the island had come over to give a return performance, and with them had come Ontong, our cook. Two of the men had painted their faces a bright pale red, and one or two lads and lassies had only one side of the face so ruddled. They had but one song, the sole words of which were—

“Oh you must be a lover of the Lord,

Or you won’t go to heaven when you die.”

This was sung ad nauseam. Usually they sang it “You mussa be,” which sounded like “You mustn’t be.” To this song various tricks were performed, and the serious polka which I have already described was danced to a very simple tune. The tricks consisted of string puzzles, turning round under one’s arm, the hand of which was resting on a stick, and the following well-known riddle: “Add five to six and make nine.” Six strokes

were made in the sand, and the spokesman said the village would belong to him if no one could guess it. He then came up to me, and in a loud whisper said it was not meant for me, and besought me not to disclose the answer. Of course I did not dream of giving the show away. No one gave the answer, which, of course, was the addition of five strokes

to the others to make nine. I was not sure whether the hosts did not know the answer, or whether those who did were too polite to give it. There was also a sham boxing-match. I found afterwards the Las people did not think very much of the performance.

After refreshments most of the visitors returned to their homes, and we retired to bed.

I spent most of the next morning in photographing Dam and in completing my notes on the ceremony there performed. I also took a group of Gadodo and his friends, as well as some views of the village of Las. We rested in the middle of the day and got more information. Gadodo gave me some stone fire- and rain-charms. When I first went to Las I showed them some photos I had taken ten years before, and they were continually asking to see them again; I also showed one or two prints of zogos that I had recently photographed at Dauar; and the photos of my wife and children, which I always carry about with me, were, as usual, hailed with great enthusiasm.

DAUAR

It will be remembered that the neighbouring island of Dauar consists mainly of two hills. The geologist recognises in these parts of an ancient volcano, but the natives have a different opinion concerning their origin. Two women of Dauar, named Pepker and Ziaino, had a race in the making of mud-pies with the object of deciding who could make the largest heap. Ziaino was soon tired, and called out, “You no finish? I finish now.” And that is why Kebe Dauar is such a small hill. I will conclude the story in the words in which it was told to me. “Him (Pepker) he sing out, ‘I no finish now.’ Make him, make him, make him that hill. He finish, he sing out, ‘I finish now.’” Pepker is now a rude stone figure, nearly a foot in height, and at the present time, together with several other “Lot’s wife” stones, is in the collection at Cambridge.

PLATE VIII

THE ISLANDS OF WAIER AND DAUAR FROM THE BEACH OF MER, WITH A FISH SHRINE IN THE FOREGROUND

U ZOGO, THE COCONUT SHRINE OF DAUAR

We paid several visits to Dauar, but, not to be tedious, I will only describe one. We sailed across in the early morning with Pasi, Smoke and his wife, and one or two others. On landing we were met by Keriba, and after knocking down and eating a little wild fruit, which, by the way, was scarcely worth the effort, we sat in the welcome shade of some umbrageous trees close to the beach and listened to a couple of legends of local heroes told by Keriba. One related to an old man named Iriam Moris, whose appetite and capacity would be the envy of the most “aldermanic” of City fathers. On one occasion he ate four large shellfuls of small fish, an immense king-fish, which was really a metamorphosed lad named Geigi, and he finished off with the fish-trap, cooking-stones, firewood and ashes—in fact, all he could lay hands on; and in the terse jargon of that part of the world: “He kaikai (i.e. eat) so much, he can’t walk about; he lay like a stone. He say ‘I feel good now’”! Later Geigi’s mother killed Iriam Moris and resuscitated her son. During this narration we were sitting on a slightly convex rock that was all but covered with sand, but was none other than the “big belly” of Iriam Moris.

Fig. 5. Pepker, the Hill-maker

We walked through beautiful and luxuriant “scrub” and native gardens and visited a zogo in a garden in the saddle between the two hills. The whole of the low land of the island has been more or less cultivated, so there is no old jungle anywhere; but it is all the owners of the land can do to prevent the rampant vegetation from overrunning their gardens of yams and sweet potatoes or smothering the bananas. It requires a more facile pen than I can wield and a better knowledge of plants than I possess to adequately describe such scenes. As is usually the case in most of the uncultivated tropical districts I have seen, there were but few flowers, and these were of no special beauty; but this is partly made up for by the varied form and hue of the green foliage and by the bold contrasts of light and shade that result from vertical sunshine. The smooth broad leaves of the bananas above and of aroids below give the eye welcome “areas of repose” amid the multiplicity of detail and the unceasing struggle for mastery that almost oppresses one in tropical vegetation.

Fig. 6. Ziai Neur Zogo.

A Therapeutic Shrine.

The zogo, which was one object of our walk, was called Ziai Neur, that is, “the girl of the south-west,” but why this was her name I could not discover. The zogo consisted of two images, male and female, roughly carved out of vesicular lava. When a man has a “bad sick” they take the fluid of a green coconut and wet the image with it, and the patient gets well. After Wilkin had photographed them, I tried to purchase them from a man named Billy who had been working in a garden close by, and came to see what we were about. Billy refused to part with them. Pasi quietly told me that as this garden belonged to Billy’s wife and not to him, I should deal with the lady directly, and consequently Billy had nothing to do with it. The next day Pasi communicated with her, and the woman was willing to let me have the zogo; but the man was obdurate, and they had a quarrel over it. Eventually I had to forego the transaction, as it did not answer my purpose to have any unfriendly feeling springing up with regard to ourselves or our work.

Most of the shrines we visited on this and other occasions looked at first sight like confused masses of shells and stones. The preliminary business was to cut down overhanging branches, creepers, and the undergrowth generally, then to clear away the dead leaves and other rubbish. When this was done a certain amount of order became apparent. Occasionally a few stones required to be placed upright, or broken ones put together. The best view for the photograph had to be carefully chosen, and further clearing of the foliage was generally necessary; sometimes branches of trees a little way off had to be lopped if they cast distracting shadows. Usually little twigs, leaves, or tiny plants had to be removed from the ground or from between the stones and shells, so as not to unnecessarily complicate the picture.

As a rule it is worth while to find out the best time of day to photograph any particular object; usually, however, these shrines were so placed that the time of day made very little difference.

Very rarely did I turn a carved stone round so as to bring out its carving more effectively; occasionally I shifted shells a little, so as to make them show up better, but only when these originally had no definite position. Attention to small details such as these are necessary to produce intelligible photographs, but care must be exercised not to overdo it or in any way to modify the object or shrine.

When all was ready the photograph was taken generally by Wilkin; and we sat down, and a native told me the “storia” connected with it. This I wrote down as nearly as I could in his own words, or at all events with some phrases verbatim. It was most interesting to hear these yarns on the spot, told by natives who believed in them. In some cases we have brought away the chief stone so that it can be exhibited in the museum along with a photograph of it in situ. We could not always buy the stone, as sometimes the natives were not willing to part with it, and never did we take anything without permission or without full payment.

We crossed the island and came out in the bay named Sauriad, which is mentioned in the chief legend of these islands as being where Malu fled after he had been entrapped on the sand spit. At one spot, named Orme, there is the important U zogo, or coconut shrine. Only old men officiated here; they rubbed themselves with the fluid from a coconut, and this made the palms productive. The zogo now consists of a few large clam shells on some rocks. One large kaper tree had a great Fusus stuck into it, round which the bark had partially grown; under a smaller zom tree were two large blocks of stone, on which were one or two giant clam shells. I do not know if there was anything further. We visited two other zogos, but there was nothing of interest about them or anything worth photographing.

The most satisfactory translation of the word zogo is “holy” or “sacred”; or a holy or sacred spot such as an oracle or a shrine for magical rites; or a potent object or charm. As in all primitive religions, holiness is not an ethical idea; indeed, as Robertson Smith points out in his Religion of the Semites, “at the Canaanite shrines the name of ‘holy’ was specially appropriated to a class of degraded wretches devoted to the most shameful practices of a corrupt religion.” Zogo does not mean “tabooed” or “prohibited,” as the Miriam word for that idea is gelar.

When walking along a sand beach at the western end of the island we saw, close in shore, very dense shoals of small fish, locally called tup. At one spot two small sharks were preying on them, and wherever a shark swam there was a band of clear water, and the yellow sand could be seen beneath; elsewhere the water was solidly black with fish. It reminded me of a certain town and gown row in my undergraduate days, when the market-place was a dense mass of men, mainly undergraduates, but wherever the proctors moved there was always a clear space around them.

We photographed the tracks of a turtle where she had gone up the sand beach to lay her eggs, and had returned to the sea. We prodded the sand about the apex of the converging tracks in the orthodox fashion, with a pointed stick, but could not find the nest.

When we had worked our way round to the side of the island from which we had started we found that Mrs. Canoe had laid out some banana leaves on the sand in an inclosure round her house. On this native tablecloth she had placed four heaps of coconut chips and a central heap of warm roasted green bananas, and four green coconuts were prepared for us to drink from. We much enjoyed this al fresco repast.

WAIER

I knew from various legends and other information that the island of Waier was of some importance, so I arranged for a visit there, and as part of the island belonged to our friend Smoke I endeavoured to get him to act as cicerone. We sailed across to Dauar, where Smoke was working in his garden, and we waited some time in vain for him to come to us.

Eventually Smoke’s elder brother, Keriba, consented to accompany us, and as he is an old man and had officiated at the zogos we could not have done better. His first excuse was that already that morning he had been round Waier fishing and was tired, which was doubtless true.

We waded across the reef which joins Dauar and Waier, as it was then low tide, and went round the southern side of this extinct crater. As I have already mentioned, Waier is a remarkable island, consisting of a crescentic, greatly fissured wall of volcanic ash, with the upper edge pinnacled and battlemented like an old castle. In the hollow of the crescent is a narrow sand beach, behind which, close to the rocks, is a little vegetation.

As we went along Keriba pointed out the interesting places, and gave us names of the prominent rocks and objects. It was stimulating to see the old sacred places, many of which Wilkin and I photographed, and to hear what happened there. Keriba seemed a little nervous about touching or interfering with some of the zogos, but when he saw us tidying them, and removing overgrowing grass and weeds, he too gave a hand.

The first one we came to was Zab Zogo, which consists merely of a few giant clam shells within a recess in the cliff, and protected by a row of stones. This gives good fishing, but only for a small kind of fish, which is speared at night by the light of torches made of dry coconut leaves.

Close by is a longish oblong rock on the beach, which is called Geigi-baur, i.e. “Geigi’s fish-spear.” Geigi was a hero of Waier who lived with his mother Nageg, about whom there are legends. Later in the day I was shown a flat rock on the sand beach in the bay of Waier, which was the mother’s mat. Geigi ultimately became a “king-fish,” and his mother a “trigger-fish.” Seligmann had already collected a specimen of the lady, and the “king-fish” is well known. One of the string puzzles represents Geigi, and another Nageg.

Shortly after we had rounded the southern point of Waier, and were walking along the bay, we came to a black stone about fifteen inches in length lying broken in the grass, on a heap of stones and shells at the foot of the cliff. We stuck it upright and cleared away the weeds, in order to get a photograph of the gentleman, who is named Waipem, but who after all has no particular shape, though a little pit on each side of the head does duty for the eyes. Formerly the men who belonged to this zogo erected in front of the image three bamboos like a football goal, on the crossbar of which was hung various kinds of fruit, and “man think inside himself, ‘If we give you plenty fruit I think you give us plenty turtle.’” They would then go to the two points of the island and look out for the turtles, which would be sure to come. This little ceremony was only performed about January—that is, during the turtle season.

In a small cave a little further on were two slabs, which represented two women called Au kosker (“big women”). Their heads had fallen off; one had been much battered by the sea, but the other was in a better state of repair, and some white paint indicated the eyes, nose, and mouth. We replaced this head, but could not repair the other, which we placed by the side of the body. After a lot of trouble we focussed the camera and gave it an exposure of half an hour or so. When Wilkin developed it in the evening we found to our surprise that we had a fairly good negative.

So far as I could make out, all the Au kosker ever did was to come out in the night-time and dance in a circle on the sand beach, waving and crossing their arms. Waiad used to look at them and beat a drum; after that the two ladies retired to their cave.

I had previously heard about Waiad, and took this opportunity of finding out more about him. Whatever he was supposed to be in ancient times, Waiad was until recently represented by a turtle-shell human effigy about four feet in height that was kept in a cave high up in the Au kes, the large central fissure of Waier. At the time of the Waiad ceremony the fraternity assembled on the sand spit, which is also called Waier, and yarned about the lads (kersi) who were about to be initiated. Most of the men then walked round the southern side of the island to the tabooed ground. Three sacred men (zogole) took Waiad from his cave and placed him on a small column-like stone, which was pointed out to us. The stone is now overshadowed by vegetation, and there are still to be seen the great Fusus shells that radiated from it; but formerly the place was clear, and Waiad could be seen from afar. A zogole stood on each side of the image.

The lads who were to be initiated into this zogo were brought from the sand spit round by the north side of the island and hidden behind a great mass of rock that had fallen from the cliff. When the proper time came two men were sent by the zogole to fetch the kersi, who came kneeling and laden with presents of coconuts, bananas, and yams. Each kersi had in his mouth a large white shell painted red, which protruded from his lips. The boys had to traverse some eighty or ninety yards on their knees from their hiding-place to the shrine of Waiad. These Waiad ceremonies lasted for a fortnight, during which time there was more or less continuous singing and drum-beating.

CHAPTER VI
VARIOUS INCIDENTS IN MURRAY ISLAND

I have previously mentioned that I had engaged two Murray Island natives, Debe Wali and Jimmy Rice, to assist Ontong, our Javanese cook. At first I offered them a shilling a day as wages. This they refused after much consideration, but agreed that they would take a pound a month. Later on, when they had practical experience that one pound sterling a month was not so advantageous to them as six shillings a week, they repented of their bargain, but as it was not to our interest to be hard on them, we reverted to my original offer. Our supply of silver was running short, so after a time we had to pay in half-sovereigns; at first there was some difficulty in making them understand the equity of their having to return four shillings in silver in exchange for the gold coin.

One morning during my temporary absence from the island, Jimmy Rice came up on the verandah, followed by an islander named Gi, and said, “This man want to speak along you, fellow.” Gi said, “Me want sell porslin along you.” My colleagues, not having at that time an instinctive knowledge of pidjin English, and forgetting that f and sh are often transmuted into p and s, awaited with some interest Gi’s disclosure of the porcelain. Gi produced four shillings (por s’lin’) and said, “Me want to buy ten s’lin’.” A light gradually dawned on my colleagues as they recollected the Saturday night transactions with Jimmy Rice and Debe Wali.

The more obvious part of this arrangement had evidently been noised abroad, and Gi came prepared to test our readiness to give a half-sovereign in exchange for four shillings.

After introducing Gi, Jimmy Rice retired below the verandah, where he remained evidently appreciating the humour of the situation. He said afterwards, “I laugh along myself inside. I laugh, laugh, laugh. Gi he gammon.”

This was by no means the only occasion on which we were humbugged, but we did not mind, for were we not studying the psychology of the natives amongst other subjects, and it was most interesting to watch the various idiosyncrasies of our friends and acquaintances.

For example the grey-bearded Ari was somewhat slow and perhaps a little stupid, but he was thoroughly conscientious and always tried to do the right thing. We were never quite sure, by the way, whether the old boy’s name, which was pronounced Ari, was really a native name or merely their version of “Harry.” Pasi was a man of stronger character and more intelligent; he had an alert manner and an abrupt method of speech. Debe Wali was a highly strung, nervous, voluble person, and not averse to thrusting himself forward; Jimmy Rice was much quieter and slower in his speech and thoughts; he was certainly more reliable than Debe Wali, but he had a strong instinct of acquisitiveness, scarcely a day passed without his asking for something. Myers tells me that once within twenty-four hours he asked for a pair of boots, a belt, two empty rice bags, a Jew’s harp, a hat, and of course some tobacco. Jimmy Dei was a thorough gentleman, Gadodo a man of action, Alo a great, good-natured fellow who kept and carefully tended a wheezy old sick man. So I might go on, matching white men known to me with our Papuan friends; few were really disagreeable, but I call to mind one sleek, hypocritical man named Papi, who was always trying to get the better of everyone else, and in this he generally succeeded.

Old Ulai was perhaps the greatest character of the lot, a regular old heathen, who exhibited but scanty signs of grace. He gloated over the past, especially the shady parts of it, and it was this lack of reverence that made him so valuable to us. As he had but little of that reticence that is so characteristic of the Melanesian, we were able to get hints from him that we followed up with our other friends to our great advantage. For, alas! I do not think our friend was very truthful, nor did he know all about everything, and occasionally he was inclined to gammon us even in serious matters; but that did not matter, as we never trusted his word alone. Indeed, the cunning old man was a great humbug, and he seemed to quite enjoy being found out, and never resented the imputation of “gammoning.” He had a craving for beer and grog, and often and often he would sidle up and whisper, “You give me a little grog.” A demand, needless to add, that was never satisfied.

PLATE IX.

DEBE WALI AND HIS WIFE

JIMMY RICE AND HIS WIFE

When I went to New Guinea I took Ontong, our Malay cook, with me, and left Rivers, Myers, and McDougall with the two native “boys.” My colleagues have described to me how amused they were in watching the subsequent developments. Rivers did not consider it expedient to definitely appoint one as cook and the other as helper, knowing matters would right themselves.

Naturally, Debe Wali at once took the more important post, and to Jimmy Rice fell the job of carrying water twice daily and getting firewood. Debe’s active mind soon discovered that if he was doing cook’s work he should have cook’s pay, so he wanted a rise in wages. Then it dawned upon Jimmy Rice that he should not be left out in the cold; he argued, “Debe, he now got one job—he cook; me got two job—me cut ’im wood, me fetch ’im water. You give me more wages.”

It did not take Debe Wali long to discover that Jimmy Rice had practically the whole day to himself, while he, as cook, was more occupied, though, to tell the truth, the cooking was of the most rudimentary kind possible.

Eventually an arrangement was made between Debe and Jimmy among themselves, by which they spent alternate weeks at cooking and hewing wood and drawing water. There was always considerable jealousy as to who was the better cook; once, when it was Jimmy’s week to cook, and he had brought up some bread of his own making, Debe came in, looked at it, and sticking his thumb well in, blandly remarked, “I call that damper.”

On another occasion, when the mind of the entire island was absorbed in the preparation of a big kaikai (feast), Jimmy Rice went off into the bush to bring back his contribution of yams, bananas, and coconuts, and there became so absorbed in his work that he did not return until after my colleagues had cooked their own dinner. Debe Wali was furious when he heard of his comrade’s unpunctuality. “When I cook, by jingo, I give you proper kaikai (food); breakfast, sun there; dinner, sun up here; supper, sun over there.” That same evening and the following morning Debe forgot to fill the jugs with water.

One nice thing about our helpers was that they never considered themselves as servants. They treated us as equals, much to the amusement and disgust of Ontong. They would come up from the kitchen, loll on our deck chairs, and chatter away always in the most amusing fashion.

Myers also told me the following:—“Debe astonished us one evening by the calm announcement, ‘Milk he no good. Me suck (chuck) ’im away. He full plenty big black pigeon.’ With no little interest we prepared to make the acquaintance of the big black ‘pigeon,’ ignorant at that time that the word ‘pigeon’ is applied by the Murray Islanders to any living thing that is not obviously a four-footed animal. We found an open tin of condensed milk swarming with large black ants.”

Ten years previously, when in Mabuiag, I sent Dick, the boy who used to fetch and carry for me, to a fresh-water pool with a net and bottle to see what he could catch. He returned in high glee crying, “Doctor, I catch ’im pigeon belong water-hole.” The “pigeons” happened to be some small water-beetles.

Very shortly before we left I invited the Mamoose, Pasi, who is the Mamoose of Dauar, and Jimmy Dei, the Sergeant of Police, to dinner. We gave them soup, curry and rice, rice and honey, and pancakes. Judging from the quantities they ate they enjoyed themselves very much. Afterwards we gave them songs and music on the phonograph, and I obtained their autographs, for it is not often that one has two kings to dinner.

Rivers had asked them twice before, when some of us were in New Guinea; on one occasion when Pasi went home he saw his eldest son nursing a very small infant, and he asked him, “What man belong that boy?” “Why, poppa,” was the answer, “he belong you!” His wife had presented Pasi with a baby when he was out to dinner. According to the common practice of the island, Pasi had promised the unborn babe to a native named Smoke, who, having no children of his own, had expressed a wish to “look out for it,” or in other words, to take care of it; a zogo is said to “look out garden.”

I was informed by Myers that at this supper Harry, the Mamoose, and Pasi each asked for three helpings of curry, and three of rice with jam and marmalade. Pickles and marmalade proved an irresistible attraction. Even Pasi, who has travelled as far as Thursday Island, had never met with marmalade before.

When Harry began his third helping Pasi spoke to him in the Miriam tongue, “Only take a little.” The hosts knew enough of the language to understand what was said, and, to the evident amusement of the two guests, persuaded Pasi also to “take a little.”

Cigars were given them after dinner, which they were polite enough to pretend to relish. Harry’s cigar remained almost unsmoked; a New Guinea boy finished Pasi’s. Although smoking was practised in these islands before the white men came, and they grew their own tobacco, they never smoked much at a time.

The native pipe is made of a piece of bamboo from about a foot to between two and three feet in length. The natural partition at the one end, and the intermediate one, if such occurs, is perforated. At one end of the pipe there is always a complete partition, and near this a small hole is bored; into the latter a small wooden or bamboo tube, a few inches in length, is inserted. The tobacco is put in this, and the open end of the pipe applied to the mouth, and by suction the pipe is filled with tobacco smoke. I have seen them put their mouth to the bowl and blow down it. As soon as the pipe is filled with smoke, the right hand is applied to the open end and the bowl removed. This hole is applied to the mouth, and the smoke sucked through it after the withdrawal of the hand from the open end. The length of the pipe causes such a draught that the smoke is violently inhaled.

When a man has had a suck he will put his hand to the open end of the pipe to prevent the escape of the smoke and pass it on to another, who receives it, and maybe transmits it to a third in the same manner. The women usually prepare the pipes, and pass them on to the men. This method of smoking occurs over a considerable portion of New Guinea, but, so far as I am aware, it is confined to the Papuans.

The effect of this kind of smoking appears to be very severe. The men always seem quite dazed for a second or two, or even longer, and their eyes water; but they enjoy it greatly, and value tobacco very highly, they will usually sell almost anything they possess for some. I have seen an old man reel and stagger from the effects of one pull at a bamboo pipe, and I have heard of a man even dropping down on the ground from its effects.

To return to this supper party. When the guests were trying to enjoy the cigars, Jimmy Dei arrived in a very excited condition, bringing to the chiefs news of apparently no small importance. It transpired that he, in his capacity as Sergeant of the Police, had reported the assault of an islander upon his wife, who had thereupon summoned her husband to appear at the court-house on the following day. Any excitement of this kind is always most welcome to such an impressionable people as these are.

Myers has kindly given me an account of the following circumstance that happened when I was in New Guinea:—“We were awakened one morning by the sound of voices in the ‘kitchen’—that is, the space below the verandah on which we slept. They were the voices of Debe Wali and his wife, between whom short and quickly answered sentences were passing. Louder and louder grew their talk. Suddenly a blow was heard, followed by a metallic noise and the sound of falling water. There was silence for a time, then softer talking, and a woman’s low cry. Up came Debe Wali to us, labouring to suppress the most intense excitement. ‘Woman belong me want me go bush (i.e. to the garden). Me I no go. I cook here. I say to woman, “You go.” She say, “No, you go.” I tell ’im, “You sh-sh.” He no sh-sh. I tell ’im, “You be quiet: you wake ’im white man; he sleep.” He talk on. I hit ’im with saucepan. Hold on. I fetch ’im.’ And Debe vanished below to reappear with his weapon, which, as he put it, he had ‘capsized’ on to his wife. A few minutes later the little woman, one of the hardest-working on the island, came to us to be treated for a terrible gash down to the bone on the back of her head, which had to be sewn up. Debe was much alarmed on the following day, for Kaige, the policeman, insisted on roaming about the verandah and kitchen, mainly occupied in consuming our tobacco. Had Debe not been our servant, he would undoubtedly have been summoned by his wife, and, this being his fifth offence in this direction, he would have been sent a prisoner to Thursday Island. To show his penitence he wore all day a black kerchief round his head; while, to smooth the ruffled feelings of his wife, he bought from us (out of his next week’s wages) some yards of red twill which he presented to her.”

Mr. Bruce has informed me by letter that early in 1899 Jimmy Rice and Debe Wali had, for them, a serious quarrel. It happened in this wise. Pedro, a Manila who had married Jimmy’s wife’s daughter by a former husband, D. Pitt, had given Jimmy a small cutter. Jimmy’s wife considered the boat was given to her as a present for her daughter’s sake, so she began to “boss” the boat and crew. Debe was captain, while Jimmy remained on shore to cook the bêche-de-mer.

Jimmy’s troubles now began in earnest. First his wife thought that, as she was owner of the boat, it was beneath her dignity to cook for Jimmy, and told him when he asked for his breakfast or dinner to go out and eat filth. Poor Jimmy asked Bruce for advice.

Shortly afterwards the “fish,” as bêche-de-mer is colloquially termed, they obtained was demanded by Pedro, as owner of the boat. This Jimmy gave him. Then the crew wanted their wages. Jimmy said he had nothing to give them, that they were all his friends, and had promised to work for nothing to clear the boat. Debe Wali said no; he wanted wages. Jimmy and his wife had a bad time of it, so the latter went to the Mamoose and summoned Jimmy for wages.

The police then told Jimmy he was summoned; and great was the clatter of tongues and mutual abuse. Debe ran into his house and brought out a big rowlock of a boat, and stabbed Jimmy in the chest with it. Of course it did not do Jimmy the least harm, but he commenced shouting “Police! police!” knowing well enough that the police were standing by and witnessing the whole affair. Of course the police had to arrest Debe. Next day there was a cross-summons in the court—one for wages, the other for assault.

We have here an interesting example of the confusion that arises in the transition between one economic condition and another. Formerly communal labour was the rule. If a well had to be sunk or a house built, all friends would lend a hand, a feast with the concomitant excitement being a sufficient immediate reward, the reciprocity being, of course, fully recognised. Pedro’s loan of a boat on the hire system of purchase is well understood. Before the white man came it was customary for the Torres Straits Islanders to purchase their canoes on what was virtually the three years hire system. The crew demanding wages belongs to the new economic custom introduced by the Europeans.

Pedro, the owner of the boat, was drowned in the hurricane that swept across Northern Australia in March, 1899, and Jimmy had to pay D. Pitt the balance due on the boat.

The new Erub (Darnley Island) church was to be opened in September; and when the Murray Island contingent was about to start to take part in the festivities, Finau could not get a passage for himself or family unless he went with the Murray Islanders; so he asked Jimmy to lend him his boat. Jimmy said he could not lend it.

Two months afterwards Jimmy’s cutter went to Garboi sandbank to fish, and the crew slept on shore the first night. When they awoke next morning no cutter was to be seen; she had parted her chain in the night and had drifted away. So poor Jimmy lost his boat and all his labour, and the worst of it is, he has the haunting fear that it was the direct act of God because he did not lend his boat to the South Sea teacher when he asked for it. All the people assert this is the true explanation of his loss.

Jimmy is a happier man since his wife has ceased to be a boatowner, as she now condescends to roast yams and cook fish for him. Debe and he are as good friends as ever, and are always plotting how they can get as many shillings as they can for the least amount of work, and on the whole they succeed very well.

Debe is now the proud father of a pretty little daughter, and devotes a good deal of his time to nursing it. Occasionally he has a row with Kaima, his wife, when he considers she is not doing the nursing in a scientific manner. Then he generally takes the management of the baby for a time, but the infant does not fail to proclaim when it is Debe’s watch on deck.

On Friday, August 4th, 1899, there were two earth tremors on Murray Island. I cannot do better than transcribe Mr. Bruce’s vivid description of the occurrence. “I had just sat down to lunch when the iron roof and the verandah floor made such a clatter that I could not at all make out what was wrong; about five minutes later there came another and stronger shock. I jumped up and went on the verandah.

“There was a great crowd of men playing hockey on the sand beach in front of the house, and at first I thought some of them had been larking on the verandah, but when I went out everything was quiet. They were sitting down; not a word broke the deathlike stillness. I thought at first they were resting after their game, but even then they never sit still. I asked, ‘What’s wrong’? Then some of them came up and said, ‘Why, ground he jump up and down all the same as sea’!

“Then it struck me at once what had happened. I asked them how they felt when the shock came. They said the whole beach was heaving like the sea so that they could not stand. Some said they felt sick and wanted to vomit; others said everything looked blurred and indistinct, and men’s faces were all distorted when they looked at them.

“I was sorry I was in the house at the time, as I should have liked to experience the sensation. I should think each shock must have lasted about two minutes, with an interval of five minutes between them.

“After evening school I saw some of those who had been to their gardens on the top of the hill. From their description the earthquake was felt worse up there. Pasi told me he was sitting down on the ground nursing the baby when the first shock came, and he and the baby commenced to bob up and down, and he felt as if he were sitting on something that was giving way with him. When the second shock came, the coconuts on the trees were bobbing up and down, everything was trembling and swaying; a bucket on the ground opposite him was jumping up and down. He thought it was the devil, and that he was bewitched, so he got up and called his wife to come away. Soon they met other frightened people running home. Pasi said he was ‘very glad to hear all man feel him all the same as myself.’

“No doubt the people received a great scare. They were going about in quite a subdued manner for a few days. When Sunday came they were told by Finau that God was angry with them. God has been very angry with them here this year; they were told the same after the hurricane took place. But then I remember the Princess Alice disaster on the Thames was referred to in the same manner by Mr. Spurgeon at the Tabernacle; so we cannot wonder at the coloured teacher attributing all disasters to the wrath of an offended Deity.

“I had rather an amusing reason given to me why the cyclone of the 4th and 5th of March (1899) happened. There was a crowd of boats anchored in the bay, and a South Sea man wanted to hold a service on the beach, but very few went to hear him pray. Whilst he was praying, some unregenerate nigger had the impiety to play on his concertina. That day the hurricane came. The men who told me this thoroughly believed, since the praying South Sea man had asserted it, that God had sent the hurricane because of that man playing the concertina.

“That is the kind of God they like to have described to them, and no other. Really the South Sea teachers know the kind of God to depict to the native far better than the white missionary does; his God of Love is beyond their comprehension. They look as if they believed in Him, but converse with them, and you find the God of Wrath is their ideal of what God is. He takes the place of Bomai, etc., which they have lost.

“At the opening of the new church at Erub, in September, all the South Sea teachers from the Torres Straits were gathered together. Captain H⸺ had just come across an article in a newspaper, written by some German scientist, that a comet was to appear in the heavens some time in October, and that it would strike our planet on the 5th of November. The Captain described the comet to the Erub Mamoose, who in his turn told the assembled teachers, and they, not unnaturally, went to Captain H⸺ for further information. The Captain, nothing loth, gave them what they wanted, with a practical illustration of how the comet would act when it came in collision with the earth. He got a ball of paper and a stick, making the latter violently strike the ball of paper, which flew some distance away. ‘That,’ said he, ‘is the way our world will go, and I know that Old Nick is preparing his fires for a lot of you fellows now.’

“The teachers held a meeting, and arranged that when each teacher went home to his station he was to appoint three weeks of special prayer, and to beseech God not to allow the comet to destroy the earth. Finau arrived here full of it, and the people with him arrived equally full of influenza through living in over-crowded houses in Darnley.

“On Sunday I went as usual to church. At the close of the service Finau told all the people to remain, as a special service was to be held; so I remained along with the rest.

“After a short interval Finau told them about the comet, and that a very wise man had written in the newspaper that the world was shortly to come to an end. This was true. He then read from the Gospel of Mark, chapter xiii., from which he proved that this was the time all these things were to happen, because this wise man said so in the newspaper.

“He kept on until he had all the people in a proper state of fear. Then he directly referred to me that I knew it was all true, and would happen. I said ‘No.’ He took no notice, but told them that in three weeks’ time, on the 5th of November, if God did not hear their prayers, they would all be destroyed.

“After praying he invited anyone to stand up and pray and speak on the subject of the comet. Immediately all the Murray Herschels and Sir Robert Balls were on their feet, one after another, expounding on comets and their destructive powers, and they also finished up by saying, ‘Oh, it’s true! That wise man said so in the newspaper.’ The subject suited them immensely.

“After they had all had their say, which occupied nearly two hours, Finau told them from that day until the 5th of November there were to be special prayers, asking God to rebuke the comet and make it go another road away from the earth. They would all know in three weeks’ time whether God had heard their prayers. If He did not destroy the world then, that would be a sign that He had heard them, and was pleased with them; but if the comet destroyed the earth on the 5th of November, then they would understand that God was angry with them, and wished to destroy them as a punishment.

“He then again referred to me as knowing it to be true. I had to get up and speak (it was the first time I ever did so on church matters). I told the people that I had not heard anything about this comet, and that they were not to be afraid; that even if there was a comet, it was not likely to interfere with our world, and even if it did, I thought no harm would arise from it. They would all find, on the 5th of November, Murray Island would be quite safe, and everyone would be going about their work as usual. I might as well have said nothing; but there was so much sickness about (mainly influenza) that I thought this frightening of the people would have an injurious effect on them.

“The 5th of November came round, and nothing extraordinary happened. So Finau appointed the 6th to be a day of thanksgiving to God, because He had heard and answered their prayers by turning the comet away from the earth.

“Thanksgiving took the form of prayers in the morning, feasting and games in the afternoon. So you may be sure I had a good time of it in school that Monday afternoon with the noise of the thanksgiving outside and the inattention of the children inside.

“You people in England ought to be truly thankful that we have such effectual fervent prayers in this part of the world. I think this answer to prayer is quite as good as any I read in Mr. Stead’s Review of Reviews last year. All that was wanting to make the wise man in the newspapers and Finau’s predictions perfect was to have had the earth tremors introduced in November instead of August, and then what a tableau!

“Captain H⸺ is delighted at the good work he considers he has done in stirring up the people to such a time of prayer. In his last letter he says he has been the means of leading these South Sea teachers and the natives to more earnest prayer through fear than has ever been done by any individual in the Straits before.

“The Mamoose and Pasi left for Erub to attend the memorable opening of the church a fortnight earlier than the general public, but before starting the Mamoose left strict orders with the sergeant if anyone made a storm of wind while he was away to find him out and have him punished. No sooner did he start than it blew ‘old boots’; no boat could leave the island, and the Mamoose had a terrible passage.

“Kadud, the new Sergeant of Police, came to me and told me he was looking out for the person who had made the wind, as the Mamoose had given him strict orders to have him punished by a fine. One day he came, saying he had found a dry coconut leaf stuck in the creek at Kiam, and thought he would find the party. Another day he would find a similar leaf and a shell stuck in the sand on the beach. Kadud was getting furious, and all the time it was blowing a hurricane. The storm lasted four weeks, so that the majority of the people from Murray Island were late for the opening ceremony.

“For months they tried to find out the miscreant; Wali, being a church member now, is past suspicion. It would make you laugh to hear how seriously the Mamoose and Kadud talk when I ask them if they have found out who it was that made the ‘big wind.’ ‘Oh no,’ they reply; ‘by-and-by we shall catch him.’

“Mappa, a Murray Islander—one of the L.M.S. teachers—is here at present on a six months’ leave of absence; he is a shrewd, sharp fellow, but a thorough native. He brought with him a young fellow named Wai from his station at New Guinea, another sharper, who has already a great reputation on Murray Island of being able to make, injure, and kill, and Mappa backs him up. Tuk is the form of sorcery he is supposed to practise, and the Murray people are terribly frightened of it; they tell me the New Guinea men are very powerful in tuk, and from Kiwai they can kill a whole village full of people on Murray Island, nearly a hundred miles away.

“Wai first began practising on William, the deacon, who lives at Dio. He went with some others to Dio, and showed William two sticks of tobacco, and said ‘Tuk.’ William began to shake when Wai told him to go and look in his box and see if he had lost any tobacco. William, still trembling, got his key, looked in the box, and said, ‘Yes.’ Wai held up the tobacco, and said, ‘This is it.’ William replied, ‘Yes, that’s it.’ Wai exclaimed ‘Tuk,’ and the two sticks of tobacco disappeared, much to the astonishment of the crowd. William pressed a present on Wai, to secure himself against tuk. When William told me about the affair I nearly exploded, trying to keep serious, and endeavouring to sympathise with him. Wai is a smiling, comedian-faced young fellow; he comes along to see me every other day, and to have a smoke. Ulai and Mappa, a good pair, are always extolling Wai’s great powers.

“A fortnight ago Mappa, who is taking Finau’s place, the latter having gone on a visit to Mabuiag, had a crowd round him after a Friday morning’s service, and used some strong language about some men who had not attended church and about Kadud, who owns a well at Kiam, about which he and the South Sea teacher have a dispute.

“A woman named Deau went and told these men that Mappa was speaking ill of them. They hurried along to the church compound, Deau along with them. She then asked Mappa to repeat what he had said, and told him he was bad man, that he thumped the pulpit with his hand when preaching to them, and then went home and thumped his wife. Mappa then began to tell her she was a bad woman, a Samaria kosker—that is, a woman of Samaria. Deau could not stand that, so she went to the police and summoned Mappa for swearing at her by calling her a Samaria kosker. Mappa then threatened the whole of Deau’s friends that he and Wai would put tuk on them all. They were in a great panic; the sergeant, Kadud, was nearly white when he came to see me, with some of the threatened people, and asked if they could not arrest Mappa. They all declared that Mappa had learnt tuk in New Guinea, and could destroy them all if he chose.

“Mappa was summoned for slandering Deau, and dismissed on this count; next he was charged with threatening the people. The witnesses all held that when Mappa went back to New Guinea he would destroy anyone he chose by using the sorcery of tuk. It was tuk, tuk, and nothing but tuk. I asked Mappa if he had threatened the people with this, and he said he had, and that he was angry. I asked him if, when he went back to New Guinea, he or the Fly River men could shoot tuk to Murray Island. He said they could, but he was not sure about himself. I warned him to think about what he was saying, and if he really believed that Wai could do such a thing. He hummed and hawed, and said ‘No.’ That was all I wanted in order to quiet the fears of the people, so I asked Mappa to tell the Mamoose and the people that the Fly River men could not injure them, and that neither he nor Wai knew tuk. He told them so, but at the same time they did not believe him, and would rather have heard him say that he and Wai were au kali tuk le (very big tuk people). Mappa was dismissed from court, and advised not to practise tuk any more whilst on his holidays. The whole tuk affair has been very amusing. Mappa and his wife are now teaching the Murray youths New Guinea dances, so that they may beat the Dauar men on New Year’s Day.”

In a letter dated September 30th, 1900, Mr. Bruce gave us the later history of some of our friends, and as it illustrates the social life of the Murray Islanders in a very interesting manner, I do not hesitate to print the greater part of it for the benefit of my readers.

“This year we are experiencing the results of a big drought. The north-west monsoon, which generally brings a young deluge with it, has been very mild this year, so mild, in fact, that but for the change of winds we might say we had no ‘nor’-west.’ In December of 1899 we had good rains, which gave promise of a good harvest from the gardens this year; but there has been such a dearth of rain in 1900 that all the garden stuffs died off. First the sweet potatoes went (that is, the vines), for they never got to the length of tubers; then the yams died off, but the people managed to get a few small ones out of the crop. So the people are reduced to coconuts and bananas, which are fairly plentiful. The natives are perfectly happy, carrying on play night after night, and their boats lying idle at anchor, instead of being at work getting black-lip shell, which has been a splendid price this year, to buy flour and rice for their families. Douglas Pitt’s son did very well with one boat working from here; he cleared £350 in six months with a crew of mainland boys, whilst the Murray men did not clear as many shillings with seven boats which they obtained from individuals to work out and on shares. They kept on getting advances (‘draws’) of calico and tobacco, and do no work.

“Your two ‘curry and rice chefs,’ Debe Wali and Jimmy Rice, both got boats. Debe obtained all the draws he could out of the owner in eight months, and collected about £4 worth of shell to pay about £10 worth of draws. The consequence was, when he went to Thursday Island for more draws the owner took possession of his boat, and he was lucky to get it, because if she had remained much longer at Murray Island she would have broken up on the beach. Jimmy Rice, poor fellow, has not been quite so fortunate as his friend Debe. In the first place, he could not get so many draws out of his man as did Debe, and he had signed before the Shipping Master, with a solicitor to see that all was fair and square. When Jimmy got all the draws he could from the owner of the boat, he and his crew refused to do any work, and they were taken before the Shipping Master at Thursday Island. The Shipping Master prosecuted them in court. All the crew, beside Jimmy Rice and Toik, decided to go to work and finish the time they had signed for. Jimmy and Toik held out, thinking they would be sent back to Murray Island by the steamer, as she was coming out the day following; but they made a mistake, and each of them got two months in jail to work out their time. One of the young Pitts paid for a boat here in four months with a mainland crew, and although the Murray men have these object lessons before them, they seem to be no incentives to make them go and do likewise, which they could easily do.

“Papi has a boat on half-shares from a Manila man named Zareal, a jeweller at Thursday Island. Like the others, Papi was doing no work after getting what he could out of Zareal; but he was lucky enough to find a good pearl in a shell, so he took it to Thursday Island and sold it for £150, then went flashing about town. Zareal came to know of the pearl, and claimed half of its value for the boat; but Papi objected, and got away from Thursday Island to Murray Island with the cash. Not a bad haul for a Murray man! There is likely to be trouble about it, but I bet my boots Papi comes off the winner.

“You remember old Gasu; his eyes were bad. He is now quite blind; can only tell the difference between night and day. He looks physically well, but takes no exercise whatever, as he tells me he is ashamed to go walking about with a boy to lead him. When I visit him I give him a spin along the road, and he enjoys it immensely. Poor old Gasu! He had not his equal on the island; a thorough, genuine old gentleman, and quite free from all cant, although he had his fears of the ‘White Man’s Zogo’ (the Church) like all the rest.

“The great drought this year has been put down to many causes. Your party came in for some of the blame for taking away the good doioms, so that the rain-makers were handicapped in giving a plentiful supply. But the principal cause for a time was our old friend Debe Wali; he was charged with defiling and throwing down the yam zogo at Dauar, named Zegnaipur—this is the principal yam zogo. Debe’s brother, Komabre, and Harry, the Murray Mamoose, were the two head zogo men who prepare it every year. Komabre died last year, and Debe, of course, believes someone was the cause of his death, and the people say that he was angry at the death of Komabre and knocked down the zogo, hence the drought. Mamoose and Pasi came to me to have a talk about it, and wished to know if they could not prosecute Debe in court. I told them they would have to get proof that he had done the injury, well knowing they could get none. Mamoose said he was certain Debe did the thing to spoil the yams and food, and that the law should punish him. I had to cool him off as best I could. The next one accused was Joe Brown. They said, because he has a quarrel with Jimmy Dei, he burnt the coconut zogo at Zeub by wilfully setting fire to the grass, and that he had stopped rain from coming and blighted all the crops. It was very amusing when I asked Debe and Joe confidentially why they had been and gone and done it. A knowing smile stole all over their faces, as much as to say, ‘I’ll teach them to interfere with me!’ Still, they would never confess to anything, but you could see how pleased they were at the prominent place they held among the people. When I represented to them how they were making me suffer too from having empty water-tanks, old Joe said, ‘By-and-by, Jack, you stop; I make him all right; you see your tank full up by-and-by!’ That ‘by-and-by’ means so much to them, and is such a handy phrase I don’t know what they would do without it now!

“In the early part of the year I was pestered by the men who had boats, and also by their crews, coming every day inquiring when the big blow was to be. I told them it was impossible for me to fix any stated time, but they knew we always had strong winds in the north-west. It was of no use, they kept on coming to inquire. At last I asked if anyone had been telling them there was to be a big blow. They said yes, one man told them; but who he was they would not say. Of course it made a good excuse for not going to work, and they made the most of it and let the boats lie up.

“The following is an example of the power zogo men are credited with. After Debe’s and Joe’s reputation was on the wane and being forgotten, Mamoose and Jimmy Dei were in my house one day, and the conversation turned on the everlasting drought, which both were bewailing. I began to twit them about the powers of the rain-makers, trying to bring them out. Mamoose did not like it, and began to converse with his optics to Jimmy (Murray men do a lot of talk on the quiet with their eyes). Jimmy assented, so Mamoose got up out of his seat, looked out of the front door, then out of the back—to make sure there was no one about who would be likely to hear—sat down again, and after sundry ahems Mamoose whispered to me the real cause of the drought. He said the rain-makers were afraid to make rain and prepare the ceremony, in case they might make too much wind along with it, and therefore cause another big hurricane, like that of last March, and they feared the Government would punish them if many lives were lost; besides, Gasu being now blind, he could not see to prepare the zogo properly, and they were afraid to make it! I had to condole with them on the hard luck of having to risk the chances of either a cyclone or a famine, and agreed with them that a famine was the safest, for, as Mamoose said, the hurricane might smash up the island altogether. But I assured him at the same time that the Government would on no account hold them responsible for any damage done by any cyclone in this part of the world. I never heard of any Murray man getting the credit of making the hurricane last year; no doubt they have been afraid to hint at it, and I have no doubt the people give the honour to some of the zogo le for having caused that disaster.

“I had a gentleman living with me for a month or so; he came from New Zealand, and is travelling all round, doing the ‘grand tour of Australia, New Guinea,’ etc. He was grand company, although a very strict churchman and an extreme ritualist. I had no idea colonial high churchmen could be so high! He out-ritualed everything I had ever seen or heard of, but he was one of the good sort who could give and take a joke.

“We had a trip to Dauar one Saturday; went in the whale-boat, and several passengers accompanied us. We had a walk all round, and had a nice day of it. After we had returned home and had had supper, and were sitting talking and smoking, a deputation headed by Pasi, who is Mamoose of Dauar, came to inform me that those who had accompanied us to Dauar had gone on purpose to see the zogo of Wiwar. This is a round stone (sandstone) about the size of a pumpkin; if it is prepared by a zogo man it has the power of causing constipation, and the person affected will die if there is no antidote used in the form of taking off the power of this zogo. Pasi had a small packet in his hand, wrapped up very carefully, like tobacco, in a dried banana leaf. He asked me if I would examine it, and spread it out, telling me this was the cause of the sickness of an old lady named Sibra. She remembered that the last time she had been over to Dauar she had passed the zogo Wiwar, and now knew the cause of her sickness. Her friends had gone over with us to find out if the zogo was prepared; they were to take away the power of the zogo by cleansing it with sea-water, and placing the leaf of a plant called gebi on top of the stone, and pouring water over the stone. Pasi wished to know if the police could apprehend old Lui, as he was the only Dauar man who knew how to prepare the zogo. I asked Pasi how the zogo was prepared; he said, ‘The zogole, after having a stool, placed the excreta on the stone, using an incantation, in which he referred to the person he wishes to blight.’ To prove the case, the friends went to the stone and found it had been prepared, and brought away a sample of the excreta with them. My visitor could not refrain from laughing, although I warned him to keep serious. Pasi said there was no chance of Sibra’s recovery, as the zogo had been prepared too long. I was giving the old lady medicine, and thought she was going on nicely, but on the Monday afternoon she died. Of course old Lui got the credit of removing her, because they had had a quarrel of words. The friends of Sibra do not consider our law of much account, as Lui cannot be punished, even after the strong evidence they brought to me. When Lui dies, his relatives will charge Sibra’s relations with using a zogo, appropriate to whatever sickness he may have been afflicted with.

“It was too much when Pasi asked my visitor to have a sniff, and tell him if it was the real thing or not. He fairly exploded and roared, and spoiled the whole effect, as I had to follow suit. The deputation did not remain much longer, but carefully rolled up their sacred bundle and left. They are very sensitive to ridicule, and do not like their customs laughed at. The consequence was that they would not for some time tell me anything that occurred of a similar nature. You will perhaps think I ought to rebuke them and advise them not to follow these old customs, but it is of no use doing this, as these are so engrained into their everyday existence that they could not, as yet, live without them. Their disappearance is, I think, only a matter of time.

“It is very seldom that houses are burned down on Murray Island, considering the inflammable material they are constructed of, and the carelessness of the people with fire. This year, however, three houses were burned down. The first one belonged to a widow named Nicky. The people were all at one of their night plays, and Nicky’s house was burned, and nothing saved. The play was a long way from Nicky’s place, but it is considered that the spirit of her deceased husband (Arus) was angry with her for her conduct, and burned her house down. It was a serious loss to Nicky, as she has a large family. I spoke to the Mamooses about getting the people to assist her, and another widow, Anai, whose goods were also all lost in the fire. The poor women had really saved nothing except their petticoats. I gave them a start in goods, and I was really astonished at the manner in which the people assisted; some gave her a camphor-wood box, others half-bolts of calico, plates, spoons, knives, and so forth, so the camphor-wood boxes were well filled with useful articles, and calico galore. All vied in beating each other in the giving line, and of course a ceremony was made in presenting the goods. I only hope the next unfortunate will come off as well, but I fear not, as it is so foreign to the Murray Islanders to give without getting an equivalent in exchange. However, they deserve all credit for the way in which they assisted Nicky and Anai, and ought to make Arus’s lamar (spirit) leave the widow’s house alone in future. The other houses were burned down in the daytime, and all the contents saved.

“This year (1900) has been a fairly healthy year. Up to the present there have been five deaths—two adults and three children. Matey is dead; he was a young man about thirty years old; he died of consumption, I think, and was ill for a long time. I tried to get him to go to the hospital at Thursday Island, but he would not go. There is a Queensland Aboriginal working in the boats at Darnley, who has quite a reputation as a medicine-man. When Matey was very weak he wished to be taken to Darnley to see this mainland boy. He was taken over in a dying state. The mainlander had a look at him and told him, ‘You fellow, you die; no more blood stop along you; two day, three day, you finish!’ This consultation was quite satisfactory to Matey and his friends, so Matey requested them to take him back to Murray Island to die there. They started back with him, and as soon as the anchor was dropped at Murray, poor Matey’s spirit took flight to Boigu (an island to the west of Murray, where spirits are supposed to live in a very happy state without any fears of brimstone).

“Murray Islanders have a great dread of dying anywhere than on Murray, and no people have a greater love of their native land than they have. Since this mainland boy on Darnley gave so good a prognosis in Matey’s case, his reputation has gone up like a rocket, and has not yet come down, several have gone over to consult him.”

The natives of Erub and the Murray Islands frequently used to make mummies of their dead relations. The details of the process are not particularly edifying, and need not be narrated here. The wizened corpse, which might almost have been made of papier-mâché, so light was it, was lashed to a bamboo framework. To be made more presentable it was painted red and pieces of mother-of-pearl from a nautilus shell were inserted in the orbits, a round spot of black beeswax serving for a pupil. Finally the mummy was decked with various ornaments. When it was complete and inodorous a final feast would be provided, and it would be suspended in the house. There the mummy would remain, swinging with every breath of wind and turning its gleaming eyes with each movement of the head, until it fell to pieces with old age.

When the body crumbled away word was sent to the friends to come and assist in cutting off the head. A big feast was held, and a man who was skilled in making portrait faces in beeswax on skulls was also present. Later the artist made the wax model of the deceased’s face; anyhow, the length of the nose was accurate, as immediately after death the length of the nose was measured with a piece of wood, which was safely kept for the purpose of securing the right proportion of the imitation nose.

When the face was finished the head was given to the nearest male relative. The men then cried. Later it was taken to the women, who also had a good cry. The inevitable feast followed, at which the artist received a large share of food.

The modelled and decorated skulls of relatives were kept probably partly for sentimental reasons, as the people are of an affectionate disposition, and like to have memorials of deceased friends, but mainly for divinatory purposes.

A duly decorated skull when properly employed became a divining zogo of remarkable powers, and was mainly used in discovering a thief, or the stolen article, or a man who had by means of sorcery made someone sick. But this could only be done by bezam le, or members of the shark clan, who were also members of the Malu fraternity. All who engaged in this hunt went in the early evening to the zogo house, and one of the zogole took the Main mask and put it on, repeating a certain formula. After leaving the house, the zogole carried the skull in front of him, and all marched with a particular gait till they heard a kind of grasshopper called kitoto, and they rushed in the direction from which the noise proceeded. One particular kitoto was believed to guide the men to the house of the offender. Should the men lose the right direction the kitoto would wait for them to come up, ever and again making its sound, “Sh, sh.” Ultimately they were led to a house, and this must, of course, according to their ideas, be the house of the malefactor.

It was of no use for the man to deny the evil deed, for kitoto had found him out; and, moreover, the bezam le were so powerful that it was as much as his life was worth to resist. If he happened to be a bezam le himself he might try to brazen it out among his friends; but if he was an outsider it would be useless, and he would have to pay the fine.

I was naturally anxious to obtain one of these divining heads; even by the time of my former visit they had all been done away with, at least, so I was informed. I had therefore to be content to have a model made for me. ([Plate XII., B, No. 2; p. 139.])

First a skull had to be procured—and for other reasons I was very desirous of making a collection of skulls; but it was long before I could obtain any (I am referring now to my former visit), though I constantly said, “Me fellow friend belong you fellow. ’Spose you get me head belong dead man, I no speak. ’Spose you get him, I no savvy what name you catch him, that business belong you fellow. What for I get you fellow trouble?”

Eventually I came across a man who volunteered to get me some, and I promised to give him sixpence per head; or, as I put it to him, “One head belong dead man he sixpence, one head belong dead man he sixpence; you savvy?” and as I spoke I touched and turned down, native fashion, the fingers of the left hand, beginning with the little finger. He understood perfectly.

Next day he brought me a basket of skulls, and he could tell me the names of some of them, too! As he handed out one skull and mentioned a man’s name, I noticed that the nursemaid of the missionary’s wife, who was standing by, looked rather queer; but as it was none of my business, I took no notice. Later I found that the skull in question belonged to the girl’s uncle! I do not believe she objected to my having the skull, but that the other man should have the sixpence—the money had gone out of the family. When paying the man I ticked off each skull on the fingers of my left hand, and paid for it; but I had not enough sixpences, and so gave him half a crown for five skulls. At this he looked very askance, although I assured him the payment was quite correct. Fortunately Bruce was standing by, and said he would give him five sixpences for it at the store. My friend Baton made me one or two divining heads from these skulls in the “old-time fashion.”

Hearing one day, during my former stay at Murray, that a woman had died, and being grieved at the particular circumstances attending her death, I determined to pay my visit of condolence. After dark I went to the village where she had lived, and found her laid on the beach with her head to the sea, and clothed in her best dress and wearing her new hat, all her fancy calico being laid on the body. The husband was sitting at the head, and close by were several men, women, and children laughing and chattering over their evening meal. Then the brother came up and bent over the body, wailing and sobbing.

Shortly afterwards a canoe was brought to convey the corpse to a more populous village, so that they might have a good cry.

Then I saw one of the most impressive sights it has yet been my lot to witness. It was a beautiful tropical moonlight night, the sand beach being illuminated with soft whiteness by the moon, and countless stars glittered overhead. On one side the strand was bordered by the gently lapping waves of the calm ocean, and on the other by a grove of coconut palms, their grey stems, arising from a confused shadow of undergrowth, topped by sombre feathery crowns, a peaceful adjunct to a scene of sorrow, and the antithesis of the ghastly mockeries of the funeral plumes of the professional upholstery, which have only lately been abolished in England. A small crowd of some twenty or so of us were walking along the beach with the noiseless footfall of bare feet, keeping abreast of the canoe which, with its sad freight, was poled along by the husband at one end, and the brother at the other. As I saw the black silhouette of the canoe and its crew against the moonlit sky and sea, silently gliding like a veritable shadow of death, and heard the stillness of the air broken by the moaning of the bereaved ones, my mind wandered back thousands of years, and called up ancient Egypt carrying its dead in boats across the sacred Nile—there with pomp, ceremony, and imagery, here with simplicity, poverty, and stern realism.

At length we came to the village, the inclosure of which was covered with family groups, mothers with babies surrounded by their families, and many a little one was laid asleep upon the sand, well wrapped up to keep off the flies.

The corpse was carried to a clear space, and again the gay trappings of life were spread over the dead. An old woman, I believe the deceased’s mother, came to the head, and sitting down, bent over the body and commenced wailing. Then on all sides the cry was taken up mainly by the groups of women who by this time had taken their places round the dead. As one dropped out, another would join in, and so with varying accessions in volume, occasionally dying away to all but silence, the mournful sound continued through the night, rising and falling in weird manner, recalling to my memory the keening I had heard in far-away Kerry eighteen months previously.

Then I left them. The dead one surrounded by a changing circle of weeping women; beyond, the family groups each illumined by its own flickering fire, babies asleep, children playing, adults talking, young men laughing, and a little love-making taking place in the background; and above all the quiet, steady, bright face of the moon impassively gazing, like Fate, on the vicissitudes of human life.

CHAPTER VII
KIWAI AND MAWAITA

We left Murray Island at 10 a.m., September 8th, by the Nieue, which the Rev. James Chalmers very kindly sent to us. A small crowd assembled to bid us farewell, and I know many of the natives were genuinely sorry that we were leaving. We spent such a happy and profitable time there, that we shall always have a soft corner in our hearts for this beautiful island.

We reached Erub (Darnley Island) about 3 p.m., landed, and called on Captain H⸺, who entertained us with his reminiscences of New Guinea. We sailed at daybreak next morning, and reached Daru in the early afternoon. About midday we ran on to a sandbank, but as the tide was rising this did not much matter; in fact, it was rather convenient, as we were thus enabled to have a meal on a steady boat, a matter of importance to some of our party.

At Daru we were boarded by Mr. H. W. de Lange, the Sub-Collector of Customs. Our little formal business was soon over, and we then called on the Hon. Bingham A. Hely, the very efficient Resident Magistrate. He kindly asked us to dinner, and we had an interesting talk about the natives of his division. Mr. Hely has lately made some observations on the important subject of totemism. On Sunday, September 11th, we arrived at Saguane in the forenoon, and Tamate, my old friend the Rev. James Chalmers, who has been described as the Livingstone of New Guinea, gave us a hearty welcome.

Unfortunately Mrs. Chalmers was ill with fever, which had prostrated her for some time. Tamate, as he likes to be called by his black and white friends, had also been quite ill from the effects of a nasty fall from a verandah in the dark, and he was scarcely well yet; indeed, it appeared to me that his health was much shaken, and no wonder, when one remembers all the hardships and privations he has undergone during his strenuous life of self-sacrifice.

Saguane is a small village at the southern extremity of Kiwai Island. The native village is dilapidated, and has a poverty-stricken appearance, probably owing to the fact that the village is only occupied for part of the year.

The Mission premises were adequate, but as little money as possible had been spent upon them, as even then it was by no means certain that Saguane would remain the permanent headquarters of the Fly River branch of the London Missionary Society. The buildings consisted of the Chalmers’ comfortable house, the church, which was also used as a schoolroom, a good schoolroom for the seniors, a study, and other rooms, also the South Sea teachers’ houses, the students’ houses, and various offices.

Saguane was a central and convenient spot for the Mission, but that is about all that could be said in its favour. The whole island is but little above sea-level; it is malarial, and the water-supply is poor. Although the place does not look healthy, Chalmers says it is the healthiest part of the district, except Daru. A considerable amount of Mission land had already been washed away by the sea, that end of the island having been greatly reduced in size of late years; indeed, since this account was written, the Mission station had practically been devastated by the sea, and Mr. Chalmers had commenced to build a new station on Daru.

From many points of view it was a disheartening place, and it was a wonder Tamate bore up so cheerfully. He had great difficulties with teachers, South Sea men are often unsatisfactory, and the Torres Straits islanders are practically useless as native teachers; so Tamate was endeavouring to educate his own men as teachers, but it was a long and wearisome task. Tamate had a very large area under his charge, his district was undermanned, and he was greatly in need of money help, as he was naturally very anxious to have a steam-launch for river work. Alas! Tamate will never require the steamer for which he was longing. In order to keep out as far as possible the gloom which subsequent events have cast over our memory of Chalmers, I will continue my narrative in the form in which it was written prior to the tragedies to which I refer.

Like other mission stations, the instruction of the young plays a prominent, one might fairly say the prominent, part in the work of the missionaries. Here it is especially needed, as these semi-migratory natives are ruder in culture than those we had met with in the east, and even the energy, enthusiasm, and sympathy of Mr. Chalmers can make relatively little impression on the adult population; but, indeed, this is pretty much the case with adults everywhere.

There are two schools in Saguane. A lower school for the village children, who reside with their parents. These are taught in the Kiwai language by the South Sea teacher and his wife. The attendance leaves much to be desired, as the children have to follow their parents in their annual migration to Iasa, and thus they lose two or three months in the year; and even during the time they reside at Saguane, neither the parents nor the children sufficiently appreciate the advantages of the instruction so freely offered to them.

The students of the upper school are all resident, and both sexes attend; I believe there are about a score in all. The English language is exclusively used. They learn reading, writing, easy arithmetic, geography, and Scripture. It is usual with Papuan children for their writing to be very good, and they have quite a remarkable knowledge of geography. The highest class can read English fairly well at sight. As in Murray Island, the change from one subject to another in school-time is made the occasion of marching and singing, which affords a welcome opportunity for blowing off steam. The children are neatly clothed, but wisely they are not overclothed. It is to be hoped that many of the students will volunteer as teachers to the various stations that Tamate is anxious to establish. Some will, doubtless, become Government servants; and there can be no question that they will render the Government great assistance in the future. Sir William Macgregor has often referred to the efficiency of the Mission schools.

Shortly after our visit Mr. de Lange was sailing with a native crew from Kiwai to Daru, when he was overtaken by a squall and his boat capsized. The boatmen were very plucky, and did all they could to save Mr. de Lange; but this promising officer was unfortunately drowned. The natives proved themselves in this emergency to be brave and faithful followers.

In addition to the instruction given in the school, the students are introduced to a more civilised mode of life; and the raising of the standard of cleanliness and comfort will of itself tend to improve the condition of the people. Perhaps the home life of the South Sea teachers is in this respect of more value than that of the white missionaries, for the latter are so obviously above the natives, and have access to what must appear to them to be limitless resources, that a real comparison can scarcely be made.

That this was the case was proved to me in an amusing, but at the same time pathetic, manner a day or two later. When I was at Iasa my opinion was confidentially asked by the chief about the missionaries, as Mr. Chalmers had persuaded them to accept a South Sea teacher, who was then at Saguane learning the language. My friends had been describing to me certain ceremonies they employ for the purpose of making the crops grow, and they were really anxious about the wisdom of adopting the new religion, which they fully realised would require them to give up these practices; for if they did not do as their fathers had done, how could the yams and sago grow? “It’s all very fine,” they urged, “for Tamate, as everything he eats comes out of tins which he gets from the store at Thursday Island; but how about us?”

The native teachers, on the other hand, live largely on “native food,” and cultivate their own gardens. The students are trained to do the same, and the girls are taught to sew and make simple garments, and to be clean and orderly.

Mr. Hely, in his last Annual Report, states that “there has been a great demand for teachers; in fact, what amounts to a religious revival has taken place at Mawatta, Tureture, Parama, and elsewhere. It is to be hoped that it will continue. Mr. Chalmers has been hampered by the seeming difficulty of procuring teachers for this portion of the possession. Men of good culture are required at such places as Mawatta and Tureture.

“At Parama the Darnley Islander, Edagi, has worked hard. He has built a very creditable church, with the aid of the people, with whom he is very popular, and has a large school attendance. At Giavi there is a Murray Islander, but I think that the results of his ministrations are small.”

We spent a quiet Sunday; the rest and comfort of the Mission station was most refreshing. I showed photographs and rubbings of patterns to some natives in the afternoon, and obtained a little information from them.

PLATE X

IASA, KIWAI ISLAND

SIDE VIEW OF THE SOKO-KOROBE CLAN HOUSE AT IASA

These mission stations are oases of kindness and comfort in savage lands. When one has been knocking about for days in a boat, with uncomfortable, and often unpalatable meals, and being always wet, and having broken nights, the rest in a haven of a clean mission-house is delightful.

Ray, Wilkin, and I started next morning in the Nieue for Iasa, the chief village and virtually the native capital of Kiwai Island, some twelves miles away. The whole district is very flat, and the shore fringed with a monotonous row of mangroves, a line only broken at Iasa by a grove of coconut palms. As at Saguane, the river is eating away the land which it had previously deposited, and we noticed large numbers of prostrate coco palms which had been uprooted by the encroaching water. Also as at Saguane, an extensive flat bank runs out a long way into the river, and thus the Nieue had to anchor a considerable distance from the shore.

The village consists of sixteen houses, all of large size. Five of the houses belong to local natives; the others are owned by natives from other districts. Each house is occupied solely by members of one clan, but there were two instances of one clan owning a couple of houses.

We took up our quarters at the west end-room of the longest house. This house was 285 feet in length, and was built on piles about seven feet from the ground; there was a broad ladder at each end leading up to the main entrances. Along the side facing the river were five small doors, each provided with a slight ladder, and it is only by these that the women and children may enter or leave the house. There were two doorways on the opposite side of the house, which at the time of our visit were not in use, as there were no ladders to them.

There is a separate room at each end of a house, which is evidently merely the deep verandah of the typical house of the Papuan Gulf walled in close to the gable. These end-rooms are the men’s quarters, and correspond to the club-houses and tabooed erections of other parts of New Guinea.

Over a considerable portion of New Guinea the men have a social life which is distinct from the family life, and is hedged round with observances and taboos. In a given community there are usually several societies or fraternities into which entrance can only be gained by undergoing certain initiation ceremonies. These are jealously guarded, and the mysteries are performed in sacred spots in the bush, which are tabooed to all women, children, and non-initiates, or they may take place in houses set apart for the purpose, such as the large erabo (elamo or eramo) of the Gulf District described by Mr. Chalmers. In these the sacred emblems are kept, and although I prefer to speak of them as “club-houses,” Mr. Chalmers was perhaps justified in originally calling them “temples.” The end-rooms of the Kiwai houses are to be regarded rather as club-houses than temples, as are also the marea of the Mekeo District, and the dubu of the Central District.

The long central portion of the house constitutes the dwelling of all the members of the clan, each family having its own compartment with a separate fireplace. Owing to the absence of windows, it was difficult to see any details when looking down the tunnel-like house; for the doorways let in but very little light. At night, when the family fires were burning and there was plenty of smoke reflecting and dispersing the lights, one could more readily gather an impression of the weird scene. Into, and out from, the sombre shadows there passed lank women and jolly children, whose bronze skins were picturesquely lit up by the flickering yellow flames.

We traded a little with natives, and Ray gave some tunes on the phonograph. At night-time we found much difficulty in getting back to the Nieue, as it was low water and a strong tide was running. We waded out a long way on the mud-flats, till the water was nearly up to our waists, and the breakers completely drenched us. After getting into water deep enough to float our boat we had a long wearisome pull to the Nieue, but we feared we should have to put back for land after all, as the current was strongly against us. However, the captain of the Nieue noticed our difficulties and, weighing anchor, sailed to meet us, but for this we should not have been able to get aboard. Dry clothes and a meal soon restored us to comfort.

Next morning we returned to Iasa. Wilkin made a careful study of the long house. I measured ten men and did some trading. We were allowed to appropriate the eastern end-room of the long house, and towards evening lighted a fire, sitting by which we had our dinner, a crowd of natives watching our every action with great interest. We afterwards bought some specimens, whilst Ray gave a phonographic exhibition, and secured two good records. The pungent wood smoke was very trying to the eyes, but this was preferable to returning to the boat; later we wrapped ourselves in blankets and passed the night on a native mat.

The following morning we took some photographs, and I sketched the interior of the long house. Whilst the others were embarking I sent the small boys away, and had a confidential chat with the men about several of their customs, and obtained some most interesting information from them. We became very friendly, and the men expressed sorrow when it was time for us to leave. One man said to me, “You master good master; you master no same other master.” By which he meant to express his gratitude for the sympathy I had given them and the interest I had taken in their affairs. I must confess that I was much touched by this unconsciously pathetic revelation of the apartness of the two races. Altogether they were very nice to me, and one or two of us walked to the boat with arms round one another.

The Kiwai people are somewhat different from the Torres Straits islanders in appearance and customs; their skin is very slightly lighter, and the nose is more arched; they do not use ceremonial masks except for the final stage of initiation, and they build long houses. There are other differences which need not now be mentioned. I think it is very probable that they came down the Fly River and drove some at least of the pre-existing population before them.

A very interesting feature about the Kiwai natives is that they are still in a totemistic stage of culture; in other words, their social life is bound up with a reverence for certain natural objects. A community is composed of certain clans, each of which is associated with a particular class of object; it may be a crocodile, a croton, or a pandanus tree. The animal or bird, or even an inanimate object, is the nurumara, as they call it, of every member of that clan, and a representation of that nurumara or totem is often worn on the person or carved on objects or otherwise employed as a kind of armorial bearings.

The following is a list of all the totems I have been able to record from Kiwai Island:—

• Sibara, crocodile.
• Diwari, cassowary.
• Demauru-uru, a catfish.
• Soko, nipa palm.
• Abiomabio, mangrove.
• Oso, croton or dracæna.
• Oi, coconut palm.
• Dudu-mabu, a reed.
• Korobe, a crab that lives in the nipa palm.
• Mabere-uru, a tree.
• Bud-uru, a kind of fig tree.
• Gagari-mabu, a small variety of bamboo.
• Duboro-mabu, pandanus.
• Nowai-dua, Polynesian chestnut.
• Noora, a stone.

There is a remarkably disproportionate number of plant to animal totems, which is very unusual, and even one of these, korobe, is associated with soko, the nipa palm being the main totem, while the crab that inhabits it appears to be subsidiary.

I have previously drawn attention to the large number of decorative designs on objects from the Fly River and neighbouring coast of New Guinea that are derived from plants. As we had then no information on the subject, I did not venture to offer an explanation, though I did suggest that the decorative employment of animals in Torres Straits and in the Louisiades and neighbouring islands was due to totemism. The distinctive character of the decorative art of this region can now be similarly explained.

Totemism has a restricted distribution in British New Guinea. We could find no trace of it in the Central District either among the Motu stock or among the hill-tribes that we visited. Sir William Macgregor has recently stated that it is prevalent all over the east end of the Possession, but it disappears at Mairu or Table Bay. There is no true totemism in the eastern tribe of Torres Straits. It is true that there were dog and pigeon men in Murray Islands, but the dog and pigeon dances during one of the Malu ceremonies were admitted to have been introduced by ancient culture heros from the western tribe, where I discovered totemism twelve years ago.

Fig. 7. Native Drawings of some of the Nurumara (Totems) of Kiwai

Oi (coconut palm), oso (croton or dracæna), soka (nipa palm), korobe (the crab that lives in the latter), sibara (crocodile), diwari (cassowary). The crocodile is represented by a leg only, and the cassowary by its footprint.

There do not appear now to be any ordinary totem restrictions on Murray Island, as there certainly were till very recently in Tut, Mabuiag, and other of the western islands of Torres Straits, and as certainly there are still in Kiwai.

In Kiwai a man may not kill or eat his nurumara. The children inherit the father’s nurumara, and the wife assumes that of her husband, as she has to go and live with him in the clan house. This custom accounts for the exchange of women when a man marries; thus it is usual for a man’s family to give a suitable girl in exchange for his bride, and so the balance of the sexes is approximately maintained.

Dedeamo, my interpreter, was a croton; his wife was originally a coconut, their little boy was a croton. When I asked Dedeamo what was his wife’s name he refused to tell me. One frequently finds that people in a low stage of culture decline to tell you their own names, lest you should obtain power over them, but one can generally get from them the names of other people; this good man evidently thought it was wiser to be on the safe side.

The Hon. B. A. Hely, the Resident Magistrate of the Western Division, has recently published a memorandum (Annual Report B. N. G., July, 1897, to June, 1878, C. A., 119-1898) on totemism in Kiwai and elsewhere in the neighbourhood, in which he says that when a tree is the nurumara of a clan, the members of that clan do not eat the fruit of that tree or use it for building or other purposes. For instance, the soko people roof their houses with sago leaves instead of the customary nipa palm. He adds: this custom is broken through in Kiwai villages, but it is maintained on the mainland. The duboro-mabu people make their mats of banana leaves instead of employing the leaves of the pandanus. The gagari-mabu people do not use bamboo. It is believed that the killing, eating, or using for any purpose of a nurumara would result in severe eruptions on the body.

Mr. Hely also informs us that in fighting or dancing the representation of the man’s nurumara is painted on his chest or back with clay or coloured earth, and it is a fixed law in battle that no man should attack or slay another who bore the same cognisance as himself. A stranger from hostile tribes can visit in safety villages where the clan of his nurumara is strong, and visitors from other tribes are fed and lodged by the members of the nurumara to which they severally belong.

At Iasa we bought an oval board about three feet in length that has a face carved on one side. It is called gope, and is hung up in houses to bring good luck; it is sometimes placed in the bow of a canoe for the same purpose. During the evening we spent there a similar but much smaller one (seventeen and a half inches in length) was pointed out to me by a native in the east end-room, and I managed to secure it also; but in the course of my confidential talk the following day I discovered that this was not a gope, but a madubu, or bull-roarer; they had previously spoken of it as a gope as some boys were near, and these were not permitted to know about the madubu. In my memoir on The Decorative Art of British New Guinea I had hazarded the suggestion that the gope is derived from the bull-roarer, and the evidence now appears fairly conclusive on this point.

One function of the madubu is to ensure good crops of yams, sweet potatoes, and bananas. I was not able to find out the whole ceremony, but gathered that a fence is made in the bush—one man goes first and makes a hole, and others come later with the madubus. When the natives were telling me about this I asked to be allowed to see a madubu, and one was brought. It was a thin ovoid slat of wood, very roughly made. I offered a round metal looking-glass for it, which was accepted. Two others were brought me on the same terms, one being a smaller specimen. I was particularly requested not to let women or children see them, and not to show them to the Saguane people, as “they no savvy that thing.” Of course, I carefully kept my promise to this effect.

A few years ago Chalmers sent a bull-roarer to England from the mouth of the Fly River, which was labelled “Buruma-maramu, a bull-roarer: when used, all women and children leave the village and go into the bush. The old men swing it and show it to the young men when the yams are ready for digging (May and June).” The name evidently signifies “the mother of the yams,” buruma being a variety of yam, and maramu is “mother.”

The bull-roarer is also employed in the initiation of boys into manhood. I gather that there are two initiation ceremonies; at the first the madubu is shown to the initiates in a tabooed and fenced-in portion of the bush. The second moguru ceremony takes place in the rainy season or north-west monsoon. The boys to be initiated, koiameri, are taken to the bush, and the orara is shown to them. This is a wooden image of a nude woman, which was described to me as “god belong moguru”; a smaller form of it is known as umuruburo, this is a thin flat board cut into the shape of a human being. During the ceremony the men are decorated, and wear a head-dress made of cuscus skin; or some wear on their heads long, doubled-up strips of the skin, decorated with feathers. The skin head-dresses, marari, like the images, must not be seen by women. I managed to secure both forms of headgear.

Women and uninitiated boys may not see an orara, nor an umuruburo. These, together with the madubu and marari, are carried at night-time from the house to the bush, and returned to their hidden receptacles in the end-rooms of the long houses. Between the moguru ceremony and the yam harvest the men make pandean pipes, and every young man carries and plays one.

Fig. 8. Agricultural Charms of Kiwai

(One-sixth natural size)

Three madubu (bull-roarers) for yams, and two umuruburo (female effigies) for sago

I was informed of one fact which may throw some light on initiation ceremonies. The human effigies “look after” sago in the same way as the bull-roarers “look after” yams, sweet potatoes, and bananas. According to some notes made by Ray, the orara is shown to the initiates during the north-west monsoon, at the time when the sago is planted; but the madubu is swung and shown to the initiates when yams are planted in the south-east monsoon.

When food is scarce or of bad quality, if, for instance, a sago palm is split and found to be “no good,” the natives make moguru and put “medicine along moguru for kaikai” that is, perform moguru magic for food. Unfortunately there was not time for me to follow up this line of inquiry, but probably it will be found that the moguru ceremony is primarily a fertility ceremony, perhaps originally agricultural, and later social. The younger members of the community had to be initiated, some time or other, into the processes necessary for producing a good harvest. The time when the lad was growing into a man would suggest itself as being a suitable time for this, and for being instructed about his nurumara, and being recognised as a member of the clan.

In several parts of the world certain rites connected with agriculture were, or are, performed by nude women, and it is possible that these nude female effigies may have an analogous significance. Later I shall allude to the association of girls with the annual agricultural ceremonies in the Hood Peninsula. Probably a secondary sexual element has crept into the significance of these effigies in Kiwai. Similar effigies were said to have been employed as love charms in Murray Island, and I did not find out that there they had any agricultural significance; but this may merely have been due to the fact that a specialisation had taken place, owing to insular conditions.

Fig. 9. Neur Madub, or Love Charm

It is, however, significant that the name of the Murray Island love charm was neur madub, that is “girl madub.” When I was in Erub in 1888 I obtained a neur madub ([Fig. 9]), which originally came from the island of Masig; it is a wooden image of a girl with scarification markings; the length is eight inches. I was informed when a young man wanted to marry a girl who would have nothing to say to him, he would go to a magician, and the latter would apply “poison medicine” to this figure and the girl would become insane. The sugob madub was a slat of wood, roughly shaped into a male figure, which was used to make tobacco (sugob) grow. In Mabuiag wooden human effigies, called madub, were kept in a small hut along with bull-roarers (bigu). The Madub used to “turn devil” (tartaian markai) at night-time, and go round the gardens and swing the bull-roarers to make the yams grow. They also danced and repeatedly sang—

“O ari ina, ina dauaiia mule.”

(“Oh! the rain is here, here by the bananas it passes along.”)

In the daytime the madub turn into wood.

A wooden image, called Uvio Moguru, is used, according to Mr. Chalmers, at the initiation of the young men, and it must not be seen by women or children. He says it is also called Oraoradubu (which is usually translated as “God.”) I suppose this is the same sort of image as that which was given to me as orara, but of the male sex (dubu means “male” or “man”). “Oraoradubu makes everything grow, and they bring him presents of food when the planting season comes. They place food alongside of him, and then return and carry it away and eat it. He is always consulted before fighting, and presents are given to him, and he is appealed to for help to enable them to secure heads. If anyone is sick, food is given to Uvio, who is placed on the top of a big house (darimo), and he is addressed, ‘Oh, Uvio, finish the sickness of our dear one, and give life.’ The food is left there. Uvio is also taken and placed on the sick one when asleep, and he or she will get better. Uvio is always brought at night, because he is then a living being; during the day he is only a piece of wood. He cannot cause the dead to live.”

Until very recently these people were head-hunters; when an enemy was killed, the head was cut off with a bamboo knife and carried home on a rattan sling, which was inserted under the jawbone. The head was hung over a fire and all the hair singed off. During this process all the young girls of the village assembled and danced in a ring near—but not round the fire—singing all the while. The head was then taken away and all the flesh removed; after the skull was washed a carved peg was stuck in the skull, by means of which it was hung up on the main post of the house. This information was obtained from Mr. Chalmers, who also states that a young man could not marry if he had not a skull trophy, as no young woman would have him. Sometimes a young man would go to his friends at a distance—say to Mawatta or Tureture—and would remain there some months. On his return home he would bring with him several skulls which he had bought from, or through, his friends, but whatever his relatives might have been told in confidence, they gave out that he was a great brave, and the lady he loved would soon be his. A canoe has often been given in exchange for a skull.

In this island a number of very large, well-shaped, polished stone implements are found in the bush; the largest I have seen was in Mr. Chalmers’ house—it measured 18¾ inches in length. These stones are now placed at the head and foot, or all round the graves, and the natives do not appear to know anything about their former use. A small stone adze-head (tapi) was bought at Iasa, and when I asked who made it, I was gravely informed, “He make himself, he stop along ground all time.” The large implements are so cumbersome and heavy that it is difficult to understand how some of them could ever have been used, and I suspect the largest ones were in reality symbols of wealth or possibly of authority. As no stone occurs in situ for a distance of many miles, and none of this kind is known in the district, the implements have in all probability come down the Fly River. It is quite possible that stone implements have been out of use in this district for perhaps a century, owing to natives getting iron from wrecks and passing ships, and then bartering it to their neighbours; thus in two or three generations the knowledge of the use of stone implements would easily die out.

The natives say that Kiwai was first a small sandbank, but grew large; eventually trees and other vegetation sprang up on it. The first man came from a bird’s egg. The bird left the egg in the nest, and a maggot came out of it, which developed into a man.

Mr. Chalmers also tells the following legend concerning the origin of fire. At first it was not known how to make fire, and all the animals, and then the birds tried in turn to bring it across from the mainland. Eventually the black cockatoo succeeded, but dropped it at Iasa, as he burnt himself with it; and he bears the mark of his accident to this day in the red scar round his bill.

Fire is usually produced by the groove method, as is commonly done in Eastern New Guinea and Polynesia, but it is also got by friction of a strip of cane, as among the Koiari of the Central District. In the islands of Torres Straits it is produced by the drill method.

Although the Kiwaians cultivate the soil, they do not always live in the same spot. During the “nor’-west” most of the islanders live at Iasa, which appears to be regarded as the original home of the natives of the southern portion of the island. The temporary migrations are due to the collection and preparation of sago, the people having to go periodically to the places where the sago palm grows, and elsewhere they have gardens of yams and sweet potatoes. This fact renders it difficult for the missionaries to make much headway among the natives here.

On our return to Saguane we found that Seligmann had arrived. He had made several interesting trips in the Rigo and Mekeo districts, and had acquired a good deal of valuable information; he had fortunately escaped fever or other illness. Rivers had employed his time mainly in psychologising the Kiwaians. As Ray wanted to gain some information about the Kiwaian language, he decided to remain at Saguane for a fortnight, and to join us at Mabuiag, accompanying Mr. Chalmers when he paid his promised visit to that island.

We left Saguane shortly before midday on September 15th, had a roughish spin across the mouth of the Fly River, and early in the afternoon we glided through the narrow mangrove-bordered channel between Parama and the mainland of New Guinea. We ran on a mudbank at the western entrance, and as we had to wait till the tide rose we all went ashore at Old Mawatta. Here we found a temporary village of simple huts built on the ground. The people had come over from Parama to make gardens, and among them was the only Murray Island teacher in New Guinea. We soon purchased a decorated bamboo pipe, and by dumbshow and pidgin English I asked for a shell hoe. D’Albertis obtained some of these very primitive implements at Katau, or New Mawatta, and I bought one from the same village ten years before; but Mr. Hely told me that they had since then gone out of use. But to my joy one was brought to us, for which I gave a fish-hook; and in a very short time we had half a dozen on the same terms. Hardly anything pleased me more during this trip than to secure some specimens of this very rude and primitive agricultural implement, especially as there seemed previously no chance of obtaining it. The blade is made from part of a bailer-shell (Melo diadema), which is jammed into the perforation in the handle and wedged tight with pieces of wood.

Fig. 10. Shell Hoe

Used by the natives of Parama. About one-seventh natural size.

We bought several petticoats and some bows and arrows. A living cuscus was also offered for sale in a basket, and was bought for two fish-hooks and a stick of tobacco; so now for the first time we had a pet. The cuscus is the New Guinea representative of the Australian phalangers, or “opossums,” as they are popularly called, and is a gentle nocturnal creature that feeds mainly on fruit. It has a face something like a lemur’s, and a very long prehensile tail, the terminal third of which is pink and destitute of fur. The dense fur is of a creamy yellow colour mottled with dark brown.

Formerly most of the men of Torres Straits produced scars in elaborate patterns on their shoulders, and the practice is still maintained by certain tribes on the neighbouring coast of New Guinea. I had paid some attention to this kind of form of scarification, and was always on the look-out for fresh examples. On inquiry I found that the custom had quite died out, but there was one old man left who had this mark, and he was much amused when I sketched it.

These Western Papuans have such very dark skins that ordinary tattooing would not show on them. Like the Negroes, Australians, and other very dark peoples, they produce large and often prominent scars which, being lighter in colour than the skin, are fairly conspicuous. It is evident from the appearance of many of these scars that the process of producing them must have been very painful.

Wilkin made notes of and photographed a number of the huts, which were very simple in construction, and which I at once saw were very like the former dwellings of the Western Torres Straits islanders. The islanders have all adopted the kind of house introduced by South Sea men, so the evidently very primitive character of these huts and the diversity they exhibited was of especial interest to us, as they gave us an idea of what had elsewhere passed away. The leaf petticoats also of the women of these primitive people were quite the same as were the petticoats of the Torres Straits women before they adopted the hideous calico gowns they all wear now.

We parted on the best of terms with our new friends, and a number came off in canoes and swarmed aboard the Nieue, peering into the cabin whilst we ate our dinner.

This place is called Old Mawatta, as it was the home of the original inhabitants of Katau, or Mawatta, as it is more generally called. These people were driven from their home by the hostility and constant raids made on them by more powerful tribes from Kiwai and Parama, so they established themselves some thirty miles to the west, as they found the proprietors of the district to be friendly disposed.

When I visited Mawatta ten years previously, I accompanied Mr. H. Milman, who was Acting Resident Magistrate of Torres Straits. On landing we were met by Mr. E. Beardmore, who employed natives in fishing for pearl-shell and bêche-de-mer, and by a host of natives, all of whom came up and shook hands with us. Amongst these was the chief, or Mamoose, as he is termed. The title was engraved on a crescentic brass plate, and hung on the old man’s chest like the label of a bottle of wine. This strange outward and visible sign was given to the man by Beardmore as a symbol of chieftainship. There was at the time a dispute as to the office of chief, the candidates being Billy, the son of the late chief, Gamea, a young man, who did not appear to be very popular, and Gabia, whom the majority wanted. I believe that Gabia’s chief distinction was that he was the most successful hunter of wild pigs in the neighbourhood.

We adjourned to Beardmore’s house, shaking hands en route with men, women, and children. Everybody was “decently” clothed, the women wearing long calico gowns, a disappointing sight, as the previous year when Mr. Milman was here the women wore only their characteristic small fore-and-aft leaf petticoat.

On coming out of the house all the people were marshalled. Those of the upper portion of this double village were on one side, those of the lower village on the other, while a few totally unclothed Masingara, “bushmen,” who happened to be there, formed a group by themselves. These latter were absolute savages who lived a few miles inland, whereas the natives of Mawatta have been in contact with Europeans for twenty-five years or more.

Then Mr. Milman made a speech to the assembled people. I did not write it down, but this is part of what he said: “No good you fellow have two Mamooses. Good thing you have one Mamoose, one man, Gabia; him Mamoose of two villages.” Then Mr. Milman formally presented him with a staff of office, which was a carved Japanese cane walking-stick, in the handle of which a shilling was inserted with the Queen’s head uppermost, and the Union Jack, which Billy had hitherto flown, was given to Gabia. The ejaculations and remarks of the crowd were expressive, but quite unintelligible to me.

The new chief was then told to build a court-house in the middle of the village, and a quantity of tobacco was given him to help pay for labour and materials. When it was built the staff of office was to be kept inside, and the flag was to fly on official occasions from a pole on the roof, and when there were any disputes the people would have to go to the court-house, and it would be the chief’s business to settle the quarrels, aided by the advice of the old men of the village.

The people in New Guinea usually bury their dead in very shallow graves, close to, or even underneath, the dwelling-houses. The Government puts a stop to this unhealthy arrangement, and so Gabia was told to prevent this in future, and to fix on a spot for a cemetery some distance off.

Next a social matter demanded attention, which strangely resembled a situation that is common enough at home. There was a young man named Kasawi, a fine industrious young fellow, who wanted to marry a certain young girl, and she wanted to marry him; but Kasawi was poor, and the parents of the girl tried to force her to marry a richer man.

Here also it is the custom for the man to give his own sister as a wife to the brother of the girl whom he wants to marry, but Kasawi had no sister. The old people were firm, but the girl would not do as they wished and marry an elderly Malay man who lived there, and who could afford to give good presents to her parents.

For a long time there had been considerable excitement in the village about this little love affair, as no one would give way. Mr. Milman told Gabia to decide in this matter, and there was a great palaver. Then the chief proclaimed that Kasawi might marry the girl, but when he was paid off by Mr. Beardmore, for whom he was then working, he would have to give the parents of his bride certain presents from his wages. A murmur of applause went round the crowd, who appeared to highly approve of this decision, and so the young people were made happy.

After the meeting broke up I took several photographs. The first business was to get the women to exuviate, and to appear in their native dress, for, as I explained to them, if I wanted to photograph calico I could do that at home. After a little time they retired to their houses with much laughing and giggling, and reappeared dressed solely in the national costume. Many of the women had a raised scar which extended from breast to breast—this is said to be made when a brother spears his first turtle or dugong; some had cicatrices on their upper arms and shoulders; most had scars on various parts of their bodies, but these were the result of cuts made for the purpose of removing pain by bleeding.

A native dance was got up for our benefit; owing to the shortness of time at the disposal of the dancers their costume was not so elaborate as is usually the case. On this occasion only the men danced, and of these there were about twenty or thirty. The usual dress consisted only of a pair of short pants; in the belt a tail was fastened behind, either of leaves or a flap of red or gaily coloured calico. The head was ornamented with a head-dress of white or black feathers or a band of bright-coloured calico; sometimes leaves or flowers only were inserted in the hair. Some put flowers in the large holes they make in the lobes of their ears. On their arms they wore woven cane armlets or bands, generally decorated with tassels or the gaily coloured leaves of the croton; on the left fore-arm they wore a long cane arm-band, which is used to protect the arm from the bow string when they shoot with bow and arrow, a long bunch of cassowary feathers was usually stuck in this arm-guard. Finally, there were bands of pale yellow leaves on their legs.

It is very difficult to describe the dancing, which was always accompanied with the beating of drums. Sometimes the men danced in a circle in single file, going either from right to left or the reverse, there was a pause after each turn. One figure was somewhat more complicated: the men advanced in a line up each side of the dancing-ground, the first pair who met retreated a little in the middle line, still facing the spectators; when the next two arrived, the first pair separated to allow them to pass between, and the new-comers took up their position behind the former, and so on, until the last pair passed between the gradually lengthened avenue of standing men. Several of the dances imitated actions in real life, such as planting yams or picking up pearl-shell from the bottom of the sea, or animals were represented, and a man would mimic the movements of a crab, a lizard, or a pelican.

The Pelican dance was the last; a couple of men came forward, jumped up into the air, and alighted on the tips of their toes. As the drum-beats became more rapid, so was their jumping quicker; so active were they, that we could hardly follow their movements. When they were tired other pairs came up, until all had danced. It was really a fine sight, and, of course, we duly clapped each set of dancers, and well they deserved it.

Mr. Beardmore said that his men often broke off in the middle of their work to practise a favourite step, and work might be knocked off for an afternoon in order to have a dance; sometimes one was carried on right through the night. Where missionary influence is strong enough, the native dances are discouraged or altogether stopped. I once saw an illustration of the change that has taken place in Warrior Island. Some of the younger performers were rather ashamed to dance, others were imperfectly acquainted with the steps, but the old women danced splendidly, and thoroughly enjoyed it. The natives were beginning to care less for their old customs and more for trade, as the men can earn quite a lot of money by fishing.

After the dancing we gave scrambles for tobacco, first to the children only, then to the women only. It was amusing for all of us, and there was great screeching and laughing. Then the barter commenced, and I was fortunate enough to obtain a number of interesting objects.

For a scrub-knife, that is, a knife with a very long blade that is used for cutting down the underwood when they make their gardens, I obtained a mask in the shape of a crocodile’s head made of tortoise-shell. This mask was worn during certain religious dances, and when I asked the man from whom I bought it to put it on in order that I might see how it was used, he refused, as he said if he did so he would die by a slow and painful illness, and he did not want to run the risk of this to please me, nor even for a stick of tobacco. Evidently it would be regarded as sacrilege to wear a mask of this kind on any other occasion than the sacred ceremony to which it belonged.

Below one of the large houses there were clusters of human skulls hanging like bunches of grapes or strings of onions; these were the skulls of enemies killed in battle, and they were hung up as trophies.

The possession of skulls is a sign of bravery, and so the men like to have them, and the women are very proud of their husbands if they have several. In fighting they use the bow and arrow and stone clubs. The most common kind of stone club is that which has a perforated disc of hard stone, finely polished and brought to a sharp edge, which is mounted usually on a short length of rattan, but there are others which have knobbed or star-shaped heads. Some of the skulls I obtained had holes in them that clearly showed with which kind of club the men had been killed.

After a man is killed his head is cut off with a bamboo knife; the blade is made of a split piece of bamboo, the handle being bound round with plaited string. When the knife is to be used a nick is made on the edge, close to the handle, with a small shell; then a strip is peeled off from the other end, the nick preventing the handle from splitting.

Fig. 11. Bamboo Beheading-knife and Head-carrier, Mawatta

One-fifth natural size

The rind of bamboo is full of minute flinty particles, so much so that a freshly-cut edge is very sharp, and will cut off a man’s head; but it will suffice for only one occasion, and a fresh edge has to be made for each head that is cut off. One knife I bought had five nicks, which means it had been used for the purpose of cutting off the heads of five people, and another had nine notches.

Along with the knife I bought a cane loop, or sling; this is used for carrying home the heads after they have been cut off.

CHAPTER VIII
MABUIAG

The day after we left Parama we had a long, disagreeable run against the tide to Dauan, only reaching a comparatively sheltered anchorage near this island late at night. In the morning we made an early start, and arrived at Mabuiag in the afternoon. It was rough till we got in the lee of the extensive Orman’s reef. When the shelter of that was passed we had to do a lot of beating up against a strong tide, for in the narrow channels between the reefs, or between the reefs and the islands, there is often a tidal race.

I was very pleased to visit Mabuiag once more. During my former expedition I spent five weeks in this island, and its inhabitants happened to be the first natives I had studied and made friends with. After interviewing Mr. Cowling, the local trader, we went on to the Mission Station, and the rest of the day was spent in landing our stuff and putting up the camp beds, and otherwise establishing ourselves in the mission-house. Cowling invited us to dinner, for which we were grateful, as our domestic arrangements were all sixes and sevens. After a yarn we returned to the Mission camp; it felt quite chilly at night, as a strong south-east wind was blowing. Fortunately there were no mosquitoes nor sandflies, so there was no need to be cooped up in mosquito nets.

The Mission Station on Murray Island is on the leeward or western side of the island; but when we went across the island—to Las, for example—we found the continuous wind very refreshing. In Mabuiag the Mission Station is on the windward or south-east side of the island, and we at once felt braced by the change of air. There is no doubt that, owing to this, we could work better, and there was less temptation to slackness than was the case in Murray Island.

Mabuiag is a larger island than Murray, and consists of several hills three or four hundred feet in height, some are about five hundred feet high. It is, roughly speaking, triangular in outline, each side measuring about a couple of miles. Owing to the character of ancient igneous rocks the island is only moderately fertile, and the vegetation has more of an Australian character than has that of Murray Island. There are also small grassy plains with scattered pandanus trees, and here and there a cycad. The somewhat conical rocky hills are mostly covered with trees, with grassy patches on their summits. Water is rather scarce.

The little harbour, with its jetty, is situated at the most easterly point of the island. It is here Cowling has his store. The Mission Station is on the beach on the south-eastern side of the island, at one end of the only village in the island. Formerly the houses were more or less scattered over the island, but the missionaries have induced the natives to congregate in one spot.

Compared with the Murray Islanders, the people of Mabuiag are much better off so far as clothes and European commodities are concerned; but, as already stated, the island is much less fertile—indeed, little native food is now grown, barely enough for daily use.

Mabuiag has been for a longer time, and also far more thoroughly, under the influence of the white man than has Murray Island. Consequently the social and economic conditions have been more modified, and one immediately perceives that the people are more civilised, and it does not take long to find out that they are more intelligent as a whole. The men do more fishing, and are altogether more industrious than are the Murray Islanders.

At first sight one would be inclined to put all this down to the credit of the influence of the white men, but I am by no means sure that this is entirely the case. When the results of our investigations are completed and published it will, we suspect, be evident that the Mabuiag people are naturally more intelligent than the Murray Islanders.

Mabuiag is situated half-way between New Guinea and Australia, and it was the intermediate trading station between the natives of the Prince of Wales group and those of Saibai, who, on the other hand, had trading relations with the coastal people of Daudai, as the neighbouring part of New Guinea is locally termed.

The Mabuiag men were skilful sailors and fishermen, and they combined with this a little head-hunting and a fair amount of trading, all of which occupations tend to develop the intelligence. They also had the advantage of not having a very fertile soil. It was therefore necessary for them to till the ground fairly assiduously if they were to have enough garden produce to sustain life in comfort; this probably assisted towards making them industrious.

Muralug, the largest island in Torres Straits, and one of the nearest to Australia, has very similar physical conditions, but the people were at a much lower social grade. My impression is that they were not so enterprising on the sea as the Mabuiag men, and certainly they were greatly inferior to them so far as general culture and tilling of the soil were concerned. Indeed, most of their time was spent wandering about in the bush and living on what fruit happened to be in season. Macgillivray states that none of the land “by cultivation has been rendered fit for the permanent support of man.” It is possible that the Muralug people, although of the same stock as the Mabuiag folk, were influenced for bad by their neighbours on the Cape York peninsula, while the Mabuiag men were braced by contact with the Papuans of the mainland of New Guinea.

Murray Island, as we have seen, was so fertile that very little labour was necessary for supplying garden produce; and though the men were good sailors, and often visited Erub, and even occasionally Parama or Kiwai, yet their isolation prevented much intercourse, and they remained less intelligent than the Mabuiag people, but more so than the Muralug folk.

There is another circumstance that must not be overlooked, although we do not yet know its full bearing. From the measurements we made of the living natives, and from those I have made on the skulls, it appears that the Torres Straits Islands were inhabited by a branch of the Western Papuans, who had the very dark skin, black woolly hair, and long, narrow heads that characterise that group of peoples. This stock alone occurs in Murray Island, whereas in the western tribe, from Saibai to Muralug, there is superimposed on this ground-stock another stem with a similar skin and hair, but with broader heads. This broader-headed population can also be traced along the Daudai coast to Kiwai Island, and for at least seventy miles up the Fly River.

It is generally admitted that a broadening of the head is advantageous, especially if associated with an increase in total capacity. However this may be, human progress is usually directly connected with a mixture of peoples, and apparently the mixture of even a very slightly different people has somewhat improved the mental activity of the western islanders.

There is a large collection of skulls in the British Museum (Natural History Museum) which came from the island of Pulu, about which I shall have more to say immediately. They are consequently the skulls of enemies of the Mabuiag folk, probably mainly natives of Moa. These skulls, which have been described by Mr. Oldfield Thomas, are very narrow. Of one exceptionally narrow skull, with a very protruding muzzle, Mr. Thomas writes: “This skull may be taken as a type of the lowest and most simian human cranium likely to occur at the present day.”

The skulls I obtained at Mabuiag during my two visits to that island belonged to natives of that island, and they are markedly broader than those collected by Dr. Macfarlane.

In 1888 I was very anxious to obtain some skulls, but for some time could not get any. One morning my boy Dick said to me, “Doctor, I savvy where head belong dead man he stop; he stop in hole.” I promised the boy a jew’s-harp to show me the spot, and on going there I took from a crevice in a rock a beautifully perfect skull that had been painted red. I told Dick to inform his friends that I would give a jew’s-harp for a skull or for some bones.

That afternoon a crowd of small boys marched up, holding in their hands a number of human bones. I suspected I was being somewhat imposed upon, as probably one boy had collected the lot and distributed them among his friends; but I had learned the lesson that if you want to start a trade you must not mind paying extravagantly, if needs be, at first. Once the trade has started it is quite a different matter. I paid each boy a jew’s-harp for the worthless broken bones he brought. The boys were hugely delighted, and strutted up and down the village strumming their jew’s-harps.

The young men of the village then began to yearn for jew’s-harps, and that same evening they came to me, and said, “Doctor, I want jewsarp.” I replied, “I want head belong dead man.” “I no got head belong dead man,” they urged. “You savvy where he stop. You get him,” was my reply.

The following evening the skulls began to arrive, and I duly gave a jew’s-harp for each one. Unfortunately by this time my small stock of jew’s-harps was exhausted, save for two. Then one young man said, “Doctor, I want jewsarp.” “I want head belong dead man.” “I no got head belong dead man.” “You savvy where he stop; good thing you catch him.” To my surprise the man replied, “I no got wife.”

At first I could not make it out. In those days I had not paid any attention to craniology, but I knew enough to satisfy myself that the skulls were those of people who had been dead a long time, and many were obviously the skulls of men. Consequently the young men had not been killing their wives for the sake of a jew’s-harp. No savage I ever came across would make such a bad bargain as that.

Then I discovered that the young men had sent their wives to procure the skulls; and, as not unfrequently happens elsewhere, the women did the work, and the men got the reward.

The advent of the white man has upset the former economic conditions on Mabuiag. The men now spend all their time “swimming diving” as it is called, that is, they go in parties in sailing boats, and dive by swimming for pearl-shell in shallow water. Some natives own their own boats, and make up crews on a system of sharing; others hire themselves out to white men. They generally start out on Monday and return on Friday or Saturday. All the time they are away they feed on tinned meat, biscuits, flour, and other white man’s food. They get accustomed to this food, and as they are away from home so much, they cannot “make” their gardens. Thus it comes about that agriculture, as well as fishing, is greatly neglected, and a considerable portion—and in some instances the bulk—of their food has to be bought from the stores. Should the supply of pearl-shell fall off, or the price be lowered, the natives would suffer greatly; and if the storekeepers left the island, the people would practically starve. As it is, many are considerably in debt to the traders, and often the traders have to advance supplies of flour and food to ward off starvation. With all their apparent prosperity, the people are really in a false economic condition, and their future may yet be temporarily deplorable.

The Mabuiag people have a very superior new timber church, which was built, as they are proud of stating, “by contract for £250.” The natives of other islands built their churches themselves, but here they could afford to pay others to do it for them; and no false modesty causes them to be behindhand in making the most of this fact. Some time ago a large quantity of pig copper was found by the natives on a reef close by, and they sold this to the traders for about £500. With some of the money thus obtained they built their church. The copper must have formed part of the cargo of a ship that struck on the reef, and the copper was jettisoned to lighten her.

We very soon annexed the old church building as a storehouse and laboratory, and found it most convenient. Some of us slept in it, and found it a cool, airy bedroom. The roof was considerably dilapidated, the thatch having come off in many spots; but fortunately there was no rain. The walls were broken in places, and the doors and window-frames were all giving way; still it suited our purposes admirably.

A day or two after our arrival a procession of men, women, and children came from the village very early in the morning, singing hymns as they marched, and deposited in front of our door a present of a large number of coconuts, four water melons, one yam, some taro, several eggs, two cocks, and a hen. Most of the parents with characteristic kindliness let their little children put their presents on the heap. The spokesman said the island was poor (in garden produce), and they could not give us much. In replying, I said we knew they had not much produce, and that they had given us a good present. I added also that no one had given us fowls and eggs before. After the little speechifying was over, the people and the heaped-up food were photographed.

It was much easier to get information from these people than from the Murray Islanders, for they know English very much better, were further removed from their past, and did not appear to have the scarcely veiled affection and respect for their old customs that the Murray Islanders certainly retain. They were less unwilling, therefore, to tell what they remembered of their former customs. There were still a few old men alive who knew the “old-time fashion,” and they often acted as referees, so that it was possible to get definite information upon points about which the younger men were uncertain; but the old men knew very little English, and the young men had to interpret for them.

PLATE XI

WARIA, PETER, TOM, AND GIZU

NĒĔT OR PLATFORM FROM WHICH DUGONG ARE HARPOONED

Owing to the industrious habits of the men and their professed desire to get money for the forthcoming “May,” they went out diving for pearl-shell, and we were during our first week occasionally left without “subjects.” To obviate this I engaged two men, Peter and Tom, at ten shillings a week each to come and talk to us whenever we wanted them. I also engaged a man named Waria to help Ontong. After engaging Waria as literally our drawer of water and hewer of wood, I discovered that he was the hereditary chief of the island! So he was promoted to be my special instructor in the old native customs, and help Ray with his study of the language. Waria’s father died when he was a lad, so the present Mamoose was elected by the Hon. John Douglas. Since we left Waria has “come into his own.” We soon found out that Waria was making a translation of the Gospel of St. Matthew, and he turned out to be a very accomplished person. He was genuinely interested in our work, and quite grasped what our objects were. One day, on his own initiative, he wrote the following:—

ANTHROPOLADIKO EKSIPIDISIN

1. 1. tana mun
   2. their
   3. nel
   4. name
   5. itabo
   6. in the
   7. Mabaigan
   8. of Mabuiag
   9. nel
   10. name

Very early one morning, hearing the sound of wailing in the village, we went to inquire who had died. To our sorrow we heard it was the infant son of Waria. The child was quite well the day before, except for a stomach-ache; probably he had been overlaid in the night. There was a great exhibition of grief, and many people came in all through the day to sit in Waria’s house and weep by the poor little corpse. These people are really most affectionate and sympathetic; everything was disorganised that day on account of the infant’s death. Even old men sat about doing nothing. Waria was very desirous to have a photograph of his dead baby in order that he might not forget what he was like. Of course we did this for him.

When he was in Murray Island, Rivers wanted to find out whether any of the psychological traits or aptitudes that he had investigated ran in certain families, and consequently he commenced to record the relationships of the various subjects. Before he commenced on the inquiry he had absolutely no interest in the subject of genealogy, but he soon became literally fascinated with it. In the end he had tabulated the genealogies of every native of Murray Island as far back as could be remembered.

It was very amusing to see Rivers closeted with some old man ferreting out the family history of various people, and he often surprised the natives by the width and accuracy of his knowledge. A tremendous amount of secrecy had to be exercised in these inquiries in Murray Island, and one never knew in what odd corner or retired spot one might not come upon the mysterious whispering of Rivers and his confidant. The questions one overheard ran mostly in this wise, “He married?” “What name wife belong him?” “Where he stop?” “What piccaninny he got?” “He boy, he girl?” “He come first?” and so forth.

All this is not so simple as it appears, as everyone has one or two names, and sometimes a man will casually assume a new name. Some men have married several times, often to widows with children; but the most confusing point of all is the very general custom in Murray Island of adopting children. In many cases children do not find out till they are grown up who their parents were; often they never know.

Their system of naming relationships is very different from ours; for example, a mother’s sisters, that is the maternal aunts, are called “mothers.” In the usual method of collecting names of relationships confusion would often arise, owing to the very varied ways of regarding kinship; but according to Rivers’ system mistakes could practically never arise. All the terms he used were: “father,” “mother,” “husband,” “wife,” “boy,” “girl,” or “man” and “woman,” and for the first of these he always asked, “He proper father?” “He proper mother?” Once a genealogy was fairly complete it was only necessary to ask, “What A call B?” “What A call F?” “What B call A?” and so on, to find out what were the relationships acknowledged by them, and the names by which they were called.

Finding that this line of inquiry led to such good results in Murray Island, Rivers immediately started similar investigations when he arrived at Mabuiag. The collection of genealogies here was in one respect more difficult than in Murray Island, as the families were larger and the prevalence of polygamy, until quite recently, further complicated matters. Intermarriages between natives of different islands were naturally much more common than in Murray Island; indeed the intermarriage between the inhabitants of Mabuiag and Badu have been so frequent that they must be regarded as one people.

Not only did Rivers record the islands the various people came from, but their totems as well. By this laborious work a great deal of valuable information will result that could not be obtained in any other way or with anything like the same accuracy. The clan marriages of the population of Mabuiag for several generations will not fail to reveal the rules that regulated marriage and descent.

There was an interesting psychological difference between the Mabuiag folk and those of Murray Island. As has just been pointed out, great secrecy had to be maintained in the latter island when pursuing genealogical inquiries; but quite the opposite condition prevailed in Mabuiag. Here the information was obtained in public, and a doubtful point in genealogy was frankly discussed by men and women. This enabled Rivers to make more rapid progress than in Murray Island, and at the same time he was equally sure of his facts: what in Murray Island required private confabulations with various men at different times could here be settled practically offhand.

Much varied sociological information can be obtained by recording genealogies in this way. For example, one can get definite facts on the number of children in a family, the proportion of the sexes, the number that die before they themselves have children, the number of adopted children, the idea on which relationship is based, the relationship nomenclature, the relation of totems to individuals or communities, the personal or group restrictions as to marriage, the relative fertility of related or unrelated stock, the effect of crossing between different races, and so forth.

Without entering into further detail, I would like to emphasise the fact that by this system Rivers has supplied anthropologists with a new method of research, by means of which important data can be collected with absolute accuracy on subjects concerning which it has hitherto been very difficult to obtain reliable information.

Some white men resident on Mabuiag had crews of mainland (Queensland) blacks, and we took this opportunity to measure, psychologise, and photograph some dozen of these men. This was a fortunate chance for us, as we wanted to make a few comparative observations on the North Queensland aborigines.

There were also a few South Sea men living on Mabuiag, who had married native women, and we studied several of them, and their half-caste children as well. My old friend Billy Tanna was still on Mabuiag with his numerous progeny, and three or four other Tanna men besides, whom we also measured. Tanna is one of the New Hebrides group.

One Lifu man, Sŭni or Charley, had the longest head I have ever measured. It was 215 mm. (8½ inches) in length. It was also narrow and high; the length, breadth (or cephalic) index was 66·9. Rivers found in Sŭni the first example of true colour blindness he had yet come across. It was amusing to see Sŭni’s total inability to discriminate between pink and blue and red and green, and his other attempted matches were very quaint. There were two other Lifu men on the island, and great was Rivers’ delight to find that one of them was also red-green blind. One felt tempted to frame all sorts of wild theories about a colour-blind race. During his return home, both at Thursday Island and at Rockhampton, in Queensland, Rivers investigated four other Lifu men, but only one of these was colour-blind. Still, it is an interesting fact that not a single other case of colour-blindness was found among one hundred and fifty natives of Torres Straits and Kiwai, or among some eighty members of other races, including Australians, Polynesians, Melanesians, Tamils, and half-castes, and yet three out of seven Lifu men were colour-blind. Lifu is one of the Loyalty group in the South Pacific. The inhabitants are Melanesians, with, in some instances, a little Polynesian admixture.

Ray pursued his philological studies in Mabuiag, and found that there was a very marked difference, both structurally and in vocabulary, between it and the Murray Island tongue. From Saibai to Muralug and from Badu to Tut one language is spoken, but there are at least four closely allied dialects corresponding to as many groups of islands. The grammar of this language is decidedly of the Australian type, though there is no marked connection in structure or vocabulary with languages of the neighbouring mainland of Australia.

Later, Ray had an opportunity of verifying this conclusion by a partial investigation of the language of the Yaraikanna tribe of Cape York, which is, however, totally distinct from that of the islanders of either the eastern or western tribes.

A marked peculiarity of the Mabuiag language is the extremely indefinite signification of the verbs, which require to be made definite by prefixes indicating the part of the body concerned, the direction of the action, or the place concerned. For example, palan apparently indicates the putting forth of something; and thus we have poi-palan, to shake off dust; gagai-palan, to fire gun or arrow; minar-palan, to make marks, to write; ibelai-palan, to cover as with a blanket; balbalagi-palan, to make not crooked, to straighten; berai-palan, to make like a rib, to slacken a rope; dan-pali (an intransitive), to open the eyes, to awake; aka-pali, to show fear. Another peculiarity is the partiality of the language for noun constructions; indeed, as all the verb suffixes are the same as those of nouns, it may be doubted whether the verb exists as it is understood in European languages. “I have seen you,” is in Mabuiag ngau ninu imaizinga, literally, “mine your seeing”; the imperative plural “Fear not” is nitamun akagi, “Your not (being) afraid.”

The Mabuiag people have been under Christian teaching for over a quarter of a century, and in most respects they may be regarded as civilised and Christianised as country-folk at home. For about half this period the islanders were under the influence of the Rev. Dr. S. Macfarlane, but the actual teaching has always been done by South Sea teachers.

The new church was opened with great ceremony in 1897, and crowds of natives arrived from all parts of Torres Straits, even from the far-distant Darnley and Murray Islands.

It was amusing to find that these Mabuiag folk believe that the Murray Islanders are more savage, or less advanced than themselves, just as the Murray Islanders in their turn look down upon all the other islanders. We were told in all soberness that at the opening of the new church one of the Murray Islanders tried to make sorcery on a Mabuiag man, but God was too powerful, and He made an example of a Murray Island boy who died mysteriously and was buried on a small island to windward. I believe our wicked old friend Ulai was the suspected sorcerer. On Mabuiag they say the Murray and Darnley people still keep up magic, and they contemptuously speak of these foreigners as eating frogs. Really, people are much alike all the world over! Here is another instance of the fact that is always striking us—the essential identity of the human mind under all varying conditions of race and climate.

Our good friend Mr. Chalmers arrived on Monday, October 3rd, from Saguane, bringing Ray with him, various mishaps having delayed his expected arrival on the previous Saturday. His main object in visiting Mabuiag was to hold a “May Meeting.” Murray Island and Saibai each have their own “Mei,” as they call it; but Mabuiag is the central station for all the other western islands.

Tamate employed one day in examining the school children, and some of us went to the distribution of prizes in the afternoon, the scissors, knives, pens, and pencils giving great pleasure to the little winners.

According to their custom everywhere the South Sea teachers put a stop to all native dancing in Torres Straits, and as I much wanted to see a dance in Mabuiag, there was some danger of the Mabuiag teacher misunderstanding my expressed desire to get up one. Tamate, however, soon arranged matters, and a native dance was included in the programme.

In the forenoon of Saturday, October 8th, a service was held in the church. Most of the congregation arrived in procession headed by Tamate, Isaiah, the Samoan teacher of Mabuiag, and Morris, the Niuie teacher of Badu.

After these came two broad rows of men and boys, then two rows of women and girls, all singing hymns. During the singing of the second hymn in church, it was discovered that the all-important plate for the collection had been forgotten, so a deacon went out and returned with two enamelled iron plates.

In his address Tamate said he was sorry to see that fewer people had come from the other islands than in former years. The Prince of Wales Islanders were few in number, but they (the Mabuiag people) had promised to subscribe money to help the Prince of Wales Islanders. The Mabuiag people earned plenty of money diving for pearl-shell; perhaps they made too much money, for when they went to Thursday Island they often squandered it on drink and other indulgences, and so had no reserve for bad seasons. Tamate appealed for more money to support new teachers in the Fly River district, and also for an annual contribution of clothes and calico and other things for their fellow-countryman Mugala, the teacher at Kunini. Finally he asked them to send young men to his station at Saguane to learn to read the Bible in English, and eventually to go out as teachers.

Before the meeting actually began, but after we entered the church, Mr. Chalmers, greatly to my surprise, said he would like me to speak to the natives. On finishing his address, therefore, he called upon me for a “talk.” After some general remarks I spoke a little about our work, and that we found the differences between white, black, brown, and yellow men were mainly external, but in reality all were very much alike. I went on to tell them about prehistoric man in Britain, how, like themselves thirty years ago, he went naked, and only had stone implements. I described briefly the difference between palæolithic and neolithic implements, and how man gradually improved; how they themselves had augŭds (totems) and our ancestors had too—theirs were dugong, shark, cassowary, etc., while ours had been the white horse, seal, and wild boar, and so on; how they cut representatives of their totems on their bodies, whilst our forbears used to paint their augŭds in blue on their bodies; how tomahawks and knives came to us from another place, just as white men brought them theirs; how we formerly made sorcery just as they did—they made magic with wooden figures of men, and we stuck pins into clay figures. Then missionaries came to Britain and taught the people about God, just as missionaries come to them. The people in New Guinea are still what they themselves were like a few years ago, and it was now their turn to send missionaries to New Guinea. This address of mine given in pidgin English was the first, as it will probably be the last, given by me at a “May Meeting.”

Then followed prayers and addresses in the vernacular by teachers, chiefs, and deacons, with hymns interspersed; and all the time, as in home churches, only more so, there was a continual dropping by the children of the coins they were to contribute to the collection, only, as not at home, the sound was the clink of silver, and not the clank of copper.

Afterwards the five young men with their wives, who were going to Chalmers’ Mission Station at Saguane, were asked to come on the platform, and each gave a short address. Finally the collection was made as the congregation passed out of church in island groups. Mabuiag contributed £8 10s.; Badu and Moa, £8 0s. 9d.; Prince of Wales Island, £1; and the South Sea men of Mabuiag, £11 2s., making a total of £28 12s. 9d. During the year £64 15s. 1d. has been collected at the Sunday offertory at Mabuiag, consequently Chalmers took back as the Mabuiag subscription to the London Missionary Society £40 10s., this amount being the local “May” collection and half the weekly offerings for the year, a very creditable amount.

Mabuiag is the only native church which has a collection every Sunday; during the four months we were in Murray Island there was no collection, they have one only during their “May,” and I was told that their last collection amounted to less than 10s.!

Isaiah invited all our party to luncheon with Tamate, and he gave us a first-rate midday dinner of pig, fowl, ham, yams, and sago cooked in an earth-oven; cake, tinned fruit, bananas, and water-melon, with ginger ale and coconut water to drink.

After dinner a large quantity of food was heaped in front of the mission house by the natives, and a speech was made stating that the island was so unfertile that they could not give so much as they would like. There was one large live turtle, and a cooked and cut-up one, dugong meat, fish, dampers, tins of meat, yams, taro, sweet potatoes, two bunches of bananas, and plenty of coconuts. When we had photographed the heaps of food, “Teapot,” a Samoan, gave a very clever dance to the beating of an empty kerosine tin. Teapot flung an axe backward and forwards, up and down, and every possible way, catching and twisting it with great dexterity.

The present of food was then distributed. To Tamate was given the live turtle, a lot of coconuts, and other fruit; to the “Doctor,” twenty coconuts and five sweet potatoes. I was very pleased at this further proof of the friendliness of the natives; other people also received a share of the present.

Later in the afternoon a dance was performed by some thirty men in the palm grove within the Mission compound. This was the Pibi kap, sometimes called “Kwoiam’s dance,” after the legendary warrior of the island—it was a war dance performed after a successful fight. Some of the men had variously painted themselves with red and black and yellow ochre; they wore chaplets of young coconut leaves or white feathers in their hair, crossed shoulder-belts and petticoats of the same yellow, or yellowish green coconut leaves, streaming armlets to match, and bands round their legs and ankles. They held bows and arrows in their left hands, and in their right each carried a coconut, or pawpaw, to represent a decapitated human head.

It would be tedious to describe in detail the various movements of the dancers. Usually they advanced in single file, with a skipping movement, holding the body somewhat bent, then, resting for a moment on one leg, would beat the air two or three times with the other leg, then stoop, resting on both feet, and trail the “head” on the ground, then advance with various skipping movements; occasionally they would rapidly dance on the tips of their toes, as if they were boring into the ground, sometimes the bow would be held horizontally, at others vertically, and almost continuously the “head” would be trailed backwards and forwards in the sand; every now and again the cry of victory would be raised. Some old women excited by the memory of former days could not refrain joining also in the dance.

Imagine a “May Meeting” in Exeter Hall closing with a war dance!

CHAPTER IX
TOTEMISM AND THE CULT OF KWOIAM

It was very interesting living among a people in the totemistic stage of culture, but this custom is now gradually dying out, and the young men do not know much about it. An old man, named Gizu, whose services I secured as referee, was a great authority on various old customs, beliefs, and legends, and we found his knowledge invaluable when Waria, or our other informants, were at fault, but his knowledge of English was too imperfect for us to rely on his services alone.

There appear to have been five chief clans in Mabuiag: kodal (crocodile), tabu (snake), sam (cassowary), dungal (dugong), and kaigas (shovel-nose skate), to which subsidiary or small totems were added. The members of the first three clans were called koi augŭd kadsi, or children of the great augŭd, or totem; and those of the two latter were the mŭgi augŭd kadzi, or children of the small augŭd. These two clans formerly had their headquarters on the windward or south-east side of Mabuiag, whereas the three others were mainly located on the opposite side of the island.

I was informed that the hammer-headed shark (kursi), the shark (baidam), the sting-ray (tapimul), and the turtle (waru or surlal) totems were associated with the skate-dugong group, the phrase used was, “They all belong water; they all friends.” On the other hand, the dog (umai) was a subsidiary totem to the snake-cassowary-crocodile group; with the exception of the amphibious crocodile, these are all land animals.

There undoubtedly was supposed to be an intimate connection between the totem and its clansmen. For example, the crocodile-men were bloodthirsty, lusty, and always ready to fight any number of the water group; they had “no pity for people.” If a crocodile-man killed a crocodile, the other members of the clan would kill him; a member of another clan might kill a crocodile with impunity, but the kodal-men would mourn for it.

The snake-men were always ready for a row, and were handy with stone clubs. They used to put out their tongues and wag them as snakes do, and they had two small holes in the tip of their noses, which were evidently made to represent the nostrils of the snake.

The shark-men, like those previously mentioned, were “spoiling” for a fight. Sometimes the dog-men were fierce, at other times friendly, and “glad to see other people.” If a dog-man killed a dog, his fellow-clansmen would “fight” him, but they would not do anything if an outsider killed one. A member of this clan was supposed to have great sympathy with dogs, and to understand them better than did other men.

No cassowary-man would kill a cassowary; if one was seen doing so, his clansmen would “fight” him, as they felt sorry. “Sam, he all same as relation; he belong same family.” The members of the cassowary clan prided themselves on being specially good runners. If there was to be a fight a sam-man would say to himself, “My leg is long and thin; I can run and not feel tired; my legs will go quickly, and the grass will not entangle them.” It is worth noting that the cassowary does not occur in the islands of Torres Straits; if it ever did, it must have been exterminated very shortly after the islands were inhabited. Possibly Mabuiag men occasionally visited the mainland of New Guinea; but the adoption of the cassowary as a totem points to a time when the ancestors of the Mabuiag people actually inhabited New Guinea. The same argument applies, though with less force, to the crocodile. It is true crocodiles occur sparsely on some of the islands, and that reptile might thus be, so to speak, an indigenous totem, but they are very common and dangerous in the swamps of the New Guinea coast.

On certain occasions each of the dugong-men was painted with a red line from the tip of his nose up his forehead and down his spine to the small of the back. I obtained in this island a wooden model of a dugong that was used as a charm, and which was painted with a red line in a corresponding manner. The men’s foreheads were decked with upright leaves to represent the spouting of the dugong when it comes to the surface of the water to breathe, and leaves were also inserted in the arm-bands like water splashing off the dugong when it comes into very shallow water. This decoration was made when the dugong-man performed a magical rite in the kwod (or taboo ground) that was situated in their particular region of the island. A number of different plants were put on the ground, and a dugong was placed on the top. Several men took the dugong by the tail and hoisted up the tail in such a way as to make the dugong face the rest of the island—for the kwod was near the seashore, and faced the great reefs on which the dugong abound. There can be little doubt that this was a magical rite performed by the dugong-men to make the dugong come towards the island of Mabuiag. The dugong used in this ceremony was given to the turtle-men.

When only one turtle was obtained on a turtle expedition it was taken to the kwod of the turtle-men, who performed a pantomimic ceremony which symbolised the increase of turtle.

The origin and significance of totemism is still very obscure, and it is possible that quite different social, magical, and semi-religious institutions have been grouped together somewhat artificially as totemistic.

A very plausible hypothesis that Australian totemism is mainly an economic custom has recently been suggested independently by Dr. J. G. Frazer and Professor Baldwin Spencer. According to this view it is the business of certain groups of people, or clans, to preserve, or increase by means of magical rites, particular foodstuffs or objects of especial utility for the benefit of the whole tribe or community.

The behaviour of the dugong-men and turtle-men in Mabuiag certainly seems to support this very suggestive explanation, and I am inclined to think that it will receive additional corroboration when the Papuan evidence is forthcoming. It might be mentioned in this connection that though rain is not a totem, the office of aripuilaig, or “rain-maker,” was hereditary in Mabuiag, and consequently rain-making would be the function of a particular family.

In Mabuiag a woman kept her totem when she married, and I was informed that children inherited their father’s and mother’s totems, but the father’s was the chief one. I was also informed that though a man might not marry a Mabuiag or Badu woman belonging to the same augŭd as himself, this restriction did not apply to women from other islands.

In dealing with totemism in Kiwai I have already pointed out the value of belonging to a totemistic clan when visiting another village, and we found the same to apply among the western islands of Torres Straits. A man visiting another island would naturally be looked after and entertained by the residents who belonged to the same augŭd as he did. In warfare a man would never willingly or intentionally kill an enemy who he knew belonged to the same totem as himself. So that apart from its supposed economic use, totemism was undoubtedly an ameliorating influence in social intercourse, and tended to minimise inter-tribal antagonism.

During my former visit to Mabuiag, and on the present occasion, I failed to discover any very important ceremonies in connection with the initiation of the boys into their respective clans, though I have published an account of some initiation ceremonies that were held at Tut, or Warrior Island, during which the lads were secluded for a month in tents made of mats.

Seligmann discovered in Mabuiag a very interesting custom relative to the seclusion of girls on attaining womanhood. Remarkable as this practice was, very similar customs from various parts of the world have been recorded by Dr. J. G. Frazer in his erudite study in comparative religion, The Golden Bough. The following is from the preliminary account already published by my colleague:—

“When the signs of puberty appeared, a circle of bushes was made in a dark corner in the house of the girl’s parents. The girl was fully decked with leaves, and she sat in the centre of the bushes, which were piled so high round her that only her head was visible. This seclusion lasted for three months, the bushes being changed nightly, at which time the girl was allowed to slip out of the hut. She was usually attended by two old women, the girl’s maternal aunts, who were especially appointed to look after her. These women were called mowai by the girl; one of them cooked food for the girl at a special fire in the bush. The girl might not feed herself nor handle her food, it being put into her mouth by her attendant women. No man—not even the girl’s father—might come into the house. If he did see his daughter during this time he would certainly have had bad luck with his fishing, and probably smash his canoe the first time he went out. The girl might not eat turtle or turtle eggs; no vegetable food was forbidden. The sun was not allowed to shine on her. ‘He can’t see day time; he stop inside dark,’ said my informant.

“At the end of three months the girl was carried to a fresh-water creek by her mowai, she hanging on to their shoulders so that not even her feet touched the ground, the women of the village forming a ring round the girl and her mowai, thus escorting them to the creek. The girl’s ornaments were removed, and the mowai with their burden staggered into the creek, where the girl was immersed, all the women joining in splashing water over the three. On coming out of the water one of the mowai made a heap of grass for her charge to sit on, while the other ran to the reef and caught a small crab. She tore off its claws, and with these she ran back to the creek, where a fire had meanwhile been made, at which the claws were roasted. The girl was then fed on these by the mowai. She was then freshly decorated, and the whole party marched back to the village in one row, the girl being in the centre, with the mowai at her side, each of them holding one of the girl’s wrists. The husbands of the mowai (called by the girl waduam) received her, and led her into the house of one of them, where all ate food, the girl being then allowed to feed herself in the usual manner. The rest of the community had meanwhile prepared and eaten a feast, and a dance was held, in which the girl took a prominent part, her two waduam dancing, one on each side of her. When the dance was finished, the mowai led the girl into their house and stripped her of her ornaments. They then led her back to her parents’ house.”

One day Cowling invited us to go in his centre-board cutter to Pulu, as he knew we were anxious to visit that sacred islet, and we took with us Gizu, Tom, and Peter to act as guides. We had a spanking sail round the eastern and southern sides of Mabuiag, and soon reached Pulu, a small rocky island on the reef on the western side of Mabuiag. We landed at Mumugubut, a pretty little sandy bay surrounded by granitic rocks, which were fissured and undercut in an extraordinary manner. To the right, projecting high from massive boulders, was a gigantic Γ-shaped rock, which is called Kwoiam’s throwing-stick. This redoubtable hero implanted his weapon here after the slaughter of a number of Badu men who had humbugged him. Kwoiam had followed these men from Mabuiag, and landing elsewhere on the island, walked close to this tiny bay. Natives point out a rock lying on the ground against which Kwoiam pressed his foot when preparing to throw his spear against his sleeping foes, but concluding this spot was not suitable he made a détour inland, and took up a position whence he commanded a better view of the unconscious Badu men. He again prepared to hurl his spear, pressing hard with his right foot against the ground, which immediately became a shelf of rock to give him a better purchase for his foot. A little inland from the bay are a number of large slabs of rock which represent the bodies of the men killed and decapitated by Kwoiam.

To the left of Mumugubut are some smoothed rocks on which are perched immense boulders. A casual observer seeing similar rocks in Europe would not hesitate to describe these also as glaciated rocks and blocs perchés. As a matter of fact, they are due to the same kind of weathering that carves out the Devonshire tors, and which leaves the large granite boulders on the flanks of Dartmoor.

We passed round these rocks, and then struck inland. A short way from the beach is a cleft in the rocks, which in some places is very narrow, but in others widens out to leave two or three various-sized but small open spaces, which were utilised in former days as the retiring-rooms of the men engaged in certain ceremonies. One compartment was the cooking place, another the “green-room”; and in this latter was a great overhanging rock, under the shelter of which were kept the “properties.” No women were allowed to come near this spot.

We scrambled over rocks and through scrub, and soon came to an open bay, with a fair amount of level ground below it.

The southerly end of this area was the kwod, or tabooed camp of the men. To the left, and at high-water mark, is a huge boulder with an overhanging smooth surface facing the kwod. On this smooth surface are some nearly effaced paintings in red of various animals, also some handprints made by placing the outstretched palm and fingers on the rock, and splashing the rock with powdered charcoal mixed with water. The handprint thus appears white on a black background. The legend of the origin of this rock is as follows.

Once upon a time, when the Mabuiag people were camping there, the boys and girls, in spite of the prohibition of their parents, were fond of continually twirling round on the beach with their arms extended. They played in this way every night till this great rock fell from the sky as a punishment, and killed every man, woman, and child on the island, with the exception of two sweethearts, who fled and crossed over to Mabuiag at Kakalug. They bit a piece of a kowai tree that grew there, and “that medicine stop that stone.” This pair of lovers became the progenitors of the present population. Parents still tell their children never to play this game (gugabidĕ tiai) at night, lest a similar catastrophe should recur. The rock is called menguzikula, or “the stone that fell.”

Near the centre of the kwod is a large oblong heap of dugong bones, koi siboi. At short distances from this were the fireplaces of the five chief clans. These were so arranged that the Sam (cassowary), Kodal (crocodile), and Tabu (snake) fireplaces were comparatively close together, whereas the Kaigas (shovel-nose skate) and Dungal (dugong) were much further apart. This corresponds to a grouping of the three first as the “children of the big augŭd,” the name of which was named kotibu.

The two last were the “children of the little augŭd,” which was called giribu. Kotibu and giribu were two crescentic ornaments, or insignia, made by Kwoiam of turtle-shell; the former was worn on the upper lip, and the latter on the chest.

It appears to me that we here have a most interesting stage in the transformation of totemism, since we have the two main groups of the old totem (augŭd) clans associated with relics of a national hero. There are other facts which point to the rise of a local hero cult, the hero himself (although he belonged to the Kaigas clan) being augŭd, as were also kotibu and giribu.

It is very rarely that artificial objects are adopted as totems, and I believe this is the only instance of an individual man being spoken of as a totem. Although the natives called him augŭd, they were evidently extending the use of that term to a point beyond which it could logically be applied; but having no name for the idea they were striving after, they were forced to employ an old term, though the meaning was strained.

PLATE XII

MAN DRESSED UP FOR THE DEATH-DANCE

DIVINING SKULLS

1 SKULL OF MAGAU OF NAGIR 2 A MURRAY ISLAND SKULL

At the back of the kwod are two heaps of Fusus shells—one slightly larger than the other—the koi mat and the mŭgi mat (koi means “large,” and mŭgi is “small”). A short distance to the side of these are two small heaps of shells called respectively koi augŭdau kupar and mŭgi augŭdau kupar, and beyond the latter is a double row of dugong ribs called mŭgi siboi.

These five shrines are close to the bushes and rocks that form the south-easterly border of the kwod.

Fig. 12. The Kwod or Ceremonial Ground in Pulu

The great annual ceremonies were held here at the rising of the star Kek (Achernar, α of Eridanus, of our constellations).

The annual death-dance first took place, at which men with leafy masks and bodies covered with the yellow sprouting leaves of the coco-palm danced with bow and arrow, and mimicked in their gait and attitudes persons recently deceased. The women, who sat a long way off, recognised the individuals who were personified, and with tears and lamentations called out, “That’s my husband!” “Oh, my son!” according to their relationship with the deceased.

Women, too, have spirits that live after death, but, as that sex is by universal consent tabooed from performing sacred ceremonies, they could not personate deceased women; so men performed that office clad in a woman’s petticoat, and carried brooms in their hand, their faces being hidden with the customary head-dress of leaves.

It was a remarkable fact that these people appear to have noticed that hilarity is a natural reaction at funerals, and this was provided for in the person of a sort of masked buffoon, the danilkau, who “played the fool” behind the back of some of the more serious performers.

The adoption of the lads into their respective clans took place immediately after the death-dances. So far as I could gather, there were not such important ceremonies on this occasion as in the case of the Malu cult of Murray Island. I believe that masks were not employed at this time.

The only initiation ceremony, if such it can be called, that I could hear of was the chastising or torturing of the lads, more particularly the bad ones, in the kwod. The good boys were let off very easily, but a naughty one might be speared in the hollow of the knee by a stick armed with the spine of a sting-ray, or scraped with the rough, spiny skin of a ray, or be beaten about the ears and elsewhere with the nests of green ants, who bite ferociously, or chastised with wasps’ nests. So far as we could learn, neither here nor in Murray Island was the bull-roarer employed at the initiation ceremonies. Here it was swung in connection with turtle ceremonies; it was also useful in making garden produce grow, but it was not used to make wind or rain.

Fig. 13.

Drawing by Gizu of a danilkau, the buffoon of the funeral ceremonies. He wore a leafy head-dress, in which is inserted a long feathered filament; on his chest are two crossed shoulder-belts and a shell ornament; a fringed belt is round his waist, from which depends in front an empty coconut water-vessel; his legs are provided with ornamental bands.

The kernge, or lads to be initiated, were grouped on the further side of the koi siboi. They remained in the kwod for several days, during which time they are instructed by their uncles (mothers’ brothers only) in the moral code and customs of the community.

At the end of the kwod was a forked post; on this were hung, after the war-dance, the decapitated heads of the enemy that had been slain in battle. In front of this post are stones which mark the spot where the wedding-gifts were heaped of a certain legendary spirit named Tapĕbu who married a Mabuiag girl.

On some of the rocks beyond the ceremonial camp we found a few simple pictographs; we photographed and sketched some of these. One group consists of two mŭri dancing, and another beating a drum. A mŭri is a spirit that descends and ascends water-spouts. It has only two front teeth in each jaw. The water-spout is called in Mabuiag klak markai, or “the spear of the spirits.” It is with these that the spirits (markai) catch dugong and turtle.

Fig. 14.

Drawing by Gizu of Mŭri ascending a water-spout (baiu). The black cloud above is called baib, and the spray sap. One water-spout is spearing a dugong.

Under some of the boulders were a few human bones in a very bad state of repair.

Later on we struggled towards the centre of the island, scrambling up and over boulders, and forcing our way through dense tangled bush. Finally we came to an immense block of stone, the eastern face of which overhung to a considerable extent, forming a small, low cave, which some fifteen or twenty years ago had been nearly filled up with earth by a South Sea teacher. In the old days, this cave was the storehouse of the skulls that were obtained in the forays. Most of the skulls were placed in heaps at the back of the cave, while some were kept in two long baskets. In this cave were also kept the two ceremonial stone clubs and the sacred emblems, the mysterious kotibu and giribu. The skulls in the baskets were painted red, and were said to have been provided with noses made of beeswax and eyes of mother-of-pearl, but this was probably done in only a few cases. Forty-nine of the skulls from this cave were obtained by the British Museum (Natural History Museum) from the Rev. S. Macfarlane, and the collection has been described by Mr. Oldfield Thomas in the Journal of the Anthropological Institute, vol. xiv. p. 328.

The mouth of the cave was built up on each side with large Fusus shells. Now the glory and mystery have departed, and earth and stones almost entirely fill up the space beneath the overhanging rock. We obtained one or two broken skulls and a number of fragments of skulls.

When any man was on his way to visit the augŭds kotibu and giribu, the latter left their respective baskets in which they were kept and came to the entrance of the cave, but when the visitor came close, the augŭds returned to their baskets and made a scraping noise; but the man never saw them moving, he only found them lying in their baskets.

Outside the cave are two oblong patches of Fusus shells, called respectively koi mat and mŭgi mat; the former belonged to the big augŭd, and the latter to the little one. Each mat was called the mari of the augŭd. A mari is a spirit, shadow, or reflection.

When the baskets showed signs of decay, new ones were made at the next kek season. The men belonging to each augŭd gathered a plant called boz, the stem of which forms a kind of rope, and placed it on the koi- and mŭgi-augŭdau kupar in the kwod, and later transferred each bundle of boz respectively to the koi mat and the mŭgi mat. A mat, it will be remembered, is a heap of Fusus shells. The symbolism of the operation is pretty obvious. The material of which the sacred baskets were to be made was dedicated or sanctified by first placing it on the “navel” of the augŭd and then on its “shadow.” I found afterwards that a heap of shells, augŭdau kupar, or “navel of the augŭd” occurred in the kwod of the islands of Tut, Yam, and Muralug; the Kwoiam cult also extended to the latter island.

A large plaited mat was placed opposite the koi mat and mŭgi mat; on these the men of each division sat, and not one of them could budge from his mat for any purpose until the basket was finished. This was accomplished at sundown, and “every one feel glad, time to spell and walk about.” The following day the baskets were taken to the cave, and the contents of the old baskets transferred to the new. There were other details that need not be mentioned here.

All the sacred relics of Kwoiam were burned at the instigation of Hakin, a Lifu teacher at the time when the Rev. S. Macfarlane was on Murray Island. The Mamoose gave his consent to their destruction, but only a South Sea man, Charley Mare, dared destroy these augŭds, he burnt them on the spot.

The natives say that when the Mission party started for home the water was quite smooth, there being no wind whatever. As their boat rounded Sipungar Point, on their return, a sudden gust of wind made the boat heel over and nearly capsize, and that same night Charley’s body swelled up, and he was sick for a fortnight.

Kwoiam is such a central feature in the legendary lore of Mabuiag that it is desirable that a brief outline of his story should be told, since the saga of Kwoiam is too long to be here narrated in full.

Kwoiam lived with his mother, who was blind, and he had an uncle for his henchman. One day, when his mother was plaiting a mat, Kwoiam abstracted with his toes a strip of leaf his mother was about to use, and missing it she asked who had taken it. Kwoiam confessed, and his mother cursed him; this made him angry, and he went outside the hut and called to his uncle to get the sprouting leaf of a coconut palm that he might deck himself for the war-path. When he was so accoutred he killed his mother, and then went on the rampage to avenge her death, or as it was told to me, “to pay for mother.”

He went to several islands and to the mainland of New Guinea, sometimes slaying the population of a whole village, at other times merely requesting food or a new canoe. Eventually Kwoiam returned with a canoe-load of human heads, and he ordered his uncle to clean them for him.

On one occasion certain Badu men fooled him, refusing to give him some fish for which he had civilly asked them. These men retired to the island of Pulu for a midday siesta; Kwoiam followed them there and killed them all except two, who made their escape, but one of them had his leg transfixed by a javelin hurled by Kwoiam. The two survivors died on reaching Badu immediately after they had narrated the fate of the others.

An expedition of Moa and Badu men was sent to retaliate; but Kwoiam killed all who were sent against him except four men. A second very large avenging expedition was sent, but when fighting against these Kwoiam’s throwing-stick broke, and he was helpless. He slowly retreated backwards up his hill, and when the enemy pressed too closely upon him, he rushed forward, unarmed as he was, and frightened back his foes; this happened several times.

As soon as Kwoiam reached the summit of the hill he crouched in a prone position and gave up the ghost. A Moa man rushed up to him and began to cut off his head with a bamboo knife, but he had only made a small incision when he was stopped by another Badu man, who said, “No cut him head; he great man. Let him lie where he stop; he master over all these islands.” So instead of insulting the dead warrior they did him honour, and piled over his body their bows, arrows, javelins, and stone clubs, saying that now Kwoiam was dead all the fighting was over. The cairn erected over his grave remains to this day, and on it are placed three ancient shell trumpets.

The informant closed his narrative of this saga with the following sentiment: The fame of Kwoiam caused the island of Mabuiag to be feared for many a long day, and although the island is rocky and comparatively unfertile, Kwoiam covered it with honour and glory. Thus showing how the deeds of a single man can glorify a place in itself of little worth.

We spent one very pleasant day in visiting the spots associated with this legendary hero. On the plain near the sea is a large oval boulder, the head of the luckless mother. As we ascended the hill called Kwoiamantra (I think this means “Kwoiam’s ridge”) we passed between a long double row of stones that represented the heads taken by Kwoiam on the famous voyage when he paid the blood-price for the death of his mother. A short distance up the hill were some rocks, from out of a cleft in which a perennial stream flows. It arose in this wise. One day Kwoiam was thirsty, and he drove his spear into the rock, and water gushed forth and has never ceased to flow. The water fills a rock basin, and from this it trickles into a lower pool, and thence the stream flows down the hill. Ten years before I was informed that only old and important men might drink from the upper pool, whereas the lower was free to all; the penalty of unworthily drinking from the upper pool was premature greyness. I asked if I might drink there, and they were good enough to think that my claims were sufficiently strong. Apparently I was presumptuous, as the penalty has been inflicted!

On a rock between the two pools is a slight concavity in which Kwoiam used to sit, and in front of it are several transverse grooves in the rock, caused, it is stated, by Kwoiam straightening his javelins there by rubbing them across the rock.

Near the top of the hill is a rough U-shaped wall of stones about two feet in height, which marks the site of Kwoiam’s house; his mother lived on the flat land near the sea. Behind Kwoiam’s house is a tor which commands an extensive view, not only of Mabuiag and of some of the islets around, but there is a fine panorama of the great islands of Moa and Badu some five miles distant. This was the favourite look-out of Kwoiam, and it was from here that he saw the fleets of canoes from Badu and Moa that were crossing over to attack him.

As I sat there I thought of the deeds of the berserker. Below to the left was the grassy plain studded with pandanus and other trees where he was born and where he had his gardens. The site of his mother’s hut is now occupied by a South Sea man, who has married a native woman, and aliens till Kwoiam’s garden lands.

Far away was the prosperous village by the sand beach, nestling under the shade of a grove of coconut palms, the new church witnessing to the change that has come over the island.

In the old days, scattered throughout the island, were the hamlets of an agricultural fisher-folk, who, though fierce and savage, regulated their conduct by a code of morals that, so far as it went, was unimprovable. The emotions of awe, veneration, and mystery were cultivated by bizarre and sacred ceremonies; and the custom and sanction of ages had imbued their rude life with a richness of sentiment and a significance that we can scarcely realise.

Now the people are all gathered into one place under the ægis of a new religion, and are held together by an alien form of government. There is no glory, no independence, nothing to be proud of—except a church built by contract. Fishing is mainly practised to gain money to purchase the white man’s goods and the white man’s food. The dull and respectable uniformity of modern civilisation has gripped these poor people; but, to their credit be it spoken, they are still proud of the apotheosised Kwoiam.

Behind low-lying land were wooded hills that sent a spur forming the northern limit of the bay, and beyond this again were several low rocky islands. The pale green water fringed the bay with white surf, and beyond the limit of the fringing reef the deeper water assumed a fine blue hue. It was a pretty sight. The sear colours of the parched plain relieved with patches of the various green of coconut palm, banana, scrub, or garden plots. The red rocks variegated with green foliage, and the greens and blues of the sea relieved by a frill of white where the waves encircled the island shores.

On turning round one saw the long sky-line of the islands of Moa and Badu toothed with high hills, all colour being lost in the grey distance of a moisture-laden atmosphere. Here and there, along the coast, could be seen clouds of smoke, as the natives burnt the dead undergrowth to make their gardens. To the right various islets relieved the monotony of the waste of waters.

On the other side of the crest, overlooking Pulu and other islands, was the grave of Kwoiam. The low cairn was nine feet in height, with the head due east; it was surmounted by three reputed shell trumpets of the hero. How I longed to excavate the site! But I could not get permission from the natives, and I unwillingly gave way rather than rough-ride over their sentiment.

One little incident was very amusing as illustrating the change that has of recent years come over the people. I wanted one of the natives who had accompanied us to put himself in the attitude of the dying Kwoiam, so that I might have a record of the position he assumed, photographed on the actual spot. It took an incredible amount of persuasion to induce the man to strip, although he was a friend of ours, who knew us well. Eventually we succeeded, but the prudery he exhibited was ludicrous, and he managed to do all that we required without bringing a blush to the most sensitive cheek. There were, of course, only ourselves, and no women were present.

The bushes on the side of Kwoiam’s hill have most of their leaves blotched with red, and not a few are entirely of a bright red colour. This is due to the blood that spurted from Kwoiam’s neck when it was cut at his death; to this day the shrubs witness to this outrage on the dead hero.

CHAPTER X
DUGONG AND TURTLE FISHING

During my former visit to Mabuiag I had an opportunity of witnessing the method of catching dugong. It was a morning in October, 1888, when I accompanied the Mamoose on a dugong expedition; the crew of his lugger numbered some dozen men, all natives of his island. A few of the most wealthy of the Torres Straits islanders own, wholly or in part, craft of that particular type, as these Australian-made vessels are more convenient than their own dug-out canoes. All the natives appear to be good sailors, and they can handle boats of European rig with considerable dexterity.

On our way to the fishing-ground, which was on the extensive and uncharted Orman’s Reef between Mabuiag and the New Guinea coast, the gear was put in order. This consisted of the dugong harpoon and its rope.

The harpoon is a handsome weapon usually some fourteen feet in length, and made of a hard and heavy wood. One end is ornamented with the sable plumes of the cassowary, the other extremity is swollen, and into a terminal hole is loosely inserted a dart to which the rope is lashed.

The dart was formerly always fashioned out of hard wood, but since the arrival of the white man it has usually been replaced by one made out of a file. The latter is softened by heating in a fire, and is allowed to cool slowly; the angles of the triangular rasping end are then cut into barbs by means of another file. As the bright surface would speedily rust when exposed to the action of the salt water, the cut file is again heated so as to obtain an oxidised film over the new surface.

The rope may be either plaited or twisted, each kind being made from a different plant. Home-made rope is preferred to that of European manufacture, as it is light and floats upon the surface of the water, whereas hempen or manila rope sinks.

The coil of rope, thirty to fifty fathoms in length, to which the harpoon dart is attached, is laid ready at the bow of the boat, and a spare rope coiled midship.

All hands next look out for the dugong, and the chief takes his place at the further end of the bowsprit, the harpoon being placed where it can be seized without a moment’s delay. Now we are scudding along over the sea, the dirty green colour of which shows that we are above the reefs, the waves being crested by the continuously blowing south-east trade wind; the lavender-coloured sky is studded with clouds which ever belie their pluvial appearance.

Fig. 15. Dugong Harpoon and Dart

There is a shout of “Dungal!” (“Dugong”), but the sea-cow is a long way off. Then the cry of “Waru!” (“Turtle”) is heard as one of these reptiles lazily floats on the surface of the water.

After cruising about for a long time and sighting but few dugong, we at length arrive at a spot where they are plentiful, and all round they are repeatedly to be seen as they rise up to breathe. A soft grunt is heard, a glimpse caught of a brown rounded back followed by a fan-shaped tail, and the beast again disappears beneath the waves, unless one happens to float for a short time on the surface of the water. This is the hunter’s opportunity, and the boat is put through movements which remind one of the method of progression of a learner on a bicycle, as it dodges about in the helmsman’s endeavours to approach the floating beast.

When distant from the prey the natives shout and chatter in a very lively manner, and go through a pantomime of harpooning a dugong; but when one is observed close by, a sudden hush falls upon the crew, who are by this time in a state of highly strung and barely suppressed excitement. Directions are given to the steersman by signals only, not a word is said. The chief stands at the end of the bowsprit grasping the narrow spar with his bare toes, harpoon in one hand, and with the other steadying himself by the rigging, and well he may, for the boat is pitching and tossing considerably. Behind him in the bow stands a man whose business it is to look after the rope and see that it does not get caught anywhere. Perched a short way up the foremast is the look-out man, who makes the signals; and behind are the rest of us, following with glistening eyes the movements of the dugong, and making at most a subdued whistle or the clacking sound so characteristic of these islanders.

All of a sudden the chief springs into the water, harpoon in hand, using the latter after the manner of a leaping pole, and plunging the dart into the animal. The aim is good, and the dart is firmly embedded in the dense, thick skin of the dugong, who is by this time tearing along, followed by the trailing rope.

The repressed excitement of the spectators finds vent in shouts and in various other manifestations of delight, for my comrades are a demonstrative people. Their enthusiasm was contagious, and more than once I found myself adopting their clacking and whistling in addition to the ordinary British methods of expressing delight and surprise.

The chief regains his harpoon and clambers up into the boat, where he manifests his satisfaction by a very broad grin. Shirts are doffed, and even the universal “calico” is in many cases dispensed with, as several men dive into the water. The spare rope is thrown overboard, and the men strike out for the dugong. Amid great shouting they endeavour to make fast a rope round its tail, swimming up to it when it comes up to breathe, and diving after it in its descent, their power of holding their breath under water appearing almost to rival that of the dugong itself. The main object of tying the rope round the creature’s tail is to prevent it from raising its nostrils above the level of the water by bearing down upon the rope during the animal’s ascent. In time these manœuvres are successful, and death by drowning results. The lubberly carcass is towed towards the boat, and after much effort and more noise it is hauled on board.

As we are in the thick of a “school,” the chief intends to have a try at another before returning, although it is near sundown and we are far from home. After some skilful steering, and the rise and fall of several vain hopes, we bear down upon another dugong. A sudden leap, a splash, and the deed is done. Away swims the dugong, rising and diving, vainly endeavouring to rid itself of the painful dart. When the ungainly brute has gone to the length of its tether and then doubled, the slack rope is hauled in, and so for a short time it is “played” as a fisherman plays a salmon. Some of the crew now dive into the water, and following the struggling dugong in its movements of ascent and descent, tie a rope round its tail, by means of which it is towed to the boat. The poor beast is, however, still alive, so by main force it is held up by the tail, head downwards in the water, until it is suffocated. This second specimen is a young female, 6 feet 9 inches in length. The previous capture is a not quite full-grown male with a length of some 8 feet 6 inches, and a girth of 6 feet 10 inches.

The dugong, or sea-cow, is an animal that looks something like a porpoise, but it has a square muzzle, and there is no fin on its back. The skin is provided with very short scattered hairs, and the flippers have a distinct elbow joint, which is absent in the porpoise and other whales. The abrupt head, with its thick, bristly lips, and horny pad on the lower jaw, is very characteristic. With these the dugong nips off the marine flowering plants (Cymodocea) upon which it feeds, and this vegetable food is masticated by means of grinding teeth—very different from the pointed conical teeth of the flesh-eating porpoise.

Porpoises that feed on swiftly-swimming fish have light porous bones, so that their own weight may not be excessive; whereas the dugong never swims far with great rapidity, and as it lies on its side on the bottom of the sea when browsing on the sea-grass, its bones are very dense and heavy, heavier, in fact, than those of any other animal.

This is not the place to compare the anatomy of these two animals, which, although both live in the sea and have somewhat the same appearance, are in reality extremely different from one another.

Fig. 16. Marine Plants (cymodocea) on which the Dugong Feeds

The skin of the dugong is very thick and tough, and as it is an inch thick on the back it is not so surprising that the small dart can hold fast. Before I had actual optical evidence I could scarcely credit the statement that this was the only weapon the natives employed. Still, it must be remembered that the harpoon is only used to secure the animal; death invariably ensues by suffocation. One day during my visit it happened that two boats went out, and several darts were broken without capturing a single dugong; in the olden days of wooden darts this probably would often happen.

Formerly dugong were harpooned from canoes, or from a bamboo platform (nēĕt) erected on the reef. Both practices are now discontinued in the Straits. As I wished to know exactly how the platform was erected, I induced Waria to make one for me. This was speedily done with six bamboo poles lashed together, and surmounted with the steering board of a canoe. [Plate XI., B (p. 123)] is a drawing from the photograph I took of this erection.

The nēĕt was erected at a spot where it was evident dugong had been feeding, for they habitually return to their pasture until the supply of eel-grass in that place is exhausted. It was built end-on to the wind, so that the wind, by blowing through it, should not make a noise and frighten the dugong away. The harpoon was also held in the same direction. The nēĕt was used at night, for it is only then that the dugong approach the shore; in the daytime they keep to the open, or on the large isolated reefs.

Fig. 17.

Drawings by Gizu of the process of harpooning a dugong. One man stands on the nēĕt waiting for a dugong to approach. In the second sketch a man has harpooned the dugong, and has thrown himself backward in the water so as to be out of reach of the coils of the rope as it runs from the nēĕt. Another man is swimming, and is tying a spare rope on to the tail of the dugong.

Charms which were supposed to ensure the approach of the dugong to the platform were often suspended to it, or hung on to a canoe. I have obtained several very small and neatly carved models of dugong at Murray Island that were employed for this purpose, but those I obtained from the western islands were of much greater size. A fine one from Moa is a foot and a half in length. This has a cavity hollowed out in the back, which, when in use, was filled up with red earth and various plants, including some eel-grass which had been chewed by the sorcerer who employed it; dugong fat completed the mixture. A bunch of eel-grass was tied to the tail, and along its back were lashed the thin leg-bones (fibulæ) of the sorcery man who carved the image. These were added after his death, to render the charm more effective. The whole was painted red, and fastened to a dugong platform, as in [Plate XI., B (p. 123)].

About the mouth of the Fly River, and I believe along the New Guinea coast and islands as far as Saibai, queer carved pegs called agumanakai are stuck in the canoes when going turtle or dugong hunting. I believe the word agumanakai means “the spirit (manaki) of the trophy;” the agu is a platform on which the carapaces of turtle are arranged as a trophy. A dugong trophy may possibly also be called agu, but I am not sure of this. Some have the end carved in the form of a bird’s head, while others represent a very conventional dugong’s head; they were decorated with feathers. Seligmann collected a very interesting specimen of the latter class, which, in addition to the dugong, had carved on it a representation of a sting-ray, which was evidently the totem of the owner. This particular specimen not only acted as a charm to make dugong come to be harpooned, but it would turn round towards where the dugong were swimming, and thereby indicate to the owner the direction in which he should steer.

Fig. 18. Wooden Dugong Charm

Obtained at Moa in 1888

The sorcerers were credited with the power of compassing the death, by strangulation, of a dugong harpooner. In leaping into the water to harpoon a dugong care has to be taken not to get entangled in the rope. It has happened that the head of a man comes up within a coil, and as the rope is rapidly drawn out by the retreating dugong, the luckless harpooner is speedily strangled. Not unnaturally the sorcerer would claim such an accidental death as being due to his own powers of magic, and thus increase his reputation. This could be the more easily asserted, since all disease and death, even from old age, were firmly believed to be due to sorcery, and not to natural causes.

The dugong naturally enters into several of the native legends. One of them relates how Sesere of Badu, who was afterwards transformed into a bird, first discovered the dugong as an article of food and how to catch it, by divining with the skulls of his parents. I have already alluded to the fancied resemblance of the hill of Gelam, in Murray Island, to a dugong, for which there is, as usual, a myth of origin.

Like the dugong the turtle is an important article of food in Torres Straits. There are two periods for turtle-fishing, really lasting all the year, the one during October and November, which is the pairing season, and when turtle are easily speared, owing to their floating on the surface of the water. The pairing turtle is called surlal, and that season is called surlangi. The other turtle season extends throughout the remaining months of the year, when the turtle, then called waru, frequent the deeper water and the channels between the reefs.

The western islanders have a very remarkable method of obtaining turtle, which, strangely enough, is said to be also employed at Mozambique in East Africa. There is a fish belonging to the family of mackerels called the “sucker-fish,” that has a large sucker on its head, by means of which it attaches itself to sharks and turtles. The species in Torres Straits is called Echeneis naucrates by zoologists.

When going on a turtling excursion a gapu, or sucker-fish, is caught, and the more experienced natives appear to have no difficulty in procuring one when required. A hole is made at the base of the tail-fin, through which the end of a very long piece of string is inserted and made fast. A short piece of string is passed through the mouth and out at the gills, securing the head. By means of these two strings the fish is retained in the water, while slung over the side of the canoe. On sighting a turtle in deep water the front string is withdrawn, plenty of slack being allowed in the hind string. The sucker-fish on perceiving the turtle immediately swims towards it, and attaches itself to the reptile’s carapace. If the turtle be a little one, it is hauled in by means of the tail string of the gapu; but should it be a large specimen, another mode of procedure is necessary.

A man, with the end of a long rope attached to his right upper-arm, dives into the water and follows the clue. On reaching the turtle the man gets on to its back and passes his arms behind and below the fore-flappers and his legs in front of and below the hind-flappers, thus securing a firm grip on the slippery beast. By means of the rope attached to his arm the man is rapidly drawn up to the surface of the water bearing the turtle with him. Other members of the crew dive into the water, and seizing hold of the turtle, capsize it into the canoe.

On the arrival of the diver the sucker-fish usually shifts its position from the upper to the under surface of the turtle. I was informed that at the end of the day’s fishing the gapu was eaten, which seems hardly fair.

The natives have a great respect for the gapu, and firmly believe it to have supernatural powers. For example, they believe that when there is something the matter with the bow of the canoe, the gapu will attach itself to the neck or to the front shield-plate of the turtle; that when the lashings of the float of the outrigger of the canoe are insecure, the gapu will not stick fast to the turtle, but will constantly shift its position; that if the strengthening cross-ties in the centre of the canoe are faulty, the gapu will attach itself to the turtle, and then swim away before the turtle can be secured. More than once I was gravely assured, “Gapu savvy all same man, I think him half devil.”

Formerly the shells of the captured turtle were placed on a long platform (agu), each canoe having its separate agu, and the crew that had the greatest number at the end of the season would acquire the greatest glory. Hanging round the platform were large and small bull-roarers and wooden human effigies (wauri).

Before going out turtling the men marched round the agu and whirled the bull-roarers, always circling clockwise; if they marched widdershins, the turtle would go away from them. The captain would call out, “Come along, all our crew; come with me fellow.” Then they would take some bull-roarers and wauri to the canoe, and the captain invoked the spirits of the wauri that remained on the agu to give them luck in their enterprise so that they might get plenty of turtle.

When the canoes were expected to return, a man would station himself on a hill to look out for them. In due time he would see the under sides of the captured turtle gleaming in the successful canoes while yet a long way off; then he whirled a small bull-roarer, and the women knew that the fishers had been lucky.

On the arrival of the canoes the men first went to the agu before cutting up the turtle. They marched round and swung the bull-roarers, and returned them and the wauri to the platform.

Several dugong and turtle were caught one week of our stay, and we had some of the meat, and found it a most welcome change. The native method of cutting up living turtle is a ghastly sight. The poor beast lies on its back and beats the air with its flappers, boys and girls, even naked little things that can scarcely toddle, stand round fingering and patting the bleeding flesh, or poke their fingers in the eyes of the turtle, or scoop up handfuls of clotted gore, ladling it into large shells. The natives have names for the various joints and for regions of the intestine much as we have; the liver and gall-bladder and some other parts have the same names in the dugong and turtle, but the heart of each has a different name. Seligmann and I noted down the names of various parts of both dugong and turtle, while Wilkin photographed some stages of the butchery.

CHAPTER XI
MARRIAGE CUSTOMS AND STAR MYTHS

MARRIAGE CUSTOMS

There were formerly two ways by means of which a young Torres Straits islander might find favour in the eyes of a girl—the one was skill in dancing, the other was the possession of a trophy of one or more human skulls as a token of personal bravery or prowess in war.

During the numerous and prolonged dances of former days, the young women watched the active movements of the capering youths, admired their glossy skin, their frizzly hair, their numerous gay ornaments, and took delight in their wonderful activity; and well they might, for a shapely, bronze-skinned savage is a vastly superior animal to a civilised male dancing at a ball. Pre-eminence had its reward, for, as the former chief of Mabuiag put it—“In England, if a man has plenty of money, women want to marry him; so here, if a man dances well, they want him too.”

Amongst the western islanders it was customary for the young women to propose to the men. I obtained the following description of the way in which this affair was managed in Mabuiag. When a man was fancied by a girl she made a string armlet, and gave it to the man’s sister or to some confidential person. On a suitable opportunity presenting itself, the confidante said to the young man, “I’ve got some string for you.” Knowing what was meant, he replied, “Show it to me.” He then learnt the girl’s name and received her message. If the man was favourably inclined he accepted, and wore the tiapururu and sent the girl two leglets.

The girl next sent some food to the young man of her choice; he did not eat it, but gave it to his relations to eat, for, as he said, “perhaps woman he gammon.” His parents also advised him not to eat the food, and his mother warned him, “You look after that armlet good, suppose you lose it, girl he wild.”

The young woman again sent food, possibly the man might want to eat it, but the mother said, “Not so, or by-and-by you will get an eruption over your face and body.” At all events, the relations preached caution so as to make sure that the girl was not playing false. Perhaps the young man might wait for a month, or even longer, before precipitating affairs. He also informed his parents that he was in no hurry to leave the old home, and that he did not wish to make them sorry by his absence.

While the young man, who was certainly a prudent lover, was thus “lying low,” the food was coming in all the time, and as regularly he gave it to his mother. After a time the latter said, “When will you go and take her?” He then consulted his immediate relatives, and said, “Suppose you tell me to take her—I take her.” All being agreeable, the “big men” of the village were consulted, and they gave their consent. One day a friend would engage the young man in conversation, and the girl, who had been previously informed that the happy moment had now arrived, quietly came behind the unsuspecting youth and gently pushed some cooked food in front of him. He turned round sharply, and to his shame-faced confusion he saw his sweetheart and fully realised the delicate situation. His friends assured him that it was all right, saying, “Good thing, you take her now.” They were then man and wife. This part of the proceedings required no further ceremony.

After marriage an exchange of presents and food was made between the relatives of the two parties concerned, but the bridegroom’s relations gave a great deal more than those of the bride. The bridegroom stood on a mat, and all the presents from his side of the house were heaped upon it. The bride took these presents and handed them over to her people. The bridegroom gave his father-in-law a present of perhaps a canoe, or a dugong harpoon, or something of equal value. This was the final transaction, but should the marriage result in the usual adjuncts to family life, a payment had to be paid to the wife’s parents on the birth of each child.

Without going into details of custom of every island, it may not be amiss if I transcribe the account given me by my friend Maino of Warrior Island. Here again the ring of string was a preliminary feature, and the sister, in giving it to her brother, said, “Brother, I’ve got some good news for you; a woman likes you.” He asked who it was, and after some conversation—if he was willing to go on with the affair—he told his sister to ask the girl to go into the bush and he would follow.

When the message was delivered, the enamoured damsel informed her parents that she was going into the bush to get some food, or wood, or make some similar excuse. In due course the man met the girl, and they sat down and talked discreetly over their affairs. Any forward conduct on the part of the young man would have been regarded as bad form.

Breaking the embarrassing silence, the youth considerately asked, “You like me proper?”

“Yes,” she replied, “I like you proper, with my heart inside. Eye along my heart see you. You my man.”

Unwilling to give himself away rashly, he further inquired, “How you like me?”

“I like your fine leg; you got fine body, your skin good, I like you altogether,” replied the girl.

Anxious to clinch the matter, the girl asked when they were to be married. “To-morrow, if you like,” said the man, and they both went home and informed their respective relatives that they had arrived at an understanding. Then the girl’s friends fought the man’s people, “for girl more big,” i.e. of more consequence, than boy; but the fighting did not appear to have been a serious business.

It was certainly the custom for a young man, or rather for his elders, to give a girl to the “brother” of the bride; the girl being either his own sister or a relative, who, according to their scheme of kinship, bears a similar relationship. The “brother” may similarly not be an own brother. This “swapping” of “sisters” was the usual method of getting a wife. If a young man had no “sister” he might for ever remain unmarried unless he was rich enough to purchase a wife.

After marriage the husband usually left his own people and went to live with those of his wife, even if they belonged to a different island. There is, for example, considerable intermarriage between the inhabitants of the islands of Badu and Mabuiag; in such a case the man divides his time between the two islands. It should be remembered that both the husband and the wife own land in their respective islands, and both properties require to be cultivated and looked after. Still this is not a complete explanation of the custom. From this and other facts it would appear that these western islanders are emerging from what is usually called a “matriarchal” to a “patriarchal” system.

The husband had complete control over his wife; she was his property, for he had paid for her. In spite of the wife having asked her husband to marry her, he could kill her should she cause trouble in the house, and that without any penal consequence to himself. The payment of a husband to his wife’s father gave him all rights over her, and at the same time annulled those of her father or of her family.

A rich man might have several wives, but the wife first married was chief; she was “master” over the others, and issued orders to the last married wife who conveyed the same to the intermediate wives. If the wives would not work or were inattentive to the commands of the first wife, the husband was laughed at by his friends and told he should not have so many wives. The wives all lived together.

A man might divorce his wife, in which case she returned to her parents. Incompatibility of temper was the common cause for such a step. The husband had no control over a divorced wife, who might marry again; but the new husband would have to pay the old one, and he would share the purchase goods with the woman’s parents. In the case of divorce the father kept the children, but he might allow the mother temporarily to retain one, or even more, especially if they were very young.

One day during my former visit to Mabuiag there was a wedding; a widow with a baby boy had proposed to and been accepted by a young man from the island of Badu. The ceremony commenced at 7 a.m. with a full ordinary service in the church, which lasted over an hour. When this was concluded a messenger was sent to me, and I repaired to the church to witness the marriage. The bride and bridegroom were seated among their friends in different parts of the church, and on their names being called, they met and stood up in front of the Communion table. After they had repeated certain sentences and a charge had been given by the teacher, the bride and bridegroom again retired to their former places.

At the conclusion of the ceremony a Church Meeting was held, which the bridegroom attended, and afterwards he went out dugong fishing with his friends to furnish the wedding feast. They were in luck that day, as they caught three dugong and two turtle. In the meantime I called on the bride and gave her a looking-glass, and left some tobacco for her husband. Following the usual custom, the man remained in Mabuiag and lived with his wife’s people.

About the same time a native girl, who was employed as cook by the chief of the island, repeatedly asked a Loyalty Islander, Charley Lifu by name, to marry her; but he did not wish to marry a Mabuiag woman, as he would in that case have to remain permanently on the island, and he wanted to return to the South Seas. At last they arranged to have a talk in the bush to settle matters finally. The man was obdurate; and the girl was so chagrined that when she returned to the village she accused Charley of attempting to “steal” her, hoping that he would thus be forced to marry her in restitution. This caused considerable excitement, as Charley Lifu was the brother of the teacher’s wife. The matter came before the chief in his capacity as judge, and after long deliberation on the part of the “old men,” it was decided that the charge was unfounded, and was merely trumped up by the girl, who thus over-reached herself. I believe this was a true bill, as Charley Lifu was the gentlest and most obliging of my numerous coloured friends—a man who, I believe, would not do anyone an injury, and who would even perform a friendly act without waiting for the ordinary douceur of tobacco, but he was an incorrigible loafer.

The custom of a girl proposing marriage to a young man did not commend itself to the traditions of the missionaries, and they have tried to stop it, though I did not discover that it was necessarily at all an objectionable arrangement. It has certain definite advantages, and I was certainly given to understand that properly brought-up young men behaved with becoming bashfulness, and showed due deference to the wishes of their parents or elders.

The remarkable change that has come over the natives owing to the influence of missionary teaching is well exemplified in the fact that the girls frequently propose marriage to the men by writing; sometimes this is done by means of a letter, but I have known of a school slate being employed and sent to the young man.

I managed to secure one or two examples of such love-letters. The two first were written for me by Peter when I asked him what had occurred in his own case. They purport to be Magena’s proposal and his acceptance; both of them are natives of Mabuiag. The following is a transcription and literal translation:—

Okotoba 4, 1898.

1. 1. Pita
   2. Peter
   3. mido
   4. what
   5. ninu
   6. your
   7. ia
   8. word?
   9. ngai
   10. I
   11. nutane
   12. try
   13. ni
   14. you.
   15. ngözu
   16. My
   17. korkak
   18. heart
   19. mina
   20. truly
   21. köi
   22. big
   23. ubine
   24. wish
   25. mizi
   26. has
   27. nibeka
   28. for you.
   29. nid
   30. You
   31. lak
   32. again
   33. ngöna
   34. me
   35. iadu turane
   36. tell.
   37. wa
   38. Yes,
   39. sena
   40. that
   41. ngözu
   42. my
   43. ia
   44. word.
   45. Pita
   46. Peter
   47. ni
   48. you.
   49. iawa
   50. Good-bye.
   51. ngai
   52. I
   53. Magena.
   54. Magena.

Okotoba 4, 1898.

1. 1. Magena
   2. Magena
   3. ngai
   4. I
   5. iauturane
   6. tell
   7. ni
   8. you.
   9. ngai
   10. I
   11. lakökeda
   12. again same
   13. mina
   14. truly
   15. köi
   16. big
   17. ubine
   18. wish
   19. meka
   20. have
   21. nibeka
   22. for you.
   23. ngau
   24. My
   25. ia
   26. word
   27. kede
   28. thus
   29. mina
   30. true.
   31. mina
   32. True
   33. ubine
   34. wish
   35. meka
   36. have.
   37. wa
   38. Yes,
   39. matamina
   40. quite proper
   41. pibeka
   42. give
   43. a
   44. then
   45. ngaikika
   46. to me.
   47. wa
   48. Yes
   49. keda
   50. so.
   51. ni
   52. You
   53. Magena
   54. Magena.
   55. iawa
   56. Good-bye.
   57. ngai
   58. I
   59. Pita.
   60. Peter.

The following is Peter’s own translation of these letters:—

“Pita, what do you say? I try you. My heart he like very bad for you. You send me back a letter. Yes, this talk belong me. Pita, you. Good-bye. Me, Magena.”

“Magena, I make you know. Me just the same, I want very bad for you. My talk there. If you true like me, all right, just the same; good for you and good for me. Yes, all right. Finish. You, Magena. Good-bye. Me, Pita.”

One informant gave the following as a typical letter of proposal from a girl to a man. Ray has kindly literally translated this for me. I also add the native’s version of it.

1. 1. Kake[1]
   2. I say,
   3. ngau
   4. my
   5. ubi
   6. wish
   7. gar
   8. indeed
   9. ina
   10. this,
   11. mido
   12. (Sign of question)
   13. ni
   14. you
   15. ngaikika
   16. for me
   17. ubin
   18. wish
   19. meka
   20. have?
   21. wao
   22. Yes,
   23. mina
   24. true
   25. keda
   26. that
   27. ni
   28. you
   29. ngaikika
   30. for me
   31. ubin
   32. wish
   33. mizi
   34. have.
   35. ninu
   36. Your
   37. na
   38. if
   39. ia
   40. word
   41. mido
   42. what.
   43. wa
   44. Yes
   45. nagaikika
   46. to me
   47. modabia
   48. answer
   49. ngapa
   50. hither
   51. palanekai
   52. will write
   53. ubil
   54. wish
   55. za
   56. (thing)
   57. na
   58. if
   59. a
   60. and
   61. ubigil
   62. not wish
   63. za
   64. (thing)
   65. na
   66. if
   67. wa
   68. yes
   69. matakeda
   70. all-the-same
   71. minaasin
   72. finish
   73. sena
   74. that
   75. ngau
   76. my
   77. ia
   78. word,
   79. ngau
   80. my
   81. nel
   82. name.
   83. ⸺

“I say, I tell you about what I want. What do you say, you want to come with me? Best thing you come along with me. What do you think about it? If you got something to answer back, then you let me know. ’Spose you want to come with me, let me know, then I know; ’spose you don’t, you let me know, so I know. Best thing you come with me. My name ⸺.”

The answer might be—

“All right, I come along you” or “No, I no want to come along you.”

Another proposal is a copy of an original letter which happened to fall into my hands and which I still possess. It was from a Murray Islander named Kimel, who was then in Mabuiag offering marriage to Anuni, a Mabuiag girl.

Unfortunately I did not see her reply; but I know she received this letter, and I have no reason to believe my possession of it hindered the course of true love from running smoothly.

It is interesting to note that Kimel, being a Murray Islander, followed his tribal custom of the man proposing marriage.

Januare 1, 1899.

1. 1. Peike
   2. This
   3. Anuni
   4. Anuni
   5. (is)
   6. kara
   7. my
   8. jiawali
   9. writing
   10. marim
   11. to you
   12. mama
   13. you
   14. neur
   15. a girl
   16. kaka
   17. I
   18. makiriam
   19. young man
   20. nakö[2]
   21. (?)
   22. ma
   23. you
   24. kari
   25. me
   26. lag
   27. like
   28. nakö
   29. (?)
   30. Ad
   31. God
   32. emeret
   33. formerly
   34. detagem
   35. made
   36. Adamu
   37. Adam
   38. a
   39. and
   40. Eba
   41. Eve
   42. kosker
   43. woman
   44. a
   45. and
   46. kimiar
   47. man
   48. mokakalam
   49. same way
   50. kaka
   51. I
   52. mari
   53. you
   54. lag
   55. like
   56. nakö
   57. (?)
   58. ma
   59. you
   60. kari
   61. me
   62. lag
   63. like
   64. nakö
   65. (?)
   66. ma
   67. you
   68. nole
   69. not
   70. geum
   71. afraid
   72. kak
   73. nothing
   74. makiria
   75. young man
   76. abkoreb
   77. suitable
   78. marim
   79. for you
   80. ma
   81. you
   82. kari
   83. me
   84. abkoreb
   85. suit.
   86. Ad
   87. God
   88. emeret
   89. formerly
   90. detagem
   91. made
   92. kosker
   93. woman
   94. abkoreb
   95. suitable
   96. ko
   97. for
   98. kimiar
   99. man
   100. nagiri
   101. possessing
   102. kimiar
   103. man
   104. abkoreb
   105. suitable
   106. ko
   107. for
   108. kosker
   109. woman
   110. nagiri
   111. possessing
   112. kaka
   113. I
   114. mari
   115. you
   116. laglag
   117. like
   118. nako
   119. what
   120. mer
   121. word
   122. karim
   123. for me
   124. ma
   125. you
   126. kari
   127. me
   128. umele
   129. know
   130. kaka
   131. I
   132. nole
   133. not
   134. mokakalam
   135. like
   136. nerut
   137. some other
   138. le
   139. men
   140. kaka
   141. I
   142. dorge
   143. work
   144. le
   145. man.
   146. peike
   147. This
   148. kara
   149. my
   150. mer
   151. word
   152. marim
   153. to you.
   154. Sina
   155. The end.
   156. Kara
   157. My
   158. nei
   159. name.

Cimell

Mabuiag.

“January 1, 1899.

“This, Anuni, is my letter to you. You are a girl, I am a young man. Do you like me? God formerly made Adam and Eve a similar man and woman. I like you, do you like me? Don’t be afraid at all of a young man suitable for you. You suit me. God formerly made woman suitable for having a man, and man suitable for having a woman. I like you. What message for me? You know me. I am not like some men, I am a man of work. This is my message to you. The end. My name

“Cimell

“Mabuiag.”

STAR MYTHS

Most, perhaps all, peoples recognise certain groups of stars, or constellations, about which they tell stories. As a rule these myths of origin are not particularly instructive, except for the sidelight they cast on the people who originated them.

The constellations themselves have a very definite and practical value, as they constitute the universal sidereal almanack, by means of which the majority of primitive peoples regulate their farming operations or their festivals.

The Torres Straits islanders are no exception to this general rule, and I offer the following three myths as examples of this kind of traditional literature.

The Murray Islanders recognise a large constellation which does not coincide with any one of those mapped by our astronomers, though the canoe corresponds to part of our Scorpio.

A man named Tagai, with uplifted and outstretched hands bearing a spear, is supposed to stand upon a canoe, which is represented by the bowed row of stars that forms the scorpion’s tail. Below the front end of the canoe is a single star, the anchor of the canoe, and near its other end is a red star that represents a man named Kareg. A cluster of stars is called Usiam, and another linear constellation is named Seg.

Tagai is an important constellation, not only as an indication of the approach of certain seasons, but also for navigation purposes. For example, I was told, “Usiam he mĕk [that is, “sign” or “mark”] for new yams.” “Seg he mĕk next kind of yam.” When Usiam is some way from the horizon at sundown, men say, “Close up new yam time,” and when it is at the horizon at sunset, “Yam time he come.”

“Tagai he mĕk for turtle season. Two hand he come first; all turtle go to islands to leeward (to the west), and they (the natives) ‘kaikai’ (eat) turtle first. By-and-by face belong Tagai he come up; Dauarle (the inhabitants of Dauar and of the southern end of Murray Island) get turtle, and then all the rest of Murray Island.”

In sailing by night from Erub (Darnley Island) to Mer (Murray Island) they steer for the left hand of Tagai, “right hand he stop outside Mer.”

The following is the reputed origin of the constellation. I give it in my informant’s own words:—

THE ORIGIN OF THE TAGAI CONSTELLATION

“One man, Tagai, he got a canoe. Tagai he stop in forehead (the bow or front end of the canoe) and look out and spear fish. Kareg he stop in stern. Plenty men crew.

“They go over reef; Kareg he pole canoe. Tagai he spear fish. Sun hot on reef, all men thirsty, and steal water in canoe belong captain.

“Tagai say, ‘Why you no pole canoe good? I no spear fish.’ By-and-by he say, ‘Where water-bamboo?’ He take bamboo and shake it; it empty. ‘Who drink water?’

“Men no talk.

“Tagai get wild. He get one rope and make fast round neck of six men and chuck into sea. He put name to them, ‘All you fellow “Usiam.”’

“Tagai take two wooden skewers and call other men in canoe, and kill plenty, and stick the skewers through their necks and chuck them in the sea, and call them ‘Seg.’

“Kareg he live.

“Tagai tell Kareg, ‘You stop; you no steal my water, you push canoe all time.’

“Man stop in sky all the time.

“Tagai, Kareg, and canoe stop in one place, Usiam stop in another place, and Seg stop in another place.”

The next story, which was told to me in Mabuiag in 1888, refers to two constellations, one of which, a Dorgai, a sort of bogey, is followed by a cluster of stars named Bu, but which we call Delphin, or the dolphin, and certainly this cluster has a closer resemblance to the large Fusus or Triton shell (bu) than to a dolphin. The Dorgai corresponds to the star known to us as Altair, but which they call gamu (the body), and the adjoining stars on each side, which they name getal (the arms).

Fig. 19. Drawing by Gizu of Dorgai Metakorab and Bu

These constellations belong to the north-west monsoon, and when “Dorgai he come up (from the east) that time make kap (dance).”

A DORGAI CONSTELLATION

Once upon a time a man named Nadai, living on the Island of Boigu, went into the bush to collect the eggs of the mound-bird, a bird that lays its eggs in a great mound of earth which it scratches up with its strong feet.

He found a large mound, and dug into it till he came to what he thought was an egg. He tried to pull it up, but it stuck fast; then he tried to get another, but neither would that come away. It so happened that a Dorgai named Metakorab was sleeping under the mound, and she was wearing several large white cowry shells, and it was these that Nadai was pulling at, mistaking them for eggs.

Nadai at last caught hold of the shell, which was tied on to the Dorgai’s chin, and giving a tremendous pull he dragged the Dorgai out of the ground. He was so terrified at her appearance, that he fled back to the village and called out to the inhabitants to arm themselves and kill the Dorgai, who was sure to follow after him.

By-and-by a fly came, and behind it came the Dorgai; but the men no sooner saw her terrible face than they threw down their weapons and ran away in a fright.

Then Nadai went on to the next village, but the same thing happened again. So he went on all round the island, but it always happened as before.

At last Nadai came to a village called Kerpai, on the north side of the island, and he begged the people to stand firm and attack the Dorgai. They armed themselves, but when the fly came, and after it the Dorgai, they all took to their heels, as the others had done before, with the exception of one man named Bu. He remained in the bachelors’ quarters, and armed himself with a bow and with arrows that are used for shooting wild pigs. When the Dorgai arrived, Bu shot her and killed her.

Both are now in the sky; the Dorgai going first, being continually followed by Bu.

The last story is one which was given to me by my friend Mr. Robert Bruce, who lives at Daru.

It is the story of Kabi, a man who did not believe in much talking nor in accepting as true everything that people said; but he thought for himself, and tried to find out the truth, even if he had to make a long journey to do so. He was what we call a “scientific man.”

SUN, MOON, AND NIGHT

“Plenty men sit down and yarn at Kadau (a village in the island of Dauan). All man he yarn about Sun, and Moon, and Night. All man speak, ‘Sun, Moon, and Night he all the same one.’ One man called Kabi he speak, ‘No good you talk all the same; suppose you look. You see, Sun he come up, that time Moon he go down. Moon he come up, and Sun he go down.’

“Then all man too much wild; some man he speak, ‘Very good, we kill Kabi; he talk no good.’ Kabi he hear, he afraid. Kabi he then speak, ‘You fellow, look, I go to-morrow; I go place belong Sun, and Moon, and Night.’

“At small daylight he go in his canoe, his woman stop behind. He go across to Saibai.

“All man in Saibai speak, ‘Where you go, Kabi?’ He speak, ‘I go to look place where Sun he stop.’

“Him go—go—go. All islands he come up. He go big deep water. He catch him place where Sun he stop.

“Kabi he look, Sun he come out house belong him. Kabi he think, ‘Sun he no good, as Sun he no got good things on.’ Kabi pulled his canoe on beach and sat down. Sun then come out of door of his house and looked at Kabi. Sun then go inside house belong him and put on all flash things—one big pearl-shell he put on breast and one big shell on body.

“Sun he walk along and come close to Kabi. Kabi he very much afraid; he think inside, ‘Big man he come now. I think he kill me.’ Sun he speak, ‘Kabi, come on, you and me go house.’

“Sun he carry canoe belong Kabi in his one hand, all same as boy carry canoe belong play; then he put canoe on top of his house.

“Then Sun he speak, ‘Kabi, what name you come here for?’

“Kabi he speak, ‘All man he growl for you; he all speak, “Sun, and Moon, and Night he one.” Me, one fellow, speak, “No, Sun he one, Moon he one, and Night he one.” Then all man he wild.’

“Sun he speak, ‘All right, you come house.’

“Kabi he speak, What you say? Sun, Moon, you all same one?’

“Sun he speak, ‘Me one, Moon another one.’

“Then Sun and Moon he bring Kabi kaikai (food). Sun he give kaikai belong Sun—bananas, yams, taro, sweet potatoes, coconuts. Moon he give him all the same.

“Sun he speak, ‘All kaikai belong we fellow. Sun, Moon, and Night he all the same. We all help to make them. Sun and Moon he stop one house.’

“Sun he take canoe belong Kabi, and put it in the water; then they put all kaikai in canoe. Kabi he get afraid when he think of the long journey he got to take.

“Sun he speak, ‘Kabi, I make rope fast along your head, then you and me go together; I tow you. When you come to place belong you, you shake rope; by-and-by when you loose rope, you shake it, then that time I pull up.’

“Kabi he then start in his canoe. Three big waves come; one wave lift him half-way, the next lift him along to Saibai, the next wave lift his canoe to Dauan.

“Kabi then went ashore and told all the people, ‘I been to place where Sun and Moon he stop. You hear me now when I speak. He no one fellow, he two fellow. Sun he pull me here.’

“Then Kabi got all people in one place. He speak, ‘You see this rope fast on top of my head. You look when I take this rope off my head. You look he go up to Sun.’

“Then all the people believe Kabi when he speak, ‘Sun, Moon, and Darkness each got their own work to do.’”

CHAPTER XII
VISITS TO VARIOUS WESTERN ISLANDS

It was sad to feel that the end of our stay in Torres Straits was drawing near. On October 19th Rivers left us, and two days later Wilkin also had to go. Ray, Seligmann, and myself alone were left.

On October 21st the Hon. John Douglas came in the White Star to convey us away from Mabuiag, and we made an early start next morning. Mr. Douglas made the valuable suggestion that before going on to Saibai we should run down to Yam to pick up my old friend Maino, the Mamoose of Tut and Yam, in order that he might give us information. We did so, and Maino was very pleased to come with us, and we shipped another Yam native named Kaikai.

We reached Saibai in the afternoon, and went ashore for a stroll. Saibai is a relatively large low island, but it is scarcely more than a ring-like, vegetated sandbank surrounding a huge swamp. The natives, numbering about one hundred and fifty to two hundred, are a quiet, industrious people, and grow a sufficient quantity of garden produce. We found them very intelligent, and anxious to assist us in gaining information.

We all went after breakfast on Sunday, October 23rd, to attend the morning service, which should have been held at nine o’clock, but was postponed till our arrival. This church was opened about two years ago, and is a very creditable edifice, entirely built by the natives. The walls and roof are of corrugated iron, and the architecture is of the plainest; but the people are deservedly proud of their effort, which not only represents time, energy, and money spent by themselves, but it is also the outward and visible sign of their own advance in civilisation, they feel it to be a bond of union between themselves and white Christians. It is easy to sneer at the plainness—ugliness if you will—of a tin tabernacle, but within an ungainly chrysalis there may be enshrined an incipient butterfly; the psyche of the savage, or barbarian, whether black or white, may similarly emerge from the baldest and stiffest of meeting-houses.

It is often very pathetic to see the evident strivings of these people to be like the white man; to my mind they are too ready to cast away their past, for with the crudities and social unrest of savagery there are flung aside also many of the excellent moral codes and social safeguards of the old order of things. Much native wheat is rooted up with the tares.

After the service I photographed the interior of the church, and later showed the natives photographs and sketches and chatted on various subjects, and altogether had a very profitable day. Before our midday dinner I had completed a census of the island, with the totem of every individual, and as I walked through the village the names of the residents of every house were recorded. There was no time to trace the genealogies as far back as Rivers did for Murray Island and Mabuiag, but still, what was accomplished will enable one to get some insight into the social organisation of the people. Rivers did not enumerate the inhabitants of every house in Murray Island and Mabuiag because the clans were all mixed up, but as we had found in Kiwai the houses were clan-houses, I thought the same might possibly occur here. We found that formerly this was the case, and that the snake (Tabu) and wild sweet potato (Daibau) clans lived on one side of the village, and the crocodile (Kodal), dog (Umai), and cassowary (Sam) lived on the other side. This division of the village into clan groups was said to tend to faction fights, and so the missionary tried to mix them up. There are still, however, distinct traces to be found of clan groupings in the village. I have previously referred to the double grouping of the clans in Mabuiag and Pulu, and a similar dual division is common throughout Australia. On the mainland of New Guinea to the east there is often a dual grouping in a village, about which more information is required, but in this case there is at present no evidence to connect it with totemism.

Ten years ago Maino, the chief of Tut, who is a crocodile-man, as a sign of friendship, exchanged names with me, and on the strength of this, on arriving at Saibai, I claimed to be a crocodile-man also, and in this assertion was supported by Maino. The other crocodile-men at once acknowledged me, for a few minutes after I landed on the island a crocodile-man made me a present of some coconuts, and stated in doing so that we were relatives.

Later on when I was sitting among a group of natives showing pictures and chatting, someone hinted a doubt as to whether an Englishman could have a crocodile augŭd. Wherever one goes one always finds some incredulous person who will not bow unquestioningly to authority. I immediately rolled up my shirt sleeves and showed my vaccination marks, which I happen to have on both shoulders, and I pointed this out as a proof of my pretensions; the evidence at once silenced all sceptical remarks, and carried conviction. The whiteness of the skin of my upper arms, unburned as it was by the hot sun, attracted much attention, especially from the ladies.

I was chagrined to find that my clan, though formerly an important one here, was on the decline, and that a plant clan was now the most numerous. This appears to be the only true plant totem in Torres Straits, and forms another interesting link with the Fly River district. Intermarriage in the same clan is prohibited; but I believe they now kill and eat their totems.

I wanted to obtain a special kind of yellow earth that is traded as paint from this to the other islands and to New Guinea, but we were told that snakes would bite anyone who went into the bush on a Sunday. These snakes must be very degenerate subjects of the Old Serpent, the Father of Lies, if they support so strict a Sabbatarianism.

Unfortunately the triple-crowned coconut palm that I sketched on my last visit here has died, so I could not photograph it as I had hoped to do. When I was making the sketch I was, as usual, surrounded by a bevy of onlookers, and one man said to me, “I wish I could make a coconut palm grow as fast as you draw it!” As I sketched in the neighbouring palms, the bystanders mentioned the name of the owner of each, and thus I learned that every tree is owned by somebody, and in a group of palms several men or women may own various trees. It is common for a man to own land, but not to own all the trees or plants that grow on it.

On the same occasion I sketched one of the houses, in which the lower portion was roughly walled up with coconut palm leaves, so as to make a second dwelling-place beneath the house proper. At this particular time the natives of Boigu, an island some fifteen miles to the west, had come to Saibai for safety. They had heard that the Tugeri pirates were coming on a head-hunting raid, and knew they could not withstand them unaided. There was not enough house room in Saibai for these visitors, and so the under portion of this house was roughly wattled for their accommodation. This was at that time the only two-storied house in Torres Straits.

Fig. 20. House on Piles at Saibai

With the lower portion screened with leaves (1888)

The ancient pile dwellings of Switzerland were built in the lakes for safety from attack by enemies. When the country became more settled, the pile dwellings were built on the shore instead of in the water, which is the present condition of most of the coastal villages in New Guinea. Later the Swiss put stones round the outer posts that supported their houses, and the ground floor, thus formed, was used as a shed. This is what one still finds so often in Switzerland. The real dwelling-house is supported on posts as in the prehistoric days, and the staircase is still outside the house, as was the original log ladder.

This Saibai house was temporarily in an intermediate condition between the ancient pile dwelling and the modern Swiss chalets. Not only was the final step never taken, but when the immediate need of increased accommodation was not felt, the house reverted to its previous state.

On Monday morning we measured ten natives pretty thoroughly and took a number of photographs. Ray exhibited the phonograph, and obtained some new records, whilst Seligmann worked hard at native medicine. Altogether we got through a great deal of work during these two days.

We made an early start on Tuesday in the White Star, and anchored off Tut in the forenoon, as I wished once more to go over the old sacred sites with Maino. No one lives on the island now, and the sacred spots are overgrown with bush, and most of the old stones are removed or broken up. This was very disappointing, and I was able to add only a very little to my previous information. It was an intensely hot day, and we were parched with thirst and soaked with perspiration.

The natives of Yam and Tut are one people. In olden days they resided part of the year in one island, and the rest in the other; now the greatly reduced population is permanently quartered on Yam. The people occasionally come across from Yam to look after their gardens, and we photographed the simple huts they had erected, which, we were informed, were like the old houses before the natives had adopted the South Sea type of house.

TUT

Tut, or Tud, or Warrior Island as it is now generally called, is situated at the southern end of the great Warrior Reefs. The island is very low, not more than ten feet above sea-level in any part, and is a true coral island, having been formed by the sea heaping coral sand and detritus on the reef, till these formed barriers which keep the sea itself at bay. As is usually the case in these parts, the soil is rendered fertile by the disintegration of pumice drifting on to the island from distant volcanoes.

Tut is evidently an island in process of formation, and is, roughly speaking, hook-shaped, the curved space being a lagoon, which is filled during the whole of the north-west monsoon, but dry except at high tide, during the south-east trade, i.e. during the greater portion of the year. This lagoon is evidently gradually silting up, and will ultimately form a permanent part of the island.

The vegetation is scrubby, but there are some old trees near the middle of the island. In old times the people were often short of food. At my visit in 1888 they were comfortably off, owing to the fact that most of the men were engaged in the fishing industries of the Straits, and were therefore able to buy provisions. On that occasion Maino met us, and after visiting a house and noticing a woman playing at cat’s cradle, we walked across the island to the village. There was a good deal of orange-coloured dodder festooning the shrubs and grass; one coconut palm bore the inscription of BILI FIJI, to announce the fact of that tree being owned by Billy, a native of Fiji. A coconut lying on the ground was sending up two vigorous sprouts.

After passing the mouth of the lagoon we reached the village, and after a little persuasion the natives got up a kŏpa-kŏpa, or native dance, for our entertainment.

It was, however, too hurriedly arranged, and there were not enough performers for it to be very effective. Two men and about eight women and girls danced. The latter, obeying a message sent on by Maino in advance of us, had donned their garments of civilisation, from a mistaken wish to show us due honour; but after some difficulty they acceded to our request, and with much laughing and chattering retired to take off their ugly long calico gowns, and reappeared more suitably clad in their pretty native leaf petticoats, but they had added coloured girdles and wraps round their chests.

Maino played the drum for the dance, and was surrounded by his wife and children and other women and children who joined in singing a chant and encouraging the dancers. A largess of tobacco closed the proceedings.

Mr. Milman, who was then Acting Resident Magistrate, offered to take Maino to Mawatta on the New Guinea coast, as that was his wife’s native place. At daybreak next morning Maino came to the steamer, and we paid him a tomahawk, five yards of calico, and some tobacco for a mask and other articles he brought us. He remarked he should give the tomahawk and calico to his mother-in-law, as he had not yet “paid” for his last baby!

The anchorage at Tut is at the opposite end of the island from Maino’s camp, and a few bêche-de-mer fishermen and their staff of Australian blacks then occupied that part of the island. Tom Randolf, a Dane, kindly lent me a small galvanised iron shed with a thatch roof; part of it was occupied by sacks of flour, rice, and miscellaneous stores. At the other end he put a couch for me, and two native mats formed a mattress, on which I was comfortable enough. The door of the shed was fastened with handcuffs, of which I kept the key, and so did not feel a prisoner. Randolf gave me some fowls, eggs, and a chunk of turtle-meat, which formed a pleasant change after a long course of tinned meats. He also allowed me to use his fresh water, of which there is a very scanty supply, there being only a very little brackish water on the island, which Europeans cannot use. The natives as well as the settlers procured their drinking water from the island of Yam, some fifteen miles away.

Maino gave me a good deal of valuable information respecting the initiation of boys into manhood, and took me into the bush to show me where their ceremonies formerly took place. With Maino’s assistance I could fairly well conjure up the past appearance of this tabooed kwod.

On entering manhood the boys were secluded in the kwod for one month, and might on no account see a woman, or be seen by any. A large stone was shown me, with which a long time ago seven boys had been killed for breaking this rule. These misguided youths, tired of the irksomeness of the discipline, broke away from the kwod, and seeing their mothers carrying some yams and sweet potatoes shouted out to them, and holding their left arms to attract attention, asked for food.

During the month of their seclusion the boys daily had charcoal made from charred coconuts rubbed into them; they might eat anything, except fat, and were in charge of their mother’s brother. During the day the boys were covered with mats, sewn together to form little tents; so that when the boys sat down only the tents were seen, and when they walked their legs alone were visible. The whole day was spent in the sacred camp. After sunset the uncles took the boys to a house set apart for them, and before sunrise, when the “pigeon whistles,” they were marched back to the clearing.

The old men taught the lads what they might and might not do as men. The code of morality so far as it went was very high, one quaint instruction being, “You no like girl first; if you do, girl call you ‘woman’!” For it is the custom here for the women to propose marriage to the men.

The accompanying sketch is an attempted restoration of the sacred area, or kwod, of about thirty years ago. The four large mats in the centre belonged respectively (from the foreground backwards) to the Shark, Crocodile, Dog, and Cassowary clans. The fires of the first two were close together at one end, the Cassowary’s fire at the opposite end, and the Dog’s fire on one side; on the side opposite the latter was placed the chief’s mat. The fireplaces are still to be seen. At one end of each mat was a large crocodile-head mask; besides these were some leaf coverings used in initiatory rites. The drums occupied the centre. The fires were tended by lads already initiated; the men sat on their mats, or sat and stood around; the boys to be initiated were grouped at each end of the kwod.

Fig. 21. Restoration of the Kwod in Tut during the Initiation Period

At the end of the month the boys were washed, gaily decked, and anointed with a pungent scent, thereby hoping to gain favour with the girls. They were marched towards the village with a large mat raised in front of them. On reaching an open space the mat was lowered, and the lads were then seen for the first time by their fathers, female relations, and friends. The mothers and aunts rushed forward, hugged, and cried over the lads. There were great rejoicings and feastings, for the boys were then acknowledged as men.

Amongst the relics Maino showed me the navel shrine (kupai or kupor) of Sigai, a great warrior and traveller of long ago. Before going to fight the men would stand around the shrine of large shells and dig their bows and arrows into the ground there, so that virtue might pass into them. The men also took a coconut, and broke it. If it broke evenly in two halves, they would have a successful foray; if the fracture was not straight, they would kill only a few men. Should a piece of the coconut shell break off, a close relative of the man who broke it would die soon. All the men who were consulting the oracle ate a small piece of the kernel of the broken coconut, and took up the broken halves and put “medicine” inside.

I believe I was the first European to whom these revered relics of the past had been shown, and I felt quite sorry for my friend when, looking at one of the memorable stones with tears in his eyes, he said, “I think of old men, and I sorry. All finish now.”

Later Maino gave me the head-dress his father, “king” Kebiso, wore when on the war-path, and a boar’s tusk ornament which he stuck in his mouth to render his appearance yet more terrible.

Like a true gentleman, Maino did not let me know at the time of his reluctance to part with these relics of his famous father. I did not ask him for them, seeing how highly he valued them, but he offered them freely to me. I then asked what he wanted in return, and gave him what he asked for—a small oval looking-glass, a pocket-knife, a blue bead necklace, and seven sticks of tobacco for the head-dress; and for the tusk ornament a pocket-knife, two clay pipes, and four sticks of tobacco. He wanted me to have these mementoes of his father, partly because of our real friendship for each other, but also partly because he wanted them exhibited in a big museum in England, where plenty of people would see them and would know to whom they once belonged. They are now in the British Museum.

YAM

To return to the narrative of the present Expedition. We reached Yam in the afternoon, and all landed to have a look round. Maino took me to the old kwod, and I made a rough plan of it, and obtained a description of what it looked like formerly. After dinner I sketched a restoration, and later, when Maino and Jimmy Tut came off to the steamer, I got them to criticise it; and Maino made some sketches to elucidate details, the result being that I can with confidence restore what possibly no white man ever saw, or, at all events, no one has recorded it. The following day I returned to the kwod to take some photographs, and further information was given me.

There was in the kwod a low fence surrounding a space of about thirty-five feet square, in which were the shrines of the two great augŭds of the island. All that now remains are three heaps of shells, mainly of the gigantic Fusus.

Two of the heaps are about twenty-five feet long; the third is relatively small. Formerly, at the southerly end of each long row was a large turtle-shell mask, representing a crocodile and a hammer-headed shark respectively. These were decorated in various ways, and under each was a stone in which the life of the augŭd resided; stretching from each mask was a cord to which numerous human lower jawbones were fastened; at the opposite end was a stone on which a skull rested.

Fig. 22. Restoration of the Kwod in Yam

The small heap is the shrine of the augŭd Ger, or sea-snake, which originated from the hammer-headed shark (Kursi). These shrines were formerly covered over by long low huts decorated, like the fence, with Fusus shells.

Outside the fence were two heaps of shells which had a mystical connection with the shrines. These were the augŭdau kupar, or navel shrines of the augŭds.