HEAD-HUNTERS

BLACK, WHITE, AND BROWN

[Illustration: 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.

     1898.
  March 10th.    Left London.
  April 22nd.    Arrived Thursday Island, where joined by Seligmann.
  April 30th.    Left Thursday Island.
  May 6th.       Arrived Murray Island.
  May 23rd.      Haddon, Ray, Wilkin, and Seligmann left for New Guinea.
  June 25th.     Seligmann went to Rigo.
  July 20th.     Haddon, Ray, and Wilkin returned from New Guinea to
                   Murray Island.
  August 24th.   Myers and McDougall left Murray Island for Sarawak.
  Sept. 8th.     Haddon, Rivers, Ray, and Wilkin left Murray Island for
                   Kiwai.
  Sept. 12th.    Seligmann arrived at Saguane.
  Sept. 15th.    Haddon, Rivers, Wilkin, Seligmann left Saguane for
                   Mabuiag.
  Sept. 17th.    Arrived Mabuiag.
  Oct. 3rd.      Ray came from Saguane.
  Oct. 19th.     Rivers left to return home.
  Oct. 21st.     Wilkin left to return home.
  Oct. 22nd.     Haddon, Ray, Seligmann left for Saibai, etc.
  Nov. 15th.     Left Thursday Island.
  Nov. 28th.     Arrived Hongkong.
  Dec. 3rd.      Left Hongkong.
  Dec. 9th.      Arrived Singapore.
  Dec. 10th.     Left Singapore.
  Dec. 12th.     Arrived Kuching.

     1899.
  Jan. 4th.      Left Kuching for Baram.
  Jan. 8th.      Arrived Limbang.
  Jan. 16th.     Left Limbang.
  Jan. 28th.     Arrived Marudi (Claudetown).
  April 20th.    Left Marudi.
  April 25th.    Left Kuching.
  May 31st.      Arrived in London.

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


                                  PART I

                                CHAPTER I

                    THURSDAY ISLAND TO MURRAY ISLAND

    Port Kennedy, Thursday Island—l’assage in the _Freya_ to Murray
    Island—Darnley Island—Arrival at Murray Island—Reception by the
    natives                                                     _Page_ 1-10

                               CHAPTER II

                           THE MURRAY ISLANDS

    Geographical features of the islands of Torres Straits—Geology
    of the Murray Islands—Climate—The Murray Islanders—Physical and
    other characteristics—Form of Government                   _Page_ 11-21

                               CHAPTER III

                     WORK AND PLAY IN MURRAY ISLAND

    The Expedition Dispensary—Investigations in Experimental
    Psychology: visual acuity, colour vision, mirror writing,
    estimation of time, acuity of hearing, sense of smell and
    taste, sensitiveness to pain—The Miriam language—Methods of
    acquiring information—Rain-making—Native amusements—Lantern
    exhibition—String puzzles—Top-spinning—Feast—Copper Maori  _Page_ 22-41

                               CHAPTER IV

                           THE MALU CEREMONIES

    Initiation ceremonies—Secret societies—Visit to
    Las—Representation of the Malu ceremonies—Models of the old
    masks—The ceremonies as formerly carried out—“Devil belong
    Malu”                                                      _Page_ 42-52

                               CHAPTER V.

                                  ZOGOS

    The Murray Island oracle, Tomog Zogo—The
    village of Las—Tamar—The war-dance at Ziriam
    Zogo—Zabarker—Wind-raising—Teaching Geography at Dam—Tamar
    again—A Miriam “play”—How Pepker made a hill—Iriam Moris,
    the fat man—Zogo of the girl of the south-west—Photographing
    zogos—The coconut zogo—A turtle zogo—The big women who dance
    at night—The Waiad ceremony                                _Page_ 53-70

                               CHAPTER VI

                   VARIOUS INCIDENTS IN MURRAY ISLAND

    Our “boys” in Murray Island—“Gi, he gammon”—Character of some
    of our native friends—Ulai—Rivalry between Debe Wali and
    Jimmy Rice—Our Royal Guests—The Papuan method of smoking—A
    domestic quarrel—Debe and Jimmy fall out—An earthquake—Cause
    of a hurricane—The world saved from a comet by three weeks of
    prayer—an unaccounted-for windstorm—New Guinea magic—“A woman
    of Samaria”—Jimmy Rice in prison—A yam zogo—Rain-makers—A
    death-dealing zogo—Mummies—Skull-divination—Purchasing skulls—A
    funeral                                                    _Page_ 71-94

                               CHAPTER VII

                            KIWAI AND MAWATTA

    Leave Murray Island in the _Nieue_—Daru—Arrive at
    Saguane—Mission-work—Visit Iasa—Long clan houses—Totems and
    totemistic customs—Bull-roarers and human effigies as garden
    charms and during initiation ceremonies—Head-hunting—Stone
    implements—Origin of Man—Origin of Fire—Primitive dwellings at
    Old Mawatta—Shell hoe—Katau or Mawatta—Election of a chief—A
    love story—Dances—Bamboo beheading-knife                  _Page_ 95-116

                              CHAPTER VIII

                                 MABUIAG

    Mabuiag revisited—Character of the island—Comparison
    between the Murray Island and Mabuiag natives—Barter for
    skulls—Economic condition of Mabuiag—Present of food—Waria,
    a literary Papuan—Death of Waria’s baby—Method of collecting
    relationships and genealogies—Colour-blindness—The Mabuiag
    language—A May Meeting followed by a war-dance           _Page_ 117-131

                               CHAPTER IX

                     TOTEMISM AND THE CULT OF KWOIAM

    Totemism in Mabuiag—Significance of Totemism—Advantage of
    Totemism—Seclusion of girls—The Sacred Island of Pulu—The
    scenes of some of Kwoiam’s exploits—The Pulu Kwod—The stone
    that fell from the sky—The Kwoiam Augŭds—Death dances—Test
    for bravery—Bull-roarer—Pictographs—The Cave of Skulls—The
    destruction of relics—Outline of the Saga of Kwoiam—Kwoiam’s
    miraculous water-hole—The death of Kwoiam                _Page_ 132-147

                                CHAPTER X

                        DUGONG AND TURTLE FISHING

    A dugong hunt—What is a dugong?—The dugong platform—Dugong
    charms—Turtle-fishing—How the sucker-fish is employed to
    catch turtle—Beliefs respecting the _gapu_—The _agu_ and
    bull-roarers—Cutting up a turtle                         _Page_ 148-157

                               CHAPTER XI

                     MARRIAGE CUSTOMS AND STAR MYTHS

    MARRIAGE CUSTOMS: How girls propose marriage among the
    western tribe—A proposal in Tut—Marital relations—A wedding
    in church—An unfortunate love affair—Various love-letters.
    STAR MYTHS: The Tagai constellation—A stellar almanack, its
    legendary origin—The origin of the constellations of Dorgai
    Metakorab and Bu—The story of Kabi, and how he discovered who
    the Sun, Moon, and Night were                            _Page_ 158-169

                               CHAPTER XII

                    VISITS TO VARIOUS WESTERN ISLANDS

    Our party breaks up. SAIBAI: Clan groupings—Vaccination
    marks turned to a new use—Triple-crowned coconut palm—A
    two-storied native house. TUT: Notes of a former visit—Brief
    description of the old initiation ceremonies—Relics of the
    past. YAM: A Totem shrine. NAGIR: The decoration of Magau’s
    skull “old-time fashion”—Divinatory skulls—The sawfish magical
    dance—Pictographs in Kiriri. MURALUG: Visit to Prince of Wales
    Island in 1888—A family party—War-dance                  _Page_ 170-189

                              CHAPTER XIII

                            CAPE YORK NATIVES

    Visit to Somerset—Notes on the Yaraikanna tribe—Initiation
    ceremony—Bull-roarer—Knocking out a front tooth—The _ari_
    or “personal totem”                                      _Page_ 190-194

                               CHAPTER XIV

                      A TRIP DOWN THE PAPUAN COAST

    The _Olive Branch_—Passage across the Papuan
    Gulf—Delena—Tattooing—A Papuan _amentum_—A sorcerer’s
    kit—Borepada—Port Moresby—Gaile, a village built in the
    sea—Character of the country—Kăpăkăpă—_Dubus_—The Vatorata
    Mission Station—Dr. and Mrs. Lawes—Sir William Macgregor’s
    testimony to mission work—A dance                        _Page_ 197-210

                               CHAPTER XV

                           THE HOOD PENINSULA

    Bulaa by moonlight—Hospitality of the South Sea
    teachers—Geographical character of the Hood
    Peninsula—Kalo—Annual fertility ceremony at Babaka—Canoe-making
    at Keapara—The fishing village of Alukune—The Keapara
    bullies—Picking a policeman’s pocket—Tattooing—A surgical
    remedy—Variations in the character of the Papuan
    hair—Pile-raising—Children’s toys and games—Dances—Second
    visit to Vatorata—Visit Mr. English at Rigo              _Page_ 211-234

                               CHAPTER XVI

                  PORT MORESBY AND THE ASTROLABE RANGE

    Port Moresby—Ride inland—Vegetation—View from the top of
    Warirata—The Taburi village of Atsiamakara—The Koiari—Tree
    houses—The Agi chief—Contrasts—A lantern show—The
    mountaineers—Tribal warfare—The pottery trade of Port
    Moresby—The Koitapu and the Motu—Gunboats                _Page_ 235-251

                              CHAPTER XVII

                           THE MEKEO DISTRICT

    Arrival at Yule Island—The Sacred Heart Mission—Death of a
    Brother—A service at Ziria—The meeting of the Papuan East
    and West in Yule Island—The _Ibitoe_—Making a drum—Marriage
    customs—Omens—Tattooing—The Roro fishers and traders—The Mekeo
    agriculturists—The Pokao hunters—Markets—Pinupaka—Mohu—Walk
    across the plain and through the forest—Inawi—War
    and Taboo chiefs—Taboo customs—Masks—A Mission
    festivity—Tops—Veifaa—Women’s dress—Children’s games—Return
    to coast                                                 _Page_ 252-277

                                 PART II

                              CHAPTER XVIII

                      JOURNEY FROM KUCHING TO BARAM

    Arrival in Sarawak—Description of Kuching—The Sarawak
    Museum—Visit to Sibu—Stay in Limbang—A Malay sago factory—Visit
    to Brunei—Method and aims of Rajah Brooke’s Government   _Page_ 279-294

                               CHAPTER XIX

                       THE WAR-PATH OF THE KAYANS

    Leave Limbang—A Kadayan house at Tulu—Rapids on the
    Limbang—Ascent of the Madalam—The Insurrection of Orang
    Kaya Tumonggong Lawai—Enter the Trikan—Durian—Met by Mr.
    Douglas—Old Jungle—Descend the Malinau and Tutau—Kayan
    tattooing—Berantu ceremony in the Batu Blah House—Arrival
    at Marudi (Claudetown)—Kenyah drinking customs           _Page_ 297-311

                               CHAPTER XX

                    THE COUNTRY AND PEOPLE OF BORNEO

    THE GEOGRAPHICAL AND GEOLOGICAL FEATURES OF BORNEO:
    Arrangement of mountains—The geology of the “Mountain-land,”
    Palæozoic—Mesozoic—the geology of the “Hill-land,”
    Cainozoic—The geology of the Plains, Quaternary—The geology
    of the Marshes, Alluvium—Recent volcanic action. A SKETCH
    OF THE ETHNOGRAPHY OF SARAWAK: Punans—Various agricultural
    tribes of Indonesian and Proto-Malay stock—Land Dayaks—Kenyahs
    and Kayans—Iban (Sea Dayaks)—Malays—Sociological History of
    Sarawak—Chinese traders                                  _Page_ 312-329

                               CHAPTER XXI

                   A TRIP INTO THE INTERIOR OF BORNEO

    The Lelak house at Long Tru—Skull trophies—The settled Punans
    on the Bok—Sarcophagus in Taman Liri’s house—Divination by
    means of a pig’s liver in Aban Abit’s house—Purchase of some
    skulls—The Panyamun Panic in Sarawak in 1894-5—Commencement of
    a similar scare—Administrative duties at Long Semitan—Character
    of the Sĕbops—The fable of the monkey and the frog—A visit to
    Mount Dulit—The Scott-Keltie Falls—The Himalayan affinities of
    the fauna of Mount Dulit and of other high mountains in
    Borneo                                                   _Page_ 330-351

                              CHAPTER XXII

             A TRIP INTO THE INTERIOR OF BORNEO—_continued_

    Ceremony of moving skulls into a new house at Long Puah—Naming
    ceremony for Jangan’s boy—Peace-making—Conviviality—Malohs
    desire to marry some Sĕbop girls—Sĕbop dances—Scenery on the
    Tinjar—Burnt house at Long Dapoi—Panyamun Scare again—The
    Dapoi—Long Sulan—Tingan’s matrimonial mishap—News from the
    Madangs—A Punan medicine man—Panyamun Scare settled—Discovery
    of stone implements—A native selling a stone implement for a
    loin cloth to die in—A stone hook—A visit to Tama Bulan—The
    unfortunate Bulan—Fanny Rapid—A Kenyan love story        _Page_ 352-380

                              CHAPTER XXIII

                  NOTES ON THE OMEN ANIMALS OF SARAWAK

    Archdeacon Perham on the omens of the Iban (Sea Dayaks)—List
    of the omen animals of the Kayans, Kenyahs, Punans, and
    Iban—Reputed origin of “Birding”                         _Page_ 381-393

                              CHAPTER XXIV

                      THE CULT OF SKULLS IN SARAWAK

    Reasons for collecting heads—Head required for going out
    of mourning for a chief—Kenyah legend of the origin of
    Head-hunting—How Kenyahs leave skulls behind when moving
    into a new house                                         _Page_ 394-400

                               CHAPTER XXV

                          PEACE-MAKING AT BARAM

    Padi competition—Obstacle race—Speech-making—The Lirong
    _jawa_—Fracas and reconciliation—Tuba-fishing in Logan
    Ansok—Great boat-race—Monster public meeting—Enthusiastic
    speeches, and Madangs formally received into the Baram
    Administrative District                                  _Page_ 401-415

    INDEX                                                    _Page_ 417-426





LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS


  The Scott-Keltie Falls, Mt. Dulit, Baram District, Sarawak _Frontispiece_

    PLATE                                                      FACING PAGE

       I. A. Ari, the Mamoose of Mer                                    18
          B. Pasi, the Mamoose of Dauar

      II. A. Rain Shrine, Mer                                           34
          B. Doiom with Bull-roarer

     III. A. Ulai                                                       40
          B. A Top-spinning Match, Mer

      IV. A. Removing Sand from a Copper Maori                          41
          B. A Murray Island Feast

       V. A, B, C. The Dance of the Malu Zogole                         48

      VI. A. The Malu Ceremony at Las                                   49
          B. Ulai singing Malu songs into a Phonograph: Gasu is
               beating the Malu drum

     VII. A. The Shrine of Zabarker                                     54
          B. Tomog Zogo

    VIII. A. The Islands of Waier and Dauar from the beach of Mer,
               with a Fish Shrine in the foreground                     64
          B. U Zogo, the Coconut Shrine of Dauar

      IX. A. Debe Wali and his Wife                                     72
          B. Jimmy Rice and his Wife

       X. A. Iasa, Kiwai                                                99
          B. Side view of the Soko-Korobe Clan-house at Iasa

      XI. A. Waria, Peter, Tom, and Gizu of Mabuiag                    123
          B. Nēĕt, or Platform from which Dugong are harpooned

     XII. A. Man dressed up for the Death Dance                        139
          B. Divining Skulls: 1. Skull of Magau of Nagir; 2. A
               Murray Island Skull

    XIII. A. The Marine Village of Gaile                               206
          B. Bulaa

     XIV. A. Girls of Babaka dressed for the Annual Ceremony           218
          B. Girls on the Dubu at Babaka for the Annual Ceremony

      XV. A. Hollowing out a Canoe with Stone Adzes at Keapara         220
          B. A Bulaa girl being tattooed

     XVI. A. A Native of Bulaa                                         223
          B. A Bulaa youth with Ringworm

    XVII. A. Dubu at Kamali                                            232
          B. Dubu Dance at Gomoridobo

   XVIII. A. Udia and Daube, Taburi, Koiari                            243
          B. Elevara, Port Moresby, with the London Missionary
               Society’s Station in the background

     XIX. A. Gewe, Chief of Agi, when deprived of his Hat              245
          B. Gewe, with his Hat restored

      XX. A. Tree House at Gasiri                                      248
          B. Pottery-making at Hanuabada, Port Moresby

     XXI. A. A Mekeo Ibitoe                                            256
          B. Masked Man, Kaivakuku, of Waima, Mekeo District

    XXII. A. Mohu, Mekeo District                                      268
          B. Marea at Mohu

   XXIII. A. Regatta at Kuching                                        280
          B. View from Kaban Hill, with the Brunei Hills in the
               distance

    XXIV. A. Brunei                                                    290
          B. A Family Bathe

     XXV. A. Orang Kaya Tumonggong Lawai, a Long Pata Chief in war
               costume, with a Kenyah shield                           300
          B. A Sleeping-hut in the Jungle

    XXVI. A. Ascending a Rapid                                         306
          B. House of the Orang Bukits at Long Linai, Tutau River

   XXVII. A. Punans                                                    320
          B. A Lelak man with typical Tattooing on shoulders and
               upper arms

  XXVIII. A. Side view of a Kayan House                                331
          B. Verandah of a Kayan House at Long Lama, Baram River

    XXIX. A. Shrine outside Tama Bulan’s House                         376
          B. Bulan
          C. Saba Irang, the Head Chief of the Madangs

     XXX. A. Skull Trophy in a Kayan House                             396
          B. Skull Trophies in Aban Abit’s House at Long Tisam,
               Barawan tribe

    XXXI. A. Beating Tuba and baling the Infusion out of a Canoe       408
          B. Penchallong prepared for the Great Peace-making

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


   FIG.                                                               PAGE

     1. The Hill of Gelam, Murray Island                                15

     2. Murray Island from the south                                    16

     3. Waier and Dauar                                                 17

     4. Model of the Bomai Mask of the Malu Ceremonies                  47

     5. Pepker, the Hill-maker                                          65

     6. Ziai Neur Zogo, a Therapeutic Shrine                            65

     7. Native drawings of some of the Nurumara (totems) of Kiwai      102

     8. Agricultural Charms of Kiwai                                   105

     9. Neur Madub, a Love Charm                                       106

    10. Shell Hoe used by the Natives of Parama                        110

    11. Bamboo Beheading-knife and Head Carrier, Mawatta               115

    12. The Kwod, or Ceremonial Ground, in Pulu                        139

    13. Drawing by Gizu of a Danilkau, the Buffoon of the Funeral
          Ceremonies                                                   140

    14. Drawing by Gizu of Mŭri ascending a Waterspout                 141

    15. Dugong Harpoon and Dart                                        149

    16. Marine Plants (_Cymodocea_) on which the Dugong Feeds          152

    17. Drawing by Gizu of the Method of Harpooning a Dugong           153

    18. Wooden Dugong Charm from Moa                                   154

    19. Drawing by Gizu of Dorgai Metakorab and Bu                     167

    20. House on Piles at Saibai, with the lower portion screened
          with leaves                                                  173

    21. Restoration of the Kwod in Tut during the Initiation Period    177

    22. Restoration of the Kwod in Yam                                 179

    23. Rock Pictographs in Kiriri                                     185

    24. Umbalako (Bull-roarers) of the Yaraikanna Tribe, Cape York     191

    25. Irupi Dance, Babaka                                            217

    26. Palm-leaf Toys, Bulaa                                          226

    27. Tattooing in the Mekeo District                                260

    28. Afu, or Taboo Signal, Inawi                                    271

    29. Boys at Veifaa dressed up as Fulaari                           275

    30. Kayan Tattoo Designs                                           306

    31. Berantu Ceremony of the Orang Bukit                            307

    32. Butiong in a Lelak House                                       333

    33. Sarcophagus of a Boy in a Barawan House                        334

    34. Praying to a Pig in a Barawan House                            336

    35. Mount Dulit from Long Aaiah Kechil                             347

    36. Long Sulan                                                     361

    37. Kedaman and Kelebong at Long Sulan                             362

    38. Stone Implements from the Baram District, Sarawak              369

    39. Magical Stone Hook                                             371

    40. Figure-heads of Canoes, Baram District                         407

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




LIST OF MAPS


                                                                      PAGE

    Map of Torres Straits                                               13

    Sketch Map of British New Guinea                                   195

    Map of the Central District, British New Guinea                    237

    Map of the Mekeo District, British New Guinea                      263

    Sketch Map of the Baram District, Sarawak                          295

    Geological Sketch Map of Borneo                                    313




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.

[Illustration: 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.

[Illustration: 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.

[Illustration: 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.

[Illustration: 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.

[Illustration: 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.

[Illustration: 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.

[Illustration: PLATE III

ULAI

A TOP-SPINNING MATCH]

[Illustration: 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.

[Illustration: 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.

[Illustration: PLATE V

THE DANCE OF THE MALU ZOGOLE]

[Illustration: 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.

[Illustration: 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 [Illustration] 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 [Illustration] 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.

[Illustration: 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.

[Illustration: 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.

[Illustration: 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.

[Illustration: 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.

[Illustration: 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.

[Illustration: 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.

[Illustration: 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.

[Illustration: 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.

[Illustration: 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.

[Illustration: 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.

[Illustration: 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

    _tana mun  nel    itabo   Mabaigan     nel_
      their    name   in the  of Mabuiag   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 10_s._; Badu and Moa, £8 0_s._ 9_d._; Prince of Wales Island, £1; and
the South Sea men of Mabuiag, £11 2_s._, making a total of £28 12_s._
9_d._ During the year £64 15_s._ 1_d._ has been collected at the Sunday
offertory at Mabuiag, consequently Chalmers took back as the Mabuiag
subscription to the London Missionary Society £40 10_s._, 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 10_s._!

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.

[Illustration: 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.

[Illustration: 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.

[Illustration: 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.

[Illustration: 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.

[Illustration: 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.

[Illustration: 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.

[Illustration: 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.

[Illustration: 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._

  _Pita mido ninu ia ngai nutane ni ngözu korkak mina köi ubine mizi_
   Peter what your word? I  try  you. My   heart truly big  wish has

  _nibeka  nid  lak  ngöna iadu turane wa sena  ngözu ia  Pita ni_
   for you. You again  me     tell.    Yes, that  my word. Peter you.

  _iawa_                                        _ngai Magena._
   Good-bye.                                     I    Magena.

                                                  _Okotoba 4, 1898._

  _Magena ngai iauturane ni ngai lakökeda   mina köi ubine meka_
   Magena   I      tell  you.  I  again same truly big wish  have

  _nibeka  ngau ia  kede mina   mina ubine meka   wa    matamina   pibeka_
   for you.  My word thus true.  True wish  have. Yes, quite proper  give

  _a ngaikika  wa keda   ni Magena   iawa_
   then to me.  Yes so.  You Magena. Good-bye.

                                                      _ngai Pita._
                                                       I    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.

  _Kake[1] ngau ubi gar ina           mido           ni ngaikika_
   I say,  my wish indeed this, (Sign of question)  you  for me

  _ubin meka   wao mina keda ni ngaikika ubin mizi   ninu na  ia  mido_
   wish have? Yes, true that you for me  wish have.  Your if word what.

  _wa nagaikika modabia  ngapa   palanekai   ubil   za   na  a   ubigil_
   Yes  to me   answer   hither will write  wish (thing) if and not wish

    _za    na  wa   matakeda    minaasin sena      ngau ia  ngau nel ⸺_
  (thing) if  yes all-the-same  finish  that       my word, my name.

  “_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._

  _Peike Anuni       kara jiawali marim  mama  neur  kaka makiriam_
   This  Anuni (is)   my  writing to you you  a girl   I  young man

  _nakö[2] ma kari lag nakö  Ad  emeret  detagem Adamu a Eba  kosker a_
    (?)    you me  like (?)  God formerly  made  Adam and Eve woman and

  _kimiar mokakalam kaka mari lag nakö ma kari lag nakö ma nole_
    man   same way    I  you like (?)  you me like (?)  you not

  _geum     kak    makiria  abkoreb   marim  ma  kari abkoreb  Ad emeret_
   afraid nothing young man suitable for you you  me  suit.    God formerly

  _detagem kosker abkoreb  ko kimiar   nagiri   kimiar abkoreb  ko  kosker_
    made    woman suitable for man   possessing  man   suitable for woman

  _nagiri    kaka mari laglag nako mer  karim  ma  kari umele kaka nole_
   possessing I   you   like  what word for me you me   know   I   not

  _mokakalam    nerut   le  kaka dorge le   peike kara mer  marim    Sina_
     like    some other men   I  work man.  This  my  word to you. The end.

  _Kara nei_                                                  _Cimell_
   My name.                                                   _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).

[Illustration: 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.

[Illustration: 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_.

[Illustration: 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.

[Illustration: 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_.

Of course women and children might not come near the place, and, further,
they did not know what the _augŭds_ were like. They only knew of the
crocodile (_Kodal_) as “Maiau” and of the hammer-headed shark (_Kursi_)
as “Sigai.” These heroes were related to the equally legendary Malu of
Murray Island, who also had a dual human-shark personality.

This discovery is another of the links found between totemism and
hero-worship, which I have noted in Torres Straits. I am not aware
whether this transition has been previously described as occurring among
a living people, but it seems as if it may be possible to trace some
stages at least between pure totemism on the one hand and hero-worship on
the other, and a hero-worship that is suspiciously like the origin of a
god. I have collected all the legends I could concerning the histories of
the heroes Bornai, Malu, Sigai, Maiau, and Sau.

According to our usual custom we visited all the shrines we heard of
in the island; of these not the least interesting was the small boys’
_kwod_, in which were two small heaps of ruddled shells, and where the
boys played at _augŭd_. All over the world boys mimic the actions of
their fathers, and we came across several instances of this during our
Expedition. At Veifaa, in the Mekeo district of British New Guinea, some
boys imitated, as we shall see, the masked taboo officials. Here they
went a step further, and played at _augŭd_, the most sacred of all their
religious ceremonies. In this case they cannot be said to have exactly
mimicked their elders, as they did not know what the real _augŭd_ was
like, nor how the ceremonies were conducted, but they “made believe” to
their own satisfaction.

Returning from the _kwod_, Maino pointed out a shelter under a rock where
formerly two skulls had been kept. Unfortunately one was burnt when
the ground was being cleared for a garden, but the other was in good
condition, and Maino allowed me to appropriate it. He did not wish me
to take the lower jaw of the burnt skull which was lying close by, and
was anxious that no one should know he had given me the whole skull, nor
would he touch it himself.

The afternoon was mainly devoted to photography and the phonograph.


NAGIR

We made an early start the next day, and in the forenoon visited Nagir
(Mount Ernest). Here we found only two old men and one old woman. There
were a few other inhabitants out in shelling boats, but the islanders are
on the verge of extinction.

As we could only have two hours on the island, and there were places on
it we wished to visit, there was but little time to prosecute inquiries;
still we got something done.

The old _kwod_ and other sacred spots are in a shocking state. Jimmy
Samoa, an enormous Samoan, has resided on the island for many years,
and he has made his garden in the _kwod_ and built his house close by
it. “Ichabod” was writ large. There was nothing to see, and very little
reliable information to be had. It was a poor set-off, so far as we were
concerned, to find Jimmy Samoa in possession of a graphophone!

A few days after my arrival in Torres Straits in 1888 I visited Nagir,
and recalling the fact that when H.M.S. _Alert_ was surveying the
district six years previously Dr. Coppinger had obtained at this island
two decorated skulls, I tried to get another. My inquiries after “head
belong dead man,” aided by a sketch and emphasised by a promise of ample
remuneration, elicited in time the information from Aiwŏli that he
“savvied” and that he “got ’im.” Forbidding me from following him, Aiwŏli
disappeared round the corner, and in a very short space of time returned
with a basket containing a skull wrapped up in two very old and dirty red
cotton handkerchiefs. (Plate XII., B, No. 1, p. 139.)

The skull was that of a young, unmarried man, Magau, whose English name
was “Billy,” and who died about the end of 1887. His death was firmly
believed to have been caused by the telepathic magic of a _maidelaig_, or
sorcery man, then residing at Cape York, some twenty-five miles away.

When Magau died, Kuduma, his uncle, and Aina (“Harry Nagir”), his
foster-brother, agreed, “Very good, we make him same as man long-time
fashion. We take him head, but leave him body in ground.” So they buried
him. On the fourth day after interment all the _mariget_, or men whose
particular duty it was, went very quietly in a crouching manner to the
grave. When they arrived there they all suddenly and simultaneously
stamped on the ground, clapped their hands once, and cried “Ah!” Then
the _mari_, or spirit, finally departed from Magau, and his head would
come off easily from his body. The earth was removed from the body, and
one particular man took hold of the cranium and another seized the jaw,
and the head was easily severed from the trunk. A special _mariget_ kept
the skull, washed it in the sea, and when it was quite clean and sweet
he painted blue marks over the eyes, inserted pearl-shell eyes, and
moulded a nose out of wood and beeswax, which he painted red. The length
was accurate, for it was the custom to measure the length of the nose
of a dead person with a piece of stick, which was carefully preserved
to this end. The deficiency of teeth was supplied with half a dozen
pieces of wood, the jaw was lashed on to the cranium, and seed and calico
ear-pendants were attached. So it was made “flash.”

After about three months a death-dance was held (“made him _merkai_”), at
the same time a big feast was made, but in addition to the yams, sweet
potatoes, coconuts, bananas, and so forth, of olden time this feast was
said to be reinforced with four bags of flour, one case of gin, and one
of schnapps. The adorned skull of Magau was placed on a mat in the middle
of the assembly. The father and brother prepared food for the other
_mariget_, and put food in front of the skull; the _mariget_ also made
food ready for the father and brother of the deceased, and placed it
likewise before the skull. Then “all got d—d drunk all night; if woman
sleep, wake him up, no make row.”

Before the feasting commenced the skull was handed over to the father; at
night-time it was covered over with a mat, and later on the family slept
around it in memory of old times. After three nights the father kept the
skull in its basket close by his pillow.

Magau’s skull was sold to me by Aiwŏli, and another foster-brother, for
one tomahawk and three fathoms of calico print. It is now in the Christy
Collection at the British Museum.

It does not sound to us a very cheerful custom for people to keep the
skulls of their friends, but it must be remembered that they could not
make pictures of their dead friends and relations, and, since they loved
them as we love ours, they liked to have something to remember them by.
In the Murray Islands and Darnley they even modelled the whole face in
black wax so as to represent their dead friend still more closely. I have
previously stated how pleased the natives were to see photographs I took
ten years ago of their friends and relatives who had since died, and both
at Murray Island and Mabuiag we had to photograph a dead baby, as the
father wanted a likeness as a memento.

Whenever they were in trouble they used to take the skull of a relative,
put fresh paint on it, and cover it with scented leaves, then they would
speak to it and ask advice from it. When they went to bed they would put
the skull on their sleeping-mat beside their heads, and if they dreamt
they thought it was the spirit of their dead friend talking to them and
advising them what they should do. As they believed all this, it was by
no means strange that they liked to keep and preserve the skulls of their
dead relatives. This is a very different matter from collecting the heads
of dead enemies, which was very common in many parts of New Guinea and
was also done in Torres Straits.

In the early part of November, 1888, a few natives from Nagir and
Muralug, then resident on Thursday Island, got up a dance to inaugurate
the approach of the rainy season, or, as it is usually termed, the
“nor’-west.” Night after night they practised their chant, and in the
daytime they manufactured their masks. These were all of the same
pattern, and consisted of a lower portion in the form of the usual
conventional crocodile’s head, surmounted by a human face surrounded by
a sort of frill of tortoise-shell fretwork; below was a fringe of frayed
leaves. This portion entirely covered the head of the wearer, the mask
being held solely by the teeth, which gripped a stick extending across
the central cavity. Above the face was a representation of a sawfish
five feet in length. Towering above its centre was a long, narrow,
erect triangle covered with turkey-red and flanked with white feathers.
Feathers from five different kinds of birds, from a bird of paradise to
a pigeon, adorned this remarkable structure, which attained to a height
of 4 feet 6 inches. The masks were painted with red, white, black,
and a little blue pigment. In olden times such masks would be made of
tortoise-shell; these were constructed out of pieces of old packing-cases
and kerosene tins.

The dancing-ground was in front of a small screen (_waus_), behind which
the performers retired in rotation for rest and refreshment. The first
dance began on Saturday afternoon, and was continued nightly till the
following Thursday. The date of the ceremony was fixed by the rising of
a particular star. There was a great sameness in the dancing, which was
practically confined to one man appearing on each side from behind the
screen; the pair advanced forward with a sedately capering step, crossed
to the opposite side of the dancing-ground, and ultimately retired to
the end of the screen: then they crouched down and slowly waved their
grotesquely masked heads from side to side. As soon as the chant was
finished they disappeared behind the screen, when their places were taken
by two other performers. A free translation of the sawfish chant is as
follows:—

    1. Now I can see my reflection in the pools on the reef.
    2. You cut the shoot of the coconut palm for me.
    3. Farewell, dead coconut palm leaves. Ho! there’s the lightning.
    4. Fish now approach the shore, and we must build fish-weirs in
         their route.

The following notes may serve to explain the allusions. The first
line refers to the glassy surface of the sea during the calms of the
“nor’-west.” At this season vegetation becomes rampant, the dead leaves
falling off at the end of the dry south-east monsoon. The sprouting leaf
of the coconut palm is split into long narrow bands, of which frontlets,
crossed shoulder-belts, and anklets are made; these are worn in the
dances. The dance petticoats of the men are also made from these blanched
leaves: so this is equivalent to saying that preparations for dances must
now be made. Sheet lightning at night is a very characteristic feature of
the rainy season, and it occurs only then. Sometimes the lightning is so
frequent that there is a continuous glare in the north-west, recalling
certain manifestations of the Northern Lights of higher latitudes. This
is also the season when shoals of fish approach the shore. These are
entrapped at some islands by means of large areas on the flat fringing
reefs being inclosed by low walls which are about two feet or so in
height, and are composed of loose stones. The fish come inshore with the
high night tides, and, as the water recedes, are caught within the weirs.

There can be no doubt that this dance was not got up for amusement, but
was a serious ceremony. As there was no invocation to or recognition
of a spiritual being of any kind, this act cannot be strictly called
“religious,” but it was designed to directly influence the fish in the
sea. It was thus a magical ceremony to ensure a good fishing season.

We brought Maino on with us from Yam to Thursday Island, so as to get
further information from him in our spare time, and we “worked” him as
much as possible; but the seductions of Thursday Island were too great
for him to withstand, as they also prove to so many other men of varied
nationalities. This was a great disappointment, as we had hoped during
these last few days in the Straits to clear up some doubtful points,
with the help of further information from Maino, but we were not able to
do much, owing to the false kindness of his self-styled “friends.”

Ray, however, got hold of a Prince of Wales Islander named “Wallaby”; he
was a native policeman, and we obtained some interesting information from
him. There was, unfortunately, no old man handy as a referee, for many
things that interest us are known fully only to the older men.

We again saw something of our friends of the Sacred Heart Mission, as
Archbishop Navarre and Father Cochard were here from Yule Island; apart
from these no one in Thursday Island knows or cares anything about native
customs.

[Illustration: FIG. 23. ROCK PICTOGRAPHS IN KIRIRI]

One afternoon we sailed to the neighbouring island of Kiriri (Hammond
Island) to examine some rock paintings. These proved to be of a very
simple character, representing totems (hammer-headed shark, turtle,
dugong, and so on). Two canoes were also represented; these were supposed
to illustrate the canoes in which the spirits paddle about on calm nights
when they want to catch turtle, dugong, or fish. Among the crevices of
the boulders in the vicinity of these paintings several skulls and bones
have been found. We brought away two skulls that were found beneath the
painted rocks, and we found another close by. This was our last little
pilgrimage to old sacred spots in the islands.


MURALUG

Towards the end of 1888 I paid a short visit to Muralug, commonly known
as Prince of Wales Island. This is the largest island in Torres Straits,
and it lies only a short distance from Cape York. I climbed one of the
hills on the northern coast of the island, and obtained a good view of
the country. Inland there were numerous timber-covered hills; towards
the shore the hills came down close to the sea, and were interspersed
with flat, low-lying mangrove swamps.

As dusk fell I strolled to the village, and found a family party seated
on mats by the fire in an inclosure at the back of the chief’s house; the
inclosure served the double purpose of a wind-screen, and a fence to keep
out obtrusive pigs. By the fire sat Serb, Tuigana’s wife, while Tuigana
(the chief) was playing cards with his three little nephews. In the
background were Georgie and Pattie; they had not long been married, and
they were quietly enjoying themselves in a way akin to that which is not
unusual among newly married people at home. I joined the family party,
and, lying on a mat, watched the group with interest. The card players
were playing what was said to be a Malay game called “Jaro,” and it was
amusing to hear English names and phrases mixed with native language.
Thus, in the midst of a chatter of words I could not understand, would
come, “I have six tricks.” “What are trumps?” “Spades.” “That card will
kill him.” And so on. From time to time Serb replenished the bamboo pipe
for her husband, and passed it to him for a “smoke.” Altogether this was
a pleasant little glimpse of real family life; the smoke of the wood fire
was very pungent, however, and made my eyes smart, so that I soon left
the happy group.

The day following I was entertained with a war-dance, a most interesting
rehearsal of a dance which forty years ago would have commemorated some
deed of valour or treachery. I gathered that such dances were never
indulged in for mere amusement, and were quite distinct from what may be
termed the festive dance.

It was evening, on a sandy shore. A gloomy mangrove swamp extended away
to the right; to the left stretched a bay edged with a beach of white
coral sand, against which the waves gently lapped. In the foreground were
three fires. Near one was a native house of flimsy construction open to
the wind, in which were the women and some children. The view behind was
blocked by trees on rising ground; above was a clear blue sky studded
with sparkling stars; and the moon, being in her second quarter, shed a
soft silvery light on all.

Near a fire sat the primitive orchestra. The drums were beaten in a
rhythmical monotone, and a wailing chant accompanied them. Gradually
from the far distance swarthy forms came, as it were, into focus, and
marched along in twos or threes; then, in sinuous course, they performed
their evolutions, varying the celerity of their movements to the time of
the weird singing. A mass of dried herbage thrown on a fire lighted up
the scene and revealed a glowing picture of savagery.

The blackness of the dancers’ nether parts was intensified artificially.
The upper portion of their body was smeared with red ochre; the
frontlets, crossed shoulder-belts, and anklets of pale yellow leaves
gleamed brightly. The round shell ornaments stood out with opaque
whiteness against the ruddled chests, while the pearly crescentic
breastplates shone with a softer lustre. The loin-cloths and bits of red
calico on the armlets or in the hair gave further colour; bunches of
leaves inserted in the armlets, at the shoulders, appeared as verdant
epaulettes; other bunches were inserted in a belt behind, the green
showing up in vivid hue by the camp fires. The bizarre effect was
enhanced by black cassowary plumes projecting from the gauntlet on the
left arm, or stuck tailwise into the belt at the back.

The yellow frontlet or chaplet was either a simple band or looped, or was
prolonged into two streamers; again, white feathers were occasionally
inserted into the black, frizzly hair, or a fine effect was produced by a
coronet of cassowary feathers.

This dance illustrated the “war-path,” the band of pretended warriors
sometimes marching, more often skipping or stealthily stealing along,
suddenly coming upon the foe with a “_Wahu!_” Then they skipped two or
three times, usually raising the right leg, brandishing their weapons at
the same time. Again and again the dread “_Wahu!_” resounded. This really
effective manœuvre showed to yet greater advantage when, instead of being
in rank, the men deployed in a semicircle facing the flaring fires, then,
with their glittering eyes and gleaming teeth, and the waving of bows,
arrows, and stone clubs, one realised how terrible to the lonely and
surprised enemy must have been the “_Wahu!_” of such a foe.

The series of war-dances concluded with an evolution in lively measure,
evidently indicative of military success, as, with exultant cries, the
performers swayed their right hands. The dire significance of this last
movement was not difficult to discover. It represented what formerly
occurred after a successful foray, for, after beheading the slain with
their bamboo knives, the victorious warriors threaded the heads on the
ratan slings which always hung on their backs when they went on the
war-path, and as they returned joyously home they swung their ghastly
burdens backward and forward with jubilant cries.

This dance finished, the old men begged off. They had walked thirteen
miles that day to dance to me, and now they were tired and left further
dancing to the younger men, who forthwith disappeared into the bush.

In due time they re-emerged, and treated us to an ordinary secular or
festive dance or “_kap_.” The dance, like all semi-realistic dances, is
composed of “figures,” which are, in fact, so many separate dances.

I gather that there is no set order for them. There is certainly
considerable variety in the “movements,” but, so far as my experience
goes, one special “figure” always terminates the proceedings.

In one “movement” the whole company circles round and round, two deep,
with all sorts of gestures. They might even be termed “antics”—cringing,
swaying, leaping, tripping. It is noteworthy that the circling may be
from left to right or from right to left. Thus there is no reminiscence
of sun worship or other symbolism in their gyrations.

In the processions round the platform of turtle trophies, the men of
Mabuiag, I was informed, marched invariably sun-wise, with whirling
bull-roarers. Should one inadvertently march in the counter-direction the
turtle would swim away from the island.

In one dance a man advanced singly and danced with stamping feet,
illustrating the putting out of a fire; in another the men continually
stood on one leg and rapidly moved the other up and down, or, it may be,
jumped with both legs.

In the “crab dance” a man danced in a crouching attitude, with the
upper-arms horizontal and the fore-arms vertical; the “iguana dance”
represented the large local lizard (Varanus) whilst swimming. Some of
the “figures” illustrated an action in real life, such as agricultural,
nautical, or fishing employments; for example, a man would crouch
and move his hands about as if he were planting yams or seeking for
pearl-shell at the bottom of the sea.

The “pelican dance” concluded the evening’s entertainment. The general
body of the dancers stood together in the background, and from among
these two men (or occasionally a single man) stepped forward and danced
on the tips of their toes on the same spot. As the drum-beats became more
rapid the jumping was accelerated, their legs keeping time, till with
the quickened music their feet became almost invisible from the rapidity
of their movements, and they seemed as if boring a hole in the ground,
whilst the dust rose in clouds about them.

Naturally this could not last long; and when fatigued the pair retired,
their places being taken by another two, till all had displayed their
terpsichorean skill; and indeed it was a splendid exhibition of activity
and _verve_. The spirit of emulation is largely evoked in this figure,
and the onlookers admire and applaud the most vigorous and staying dancer
of this particularly fatiguing step.

Not many years ago these islanders had a most unenviable reputation for
ferocity, exhibiting a fierce determination to murder the encroaching
white man. Now they will walk thirteen miles to dance for the amusement
of an Englishman they have never seen, scenting tobacco and other largess
from afar!

While the black man was dancing his _kap_ in literal war-paint and
decorated with shells and feathers, a channel only a mile in width
separated him from a party of white ladies and gentlemen dancing together
in civilised dance garb. Little thought the latter that the despised
“nigger” would consider it indelicate for men and women to dance with one
another, especially so closely together as the custom of modern “fast”
dances permits, or that the figures of their square dances were relics of
such realistic dances as were in actual force across the narrow channel.




CHAPTER XIII

CAPE YORK NATIVES


On November 2nd, Ray, Seligmann, and I went with Mr. Douglas to Somerset,
in Albany Pass, Cape York, to visit Mr. Frank Jardine. We reached
Somerset early in the afternoon and left at ten next morning. Mr.
Jardine is probably the oldest resident in the Straits, and has seen a
great deal, but he does not care about the natives, and could tell us
very little that we particularly wanted to know. We went prepared to
measure and study the Australian natives of the Gudang tribe, of which
Macgillivray wrote; but they have all died out, or at all events none now
live in their own country, the same remark also applies to neighbouring
tribes. We were greatly disappointed, as it was important to determine
whether they had any relationship to the islanders. It was very saddening
to be continually pulled up in our researches by the oft-repeated cry of
“_Too late!_”

As an illustration of the way in which natives did their best to
assist us in our work, I must mention the thoughtfulness of a certain
policeman on Thursday Island named Jimmy Matauri, who was a native of
Yaraikanna tribe of Cape York. On November 7th, Jimmy sent me four of his
fellow-tribesmen who had come to Thursday Island on a shelling boat. We
were very glad of this opportunity to measure them, as they filled up an
annoying gap in our work, these people being virtually the same as the
nearly extinct Gudang, whom we failed to meet at Somerset. Physically
they are fairly typical Australians—the six men measured had an average
height of 5 feet 4 inches, and they had long, narrow heads, and I should
imagine there is extremely little if any Papuan blood in their veins.

As soon as the men were measured, I inquired about their bull-roarers. I
led up to the question by referring to the middle upper front tooth which
was absent in all of them, and which I knew must have been knocked out
during initiation ceremonies. They acknowledged having the bull-roarer
which they called _umbalako_, and promised to make some for me. There
was a public holiday the following day as it was the Prince of Wales’
birthday, and nearly all the white residents went for a picnic to Goode
Island, where there were some sports for the coloured population. I had
intended going to the picnic, but as our Cape York friends were coming
again, Seligmann and I remained behind to see them.

[Illustration: FIG. 24. BULL-ROARERS

_Umbalako_ of the Yaraikanna tribe, Cape York. About one-thirteenth
natural size]

In the afternoon they turned up with the promised bull-roarers. These
were 5¼ inches in length and painted red, black, and white. There were no
sticks as there should have been, so we supplied the men with a broken
box-lid, a tomahawk, and a knife, and the omission was soon rectified.
Whilst this was being done in an out-building, Sarah, the waitress,
brought us out a cup of afternoon tea, and the natives deftly hid the
bull-roarers. For a woman to see a bull-roarer would be a terrible
sacrilege, and there was evident relief when the unsuspecting Sarah took
her departure.

After taking their photographs we had a talk on their customs, and
more particularly on their initiation ceremonies. When the boys have
“little bit whiskers” they are taken into the bush about the end of
the south-east monsoon, and the _langa_, as the lads are called, are
isolated for a variable period lasting from a month to a year, apparently
according to the age of each lad. Each _langa_ is looked after by a
_mawara_ (his future brother-in-law) who anoints him with bush medicine
in the hollow of the thigh (near the head of the femur), in the pits
of the groin, the hollows above the collar-bones, the hollows of the
temples, and at the back of the knee. This is done to make the boy grow.

During the period of seclusion the _langa_ wears a short kilt; he is not
allowed to talk nor play, and has to remain all the time in the _tera_,
which corresponds with the _kwod_ of the islanders.

At the end of the period the real ceremonies are held, in which all the
men participate. The _langa_ are painted red, white, and black in a
fearsome manner and otherwise decorated.

In the _Yampa_ ceremony the _langa_ sit in front of a screen, which has
somewhat of a horse-shoe shape; the men of the tribe are stationed a
good way off behind the screen, and quite out of sight of the initiates.
A tall post is erected within the inclosure, and a man climbs up this
and addresses the people beyond, stating that the _langa_ have been well
looked after, and asking for food. The people then throw food to him
while he is still up on the post, the food being tied up in palm leaves
or in baskets. If the _anachena_ fails to catch one of the bundles, he
comes down the pole and another climbs up, and so each take their turn
till all the food has been thrown.

The swinging and exhibition of the bull-roarer follows this ceremony,
but of course no women or children are allowed to witness this. Finally
a front tooth is knocked out, and then the lad is recognised as a man. A
year later the _okara_, or test for endurance, supplemented the earlier
ceremony of initiation.

At this stage of our talk Seligmann and I were called to dinner, but our
four friends said they would return later, when it was dark, as they
wanted to paint themselves up and show me exactly how the bull-roarer was
swung before the _langa_, and which they said no white man had ever seen
before.

After dinner Jimmy Matauri came for us, and we went with him to an open
spot behind some sheds and houses. There were our four friends, with
very little on in the way of clothing, but with their bodies variously
lined with whiting which I had previously given them. They swung the
bull-roarers first, circling them round their heads, and produced the
ordinary buzzing noise. Then they rapidly turned, facing the opposite
direction, and at the same time swung the bull-roarers horizontally with
a sudden backward and forward movement of the hand, which made them give
out a penetrating yelping “Bow-wow!” It was a weird sound, and extremely
incongruous in an environment of corrugated iron sheds, and not far from
a steam merry-go-round, with its grating machinery, discordant whistles,
and monotonous music, blatantly making merry on the occasion of the
Prince of Wales’ birthday! The contrasts which greet one constantly in
such places as these are often most violent.

The four natives then gave a short exhibition of a dance, which consisted
of a slow walk, strongly flexing each leg alternately, and occasionally
standing still momentarily, bending the head from one side to the other,
the men uttering low grunts all the time.

Next they gave a demonstration of the method used in knocking out an
initiate’s front tooth. The subject lies on the ground on his back, with
his head resting on the operator’s lap; the latter takes a kangaroo bone
in his left hand, and a stone in his right, and inserts the former first
on one side and then on the other of the tooth to be extracted, the
bone being worked sideways; this is done several times till the tooth
is loosened. The tooth is then smartly tapped, and with each tap the
name is mentioned of one of the “countries” owned by the lad’s mother,
or by her father, or other of her relatives. These are given in order,
and the name spoken when the tooth breaks away is the country to which
the lad belongs in future. The lad is then given some water with which
to rinse his mouth, and he gently lets the gory spittle fall into a leaf
water-basket. The old men carefully inspect the form assumed by the
clot, and trace some likeness to a natural object, plant, or stone; this
will be the _ari_ of the newly made man. So far as I know, this is a
previously undescribed method of fixing the territory of an individual,
or rather that land over which he has hunting, and root and fruit
collecting rights. It is worth noticing that only the lands belonging
to the mother’s family were enumerated; that is, a boy inherits from
his mother and not from his father. Thus the mother’s land goes to her
children, and a father’s to his nephews and nieces. On November 10th the
same natives came again for a talk in the afternoon, and we obtained some
additional information from them. Tomari, one of the most intelligent of
them, has three _ari_: (1) _aru_, a crab, which fell to him through blood
divination at initiation in the manner just described; (2) _untara_,
diamond fish; (3) _alungi_, crayfish. The two latter were given to him as
the result of dreams. It appears that if an old man dreams of anything at
night, that object is the _ari_ of the first person he sees next morning;
the idea being that the animal, or whatever appears in the dream, is the
spirit of the first person met with on awakening. Tomari’s father was
a carpet-snake, his mother an oyster, and his wife a particular kind of
fruit. The _ari_ is very similar to the _manitu_ or _okki_ of certain
North American tribes, or to the “personal totem,” as Dr. J. G. Frazer
terms it in his valuable little book on _Totemism_.

Women obtain their _ari_ in the same manner as men. If it was true, as I
was told, that men and women may not marry into the same _ari_ in their
own place, but may do so when away from home, its sanctity is local
rather than personal. A wife must be taken from another “country,” as all
belonging to the same place are brothers and sisters; which indicates
that there is a territorial idea in kinship and in the consequent
marriage restrictions.

[Illustration: SKETCH MAP OF BRITISH NEW GUINEA.]




CHAPTER XIV

A TRIP DOWN THE PAPUAN COAST


As explained in the Preface, I have not strictly followed a chronological
order in this book, and the events narrated in this and the three
following chapters took place from May 23rd to July 20th, during the
whole of which time Rivers, Myers, and McDougall remained on Murray
Island.

The Rev. James Chalmers had very kindly sent the _Olive Branch_ to convey
those of us who wanted to go to Port Moresby, and Ray, Seligmann, Wilkin,
and myself took this opportunity to learn something about the natives of
part of the south-eastern peninsula of British New Guinea. But for this
timely aid it is most probable that we could not have got across the
Papuan Gulf.

When the boat arrived, as is usually the case, we had to scurry round
and put our outfit and apparatus together with as much expedition as
possible. By the time we started we were all pretty well tired out and
glad of a rest on this beautifully arranged and fitted-up boat. How I
wished I could have her for the whole trip. It would have been perfect!

The _Olive Branch_ is a fore-and-aft schooner 67 feet long—16⁸⁄₁₀ beam;
gross tonnage 45·96, registered tonnage 32·4; carvel built. She was built
by Lane and Brown at Whangaroa, Auckland, N.Z., in 1895. The Rev. F. W.
Walker, having been to sea before he became a missionary, was sent from
New Guinea to superintend her building, and having a master’s certificate
he sailed her back when finished. The L.M.S. allowed £600 for her—far
too little, it should have been £900—and she cost £1900! Walker with not
unnatural enthusiasm tried to improve the boat as she was being built,
and feeling his honour at stake he manfully determined to pay the balance
himself, so he temporarily retired from the society and started trading
in New Guinea. I hear he is doing very well, as he deserves to, but I am
afraid that fair trading with natives on Christian principles will not
conduce to a rapid fortune.

We had the usual medley of races on board—European (skipper and
passengers); Malay (ship’s cook, Ali, from Penang, our cook, Ontong, from
Batavia); Polynesian (first mate from Aitutaki, Hervey Group; a teacher
from Rimatara, near Tahiti; a Samoan teacher, his wife and child);
Melanesian (one boy from Keapara and three from Delena, British New
Guinea); Negroid (a negro from St Vincent, probably not full-blooded).

We made a quick passage through Flinders’ Entrance, found rollers in the
Gulf water, and as the wind was fresh most of us were _hors-de-combat_,
and turned in very early, but had a broken night owing to a great deal of
motion, noise, and rain.

_Tuesday, May 24th._—A fair sea on and plenty of movement, dull sky and
frequent squalls, and a heavy rain storm for an hour or so at noon. So
far as the uninteresting sea and dull grey weather was concerned we might
have been in English waters, but not as regards temperature—it was a
pleasant temperature, neither hot nor cold, and the wind was warm. Not
a very enjoyable day. Weather remained the same all day; too thick to
see the New Guinea coast. Noon position: lat. 8° 57′, long. 145° 42′ E.;
distance, 122 miles.

_Wednesday, May 25th._—Weather looked squally in morning, and had slight
puffs of wind with rain; but soon all wind dropped, and there we were at
11 a.m. lolling about the Papuan Gulf within sight of distant land, when
the clouds permitted it to be seen, and the steersman vainly whistling
for a wind. This kept on all day. We had a busy afternoon measuring
anthropometrically some of the crew, and Seligmann tested the tactile
sensibility of two of them. Noon position: lat. 8° 41′ N., long. 146° 5′
E.; distance, 27 miles.

_Thursday._—Calm night; sails flapping in the wind and gear rattling. A
quiet, soft morning; the continuous rain prevented bearings being taken.
The captain thought we were about 19 miles off Yule Island. Cleared up
later in the morning and had brilliant sunshine; sea perfectly calm,
but with a long, steady roll. About one o’clock a little wind sprung
up, and now, contrary to our fears, we began to hope we might anchor at
Delena that night. Noon position: lat. 8° 53′ N., long. 146° 18′ 30″ E.;
distance, 17 miles. The wind freshened slightly, which enabled us to
get to our anchorage in Hall Sound, between Delena to the east and Yule
Island to the west, about 4.45 in the afternoon. We had tea as soon as we
could, and then landed; but the sun was setting, and it would rapidly be
dark.

Delena is a small village of about twenty houses, situated on the sand
beach at the end of a range of low wooded hills. On the high ground
behind the beach are other houses, and here also is the L.M.S. Mission
Station.

The Rev. H. M. Dauncey has a large house, which is very sensibly
arranged, and must have been comparatively cheap to build. It consists
of a large platform on posts covered by a corrugated iron roof. In the
centre he has built large rooms with bamboo walls that do not go up
to the roof. Thus there is ventilation above as well as through the
walls, and instead of building the rooms in a solid block, one large
room is detached so as to leave a broad gangway for a draught of air.
The verandah is covered with creepers, and round the house are planted
a large number of brilliant variegated crotons, hybiscus, and other
shrubs, and the air was redolent with the sweet perfume of a grinadilla
that was trained over an archway which sheltered one of the paths. The
house is set in a large garden or plantation of bananas, coconuts, limes,
and other fruit trees, and a short distance off are the teachers’ and
students’ houses. Mr. Dauncey’s energy and enthusiasm, backed by those of
Matapo, have made themselves felt, and doubtless must have effect on the
natives, though of this I was naturally unable to judge. Matapo is the
native of Rimatara whom we had on board with us on the _Olive Branch_.
He had been paying a visit to friends in Torres Straits, and was now
returning home.

My first impression of the Eastern Papuans was that they are markedly
different in several characters from the Torres Straits islanders, who
are Western Papuans. They are shorter, lighter, and redder in colour,
have less rugged features, and a somewhat more refined appearance. They
are all tattooed. The younger men appear to tattoo their faces only,
though some of the old men have patterns on the arms and legs and chest.
The women are tattooed more or less all over. True tattooing, which
consists in pricking pigment into the skin, does not show on very dark
skins; indeed, the skin of most of the Eastern Papuans is often so dark
that the tattooing does not readily show on it. Like the African negroes
and the Australians, some of the Western Papuans ornament their body by
means of severe scars. This practice of scarification has now ceased in
Torres Straits and is diminishing on the mainland of New Guinea, where
the influence of the white man extends; but we have seen many men amongst
the Torres Straits islanders and Western Papuans who tattoo themselves
slightly, in imitation of Polynesian or Eastern Papuans. It appeared
to me that these people are less excitable than the Torres Straits
islanders. We did not stay long on shore that evening, as we could do
nothing in the dark.

We went ashore about eight o’clock the following morning and stayed
till about four in the afternoon. We measured half a dozen men, and
made records of their hair, eyes, skin, ears, etc. Seligmann tested the
tactile sensibility of one or two natives, and got some interesting
results. Ray gave a tune on the phonograph, and got some young people to
sing a hymn on a blank cylinder. Wilkin took some photographs.

We saw the whole process of making pots except the baking in a wood fire.
None of us had seen the manufacture of handmade pottery before, and we
were consequently much interested in it. Delena and Yule Island are the
most northerly, or westerly, points at which pottery is made along this
coast of British New Guinea. The pots are made of three shapes. The whole
is done with clay, sand, water, a board on which the clay is mixed, a
wooden beater, a stone, and a shell; no wheel is employed, but the pot is
supported in an old broken pot and can thus be easily turned round. The
women are very dexterous in using their hands and fingers, and they can
make several pots in a day. The people have not much to trade with, and
we did not see any decorated bamboo tobacco pipes.

What interested me most was a child’s toy throwing-spear. It consists of
a short, thin reed, in one end of which is inserted the mid-rib of a palm
leaflet, to represent the blade or point; but the real interest consists
in the fact that it is thrown by means of a short piece of string, one
end of which is knotted and then passed twice round its shaft; the other
end is passed twice round the index finger. The reed is held between the
thumb and other fingers, with the index finger extended; when the spear
is cast the string remains in the hand.

The use of a cord to increase the distance to which a throwing-spear or
javelin can be hurled is an ancient, though not a common contrivance.
The Greek and Roman soldiers employed a strap (ἀγκύλη or _amentum_),
which was secured to about the middle of a javelin to aid them in giving
it force or aim. In this case the strap left the hand of the thrower.

The only examples of this device I can find among recent peoples are in
the Southern New Hebrides, New Caledonia, and Loyalty Islands. Captain
Cook was the first to describe the practice, but it has been several
times recorded since the great navigator’s day. The short cord employed
by these Melanesians is knotted at one end and has a loop at the other
for the insertion of the tip of the forefinger of the right hand. The
Maori, however, used a long-handled whip, _kotaha_, for hurling javelins.

Rigid wooden spear-throwers, or, as they are generally termed,
throwing-sticks, are more widely distributed. They occur all over
Australia, and the Cape York variety was borrowed by the Western
Islanders of Torres Straits. Strangely enough, in German New Guinea a
distinct type of throwing-stick occurs sporadically. Another form of
throwing-stick occurs in America among the Eskimo and among the Conibos
and Purus of the Upper Amazon, and formerly among the ancient Mexicans.

This child’s toy may yet prove to be a link in the chain of evidence of
race migration.

These people also make very complicated string puzzles (cat’s cradle);
indeed, this amusement is widely spread in this part of the world.

There was great excitement in the afternoon over the catching of five
goats, one of whom was a full-grown “billy.” These belonged to Mr.
Dauncey, and we had to take them to another mission station. What with
the goats, ourselves, other passengers, our gear, bananas, and other
food, we had a pretty good boatload on our return to the schooner.

Soon after our arrival at Thursday Island we met Mr. Dauncey, who was
there on his way home on furlough; the only other time I had seen him
was also at Thursday Island, ten years previously, when he had just
arrived to commence his career as a missionary. Mr. Dauncey kindly said
that when I went to Delena I could take some “curios” that were lying
on his verandah. I did not forget his offer, and brought away with me
three shields, a number of small masks from the Papuan Gulf, and, best
of all, a sorcerer’s kit, which consisted of a strongly-made round cane
basket, about a foot in diameter and ten inches in height, which was
lined with the cloth-like spathe of the coconut-palm leaf. It contained
a cooking-pot, _uro_ or _keke_, that from its appearance evidently came
from Boera, inside which were the following objects:—

A small, pointed coconut receptacle (_biobio_), three inches in length,
decorated with strings of grey seeds; the medicine inside was kept
in place by a plug of bark cloth. When wishing to harm a person the
coconut is pointed to the place where the patient sits. The patient
may ultimately recover. Attached to this were the lower jaw of a baby
crocodile (_auki_), this makes dogs kill pigs, and a small bamboo tube
(_baubau_), containing a black powder which is used for decoration in a
dance.

A spine of a sting-ray (_daiadai_), which is employed thus: When a man is
enamoured of a girl from another village, who will have nothing to say to
him, he takes the spine of the sting-ray and he sticks it in the ground
where the girl has been, then he puts it in the sun for a day or two, and
finally makes it very hot over a fire. In a couple of days the girl dies.
Before dying she tells her father about the young man, and the bereaved
parents instruct a sorcery man to kill the young man by magic.

A smooth ovoid stone, three inches in length, closely surrounded with
netted string, has had pink earth rubbed over it, and was enveloped in a
piece of black cloth which was part of a man’s belt. This is taken into
the garden at planting season and held over a yam, then water is poured
over the stone so that it falls on to the yam. The stone is left on the
ground in the garden till all the yams are planted; the stone is then
returned to its bag.

Several pieces of resin were tied together with netted string in three
little parcels, one having leaves wrapped round the resin. They were
inside a small netted bag (_keape_). The bag with its contents is put
on the top of a net that is to be used for catching a turtle in the
night-time. This must be done by one man only, and no one else must see
him do it. The charm must be put away before going out to fish the next
morning. Another version was that the resin (_tomena_) is put in a fire
so that the smoke of the ignited resin rises up into the net which is
used to catch turtle or dugong. In either case it is a turtle or dugong
fishing charm.

In the pot was also a broken skull of a small turtle; three cassowary
toe-nails, one of which was hollow, being used as a protecting sheath
for a spear when hunting pigs or kangaroos, so that the point of the
spear should not break when thrown on the ground; various fragments of
a friable, whitish, shelly earth (_ăniăninadina_), which comes from
Toaripi, Lealea, and other places, and is eaten in the bush when no food
is available.

Besides these there were also rounded pebbles of various sizes (_nadi_);
two elongated ones, much larger than the others, were said to be yam
stones, and the smaller ones may also be similar charms; some of the
latter were in a bamboo tube (_baubau_), which had a protecting handle.
In an old calico bag were nodules of iron pyrites and various stones,
rounded pebbles, friable gritty rock, and a small piece of white coral
(_ladi_), etc.

I should add that on subsequent occasions I showed one or two natives the
contents of the sorcerer’s basket, and the information I have given as
to the nature of some of the objects was gathered from them. If we could
get several sorcerers to tell the truth about their own practices much
remarkable information would be obtained.

The Rev. James Chalmers gives a vivid sketch of the manner in which he
obtained the death-dealing crystal and other magic stones of a renowned
“Maiva” (Waima) sorcerer in his _Pioneering in New Guinea_.

We returned tired, hungry, and very happy.

Whilst we were at tea the Government schooner _Lokoko_ came into Hall
Sound and anchored close to Yule Island. As soon as we could, the
skipper, Ray, and I paid her a visit, but found that Dr. Blainey and
Mr. Monkton had gone ashore to visit the Sacred Heart Mission. So we
went also. Archbishop Navarre was very courteous and friendly. He quite
remembered about me, as his former colleague, Bishop Verjus, an old
friend of mine, had often spoken to him of me. We learnt no European
news, as Dr. Blainey had heard nothing later than we had, which was
the attack on Manila by the Americans, and I think the Spaniards had
capitulated. We heard of Sir William Macgregor’s movements; he was then
conducting the Governor of Queensland, Lord Lamington, and his party
about the Possession.

The captain tried to sail next morning, but there was no wind. About
midday he managed to crawl away, and we got a little wind outside; there
was also a good roll, the remains of the late heavy wind. We sailed all
night close hauled, but found next morning we had not at all advanced our
course.

The next day a heavy sea was still running, and there was a fair amount
of wind, but we only managed to cross the mouth of Redscar Bay, and get
to anchor, just before sunset, in the lee of Redscar Head. The Vanapa and
Laroki, two of the longest rivers in the central district of British New
Guinea, flow into this deep bay, and the fertile alluvial plains of this
region are dominated by the powerful Kabadi tribe.

We anchored the following afternoon off Borepada, in the lee of Haidana
Island, and a long way from the shore. Here we landed a Samoan teacher,
his wife, and their small boy, who had been paying a visit to her
brother, “Jimmy Samoa,” in Nagir. They were bound for Manumanu River, but
they could not be landed in Redscar Bay owing to the swell. Just after
we anchored, Seligmann shot a frigate bird. I particularly wanted one,
as this is the sacred bird of the West Pacific, and enters so largely
into the decorative art of the archipelagoes off the south-east end of
New Guinea. The bird has a lordly flight, and it is a fine sight to
see several of them sailing high in the air; it seemed cruel, however,
to kill the poor thing. Unfortunately, the rats on board the schooner
destroyed the skin.

As we could not land the previous night the captain gave us a chance
next morning (May 31st); so we were called before 5 a.m., had cocoa and
biscuits, and started before sunrise with the rest of the teacher’s
goods. The houses are of the ordinary Motu type, only slightly different
from the Delena houses, and at high tide (as it was when we landed) some
of the houses stand in the water with a long narrow gangway stretching
to the beach above high water. We did a small trade in decorated lime
gourds, bamboo pipes, and other objects. I found that the people made
very little themselves, some of the specimens we bought came from
Toaripi, over a hundred miles to the north-west, and others from Bulaa,
seventy miles to the south-east! They apparently do not decorate the
articles they make, and yet the women are very richly tattooed with
various designs, but the men are only slightly so, and that chiefly a
few broken lines on the face. I made a careful copy of the tattooing
on the body and arm of one young woman; she posed excellently, and
evidently felt very proud of her patterns being recorded, especially as
a noisy crowd collected around us, and when I sketched a tattoo mark, the
onlookers told her or touched the actual patterns as I drew them.

We also bought some flutes with two holes only, and one or two rounded
stones which are used as charms to make the yams grow. We had great value
for the hour and a quarter we were on shore; at leaving we saw several
natives hacking away at a live turtle which was lying on its back, and
happy children were collecting the blood in vessels. It was not an
edifying spectacle. We parted in a very friendly spirit with the natives,
and as the boat was leaving the shore I gave a scramble for bits of
tobacco.

We entered the harbour of Port Moresby at one o’clock, and soon came to
an anchorage off the Government offices. The Mission Station and village
must be nearly two miles from the incipient township, and the Governor’s
Residency is between the two, but nearer the Mission premises.

As soon as the Hon. D. Ballantine, the Treasurer and Collector of
Customs, had boarded us, we landed in his boat and called on the Hon.
A. Musgrave, the Government Secretary. He received us very kindly, and
promised to do all he could to forward my plans. He informed me that they
were getting up a grand dance at Hula (Bulaa), and that as the harvest
had been exceptionally good there was plenty of food, and the people had
spare time. He expected inland tribes would come down, and that there
would be a great crowd, perhaps a couple of thousand natives; but this
proved to be one of those reports that arise one knows not where, and
which disappear on inquiry like a morning mist. I gathered that the dance
was got up for Sir William Macgregor and Lord Lamington. Naturally I was
very keen to go, but as the _Olive Branch_ would be delayed by having to
be run up on the slip to be scraped and repaired, she would not be able
to get down in time, so Mr. Musgrave very kindly offered me a Government
schooner, which he immediately got ready, so that we might start as soon
as possible.

I called on Mr. Gors, the manager of Burns, Philp, and Co., the great
Queensland and New Guinea trading firm. He is a very pleasant fellow
and a good man of business, who did what he could to help us. I noticed
hanging up behind a door of the store a number of strings of worked
shell, such as the natives wear round their necks all along the coast. As
I was asking about them, two or three all but nude Papuan boys came into
the store and bought a couple for one shilling each. It seemed so strange
to see natives buying a native ornament, which is used as shell-money, in
a large store with coin of the realm.

Had a busy time the following day arranging about our trip to the east
and buying “trade” and “tucker.” Everyone was very kind and helpful. Mr.
Musgrave gave us dinner in the hotel, then we had afternoon tea in his
house. I dined there in the evening, and later went on to Ballantine, who
had an informal lantern show of local slides which were very interesting.
A crew had been got together for us, so that we might start at daybreak
the next day.

We got off early in the morning of June 2nd in the _Peuleule_, and
arrived about four o’clock off Gaile, or Kaile (but the real name is Tava
Tava), a marine pile village which is built perhaps a quarter of a mile
from the shore on the fringing reef; but some houses are now built on the
shore. Sir William Macgregor, the then Lieutenant-Governor, encouraged
this innovation; but Mr. A. C. English, the very efficient Government
agent for this district, states it is regrettable from a sanitary point
of view, as the natives are far cleaner and healthier in their villages
built over the salt water.

We were met by the teacher, a Port Moresby native, who accompanied us
all the time and acted as interpreter. We photographed the village from
the shore, with a group of natives on the sand beach. All the women were
richly and thoroughly tattooed. We got off in a canoe paddled by girls,
and clambered up the horizontal poles that serve as a ladder to one of
the houses, and wandered from one end of the village to the other along
the platforms. The planks of which the platforms are made are irregularly
placed, often with spaces between them; and one has to cross from the
platform of one house to another on poles which may be fastened or may
merely be lying loose. The natives run along these easily with their bare
feet, but we, with our boots on, found it a very different matter.

[Illustration: PLATE XIII

THE MARINE VILLAGE OF GAILE

BULAA]

Crouching behind and beside the entrance of one house was a widow in
mourning for her recently deceased husband; her head was shaved, her body
smeared all over with charcoal, her chest was covered with netting, she
wore a long petticoat, elongated tassels of grey seeds (_Coix lachrymæ_)
hung from her ears, and on each arm she had four widely separated
armlets of coix seeds, and round her neck were numerous necklaces and
ornaments. She would not come on to the platform to be photographed, the
reason assigned being that she would get a bad name for disrespect to
the memory of her husband if she showed herself in public. She had no
objection to being photographed in the house; but that was impossible as
it was so dark.

Although all the people fish, one man had a great display of nets, and he
was pointed out as the chief fisherman of the village; probably he was
more expert than the others, and so had become more wealthy. We bought
a few ethnographical specimens, and we were surprised to find that they
wanted money for everything, and prices as a rule ran very high. We
stayed so late that the sun had set before we got away.

We started fairly early on June 3rd, but as the wind was against us we
had to make any number of tacks and our progress was exceedingly slow,
and it was very wet sailing. The weather was, however, favourable enough,
and we had a fine panorama of the coast and of the tier upon tier of
hilly land behind that became lost to view in the misty distance. The
hills appeared to be but thinly covered with trees, and presented a great
contrast to the dense umbrageous foliage that overwhelms the mountainous
Philippine Islands.

Taking the south-east peninsula of New Guinea as a whole, it is composed
of a central range of lofty mountains, consisting largely of gneiss,
slates, and crystalline schists of uncertain age, which, so far as is
known, have an east-north-east strike. The less lofty lateral mountains,
which form occasional massives, are composed of acidic and basic volcanic
rocks, of which the former appear to predominate. To the east these
mountains are bounded by contorted Tertiary beds that form a tumultuous
hilly country, which extends to the coast-line. Most of the mountains and
hills appear to be built up of contorted or much-tilted beds, and may be
described as well-dissected folded mountain ranges.

But few extensive alluvial plains occur in the peninsula. The lower
reaches of the Laroki and Vanapa rivers and the basin of the Aroa
constitute a very fertile plain, inhabited by the well-to-do, independent
Kabadi tribe, who exchange all kinds of native food for the earthenware
vessels of the Motu potters. The largest of these plains is found in the
Mekeo district, and here the natives seem to have advanced further from
savagery in several respects than elsewhere on the mainland.

We arrived at Siruwai, or Kăpăkăpă as it is generally called, about
12.30; after lunch we went ashore in a whale boat brought to us by the
L.M.S. teacher, a native of Niue, an island in the South Pacific.

Kăpăkăpă is essentially a marine village, but there are a few houses on
the land, also several elaborately carved wooden platforms, or _dubus_.
The _dubus_ which are found in this region of New Guinea are taboo
platforms, or stagings, on which the men sit and feast; here also they
discuss private and public affairs. A _dubu_ is, in fact, a sort of
skeletonised club-house, which may not be approached by the women. (Plate
XVII., A, p. 232.)

Close by, jutting above the level of the water, are a number of charred
stumps which mark the site of the village of East Kăpăkăpă, which was
destroyed by a band of Bulaa men. All, or nearly all, the inhabitants
were killed, and the village destroyed by fire, a repetition of the
history of the Swiss pile dwellings. Wilkin photographed the burnt
piles, and also some houses in process of manufacture. He and Seligmann
stayed here while Ray and I walked a mile and a quarter to Vatorata
(Vatororuata) to see Dr. Lawes, the revered L.M.S. missionary and
well-known Papuan scholar.

There is a fair road along an alluvial valley-plain, through which a
small river runs. Most of the plain is covered with a tall, coarse,
broad-leafed grass, with clumps of trees. Dr. Lawes’ house is situated on
the spur of a moderately high steep hill. The Mission premises consist
of 150 acres, all fenced in. The steep road immediately up to the house
is lined by twenty students’ houses, each of which is named by or after
the donor. These comfortable little houses cost but £5 apiece to build.
Beyond these is a well-built handsome church and schoolhouse. The Mission
residency is a large, comfortable, airy house, commanding a lovely view
of mountains and lowland scenery.

Dr. Lawes, like most of the other white missionaries of the London
Missionary Society, no longer does what may be termed ordinary
evangelistic work in the midst of a village, this is performed by
South Sea teachers, but he is practically solely occupied with the
more important work of translating the Bible into Motu and in training
native teachers, who here are all married men. The students, who come
from various districts, can all read fluently, and are proficient in
arithmetic up to fractions. They are well acquainted with the geography
of Australasia, and are familiar with the position of Her Majesty the
Queen with regard to the world and British New Guinea. Naturally they
have mastered the main facts and principles of the Gospels. Their
writing, as is generally the case in these native classes, is very good.

Mrs. Lawes superintends the domestic education of the teachers’ wives.
Each wife cuts out and sews the clothes of the family, plaits mats, does
the washing, makes the starch and dresses her husband’s shirts, prepares
the food, and keeps the house clean and orderly. The husbands also work
in their food-gardens, build the houses, and make the furniture. The
advanced students conduct classes of younger ones.

I have gleaned most of the foregoing description from Sir William
Macgregor’s final report, and I cannot do better than quote his summing
up. “As far as an experience of ten years can enable one to judge, the
system of education and training initiated and now in force at Vatorata
is so suitable to the circumstances of the country and to the character
and condition of the natives, that it would be difficult to suggest any
change that would be an improvement” (p. 50). No one has had a better
opportunity of judging the value of the work done by Dr. and Mrs. Lawes
than has the late Lieutenant-Governor of British New Guinea, and it would
be unseemly for me to do more than add my testimony to the wisdom of
their methods of training teachers.

In dealing with primitive peoples the problem is constantly arising how
far it is wise that their mode of living should be altered seriously. I
imagine that nobody objects to the humanising of natives, a term which I
prefer to the somewhat ambiguous one of civilising. At the same time I
cannot refrain from pointing out that, according to some whose opinion
carries weight, the less primitive peoples are _Europeanised_ the better
it is for them.

Dr. and Mrs. Lawes gave us a very cordial reception—the former is a
veritable patriarch, the latter is very bright, and from all we have
heard and seen has proved herself to be a splendid missionary’s wife. We
had a most welcome shower-bath after the nearly as welcome afternoon tea.
Dr. Lawes sent a note to Mr. A. C. English, the Government Agent for the
Rigo District, who lives a mile and a half inland, to come across to see
us. A pencilled reply came that he was lying on the floor shivering with
a temperature of 104°, and all his blankets atop of him. Scarcely had
we finished dinner than in he walked, having adopted his usual plan of
taking exercise to shake off an attack of fever. We had a very pleasant
chat about British New Guinea, and I made some rubbings of two pipes from
an inland tribe, the type of decoration of which was new to me.

We walked back to the village of Kăpăkăpă, and happened on a dance. In
most of the figures of the dance two parallel rows of dancers faced one
another; the majority of the lads had drums, which they held in their
left hand and beat with the extended fingers of the right. A number of
lassies joined in the dance, and this was the first time in New Guinea I
had seen both sexes dancing together. There was usually a girl between
each lad, the girl on the boy’s right hand put her left arm round his
right arm.




CHAPTER XV

THE HOOD PENINSULA


We started next day, and arrived at Hood Point at 4 p.m., but owing to
the water being very shallow we anchored a long way from the shore. As we
had no boat on board we were obliged to wait till someone took compassion
on us, and it was not till after sunset that we were able to get away
in a canoe with some of our gear. After a long paddle we passed between
the land and the four hamlets of marine dwellings that constitute the
village of Bulaa, or Hula, as it is generally called. These looked very
picturesque. Dark stilted masses, upstanding from the silver-streaked
calm sea, with its changing lights as the swell silently glided
shorewards, the broken outlines of these strange homes were silhouetted
by the bright moonlight, their blackness being occasionally relieved by
the light of a fire.

On arriving at the beach near the London Missionary Society’s Station we
were met and most heartily greeted by the teachers, who proved themselves
most cordial and hospitable. As one always finds in these Mission
Stations, everything was tidy, in readiness, and beautifully clean; the
table was covered with a cloth, and was decorated with flowers in vases,
the four bedrooms fitted with mosquito nets and every requisite. These
good people had not received any notice of our intended visit, but it is
the common experience of travellers that the native teachers, like the
missionaries themselves, are always ready for a casual traveller, and as
invariably give him a warm welcome. It was very refreshing to have food
served in a civilised manner after the rough accommodation of the boat.
We were here much more comfortable and better fed, and vastly more nicely
served, than in Murray Island. Seligmann visited and treated the chief’s
sick boy soon after we arrived, and the chief promised to send a canoe
to fetch off Ontong, but his power was not strong enough to induce the
men to go.

_Sunday, June 5th._—We got up at 6.30, and found the teacher had made tea
for us; the good man had also sent off a couple of boys in a canoe at 4
a.m. to bring Ontong and the rest of our goods. They arrived about seven
o’clock. About 7.30, after a breakfast of hot soup and biscuits, we took
a canoe to visit “German Harry,” who was in charge of Mr. R. E. Guise’s
plantations while that gentleman made a trip to England. He took us in a
two-horse buggy down the Hood peninsula, through the villages of Aruauna,
Babaka, Kamali, to the very large and important village of Kalo.

The Hood peninsula has evidently been formed mainly by the Vanigela
River. It is a low, level spit of sea sand and of alluvium brought down
by the river, deposited in the salt water, and then heaped to leeward by
the indirect action of the prevailing south-east wind. This combination
makes a light, fertile soil. A considerable part of the peninsula
consists of grass land, with scattered screw pines (Pandanus) and small
trees, and here and there a few cycads. Occasionally there are patches
of bush or jungle, and groves of coconut palms. There are also numerous
gardens, which the natives keep in beautiful order.

The peninsula is divided into six lands, belonging to the Kalo, Kamali,
Babaka, Makirupu, Oloko, and Diriga people. The last three villages
were so decimated by sickness some three generations ago that there
were few survivors, and the smaller numbers that still remain have been
driven recently to Babaka by the Bulaa. The Bulaa people have planted
many coconuts on the land, but the greater part belong to the three
tribes mentioned. The Bulaa people now claim the land, and naturally
this has been a cause of friction, as the Babaka and Kamali people
resent the encroachment. The Government has taken the common-sense view,
and recognised that it was necessary for Bulaa to have garden land;
and as the Diriga land, which lies at the end of the peninsula, is
practically unowned, the Government has had it surveyed and given Bulaa
legal possession. The Kamali state they have been in occupation for ten
generations, and that the land was unoccupied at the time of their first
settlement on it.

The town of Kalo—for this is not too grand a term to employ in this
instance—is situated at the base of the Hood peninsula close to the
right bank of the Vanigela (Kemp Welch River) at its mouth. There are
some magnificent houses here—all on piles, some of which are thirty feet
in height and eighteen inches in diameter. It is very impressive to see
great houses perched on such high and massive props. At the front of each
house is a series of large platforms like gigantic steps. Some of the
posts are partially carved, and occasionally the under surfaces of the
house planks are also carved. I saw two representations of crocodiles
and one of a man under a large steepled house. The planks employed for
the flooring of the houses and platforms are often immense, and must
represent a tremendous amount of labour, especially in the old days of
stone implements; many of them are cut out of the slab-like buttresses
of great forest trees that grow inland. The wood employed for the great
flooring planks is so hard that the boards are handed down from father to
son as heirlooms, and the house piles last for generations.

Sir William Macgregor regards Kalo as the wealthiest village in
British New Guinea. The people own rich alluvial gardens, and have a
superabundance of coconuts, bananas, yams, sweet potatoes, and taro.
They also grow numerous areca palms; the nuts of these palms are usually
called betel nuts, and are in great demand for chewing with quicklime,
and so constitute a source of wealth. The Kalo people also absorb the
trade of the interior, as they command the mouth of the Vanigela.
Feathers and feather ornaments, grass armlets, boars’ tusks, bamboos,
trees for canoes, wood for houses, and other jungle produce are retailed
to the coast tribes, and fish, shell-fish, shell ornaments, and the like
are traded in exchange.

It is interesting to note how the material prosperity of Kalo has made
the people very conceited and not amenable to outside influence. Like
Jeshurun of old, they have waxed fat and kicked, and they have readily
listened on various occasions in the past to the counsels of their lusty
neighbours of Keapara to oppose the Government. The story of the massacre
of the Mission teachers in 1881 at the instigation of the chief is told
by the Rev. James Chalmers in _Work and Adventure in New Guinea_; and in
_Pioneering in New Guinea_ he gives an account of how the massacre was
punished by Commodore Wilson of the _Wolverene_, on which occasion the
chief lost his life. The marks of the bullets of the bluejackets in the
palm-stems were pointed out to us.

So independent are the Kalo folk that they will not meet the Keapara
people half-way for trade; so the women of the latter village have to
trudge all round Hood Bay with their fish or other marine produce to
barter for garden produce, and any day one may see Keapara women sitting
in the village square of Kalo.

Hearing that there was to be a dance at Babaka, we walked there early
in the afternoon of Monday, June 6th, accompanied by several boys and a
couple of girls who carried our bags and cameras, and we were further
escorted by four native police and a corporal. It was a hot walk down the
peninsula for four and a half miles, across grassy plains, through the
gardens and plantations of the natives. The bananas here are planted in
regular rows, more evenly, we were informed, than anywhere else in the
possession. We greatly appreciated the cool shade when the path meandered
through the luxuriant bush.

On arriving at Babaka we climbed on the platform of a house, and rested
in the shade and drank the cool, refreshing coconut water. A very
disreputable-looking, dirty, aged ruffian came up and shook hands with
Mr. English; his face was misshapen through disease, and one eye was
bunged up. As is the custom here, his clothing consisted simply of a
string. He has the reputation of being a successful dugong fisher and
a great blackguard; the tattooing on his back shows that he has also
taken human life. By the time I had copied his tattooing the dancing had
commenced.

The men, carrying their drums, approached the dancing-ground with a
prancing gait. Most of the men had a more or less yellow string as a
garment; some had a nose skewer as well. In the crown of their black halo
of frizzly hair was inserted a bunch of feathers, the most effective
being a bunch of white cockatoo feathers, above which were reddish-brown
and green, narrow feathers; from the midst of these arose a vertical
stick covered with scarlet feathers. From the hair, and fastened to their
armlets and leglets, streamed long ribands of crimped strips of pale
yellow palm leaves. The cylindrical drums were also decorated with the
same streamers and with seed rattles. They formed a brave show.

In the first figure the men stood in three rows, the outer rows facing
inwards; the third and middle row faced one of the other rows, and stood
nearer to it than to the other. The men danced by slightly bending the
knee and raising the heel, the toe not being taken off the ground,
and as they bent their bodies their head-dresses nodded. A couple of
girls danced at the end of two columns, facing the men. These girls
were clothed with numerous petticoats of sago palm leaf dyed red,
with flounces of white pandanus leaf; numerous shell necklaces with
boars’-tusk pendants hung down their backs, and shell ornaments adorned
their heads. They placed their hands on their abdomen just above their
petticoats, and swayed the latter from side to side without shifting
their ground. I cannot describe the singing. The music consisted of
paired drum-beats.

[Illustration]

In the second figure, the central row of men all faced one way down the
column except one end man, who faced them. The movements were the same as
before; four girls now danced.

[Illustration]

Next, the central men all faced the same way.

In the fourth figure the central men shifted their ground from side
to side. The four girls at the one end grouped themselves into two
couples, each pair took hold of hands, and all swayed their petticoats
rhythmically from side to side. One or two girls had by this time joined
the opposite end. Some girls swayed their petticoats more than others,
and as the petticoats are fastened on the right side, the movement
displays more or less of the thighs. A flighty girl often takes care
that the two ends of the petticoat do not quite meet where they are
tied, so as to increase the effectiveness of this swaying movement.
Some girls kept their feet entirely on the ground, heels together, and
toes separated; others moved the feet a little. They swung their arms
backwards and forwards.

The fifth dance was a repetition of the first, and was repeated more than
once, as were also some of the others.

Later, the men fell into seven rows of from four to six in each. All
except those at one end faced one way, and these faced them.

There were now eight girls at one end, who stood in a row and faced
inwards, like the odd row of men. Two or three girls were at the other
end dancing in the same way as girls, but one sidled up to a man
and placed her arm round his, and danced demurely. I saw this done
at Kăpăkăpă, and later on I saw it at Bulaa and Port Moresby. It is
evidently the usual practice in ordinary dances, but I imagine the girl
was not in order in introducing this style into this particular dance.
All the men and the girls advanced and retreated slowly, moving their
feet about three inches at a time; they covered only about a couple of
feet of ground. In this figure the girls swung their petticoats forwards
and backwards; the music consisted of a uniform series of beats.

In the next figure one end row of men defiled to the right of the others,
and either danced up and down the column once and back to their places,
or (as in B) they zigzagged up and down. The drums during most of this
dance were held high up by the five or six men who were actively dancing.

[Illustration]

[Illustration: B]

The girls had rearranged themselves as in the diagram, and swayed their
petticoats from side to side.

In the last figure the two end rows left their places and faced one
another as in the diagram, and after a little dancing all dispersed.

[Illustration]

At the end of every figure the drums were beaten about a dozen times
with relative rapidity, this being the signal that it was over. The same
occurs in Torres Straits. The women’s dancing appears to be subsidiary. I
do not think that their exact position matters much. The variable number
was, perhaps, due to their not being ready before.

This dance was one of a series which had been held in this village and in
Kamali and Kalo. The last of the series was held the following morning.

After the dance a pig was caught by causing it to run its snout into a
coarse net, and then it was thrown down, several men sitting on it while
others held its legs, which were next tied. The screaming and squealing
of the pig and the shouts and laughing of the men were terrific;
eventually the pig was fastened to a pole and left to await developments.

The fantastically dressed-up men who had been dancing collected on a
sacred platform, or _dubu_, in the centre of the village; each carried
a bunch of areca (betel) nuts. They then chanted a few sentences and
finished off with a yell; and this was repeated two or three times, and
an areca nut was thrown on the ground. This was a challenge to the other
division of the village to make a similar dance next year.

This village, like so many others, is divided into two sections, each of
which has its _dubu_. At these annual festivals only one division dances,
the members of the other being spectators. If, for some reason, such as
the death of an important man, a challenge is not taken up, there will be
no dance the following year, which is a local misfortune.

A man of the other division stepped forward and picked up the areca nut;
then those on the _dubu_ broke up the bunches of the nuts and threw them
among the spectators for a scramble, and a scene of hilarious excitement
began. I joined in the scramble, and secured one or two nuts.

[Illustration: FIG. 25. IRUPI DANCE, BABAKA]

Shortly after this seven recently tattooed girls walked in a row up and
down the broad open space in the village in front of the _dubu_. The
_irupi_ or _iropi_ dance was to be performed by them, and the pigs for
the feast had been provided by their relatives. The girls walked in a
somewhat stately manner, and gracefully swung a cord of about three feet
in length, to which a small netted bag was attached; the other end of
the cord was attached to the waist-belt of the petticoat at the back.
They swung it with the right hand, causing it to make a graceful sweep
behind the back round to the left side, where it was caught by the left
hand. During this manœuvre the whole body made a half turn. The action
was then repeated with the left hand, the tassel being caught with the
right hand. Up and down the little damsels walked, well pleased with
themselves, and fully conscious that they were the centre of attraction;
it was an elegant dance, and really quite charming. During the _irupi_
dance some women sat on the _dubu_ and beat the drums; this is the first
time I have anywhere seen women beating drums, and it is only on this
occasion that women may mount on a _dubu_. The movements of the girls
were regulated by the staccato beats of the drums.

The same girls next ascended the _dubu_ and stood in a row facing the
village square. Two men then carried the pig, which was tied on to a
pole, and stood in front of the girls. An old woman came and stood
beside them; she was not ornamented in any way, whereas the girls wore
numerous swagger petticoats; round their necks were as many necklaces
and ornaments as they could muster, and some had wonderful shell
head-dresses. The girls next took off all their petticoats and were
anointed by the old woman, who dabbed each girl with a mixture of coconut
oil and water by means of a bunch of wild thyme. As soon as the anointing
was completed a drum was beaten, and the girls quickly dressed themselves
and jumped down from the _dubu_. This ended one of the most interesting
ceremonies it has been my lot to witness.

It is evident that the latter part of the ceremony is the most important,
and that it is a fertility ceremony. I was told that it brought good luck
to the plantations. It is interesting to note that here, as in India, and
indeed in many parts of the world, the ceremony for ensuring a bountiful
harvest is performed by the women.

The next day the pig was killed for the feast, and there was renewed
dancing.

[Illustration: PLATE XIV

GIRLS OF BABAKA DRESSED FOR THE ANNUAL CEREMONY

GIRLS ON THE DUBU AT BABAKA FOR THE ANNUAL CEREMONY]

Mr. R. E. Guise, who has resided for over ten years in the Hood
peninsula, has recently described this ceremony in the Journal of the
Anthropological Institute (xxviii., 1899, p. 215). Apparently the second
and principal part of the ceremony (_kuiriga_) was somewhat abbreviated
on the occasion when we witnessed it. As soon as the girls on the _dubu_
have thrown their petticoats behind them, married women advance and place
in front of each girl a basket containing a quantity of areca nuts, on
the top of which are a few yams and a small knife. After the anointing,
each girl takes a yam in her left hand and the knife in her right, and at
each beat of the drum cuts off a piece of the yam, bends her knees, and
slightly bows her head, causing the weighted head-dress to sway forwards.
The whole effect is described as being wonderfully pretty. After each
girl has cut up half a dozen yams the female orchestra give two sharp
taps, and the drums cease beating. The girls immediately take up the
baskets and pelt the crowd with the areca nuts; this part of the affair
is much appreciated by the onlookers, who scramble for the nuts, tumbling
over one another like children.

The girls quite enjoy the position, and do not show any shame. Very few,
if any, men seem to care to look on the ceremony, old women, widows,
and married women who have daughters constituting the majority of the
bystanders.

I had previously known about this ceremony and understood that it was
of an indecent character, but my experience quite corroborates these
statements of Mr. Guise. I must confess to feeling surprised that the men
took no notice at all of the girls, and it was perfectly evident that
this was regarded by them as solely a woman’s ceremony.

One day we started in the early morning to visit Keapara (Kerepunu). Mr.
A. C. English, the Government Agent for the Rigo District, had followed
us to Bulaa, and he took us in his whale-boat. After rowing for a long
time in a heavy sea against a head wind Mr. English found that the wind
and tide were too strong for us to cross Hood Bay; so the sail was set,
and we ran down the bay to Kalo. To windward of the mouth of the Vanigela
is a sand-bar, which deepens as it projects into the bay, and over this
the breakers came rolling in with any amount of surf and flying spray.
We had a few anxious moments as the boat was carried along through the
seething water, but we got safely through into the quiet water beyond,
and then rode into the mouth of the river, a vision of fairy calm and
beauty. Nipa palms erected their rigid fern-like leaves directly from
the water; they were banked by varied tropical foliage, and shooting
skywards were the slender white stems of the coconut palms with their
waving leafy crowns.

After a short spell we walked for eight miles along the sand beach round
the bay till we came to the entrance of Hood lagoon, over which we
were ferried in a canoe, and on arriving at Keapara we were hospitably
received by Tau and his wife, the L.M.S. South Sea teacher, who gave us
afternoon tea before we visited the village.

The sand beach in front of the village presented a busy scene; until
now I had not come across such activity as was here displayed. Several
canoes were being made, and not only was there a continuous succession of
chopping noises, but the sense of smell was also affected, partly by the
smoke of the fires, but mainly by the very disagreeable odour given out
by the soft wood as it is chipped by the adzes.

The trees of which the canoes are made grow up the Vanigela River; they
are cut down, and their trunks are floated down the stream to its mouth.
The Kalo men sell the lumber to the Keapara men, who tow it to their
village. The outside of the canoes is cut with steel tomahawks obtained
from the white man, but the logs are hollowed out with stone adzes, the
stone blade of which can be shifted round to any angle by turning the
holder on the shaft. It seems strange that these primitive shipwrights
should prefer stone implements to iron ones for hollowing out the canoes;
perhaps it is because they are frightened lest the sharper iron blade
should inadvertently cut through the thin side of the hull. After the
canoes are dug out and trimmed down they are charred by fires lit outside
and inside them; the effect of this is to harden the wood, and I suppose
to somewhat fill up the pores so as to make the craft more seaworthy. I
believe that one result of applying fire to the canoes is to make them
open out more widely. Probably in precisely the same manner, save that
no metal tool was available, our Neolithic ancestors manufactured their
canoes. It was an unexpected pleasure to have this glimpse into the Stone
Age.

[Illustration: PLATE XV

HOLLOWING OUT A CANOE WITH STONE ADZES AT KEAPARA

A BULAA GIRL BEING TATTOOED]

Sitting on the sand beach was a man chipping out a wooden bowl from a
piece of the same kind of wood as that of which the canoes were made. He
employed a small adze, constructed on the same principle as that of the
large adzes used in canoe making. In this instance the blade was made
of iron, but so fashioned as precisely to resemble the original stone
blade; subsequently I procured a small stone adze. We photographed the
man at work, and, as we have experienced often, he took no notice of us;
but he appeared to be much surprised when I bargained for his implement
and the unfinished bowl. A native cannot in the least understand why one
wants to purchase an unfinished article and the tool with which it is
being made.

The Keapara natives buzzed round us like flies, offering for sale
“curios” of all kinds and sea shells; often the former were broken and
worthless specimens. One did not know which way to turn, so persistent
were they, and the din was deafening. Well did they maintain their
reputation for being keen, and whenever possible, unprincipled traders;
still we did very well and got our things reasonably enough. I understand
that they live principally by barter, not only locally, but also doing
some trading up and down the coast.

Next morning we paid a visit to the adjoining fishing village of Alukune,
or Harukune, which is situated on the other side of the point of land
on which Keapara stands. The natives, as is usually the case with
fisher-folk in Europe, keep very much to themselves, but here they have
good reason for this aloofness. The more powerful Keapara men have for
generations been in the habit of levying toll from them in the shape of
fish and other marine produce. The Alukune possessed no land, and were
not allowed to acquire any, though the Keapara had more than enough for
their own wants. Vegetable food being a necessity, the Alukune women
either had to go to Kalo for it or had to buy it from their Keapara
neighbours, giving fish in exchange, but the latter, being the stronger
tribe, were able to obtain the fish at a very cheap rate. They were not
only oppressed in this and other ways, but their women were seized and
taken as wives by Keapara men. Some thirty-eight years ago half the
village, driven to desperation by the oppressions of their neighbours,
left in a body and settled at Hood Point, and built the village of Bulaa.
The other half who remained were still held in subjection by Keapara, and
their condition was but little improved since the old days until very
recently, and even now they do not appear to be in a happy or thriving
condition.

Although the inhabitants of Alukune are fisher-folk, they obtain their
canoes from Keapara, and in return they have to pay half the catch; in
other words, they have to trade on the half-profit system. We obtained
very little in this village, but I cut some samples of children’s hair,
to the amusement of the unlocking crowd and to the great perplexity of
the children themselves. The children were playing with toy miniature
bows and arrows made from the mid-ribs of palm leaflets.

Just before we started in the whale-boat English arrested a man for petty
larceny, and we had an exhibition of native grief. Men and women rushed
up to the prisoner as he was being handcuffed and led off to the boat,
rubbing noses and applying their mouths to his cheek, but I did not hear
any actual kissing. On all sides was weeping and wailing; many clawed the
sides of their heads and faces either on one or both sides; some beat
their heads and faces, clasped hands were wrung alternately on each side
of the head at the level of the ear, frequently the clasped hands were
held at the back of the head. There was a great deal of tragedy for very
little cause, as the man was going for only a week’s imprisonment, or
rather a week of forced labour on roadmaking. The comic element was that
he had picked a policeman’s pocket.

We had a spanking sail across the bay, and had a second breakfast on our
arrival soon after eleven. About 12.30 Wilkin and I walked over to Babaka
to take some more photographs. Ray worked that afternoon at languages,
and Seligmann had a very profitable time testing the keenness of the
eyesight of the natives.

During the next few days we got through a fair amount of anthropological
measurements and other work. We persuaded some girls to demonstrate the
process of tattooing, which we photographed. The girl to be tattooed lay
on the ground, and the operator held a special clay vessel in one hand,
in which was a black fluid paste made from burnt resin; this was applied
on the skin by means of a little stick. When the design was finished a
thorn was held in the left hand, while in the right hand was a small
stick round which strips of banana leaves were wound. The thorn was
lightly tapped with the stick until the pattern had been well punctured
into the skin.

[Illustration: PLATE XVI

A NATIVE OF BULAA

A BULAA YOUTH WITH RINGWORM]

When a Papuan has a headache, or indeed any other kind of ache, an
attempt is generally made to alleviate the pain by letting blood. Usually
this is done by cutting the part affected with sharp shells or fragments
of glass, or with anything handy that has an edge; but here, and in a
few other places, the phlebotomy is also performed by shooting with a
diminutive bow and arrow. The bow is made of two or three pieces of the
mid-rib of palm leaflets tied together, the string being a strand of
vegetable fibre. The arrow is also a mid-rib of a palm leaflet tipped
with a splinter of glass (originally a thorn formed the point); the shaft
passes between two of the components of the arc of the bow, and the butt
is tied on to the bow-string. Owing to this arrangement the arrow, when
it is pulled rhythmically and let go, punctures the skin on or about the
same spot.

Whilst in Bulaa I added very largely to my collection of samples of the
hair of the natives. The Papuan belongs to the group of men who have
dark skins and black woolly or frizzly hair. The hair is very much like
that of the true negro, but it grows much longer. In some parts of New
Guinea the hair is usually worn rolled into numerous cords, which hang
down all round the head like a thrum mop, but among most of the people
of the south-eastern part of the Possession the hair is combed out so as
to form a very characteristic aureola, which is the glory of a Papuan
dandy. It is astonishing, however, the number of people one finds in
this part of New Guinea with curly, and even wavy hair. In a few cases
the hair is almost quite straight, whereas, as I have remarked, the hair
of the typical Papuan is frizzly or woolly, and so far as I am aware
it is universally so among the hill tribes of the interior, among the
inhabitants of the Papuan Gulf, and indeed all over the western portion
of British New Guinea. This variability in the character of the hair
evidently points to a racial mixture here. I was also surprised to find
in this district the tips of the hair vary from dark to quite a pale
brown or a tan colour, though the roots are black. I naturally put this
down to bleaching, owing to the use of lime for sanitary purposes; but
Mr. English assured me that it is a natural colour, a fact of some
interest and perplexity.

The marine pile dwellings of the village of Bulaa probably present,
at all events at a distance, much the same appearance as did the lake
dwellings of Central Europe in prehistoric times. People have wondered
how the primitive Swiss drove in the piles that supported their houses.
This question can only be answered approximately by noting what people
do nowadays. I therefore asked Mr. English to arrange to have the
process of pile-driving exhibited.

A post was procured, one end of which was roughly pointed, and to the
other extremity two long ropes were tied. One man scooped a hole on the
reef at low tide with his hands; the pile was then propped up in the hole
by several men. Two or three men steadied the post, while several caught
hold of each guy and gently swayed it to and fro; the men who clasped the
pole prevented it from overbalancing. Gradually by its own weight the
pile is thus wormed into the ground. I was informed that when a pile is
sunk actually in the sea a light staging is erected near the top of the
post; two or three men stand on this framework, so that by their extra
weight the pile may sink more readily.

One day we saw Neolithic men making canoes at Keapara, and here at Bulaa
we saw the pile-dwellers at work with a marine pile-village in the
background.

I spent a fair amount of time on various occasions in getting a number of
small boys to make toys and play games, several of which we photographed.
Very little is known about the toys and games of the children of savage
peoples, and judging from the interest and anthropological value of
the study of the amusements of our own children, these will prove an
important field for research when more facts are available. I played a
good deal with the children, to their and my amusement. I also showed
them one or two of our games, such as cock-fighting and hand-slapping;
but I think they were not sufficiently impressed by them to adopt them. I
mention this, however, in case a future traveller should find them still
practised.

Toys made of leaves were common. The small boys cut off pieces about
ten to twelve inches in length from the origin of the leaves of a tall,
coarse grass that is used in thatching houses. The blade is split off
from each side of the mid-rib for about half its length; the two flaps
are twisted round the index finger of the right hand, and the cleared
mid-rib is held between the thumb and middle finger; the hand is jerked,
and the tearing off of the remaining portion of the blade of the leaf
gives a considerable impetus to the mid-rib, which thus flies away like
a miniature javelin. This was the simplest method of playing, but there
were three others, two of which necessitated the use of both hands; the
principle of gaining the impetus was the same in all.

I was informed that this game is also played at Mawatta, a village on the
Torres Straits coast of British New Guinea, but I do not know whether it
occurs throughout the intermediate coast.

Rushes are twisted into diamond-shaped objects named _kuru_, they are
said to be stuck in houses for play. A Mawatta man claimed that his
people also made them, and said, “We look at hill, and make him all the
same.”

The following are all made of coconut palm leaves.

_Lauga_ consists of two strips, each with three slits in them; the puzzle
is to make or to undo the interlacing as shown in the figure (p. 226).

The simple whirligig _make_ is a very widely spread toy. It is also found
in the Solomon Islands in Melanesia, and in Funafuti (Ellice Group) and
Rotumah in Polynesia.

A toy wind instrument is made of strips of palm leaf wound spirally so as
to form a hollow cone or funnel, which varies from three inches to about
a foot in length. Inserted in the cavity are two long narrow strips of
leaf, or one long piece doubled upon itself; in either case two similar
ends project through the narrow orifice to form a “reed.”

It may not be amiss to explain that there are two main groups of simple
wind instruments that are blown by the mouth. In one the lips are applied
to the simple orifice, and it is their vibration intensified by the
sounding chamber of the instrument that produces the noise. The conch
shell and the trumpet are familiar examples of this group.

In the second group there is a vibrating arrangement which is technically
termed a “reed.” This group is divided into two classes: (_a_) the “oboe”
or “shawm” series in which the fixed or removable mouthpiece is a tube,
the ends of which are pinched together; (_b_) the “clarinet” series which
has a single vibrating tongue. The Bulaa toy may be regarded as a kind of
oboe.

I was delighted to find this musical toy, as I remembered that my friend
Henry Balfour, the curator of the Pitt-Rivers Museum at Oxford, had
recently written a paper on a very similar instrument, the “whithorn,”
which was made of spirally wound strips of willow bark. I have since
learned from Mr. Balfour that in Somersetshire these are called
“Mayhorns,” and very similar spirally twisted rude oboes (also of
bark) have been recorded from France, Germany, and Finland in Europe.
A spirally twisted palm-leaf trumpet(?) is found in West Africa, and
similar instruments from Flores, Sumatra, and Celebes, but I am not quite
certain of the exact nature of these latter. The Bulaa name for this
instrument is _vili vili_. A Mawatta man at Bulaa told me his people made
it, where it was called _upa_, but I was not able to check this statement.

[Illustration: FIG. 26. PALM-LEAF TOYS, BULAA]

The occurrence of a reed instrument in this part of the world was so
surprising that further inquiries were necessary, and Mr. English found
out, after much questioning, that the toy was introduced by Johnson, a
West Indian negro.

Hereby hang two useful warnings, whether this fact be true or not.
First, not to assume an object is native to the district because it
is found there, but always to make inquiries. Secondly, the need for
investigations, for in a few years all knowledge of the origin of this
particular toy would be forgotten. These reflections hold good for other
objects in all parts of the world. A few months later I found that at
Mabuiag, in Torres Straits, a bent leaf of the _karbe_ tree is used as a
whistle by blowing with it between the lips.

Once I thought I was on the track of a bull-roarer, and was much excited
thereby, as that remarkable implement has not been recorded south-east of
the Papuan Gulf; but _kwari kwari_ proved to be a new kind of toy that
makes a noise like a fly buzzing, or the flying of a large grasshopper.
It is made of a strip of palm leaf bent upon itself, one end of which is
tied by a short bit of fine fibre to a long thin mid-rib. The two flaps
of the strip are kept apart by a thin bent mid-rib of a palm leaflet. The
whole is then whirled round.

A modification of the _lauga_ puzzle is one in which the same strip of
palm leaf is cut into two links. On looking closely, one finds that it is
made thus: cut a piece of leaf (cardboard will do, but then the method
of manufacture is too evident) right through the thick lines in the
accompanying figure; cut half through the thickness of the leaf, or card,
along the dotted lines, then split the material between these lines, and
separate the upper and lower surfaces; the white portion will come away
from the shaded link, as in the second figure; the two projecting spurs
can be cut away if thought desirable. I cannot imagine how the natives
found this out—that is, if it is their own invention; and they assure me
such is the case.

Small cone shells are spun between the thumb and fingers like a teetotum.

Our old friend leap-frog is also a diversion for Papuan boys, as it
occurs at such widely-spread places as Bulaa and Kiwai. A row of boys
stand in a line some distance apart on their hands and feet; the last boy
leaps over the others in succession, putting his hands on their backs in
the usual way. He then takes his place in front of the others, and the
now “last man” follows. This appears to be a very widely-spread game. In
Korea and Japan it is called “jumping over,” and the same attitude on
all-fours is taken there as in New Guinea. In England we stand on our
legs only, and “tuck in our tuppenny.”

We also saw the children indulging in the familiar pig-a-back
(_pĕkĕkau_), hopping (_kaikai_), jumping (_puri_), and skipping.

In the game called _evanena_ two rows of boys face one another. Each boy
takes hold of the arm of the boy opposite him at or immediately above
or below the elbow with one hand, with the other hand he clasps his own
arm, right hand may grasp the left arm or _vice versâ_. This position
is similar to our “king’s chair” or “queen’s chair” with the exception
that we clasp the wrist and not the arm. As all the boys stand close
together they form a double row with a platform of arms between them. A
small boy is placed standing on the arms of the last pair of boys, and he
walks forward on those of the boys in front. As soon as he has left the
last pair of boys they rush forward and place themselves in front of the
others, and clasp their arms as before. In this way a continuous platform
is maintained, and the game continues till the walker tumbles off. This
game is also played at Elevara, Port Moresby.

A variant which I saw played at Elevara is called _omoro_, or “frog.” In
this case the boy, instead of walking on the arms, lies full length on
his stomach, and is jerked up and down and at the same time forwards. Ray
also saw this game played at Saguana, Kiwai Island, where it is called
_mere kereme beretsi_ (“boy-throwing”).

The prettiest revolving game was that known as _maki gegelaki_. Four boys
laid at full length on the ground at right angles to one another, so as
to form a cross, with their feet touching; usually they placed a large
piece of the husk of a coconut in the centre, against which they tightly
pressed their feet. A small boy crouched on their feet to steady them.
Four other boys stood between those lying down; they caught hold of their
hands; this raised the arms and bodies of the latter. The standing boys
walked round and round (right hand to centre), and the whole contrivance
revolved like a four-spoked wheel.

_Rapurapu._ Four boys sit on the ground and interlock their legs in the
form of a square in such a way that the instep of the right foot hooks
over the pit of the knee of the boy to the right. They then stand up
and hop round on the left foot, clapping their hands rhythmically and
singing:—

    “_Rapu rapu tabai manu_
    _Roroiatĕ atĕ atĕ_
    _Roroiatĕ bada raita_
    _Eaiimo eai eaiimo._”

As in Europe, the children have singing games, some of which I have
observed are:—

_Kwaito pinupinu._ A number of boys form a circle, catching hold of each
other’s hands, facing inwards. Two run into the circle and under the arms
of two other boys; when all the others have run under, the last two twist
themselves under their own arms, and the circle is now complete again,
but all the boys face outwards. They then revolve sideways as fast as
they can, gradually accelerating their speed till one boy tumbles down.
They all sing during the evolution:—

    “_Maru gĕno o, ana kwaito o, pinupinu o, kwaito pinupinu o,—ai!_”

[Illustration]

_Mota ĕrĕmpto._ A number of boys stand in a circle, each boy catching
hold of his neighbour’s wrists. One boy stands in the centre with arms
folded over his chest. The encircling boys sing:

    “_Mota erempto erempto_
    _Bariva derempto derempto_
    _Mota tim_
    _Bariba tim_
    _Pekuluoa waiau—o._”

This sounds like a challenge, and immediately the rhyme is finished, the
central boy rushes at the joined hands of any two boys and tries to burst
through. The game is finished when he succeeds.

_Korikini._ Some half-dozen boys sit in a circle very close together;
each holds the first or index finger of his hands upwards, closing the
thumb and other fingers of one hand on the extended index of the other,
or on that of another boy; in this way a column of hands is made, the
uppermost having its free index finger pointing upwards. One boy alone
has his right hand disengaged; with the forefinger he taps the uppermost
index finger crosswise. The following is sung during the operation:—

    _Korikini korikini_,  _papa raurirauri marire_
      Stick up finger       crossing one another
    _Agiana_    _korikoana_     _karigămuai_.
     I look   take away finger   under armpit.

The top hand is then removed and placed under the armpit of the nearest
boy. The tapping song is repeated for the next hand, which is similarly
placed under the armpit of the boy that happens to be nearest. When all
have their hands placed under the armpits, the same boy as before gently
scratches each hand in rotation while singing:—

    _Pika pika kiaka pa_
    _Gaule aule kiaka pa._

The first hand to be released is placed in the middle of the player’s
palm uppermost, and each succeeding hand is placed upon it in the same
manner; sometimes the two hands of a player are placed side by side; the
whole pile of hands is raised up and down. One boy with a disengaged hand
gently taps the uppermost of the pile of hands three times, holding his
index finger vertically downwards while he sings:—

    _Toitoi tutumu; keanai nunapakau._
    Three times  tap    ear   hold him.

At the end of the refrain the tapped hand is removed, and the nearest ear
of the next player is held by it. When all the hands have been released
and every ear is held by a hand, the players swing their bodies backwards
and forwards, and pulling each other’s ears with more or less vigour, all
sing:—

    _Mekeri aria_
    Pull one another.
    _Kiko aria._

This continues until one of the players gives in.

The words for the ear-pulling may apparently be varied, as some children
once sung:—

    _Wapuri poto_
    _Kaia poto_
    _i i i._

Mr. Ray saw the _korikini_ game played at Saguane, where it is called
_kuke_.

_Kinimali._ This is a very similar game to the foregoing. The players,
however, pinch up the skin of the back of each other’s hands, the
slightly flexed hands being placed one on the top of the other. The whole
column is swayed up and down to the following song:—

    _Kinimali lĕkwa lĕkwa_
    Pinch flesh let go
    _Malawa_          _kĕta kĕta_
    (name of a yam) (name of a yam)
    _Ana olio malauli_
    Run  a little boy
    _Polaia polai._
    Yellow

When this is finished, the top hand is placed at the bottom of the
column, palm uppermost, with extended fingers. The song is repeated until
all the hands are placed the one on the top of the other. The Toitoi
phase then finishes the game.

There appears to be considerable variation in these songs; we found it
very difficult to write them down, and when we did, it was still more
difficult to get a satisfactory translation; indeed, as with us at home,
some words do not appear to have a meaning. This is also the case with
many of the men’s legendary songs, the meaning of which is now completely
forgotten.

During our stay at Bulaa, we had one or two opportunities of seeing the
young people amuse themselves by dancing on the sand beach. All those
young men who had drums held them in their left hands and beat them with
their extended right hands; one man rhythmically tapped the inside of
his lime gourd with its spatula. The girls edged themselves between the
men, linking their arms within those of the men. The drum-beats were
in triplets ([Illustration]). There was very little movement in the
dancing. The men flexed their knees slightly, and the girls swayed their
petticoats laterally; in some figures they swayed them backwards and
forwards.

There were numerous figures, or separate small dances, in the Bulaa
dances. In one that was often repeated the majority of the dancers formed
a [Illustration] shaped group, lads and lassies alternating; all these
remained in their places. Other dancers, men only, advanced in couples,
beating their drums and capering up the central space. In some figures
the dancing men zigzagged across the space in a prancing manner as they
proceeded up and down; in others they formed two parallel rows, all
facing one side of the hollow oblong, and pranced sideways a few steps
up and down the space. Then they jumped right round, so as to face the
opposite way, and repeated the same process; then back again, and so on.
In this dance the girls swayed their petticoats backwards and forwards.

In one figure groups of three—a man and two girls—stood in a series of
rows. The active dancing men with drums came up and stood in a row along
one side facing the others, and sang a song to the beats of the drums.
After doing this three times, they ran round one end of the stationary
column, and repeated the song on the other side, facing the others as
before.

[Illustration]

In another figure all the men and girls formed numerous short rows; this
was, I believe, a Motu dance. The men in some of the figures formed a
parallel row facing one another, with four others in the middle facing
towards one end; the girls were at one end of the short avenue, and they
swayed their petticoats laterally. The men then grouped themselves into
two rows facing one another at right angles to the previous row. Then
the first figure was repeated, only the two rows of men faced outwards
instead of inwards, and the central pairs also reversed their previous
position.

[Illustration]

It is characteristic of some of the dances in the Hood peninsula for
the girls to be, as it were, appendages to the dance rather than active
participators in it. They make the minimum amount of movement, usually
standing their ground, or else slowly advancing and retreating with the
general movements of the men. They sway their petticoats sideways, or
backwards and forwards; the latter is only a slight movement, but the
former is more energetic, and (owing to the petticoat being tied on the
right side and the two ends scarcely meeting) exhibits portions of the
person which are ordinarily never exhibited, but the tattooing, which
is liberally distributed all over the body, gives a half impression of
clothing.

I noticed that one figure often merges into another, in which the
positions of the dancers are reversed. It is difficult to follow and
record all the various movements, but I received the impression that if
one could become familiar with the various figures one would find that
there is a regular and fairly logical sequence of figures in each of the
sets of dances.

[Illustration: PLATE XVII

THE DUBU AT KAMALI

DUBU DANCE AT GOMORIDOBO]

There is a dance-leader, or master of ceremonies, and when he gives the
signal the drums are rapidly beaten many times in succession to show
that set is finished. The character of the dancing was quite similar to
that we saw at Babaka, but it is entirely different from the dancing in
Torres Straits and the neighbouring coast of British New Guinea. In the
west, according to my experience, men and women never dance the same
dance together; the single exception known to me was in the case of a
particular war dance, _kawaladi_, at Mabuiag, after a successful foray.
Only one or two drums are beaten, and that, so far as I saw, never by
those actually engaged in dancing; indeed, the drum-men sit down to beat
their drums. Further, only certain people have the right to beat drums,
whereas in this part of New Guinea every male dancer may have a drum,
which he holds in his hand and often flourishes about when he is dancing.

Although probably every religious ceremony has its appropriate dance or
dances, I do not believe that all dancing has a magical or religious
significance. I think it would be impossible to prove whether all dances
arose from magical or religious dancing; if it be so, this must have
been hundreds, or perhaps thousands of years ago; and all record, or
even all suspicion of their origin must in some cases have long since
disappeared. Here, as in Torres Straits, there are certainly play or
secular dances—dances for pure amusement and without any ulterior design.

Some of the men looked very effective with their lithe figures and
supple limbs of a bright, warm brown, almost copper-coloured skin, with
shell and bead frontlets and a tall stick of scarlet and orange feathers
starting up from their dark, bushy hair. Some had shell nose-skewers,
most painted their faces in various devices with black paint; round their
necks were bead and shell necklaces, sometimes with a pendant boar’s
tusk, and armlets and leglets decorated the limbs. The sole article
of dress, in the usual acceptance of the term, is a narrow, yellow
waist-belt, which also passes between the legs; streamers of a whitish
leaf fluttered from various portions of the body.

The girls in these ordinary dances were not specially decorated, at all
events in comparison with the men.

During our stay at Bulaa, Ray gave several phonograph demonstrations
and recorded some of the local songs. The natives were never tired of
listening to the machine, and fully appreciated singing into it, and were
very delighted at hearing their songs repeated by it. Altogether we had a
very pleasant and profitable trip to this district.

We left Bulaa on June 15th about 9 a.m., and had a fine sail to Kăpăkăpă,
arriving there at 12.30. All of us went to call on Dr. and Mrs. Lawes at
Vatorata in the afternoon, and received, as before, a kindly welcome.
Had afternoon tea, and then on to a small neighbouring Ikoro village
of Tagama Keketo, but there was not much to be done there. We saw here
a tame white cockatoo, fastened by the leg to a ring chipped out of a
coconut which slid along a horizontal pole; subsequently we found this
was frequently done in New Guinea. As I have previously stated, the
natives are very fond of decorating themselves with feathers, and they
wear great bunches of white cockatoo feathers in their hair when dancing.
These unfortunate tame cockatoos are periodically plucked to supply
feathers for these occasions. After dinner, Ray exhibited the phonograph
in the schoolhouse to the students, and continued his philological
studies.

We got up early next morning, and Seligmann, Wilkin, and I went to
breakfast with Mr. English. We saw his station, which is placed on a
hill, and all around are thriving plantations of economic plants that
he has introduced into the district, such as coffee, sisal agave, and
rubber; the _makimaki_ rubber has been named _Ficus rigo_ by Mr. Bailey,
the Queensland botanist.

Then we walked to Gomoridobo, where Wilkin took some photographs, one
of which was of a man carving a post for their new _dubu_. We bought a
few things, and I obtained two samples of hair; even here the wavy hair
occasionally occurs, and there is a yellowish and brownish tinge in the
hair at its tips, especially in young children. The wavy hair proves that
there has been racial mixture at least five miles from the coast, or more
probably a mingling with coast people, who must have been of mixed origin
when they arrived.

Got back to Vatorata at 11.15, and shortly afterwards Dr. Lawes drove us
down to Kăpăkăpă, and after a pleasant sail we reached Port Moresby at
sunset.




CHAPTER XVI

PORT MORESBY AND THE ASTROLABE RANGE


I have as yet said very little about Port Moresby. It is a commodious
bay with an inner portion (Fairfax Harbour), which is land-locked. The
double bay is surrounded by thinly wooded hills, and when these are
brightened in places by the rising sun the effect is very beautiful. In
full sunlight during the time we were there, there was generally a haze
which greatly diminished the interest of the scene, but in the evening,
especially a cloudy one, the hills again stood out clearly.

The small township lies on the north side of the neck of the promontory
that forms the eastern limit of the bay; about a mile and a half off is
the solitary Government House, and about half a mile beyond this again is
the Mission Station. On the shore, below the hill on which the Mission
stands, is the large stilted village commonly known as Hanuabada; off
this is the rocky isle of Elevera, with its village of similar amphibious
pile-dwellings, for at high tide they are completely surrounded by water.

The township or Granville, as it is officially termed (Ela is the native
name for the locality), consists of a few Government offices and the
houses of residents, most of whom are either Government officials or else
connected with Burns Philp’s Store. The jetty was built by Burns Philp at
considerable expense, and at the foot of it lies their big store. This
great trading company has ramifications all over Queensland and British
New Guinea, and Port Moresby is naturally an important centre for their
trade.

Apart from its remoteness from the world, the very bad postal
arrangements, and the absence of a telegraph, Port Moresby is to my mind
a much nicer place to live in than Thursday Island. The residents proved
themselves very friendly and obliging. Were it not for home-ties and
duties I should very well like to make it my headquarters for a year or
two. A certain amount of work could be done on the spot, and a very great
deal by taking longer and shorter excursions from it. It appears to be a
healthy locality, especially at the time of the year when we were there,
and, what is of great importance in the tropics, we did not find the
nights too hot.

Knowing that I was anxious to see a little of some inland people, Messrs.
Musgrave and Ballantine arranged a three-days trip to the Astrolabe
Range. Five horses were kindly loaned by the Government and the Vaigana
Company. We packed our swags on Friday afternoon and fastened them on to
the saddles before sunset. Each took with him a blanket, a spare flannel
shirt, a pyjama suit, a tin of meat, some tobacco and handkerchiefs for
trade wrapped up in a yard of American cloth. We also tied to our saddles
a pannikin and hobbles for the horses, and carried bread and biscuits for
the journey. Cameras, spare boxes of plates, and two water bottles were
distributed among the party.

At three o’clock in the morning of Saturday, June 18th, Ballantine
came to the hotel to wake us, and we dressed with despatch and went to
Musgrave’s to saddle the horses. This took some time, as it was quite
dark, and there were several little details of girths and straps that
required arranging. Musgrave was about and very kindly had cocoa made
for us. We started about 4 a.m. in single file; the intense darkness was
relieved by the shining of the stars. The positions of the constellations
known to me presented a novel appearance, as one was not accustomed to be
up so early.

We wended our way past the gaol and along the coast to the east, through
occasional plantations and wooded country. After about an hour’s walk we
passed through a village, silent with the death of sleep, the only sign
of life being two fires on the ground, the embers of which, fanned by the
continuous breeze, were still glowing.

[Illustration: MAP OF CENTRAL DISTRICT]

The calls of various birds were answered by the stridulation of insects
as the eastern heavens gradually grew lighter, and we began to see
something of the district in which we were travelling. The noises of
nature became more marked as the dawn advanced, but there was little that
can be described as singing made by the birds, though many of the cries
were decidedly musical. Soon after sunrise we passed through Boumana,
a plantation station owned by Peter Lifu, and situated nine miles from
Port Moresby. It was only after passing this that we were able to trot or
canter. Here the country consisted of grassy plains with scattered gum
trees and occasional screw pines. In places the grass was as high as the
horses, individual stems being as high as the rider as well. As we went
inland cycads became more numerous; as a general rule these appear to die
off when they reach a height of eight or ten feet, though I saw a few
that exceeded that height.

In course of time we entered a more hilly country, and it was in places
very rough on the horses, as there were steep gullies down which they
cautiously picked their way, and up which they clambered like cats.
On the plains there was a single track, but a road had been cut out
of the side of the hills, or a broad avenue cleared through the dense
jungle. Most of the country was sparsely wooded with a clothing of rank,
coarse grass and had a very Australian aspect, as the trees were mostly
eucalyptus, bastard gums, and a tree that looked like the Australian
spotted gum, but with rather smaller leaves. An occasional wallaby
hopping in the grass and small flocks of white cockatoos that screeched
as they flew, gave a further Australian colour to the scene.

The ranges of mountains and hills in this part of New Guinea run as a
rule in a north-west south-east direction—that is, roughly, parallel with
the coast-line; geographically speaking, they are well-dissected, folded
mountain chains. All are more or less wooded right up to their summits.
As we were going obliquely across the trend of the hills we naturally had
a lot of uphill and down-dale travelling, though the track took advantage
of all available lateral spurs.

After the coast hills had been passed we saw looming in front of us
the precipitous Astrolabe Range, rising abruptly from hilly ground and
forming a huge rampart stretching away to the south-east, occasional
peaks rising higher than the general level of the fairly uniform edge.
On the flanks of this range, and indeed all the way up as far as the
summit, were masses of volcanic breccia, which stood out black and
sinister from the grass, some of the blocks being of enormous size. I
was greatly exercised in my mind whether these blocks had weathered out
_in situ_ like the Devonshire tors and the granitic blocks one sees on
the sides of the Dartmoor hills. This may be the case in some instances,
but I noticed many blocks with distinct stratification, the plane of
which was vertical or nearly so; these must either have been ejected
fragments or boulders that had rolled down from some greater height, but
the latter was by no means obvious, and I could not satisfy myself from
whence they could have fallen. The breccia was remarkably coarse; the
finest planes were about as rubbly as the coarsest volcanic ash of the
Murray Islands. My impression was that there has been an enormous amount
of weathering, and that it requires a combination of geological knowledge
and imagination, which I do not possess, to reconstruct the physical
features of the district at the time of the volcanic outburst. In any
case a rapid horse-ride through a wooded country is not favourable for
geological observations.

On the whole there is great uniformity in the vegetation; it is only
in the occasional patches of dense scrub or in the gullies that there
is much variation from the pendant, sad, greyish-green leaves of the
eucalyptus. But in these exceptions it was a little relief to see nature
freeing herself, so to speak, from the trammels of the Australian flora,
and running riot on her own account. From the tangled undergrowth rose
the tall tree stems, up which ran creepers, more particularly a climbing
polypod, which had some resemblance to the foliage of ratan; swaying from
the branches were festoons of creepers and aerial roots. One then felt
that one was really in the tropics, though the forest trees were small
compared with the giants of the Amazonian forests that Wallace, Bates,
and other travellers describe, and such as we were destined to see later
on in Borneo. Along the watercourses were clumps of bamboo. At home
one always associates palm trees with tropical scenery, here they are
conspicuously absent.

The last part of the ascent of Mount Warirata was very trying to some of
us, as we had to drag our tired horses up a very steep, stony, zigzag
road in the blazing vertical sun. The great rocks that walled the road in
many places faced the sun, and instead of giving us the comfort of their
shadows in the weary land they radiated superfluous heat to our further
discomfort. We were immensely relieved when we reached the top of the
north-easterly extremity of the Astrolabe Range, and then at a height
of 2,615 feet we were in a better position to enjoy the magnificent
panorama before us. Behind us, hidden by clouds, lay the main range of
mountains that forms the backbone of the south-easterly portion of New
Guinea. Below us was a gorgonised sea of land, ridges of sharp-crested
hills running mainly in one direction, like the arrested rollers of a
Titanic ocean. Rising like islands to the north-west from the general
level of the lower hills were two conspicuous masses, “Fanny Peak” and
“Saddle-Back.” To the south-west lay the sea, and the coast-line was
contoured as if on a map, the complex Bootless Inlet was the nearest
portion of the coast, and the variable extent of the fringing reef off
the headlands showed pale green against the blue of the sea. From this
height Bootless Inlet and Port Moresby have the appearance of “drowned”
bays, that is, of depressions of the coast which have permitted the sea
to cover what would otherwise be fertile valleys. Around us were the same
eucalyptus and cycads we had seen all day, but added to them were equally
characteristic bottle-brush trees (banksias) of more than one species and
a pink-flowered melastoma. A “cypress pine” gave the only mountainous
touch to the vegetation.

With antipodean earthly scenery we had the sky of a glorious English
summer, a clear deep blue, with massive fleecy cumulus clouds, whose
brightness was contrasted with dark shadows. At the coast-level the sky
is usually a greyer blue, often lavender coloured, owing to the moisture
in the air which acts as a screen and lowers the blue tone of the sky. A
haze pervaded the lower landscape, owing to the vapour-laden south-east
breeze and the widely drifting smoke of numerous bush fires made by
natives who were clearing the scrub for their gardens. This haze gave a
softness to the view, and painted the shades with various shades of blue,
but a little less “atmosphere” would, on the whole, have been better from
a topographical point of view.

The purity of the air may be judged from the fact that Ballantine
produced from under the shelter of a big rock a tin of fresh butter,
which he had placed there six or seven weeks previously, and it was as
sweet as when he cached it. The butter was actually fresh butter that
he had put in a cocoa tin, and not an unopened tin of butter. This was
at a height of about one thousand seven hundred feet, and the air was
evidently practically free from putrefactive microbes, or at all events
such as affect butter.

The top of Mount Warirata is composed of the volcanic breccia _in situ_,
and it formed imposing tors. I noticed several volcanic bombs in the
blocks which weathered in concentric laminæ.

On passing the top we entered on a grassy plateau, or rather spur, along
which we proceeded for a few miles. The plateau vegetation was very
similar on the whole to that of the lower hills, with the addition, as
I have already remarked, of the banksias, cypress pines, and melastoma.
Among the smaller plants were a few ground orchids, one with a green
flower somewhat resembling a listera, but with different leaves, and an
umbrella fern. Remarkable streamers of a sulphur-green lichen depended
from the boughs of the gums.

We next made a steep descent across a river gully, and after one or two
clambers up and down wooded mountain valleys, we dismounted in a bamboo
thicket close to a tributary of the Laroki River.

The horses were left here in charge of one of the party to be afterwards
fetched by natives by a long détour. The rest of us had a steep climb
up a detached hill, on the top of which was the small village of
Atsiamakara. To the east of this hill is another higher one and with
precipitous sides, but separated from it by a deep ravine; to the north
and west is open, wooded, hilly country.

It is characteristic of these bush tribes to build their villages on the
top of hills for the sake of safety from attack. Many of the villages
formerly had tree-houses, but there are now very few of these left, as
the country has been pacified. This village itself had some tree-houses,
but no trace of them now remains. These tree-houses were used as places
of refuge when the village was attacked. It might strike the reader that
it would be very easy to chop down the tree and so destroy the refugees
at one fell blow, but it must be remembered that these were designed by
men still in their Stone Age, and it is by no means an easy or rapid
matter to cut down a large tree with stone axes, especially when overhead
foes are hurling down stones and spears. Savages are by no means fools,
and they would not continue to build structures that experience proved
to be useless; besides, it is against custom to fell these trees, thus,
insecure as they appear to us, these tree-houses were real refuges.

[Illustration: PLATE XVIII

UDIA AND DAUBE, TABURI, KOIARI

ELEVARA, PORT MORESBY, WITH THE LONDON MISSIONARY SOCIETY’S STATION IN
THE BACKGROUND]

At the time of our visit there were but eleven houses in the village. Two
had verandahs along their sides on to which the door opened, a type of
house that was new to me as Papuan, but it is a characteristic type among
the hill tribes. The four of us slept for two nights, and sat and had
our meals and rested for nearly two days on the verandah of a house. Two
natives slept inside.

This was a populous village before it was raided by the mountaineers
of the main range, although these depredations have ceased in this
particular district for ten years; two epidemics have since then reduced
the population very considerably. We saw but five men, some half a dozen
women, and a few children; this did not represent the entire population,
as it is the custom for these bush tribes to reside but little in their
own houses, the rest of the time being spent in the bush, making gardens
and doing a little hunting. As a matter of fact, these people are good
agriculturists; we saw some native tobacco growing in the village.

It was interesting getting a glimpse, for it was nothing more, of a real
Papuan village, entirely unchristianised and scarcely at all affected by
European civilisation.

Daube, our host, behaved very nicely; indeed, he was quite gentlemanly.
He and a boy about the place looked after us in various ways, got water,
made fires, and cooked yams and sweet potatoes. The ladies of the village
were particularly shy, and consequently we took very little notice of
them. They wore a common sort of leaf petticoat, not of so good a quality
as is usually worn by the coast women. The men had the narrowest string
of bark I have as yet seen worn—clothing it could not be called.

I measured the five men and made a few notes on them, and Wilkin took a
few photographs. These natives are somewhat darker than the coast tribes,
of more rugged countenance, and wear beards and moustaches. Ray obtained
some information as to the nature of their language; like our Torres
Straits friends they have names for only the numerals “one” and “two.”

When strolling about we came across the old chief sitting on a log
whittling saplings into spears with a boar’s tusk for a knife. It was the
first time I had seen this primitive knife in actual use, and much to
the man’s astonishment I bought the tusk after we had photographed him
using it. Unfortunately for the picturesqueness of the photograph, he was
wearing a shirt; the wearing of a shirt by a chief is the recognised
symbol of loyalty in this district.

Our cooking was of a very primitive kind, and the results were not of
a palatable quality. Every scrap that we dropped through the crevices
of the verandah was immediately devoured by pigs. It was also a new
sensation to hear pigs grunting and scrunching underneath one at night,
and to feel the vibration of their rubbing against the verandah posts.
The nights were comparatively quite cold; we all felt chilly, and my
teeth chattered, but I doubt if the thermometer sank much below 55°.

This is a village of the Taburi tribe, who with others are called Koiari
by the Motu, a name which simply means “bushmen,” but it probably will be
convenient to retain the latter as a general name for the small tribes of
the whole district round about.

We rested all Sunday, but Ballantine walked on Saturday afternoon to
Hogeri (Sogeri), a distance of seventeen miles. He returned from Hogeri
on Monday morning, bringing along with him a crowd of inland natives
amongst whom was Gewe, the chief of Agi, a noted warrior who a year
previously would have been shot if he could have been caught, as he had
more than once raided unoffending tribes; now the chief came of his own
free will to visit Port Moresby. There were several men from Wamai and
one or two from Hogeri and Ubere. Two of the natives carried a live pig
tied to a pole, others had stone clubs, native food, and various articles.

We formed a long procession as we went back to Port Moresby in single
file. For a long time the natives kept up well with us, but eventually
they dropped behind. We had a very pleasant and by no means tiring ride
home. At sunset we arrived at Boumana to find a liberal meal provided by
Ballantine and prepared by Peter Lifu’s wife. We had fresh wallaby-tail
soup, stew, tinned raspberries, and coffee. Then we walked our horses
in the dark to Port Moresby, arriving shortly before ten o’clock; we
unsaddled at Ballantine’s, and he invited us in to have a drink. We
started with whisky and water and finished off with bread and cheese and
beer. In fact, we had a “small-fellow Christmas.” I had a good night, and
woke up next morning in good form and not very stiff or sore.

[Illustration: PLATE XIX

GEWE, CHIEF OF AGI, WHEN DEPRIVED OF HIS HAT

GEWE, WITH HIS HAT RESTORED TO HIM]

The following day Ballantine took his visitors to Burns Philp’s store,
and showed them dozens of axes and tomahawks and cases of tobacco and
other treasures, whereby they were duly impressed. Mr. Gors gave Gewe,
the Agi chief, some turkey-red twill for a loin cloth, a belt, a cotton
shirt, a second-hand guards-bandsman’s tunic, and an ancient top hat, and
the old fellow strutted about mightily pleased with himself.

Ballantine brought the party round to the hotel, as I wanted to measure
and photograph them. I began with Gewe, and it was ludicrous to see his
expansive smile of self-content. First we took him as he was, then by
dint of gentle persuasion we divested him of his regalia, and it was
evident that parting from his hat was the sorest trial. It appeared to
be quite hopeless to get a side view of his face, as he kept turning
round to see what we were doing, till Ballantine suggested that I
should show him some pictures; so I produced a coloured plate of Torres
Straits dances which so fascinated him that he became comparatively
still immediately. But even so we could not get a satisfactory side-face
portrait of him. I then measured his height, span, and head, and it was
with great relief and transparent joy that he resumed his hat. I did not
take all the measurements I should have liked, as he became restive and
suddenly stalked off. I then measured a few other natives, who were duly
photographed.

In the afternoon I went to where the natives were camped and
witnessed one of those extremes of culture that are rarely met with,
even in frontier colonies. My friend Gewe, clad in his medley of
nineteenth-century garments, was solemnly chipping a hole in a stone
club-head with a piece of flint! Close by was another mountaineer clad in
his native fringed belt and sporran, holding a cheap mirror before his
face, and shaving himself with a fragment of a glass bottle.

The following morning the natives again came to be investigated. I
measured and Wilkin photographed some more, and Seligmann tested the
keenness of their eyesight. He found the coast people at Bulaa, owing
probably to their being sailors and fishermen, had even keener eyesight
than Torres Straits islanders. The eyesight of our mountaineers, on the
other hand, was much more like that of the average European landsmen. In
the afternoon Seligmann tested their colour vision, but this did not show
anything unusual. Altogether we got very good value out of the men, and
it was a unique opportunity for us.

In the evening Ballantine gave his visitors a lantern show in the
boat-shed, interspersed with phonograph songs and tunes by Ray. I think
they did not understand the latter, but the pictures were thoroughly
appreciated by them. I sat on a box next to Gewe in order to watch him,
and I had a great treat. He had his hat on, but the military tunic was
absent. Most of the lantern-slides were local, and the natives recognised
them immediately. One slide was of especial interest, as it was the
photograph of a village that Gewe and others had subsequently sacked
and burnt. One wonders what was passing in the mind of the warrior,
as in front of him was the representation of the “before,” and in his
mind’s eye he must have seen the “after.” I must say he did not look at
all abashed, and why should he? He had only been following immemorial
custom! Like the Torres Straits islanders and the coast Papuans, Gewe
expressed wonder and admiration by a broad grin, glistening eyes, and
by making various sucking and clicking noises with his lips. He also,
like the others, flicked his teeth with his thumbnail. Our glances
often met, and we nodded and smiled and clicked to each other; once or
twice with exuberant feeling, when a slide especially pleased him, he
caught hold of my hand. I got quite fond of the old chap. He had a fine
distinguished face. He held himself well, and behaved like a gentleman.
When the portrait of Queen Victoria was on the screen, the phonograph
played “Soldiers of the Queen,” and I made Gewe take off his hat. He did
so cheerfully, as if he understood the Queen should be respected, and
directly the picture was changed I let him put it on again.

The evening was a great success, and must have considerably impressed the
mountaineers, most of whom had probably not seen a white man before.

It was very interesting to come into personal contact with the raiders
and the raided, to see individuals who were fighting each other a few
months ago walking peacefully together, sharing the same food, and
looking at lantern-slides of one another and of their villages. I would
have given a great deal to know what they thought of it all. One thing
is fairly certain, those who visited Port Moresby will remain pacific,
as they must recognise what is to them the marvellous power of the white
man. Next morning they started off home, and our friend Gewe had some
hundred miles to walk.

Probably owing to their rich soil and fine climate, the mountaineers of
the main range have a splendid physique, and are fine hardy men. They
hunt the wild pig and other animals, but they are great gardeners, and
have large plantations of indigenous sugar-cane, as well as of yams,
sweet potatoes, and bananas. There is a superabundance of native food,
and tons of it may be seen left to waste. Excess of food means plenty of
leisure, and the energy begotten by such a country and good food must
have an outlet. Naturally the people take to raiding their neighbours,
and consequently there is a continual pressure, as it were, from the
mountains towards the coast. It might be supposed that the intermediate
belt of fertile hilly country would produce men strong enough to
withstand the main range mountaineers; but it is not so, and the reason
appears to be that they have no inter-tribal combination. The villages
are usually small, from half a dozen to eighteen houses, and generally
situated on the top of a steep hill or ridge. Most of them formerly had
tree-houses as places of safety, and quite a number, especially towards
the interior, were stockaded. The stockades might surround a village,
or occur only as a close fence at each end, the object of which was to
prevent the village from being rushed. Usually there was on the top
of the stockade a projecting platform slanting upwards, up which the
besieged rush to throw spears at the enemy.

Near Mount Bellamy, in the main range, five powerful tribes—Baura,
Agi, Manari, Hagari, and Efogi—a few years ago entered into a sort of
confederation, but only for aggressive purposes. A native, in describing
this, illustrated his meaning in the following way: he was chewing
sugar-cane at the time, and he gathered up the dry fibres into a heap,
and then scattered them apart to express the dispersal of the tribes
after a foray.

This confederation has harassed an extent of country that cannot be less
than some fifty miles in length and thirty miles in breadth; over a large
tract of this area the country has been depopulated and numerous villages
entirely destroyed. The intermediate country being thus subjugated, the
confederation had commenced operations quite close to the coast, when it
was broken up by the Government; but it does not appear that even now
the Hagari have been properly reduced, though their influence has been
diminished.

The hill tribes of the interior have also played a similar game on the
coast tribes. There was little to choose between them and the main range
tribes, except that the latter were the more powerful.

We spent the rest of our time at Port Moresby in various ways. Wilkin
went for a little trip inland, and photographed some tree-houses at
Gasiri. Very few of these remarkable edifices are now extant, as the need
for them has passed away in all places reached by the strong arm of the
law. Seligmann wanted to see more of the country than would have been
practicable had he stayed with us, so he left us on June 25th to visit
Mr. English at Rigo; but before doing so he studied the collection of
charms got together by Mr. Ballantine, and made notes on magic and native
remedies, subjects that he investigated in other parts of New Guinea. Ray
did what he could in studying the language of available natives, and made
a collection of native potters’ trade marks.

Port Moresby is the headquarters of the pottery industry in the central
district of British New Guinea, and when the season comes round great
activity is displayed by the women, for pottery-making is entirely
women’s work. The men build up the _lakatois_, or trading boats, each
of which consists of at least three ordinary canoes lashed together and
provided with large crates to hold the pots in safety. The large sails,
shaped like crabs’ claws, and the flying streamers attached to the
rigging give these strange craft a most picturesque appearance as they
scud before the wind. It is not unusual for a fleet of twenty _lakatois_
to sail with a crew of some six hundred men, each of whom would take
about fifty pots.

These great trading voyages take place in October—that is, at the end of
the south-east monsoon—and the _lakatois_ wend their way up the coast,
mainly to the Gulf of Papua, where the cargoes of pottery are exchanged
for bundles of sago; as many as thirty thousand pots have been known
to be bartered in one year for a hundred and fifty tons of sago. The
voyagers return during the north-west monsoon with the sago and new
canoes; they thus have a fair wind each way.

As no one had previously photographed the method of pottery-making, I
was anxious to get a complete set of photographs, and Mr. Ballantine
arranged for three women to go through the whole process in order that
we might photograph it under favourable conditions. Wilkin and I also
photographed various women at work in the native villages.

[Illustration: PLATE XX

TREE HOUSE AT GASIRI

POTTERY-MAKING AT HANUABADA, PORT MORESBY]

The villages of Port Moresby are composite in character, as two tribes,
the Koitapu and Motu, live side by side, but apparently with extremely
little mixture.

There is no doubt that the Koitapu are the original inhabitants;
they are allied to the Koiari and other inland tribes, and hence are
a branch of the true Papuans—that is, the essentially narrow-headed
indigenous population of New Guinea. At the present time there is not
much difference in appearance between many of the Koitapu and Motu, as
doubtless intercourse has taken place at various times. The former are
somewhat darker in colour, but there are quite a number of Koitapu, for
example, who clearly have racial affinity with the hill tribes of the
interior, while the Motu exhibit an equally strong resemblance to the
main element in the coast population from Yule Island to Aroma.

The Koitapu are tillers of the soil, and the Motu are fisher-folks and
potters. Chalmers says: “By no conquest do the Motu live here, but simply
because the Koitapu allow them, saying, ‘Yours is the sea, the canoes,
the nets; ours the land and the wallaby. Give us fish for our flesh, and
pottery for our yams and bananas.’”

There are many differences between the Koitapu and Motu that point to a
difference of origin. The language is markedly different; Dr. Lawes long
ago pointed out that there were very few words in common between these
two tribes, and probably most, if not all, of these were borrowed. Ray,
too, found that the affinities of the Koitapu language were with those
of the true Papuan languages; while those of the Motu were unmistakably
Melanesian. The Koitapu cook by means of the earth-oven, but the Motu
mode of cooking by boiling in earthenware vessels is largely practised
now. This is a borrowed custom. The Motu are more careful and nice in
their diet, whereas the Koitapu devour anything edible. Their ornaments
also differ, as do their mats and other handicrafts.

The Motu folk certainly look down on the Koitapu, but at the same time
they fear the power of the sorcerers of their neighbours, and Lawes
informs us: “The first thing a Motu man does, when anyone belonging
to him is dangerously ill, is to go to a man, or oftener a woman, of
the Koitapu, with large presents, that they may loose the power of
the evil spirit over the sick man.” As the Koitapu were the aboriginal
inhabitants, they claim power over the elements, and rain and sunshine,
wind and calms can be granted or withheld by them; consequently the Motu
have to pay heavily for the weather that they happen to require. This is
a very interesting example of what has often occurred elsewhere and at
various times—a dominant people being dependent upon the magicians of the
people they have subjugated.

Lawes also states that “The Motu are afraid to go out at night for
fear of ghosts. The Koitapu have no such fear, but often travel inland
at night. The coast tribes fear the gods of the land, and in case of
calamity appeal to the owners of the soil to propitiate the gods, or
wreak upon them their vengeance in revenge for what they have suffered.”
Chalmers says that he has “never heard of the two tribes fighting, but
often the Motu has helped the Koitapu against their enemies, especially
have they prevented the Hula (Bulaa) making raids on them.”

We are not yet in a position to say definitely where the Motu originally
came from.

The twenty-seventh of June was a red-letter day, as I received my first
home letters since our departure from London on March 10th; these were
forwarded from Thursday Island by the gunboat _Goldfinch_, which arrived
in the morning. I was packing ethnographical specimens in a shed when
she arrived, but I went off with Ballantine just as I was to hear the
news, and we stayed to lunch. It was very pleasant to have fresh people
to talk to, especially travelled men. Few things are more refreshing than
intelligent chatting, when one is in one of the world’s backwaters. We
heard the news, not much more than we knew before, except the death of
Gladstone. In the afternoon I continued my study of Ballantine’s unique
collection of stone clubs. After dinner we all, with Dr. Blaney and
Ballantine, called at the _Goldfinch_, and took the captain and officers
to Hanuabada to see a dance; the moon was young and the sky was cloudy,
and there were no fires, so very little could be seen; indeed, we could
smell more than we could see.

The third-class cruiser _Mohawk_ arrived next morning fresh from the
annexation of Santa Cruz and some of the Solomon Islands. The _Goldfinch_
officers thought they would remain here for some weeks, and were planning
shooting parties. Now they learnt they must go off the next morning to
Melanesia, to annex more islands, and the _Mohawk_ was to depart the same
time for Thursday Island.

All the time I was visiting at Port Moresby I was hoping to hear some
news about Sir William Macgregor, as I was looking forward to meet him
once more; but he was at the other end of the possession, and there was
no chance of my seeing him for a long time, so I decided to return to
Murray Island as soon as possible. Burns Philp’s boat, the _Alice May_,
came in on July 5th, and Mr. Gors promised that she should take us back
to Murray Island.

There happened to be a few days to spare, and as I was very desirous of
seeing something of the Mekeo District, Mr. Musgrave kindly arranged
that the Government ketch _Lokohu_ should take us to Yule Island, where
the _Alice May_ would subsequently pick us up. Once again Mr. Musgrave’s
cordial co-operation enabled me to save time and accomplish something
that I wanted to do, which otherwise might have been left undone; for
this and for his hospitality he has earned our hearty thanks. Our stay at
Port Moresby was also rendered more profitable than it might otherwise
have been through the kindness of Mr. Ballantine. I much valued the
opportunity he gave me of studying his very fine collection of Papuan
stone clubs. Other friends too assisted us in various ways.

We left Port Moresby on the morning of July 7th.




CHAPTER XVII

THE MEKEO DISTRICT


We arrived at Hall Sound at 6.15 p.m., Thursday, July 6th, and visited
the Sacred Heart Mission, where we were cordially received by Archbishop
Navarre and his colleagues. Although this Roman Catholic Mission has its
headquarters at Issoudun, in Indre, in France, the executive may belong
to any nationality, and thus it is not entirely a French Mission, though
French is the language spoken among themselves.

After the evening meal I played “ludo” with the Archbishop, and we
subsequently played the game several evenings. Ray, by request, had
brought the phonograph ashore, and he gave a selection on it in the
course of the evening, greatly to the delight of the Fathers and
Brothers, none of whom had ever heard one before. Brother Philip, a
kind-hearted, merry Dutchman, who is always smiling and laughing, and
who is one of the musicians of the fraternity, was child-like in his
enthusiastic appreciation of the machine. We persuaded some natives to
sing into the phonograph, and, as usual, they were delighted at hearing
their own voices echoed from the mysterious instrument.

Monseigneur kindly asked us to stay the night at the Mission, so we
gladly sent for our kit bags. After a feverish night I was compelled to
spend a quiet day, and Wilkin was only able to walk to the village of
Ziria, which he photographed.

Ray was good enough to give another phonograph performance to the Fathers
and the natives, and later we went to the nunnery and repeated the
entertainment for the delighted Sisters. Ray spent all the rest of the
day in philological brain-picking, and was very satisfied with the result
of his day’s work.

After another sleepless, feverish night I began to feel better, but
decided to remain quiet, whilst Ray and Wilkin went to the village of
Mohu on the mainland with Brother Alexis to visit Father Burke, the only
“Englishman” (and he is an Irishman) in the Mission.

The day was a sad one for us, as Brother Edmond, who belonged to the
station at Pokao on the mainland, and had come here for a visit, became
very ill in the morning, and grew worse as the day wore on. Soon after 5
p.m. a little service was held in his room, when the Extreme Unction with
the Pontifical Absolution and Benediction was given; the anointing with
holy oil, which is performed in the early stages of an illness that may
have a fatal termination, had been celebrated in the morning. All through
the day we received numerous reports as to the progress of the disease.

The Brother had been in good health the previous day (Friday) and worked
hard in the sun, but he drank water copiously, and probably had taken
some from an infected source which brought on a malignant enteric disease
(hæmaturia).

At 9 p.m., when all lights are put out and the Mission goes to bed,
I heard the Sisters who were to keep the night watch arrive, for the
patient’s room was next to mine. At eleven o’clock I was awakened by a
slight commotion, and turning out found Father Guis reading the prayers
for the dying, and whilst they were being read Brother Edmond passed
away. I retired again to bed whilst the Brothers and Sisters performed
the last secular offices for the dead, and in a few minutes heard the
suggestive “pwew, pwew” of the planing of boards, and later the hammering
of nails. By 2.15 the body was lying in its last bed.

At 3 a.m., finding a service was about to be held in the chapel, I threw
my dark blue bed blanket around me, and in pyjamas and with bare feet I
attended the service. It proved to be a Communion service for those who
had administered to the deceased. Father Guis, in broken voice, feelingly
read the service, with a Brother as acolyte, to a congregation composed
of three Sisters clad in their usual blue costume, four Brothers in
workaday flannel shirts, and myself, a blanket-clad “heretic.” The moral
atmosphere was tense with emotion, and the service appeared to me to be
not so much a communion with God, as a sacrament of renewed devotion
under the most solemn circumstances. Of course I do not wish to imply
that the first sentiment was not present, that is, the essential element
in Holy Communion, but the other aspect appeared to predominate. The
impressiveness of the ceremony was enhanced by its being held in the
depth of night.

Before finally retiring to rest I visited the coffin lying on the
verandah of our hostel. Praying beside it were two of the indefatigable
Brothers who had worked so hard, and two patient, statuesque Sisters.

The morning bell woke us at 5.30 o’clock, and I dressed in order to
attend early morning Mass at six. During that service the sun rose, and
a glorious tropical day commenced, joyous physically, but psychically
sad. After Mass coffee was served, and at 7.30 the Mass for the Dead was
solemnised in the chapel by the Archbishop.

The last time I attended a Catholic Requiem Mass was in Rome sixteen
years previously.

There we witnessed the ceremony decked with all the pomp due to the rank
of a high functionary of the Holy Catholic Church; here I participated in
the same ceremony—the same, but how different!

There, a dignitary trained in ecclesiastical doctrine, dogma, and
discipline, had worked his way up in the Church till heaven gave him
a preferment. (I wonder whether it was a better one than his last on
earth?) Here, a man who for fourteen years was a joint owner with his
cousin of a fishing schooner in the North Sea, and who was making money
in his venturesome calling, left all, like other fishermen we read of,
and became a lay Brother, with no chance of promotion in this world, and
volunteered to a fever-stricken country from which he knew he would never
return. One day he worked hard, doing his duty heartily and manfully;
the next, he was prostrated by a severe illness, and passed away before
midnight, dying in perfect peace. His last words were that he was ready
to die and be quit of suffering (for death had no terrors for him), or
ready to live if God willed, and to continue his labours, although he
knew full well that this meant a certainty of renewed sickness and pain.

As the procession was forming outside the chapel after the service,
Ontong (who also had attended Mass) and I took the middle places, and
helped carry the coffin to the grave, but after a short distance I was
asked to desist, as I was taller than the others, and the equilibrium was
disturbed.

The grave had been dug by natives, who stood by clothed in their usual
fashion and decked with native finery, thus supplying a dramatic
contrast between the ceremonial of an ancient Church and the religious
and physical nudity of the savage.

At 8.30 a.m. we were back in the house for breakfast. By early afternoon
Father Guis was groaning under an attack of fever. He was ill the
previous Friday, and thought he was quit of it for a time; but his
devotion to the deceased Brother had overtaxed his physical strength, and
this, combined with the severe strain on his feelings, brought about a
relapse. Truly the Fathers appear to be fighting against fate!

Soon after our midday meal I started on horseback with Father Guilbaud
to the village of Ziria, where he was to conduct the Benediction. It
is characteristic of the practical straightforward simplicity of this
fraternity that the priest wore a large grey wide-awake hat, flannel
shirt, corduroy trousers, and carpet slippers. We had a pleasant ride of
somewhat under an hour, mainly along the sand beach.

After tea in the Mission house, Father Guilbaud and I went to the chapel,
where a chair and _prie-dieu_ were allotted me close to the altar rails,
and in full view of the congregation. Opposite sat two Sisters, in charge
of some small girls, and a third Sister presided at the harmonium. It was
very pretty to see the naked little boys trotting hand in hand up the
altar steps, bowing, and then darting to the right and squatting on the
floor. Clothing among the males was almost a negative quantity; indeed,
there was a marked absence of European dress of any description. Most of
the bucks had painted their faces with red, black, and white pigments,
the effect of which was certainly grotesque, and some were almost as much
decorated with native finery as if they were going to a dance; one or two
of the girls had freshly oiled themselves and were decorated with shell
ornaments. The women folk all sat on the Sisters’ side of the chapel,
and the men on the opposite side. The youngest children sat in the front
rows, and in increasing ages further back, so that the old people were
near the door.

Father Guilbaud preached a sermon in the native language, evidently
on the Communion, and he had on the altar rails a large coloured
picture-card illustrating the Last Supper; in the upper corners were two
small pictures, one of Elijah being fed by ravens, and the other of a
Catholic Communion Service. From time to time the good Father pointed
with a small stick to details in the pictures. Believing so firmly as I
do in visual instruction, I was particularly pleased with this innovation.

After the sermon came the ceremonial part of the service, and it was
charming to see two Papuan lads act as acolytes, with their mop of black
frizzly hair, copper-coloured skins, long red cassocks, and short white
cotta, going through the service in a most devout and seemly fashion.
When service was over the acolytes disrobed behind the altar and stepped
forth, two all but absolutely nude savage dandies with shell ornaments
and painted faces. It is to be hoped the grace in their hearts was of a
more permanent character than the brief adorning of their persons with
the garments of Christian ceremonial. A pleasant ride back in the cool of
early evening completed a most enjoyable day.

A little later in the week we again visited Ziria, when we took some
measurements of the natives and bought a few “curios,” mostly lime
gourds. We exhibited the phonograph to the Sisters living in Ziria, and
gave one rehearsal in the schoolroom, and another in the _marea_ or
club-house of the village, to excited audiences.

Ziria is quite an interesting village; some of its houses are similar to
those lower down the coast, but others I recognised as belonging to a
type characteristic of the Papuan Gulf. The people here certainly more
resemble the coast people further east than those to the west, but they
have a character of their own, and some appear to resemble the “typical
Papuan” which Guillemard describes, and which he met with in the extreme
north of New Guinea. This transitional area between the east and the
west is marked, amongst other ways, by the men’s costume more resembling
that of the Gulf men. The bark-cloth belt trails behind on the ground,
and the young men wear, when they are _ibitoe_, a rather narrow tight
wooden belt. One lad I saw wore his so tight that above the wooden belt
and below the breast-bone and ribs the abdominal wall protruded like an
inflated pouter pigeon’s crop; about an inch and a half below this belt
was the tightly drawn ordinary bark-cloth belt, and in the interspace
between the two belts the flesh exuded as a prominent ring. Another
example of tight-lacing is given in the accompanying photograph.

[Illustration: PLATE XXI

A MEKEO IBITOE

MASKED MAN, KAIVAKUKU, OF WAIMA, MEKEO DISTRICT]

When a boy is about twelve years of age, the family council decides
that he must be _ibitoe_, that is, of an age fit to marry, and he is
conducted to the _marea_ of the _ibitoes_, or club-house of the young
men. Thenceforth commences for him a life of unalloyed pleasure; nothing
has he to do but to eat, drink, and be merry. But it is all harmless
pleasure; intoxicant there is none. The only serious thing he has to do
is to make his drum. Several lads will go into the jungle without saying
anything to their friends, and will remain there, it may be a week or
a month, until each has made his drum. A straight branch is selected
and cut to the requisite size; this is next scraped with shells till
the orthodox shape is arrived at; finally, the cavity is carefully and
laboriously burnt out.

During this period the lads are taboo (_rove_ in Roro, _ngope_ in
Mekeo)—they must have no intercourse with any man; the friend who brings
them food must surreptitiously hide it in a secret spot previously
arranged upon. Should they be seen by a woman or girl the drum would have
to be destroyed, otherwise it would be certain to split, and would sound
like an old cracked pot.

There are also restrictions as to food. If they eat fish, a fishbone
will prick them, and the skin of the drum will burst; if red bananas are
eaten, they will be choked, and the drum will have a dull sound; if they
eat grated coconut, the white ants will destroy the body of the drum;
should they cook food in an ordinary spherical earthen pot instead of
a small high one, they will grow fat, and will not be able to dance,
and the girls will mock them and call out, “Your stomach is big; it is
a pot.” Finally, they must never touch fresh water, but they may drink
coconut milk, or the water which occurs abundantly in the stem of a
banana; should they inadvertently touch water with feet, hands, or lips
before the drum is completely hollowed out, they break it, crying, “I
have touched water, my firebrand is extinguished, and I can never hollow
out my drum.” These prohibitions are interesting examples of symbolic
magic: the sight of a woman destroys the tone of the drum, contact with
water extinguishes the fire, a fishbone tears the tympanum, so the
sorcerer informs them; everyone says so, no one has the temerity to prove
it, but no one dares to deny it.

When a boy has been declared _ibitoe_ he is told, “Now you are free look
out for a woman and marry as soon as possible.” At first the young man
does not think about such things. He enjoys his absolute independence;
he goes, comes, plays the fool as he pleases; he dances for the sake of
dancing; decorates himself for his own delectation; but gradually other
thoughts arise. The girls of his own age also grow up; his parents begin
to talk about the girls, about the presents and marriage and so forth.
Such suggestions soon have the natural result.

The lad becomes _rove_. It is difficult to find a proper English
equivalent for this term: “holy” or “sacred” originally expressed this
idea, now other meanings have been read into them; it is perhaps best to
simply appropriate the Polynesian term “taboo.” He ornaments himself more
extravagantly, and tight laces till human nature can stand no more; he
plays sweet, melancholy airs on his flute in a corner of the village, and
the girls creep out to listen to the ravishing music.

The young men waylay the girls and offer presents. The weak damsels may
cry out and run to their parents, the lusty will beat and scratch the
adventurous youth, who never dares to resist lest he draw upon himself
her parents’ wrath. Should fair means fail, recourse is had to the
sorcerer, and he generally brings the girl to reason.

It is against custom in the Mekeo district for a young man to make love
to a girl of his own village, but each village is affiliated to another
from which brides should be taken. In the Roro language the relationship
between two villages is called _aruabira_, “part of our blood,” and in
the Mekeo tongue, _ufapie_, _auai_. The former word, according to Father
Guis, means “the other side of the sky,” in other words, as they would
say, “The _ufapie_ are our friends down below; they are like our own
souls (_auai_); we are blood brothers.” This friendship is carried out
much further; for example, the people of Veifaa keep pigs and rear dogs
for the village of Amoamo, their _ufapie_, and _vice versâ_. When there
is a death at Veifaa the Amoamo people come and feast reciprocally. When
the time comes to go out of mourning the _ufapie_ is invited. They come,
dance, eat, perform certain ceremonies, and the period of mourning is
over.

There are one or two quaint customs of the _ibitoes_ which may be noted.
They must never walk down the main street of a village, though the girls
at the corresponding period may do so. I noticed when we walked to Veifaa
the young men who were with us slunk round by the backs of the houses
in passing through a village or to get to the youths’ _marea_. They
are not constrained to work, but they are tacitly permitted to steal.
If they are caught they will be punished, but it is no crime, and is
not considered a disgrace, and will never be made the occasion of a
quarrel as ordinary theft often is. Sometimes the lads will do a little
perfunctory gardening, or if they want to combine amusement with business
they will take a bow and arrow and go to the seashore to shoot fish.

It is tempting to go on writing about these interesting people, but those
who desire further information are referred to Father Guis’ charming
account of them in _Les Missions Catholiques_ (1898), Nos. 1,493-1,512.

Father Cochard gave me the following examples of belief in omens. When
the hauba bird comes into a village and cries in the night, someone will
die. If a kangaroo hops into a village when the men are out hunting,
someone will die. Unfortunately I did not ask whether it was one of the
hunters or of the people then in the village that would die, but I expect
it was the former, and that the kangaroo was the spirit of the dead
hunter. This interpretation is borne out by the following: If men are
voyaging and a gale of wind suddenly springs up the mariners know that
someone has died, as the gust of wind is the passage of the spirit.

An interesting example of what is known as the “life-token” occurs in
Yule Island. When the men go to fetch sago from the Gulf a fire is
lit, and if the fire goes out there will be bad luck for the voyagers,
consequently care is taken to keep the fire alight during the whole time
the men are away.

Very characteristic of this district is the custom of men wearing a
large, plain, bark-cloth shawl, and the use of large mosquito nets, or
rather sleeping bags (_ruru_), made from the net-like spathe of the leaf
of the coconut palm. These contrivances are about ten to thirteen feet
in length, and some six feet wide, and they afford a suffocating shelter
from mosquitos for the whole family.

The women of Yule Island dress and tattoo from head to foot in a manner
very similar to the Motu women; but in the neighbouring tribes the
tattooing is less complete. According to Father Guis, at Waima only the
face and breast are tattooed, and at Marehau, the village on the beach at
Delena, the face alone; but when at Delena I certainly saw some tattooing
on the legs of some women. The village of Delena is said to have a
double origin. Some of the people belong to the Roro tribe, who claim
to have originally come from Bereina, in the Mekeo district. The other
inhabitants belong to the Motu stock, and migrated from Port Moresby.
Hence one would expect rather a mixture of customs in this little
village. One Nara woman I saw had characteristic tattooing on the body
and legs, but not on the face and arms. I was informed that this custom
was recently introduced from Delena; the spiral designs on her legs were
certainly Mekeo and not Motu patterns.

[Illustration: FIG. 27. TATTOOING IN THE MEKEO DISTRICT

Two Veifaa women and Maino, the chief of Inawi]

Father Guis states that the women of Mekeo are not acquainted with
tattooing. I do not know what particular villages he had in his mind,
probably those far inland, for at Veifaa I sketched two women whose
torsos were richly tattooed, and I saw women in Inawa with similar
tattooing. He also states that each tribe has its distinctive pattern,
and any infringement of copyright would be a valid reason for war.

There are three main groups of people in the region round Hall Sound,
which are distinguished by marked dialectic as well as by various
ethnographical differences. These are the Roro, Mekeo, and Pokao.


RORO.

The Roro plant their villages on the seashore or along creeks. The men
live as much in their canoes as on their infertile soil. These fishermen
collect in large numbers at the fishing seasons at the mouths of the
Angabunga, Apeo, and other rivers. The fish are carefully smoked, and are
bartered for the fine taro and enormous sweet potatoes grown by the Mekeo
women.

According to the seasons, with their prevailing winds, these adventurous
and trafficking mariners visit the coastal tribes to the north-west or
to the south-east. In the Papuan spring, October and November, they
repair to Toaripi for sago, which grows in inexhaustible quantity in the
neighbourhood of the great rivers. Here they exchange the thin pots of
Ziria, the main village of Rabao (or Yule Island), which are celebrated
all along the coast, for bundles of sago. On the return journey the
packages of sago are stacked in the bottom of the trading canoes, the
latter being four or half a dozen ordinary canoes lashed together.

In March or April, after the heavy rains, the annual visit is paid to the
jewellers of Taurama and Pari, who excel in the manufacture of necklaces
of small shells, _mobio_ (called _taotao_ by the Motu), and of polished
shell armlets, _hoia_, or _ohea_ (the _toea_ of the Motu).

The art of pottery-making was introduced into this district by immigrants
of the Motu stock, who appear to have reached their furthest western
limit at Delena. Not very long ago only one woman in Pinupaka had
acquired this art; now all the women make pottery, but the clay is
obtained from Yule Island.

These merchant fisher-folk have the reputation of being roguish and
cajoling, and with a pretty conceit in flattery. When boats arrive they
are greedy for news. They have been described as the Athenians of Papua.
Their language compares favourably with the guttural tongue of the
inland folk, being clear, musical, and distinct, with neither strain nor
ridiculous contractions.


MEKEO.

The Mekeo group of people live mainly in the villages that cluster
round the Angabunga (St. Joseph) River. There are also villages on the
upper waters of the Biaru, and on the Apeo, Laiva, and other streams
that flow into Hall Sound near the mouth of the Angabunga. They are an
intelligent, interesting, and well-to-do set of natives, who present
marked differences from their Gulf neighbours.

There are two great divisions, the Vee and the Biofa. The prolific and
skilful Biofa have devastated the villages of the Vee, and according to
the Sacred Heart missionaries, they have also strengthened themselves
by alliance with “the sea-warriors, Lokou and Motu-Motu” (Toaripi), in
order to crush their rivals. Unfortunately I have no further information
to give concerning these two factions. It would be important to trace
out the history and significance of this feud; it rather looks as if
the Biofa was an immigrant tribe that was dispossessing the indigenous
Vee. I regret I cannot mention which are the Biofa and which are the
Vee villages. It is, however, a matter of recent history that Eboa
has attacked Inawabui, and later Inawaia followed their example; but
these feuds have now been settled by the Government. Inawa, an offshoot
from Inawaia, is (according to Sir William Macgregor) the smallest and
fiercest tribe in this part of the district. The late Bishop Verjus urged
the Inawaia and Eboa to cease their quarrelling, and prevailed on them
to build a new village on the left bank of the Angabunga, in which the
Vee and Biofa were to live amicably side by side. He named this village
“The Peace of Jesus,” _Jesu baibua_, or _Yeku ngangau_, according to two
local dialects. The village is generally termed Yeku by the Government
officials.

The Mekeo people are good agriculturists, and their rich soil yields
them abundant harvests. Each of their villages consists of a single wide
street, with houses on each side. Sometimes the houses are two or three
deep, but in this case they are so arranged as to leave a regular street
on each side of, and parallel to, the main street. There are usually two
_mareas_, which are generally placed at opposite ends of the village. The
_marea_ is the club-house of the men; often it is highly decorated with
carved and painted posts and boards and streamers of palm leaves. The
_marea_, which is the equivalent of the _erabo_, or _eramo_, of the Gulf,
the _kwod_ of Torres Straits, and the _dubu_ of further east, is the
centre of the social, political, and religious life of the men.

The Government has had very great difficulty in getting the people to
bury their dead in a cemetery away from the village, as they preferred
their old plan of burying under the houses. The people are greatly in
dread of the sorcerers, who have the reputation for very powerful magic.

[Illustration: SKETCH MAP OF THE MEKEO DISTRICT]


POKAO.

The inland district south of Hall Sound is a dry, hilly country, with
sparse woods and green swards, where grow the aromatic plants so dearly
prized for personal wear by the natives of the whole district. The
physical conditions of this healthy land of eucalyptus and kangaroos do
not appear to be favourable to agriculture, and so the inhabitants have
become mainly hunters of the abundant game. On referring to a geological
map, it is seen that this is a region of old volcanic rocks.

The Pokao people are an instructive example of the economic defects of a
hunting existence. The necessity for getting fresh food every day fosters
improvidence, for meat cannot be kept like yams or sago in this tropical
climate. Hence these hunter folk are too lazy to send their meat to
market. If the Mekeo people will fetch the meat they require, so much the
better; if not, to use an expression employed nearer home, they “can’t be
bothered.”

A hunting population, all the world over, is liable to periodic famines,
and the Pokao people are no exception. But so ingrained is their laziness
or indifference that they have been known to refuse to send for food
which they could have had for nothing. They preferred to go hungry rather
than take a monotonous tramp to obtain food.

       *       *       *       *       *

Probably in no part of British New Guinea are markets so numerous as
in the Mekeo district. As markets are important factors in the social
evolution of a people, it would be well if some of the residents in this
district were to make a special study of the origin and regulations of
the various marketplaces.

Markets are held at Inawaia and Mohu every five days on the banks of
the river, and at various intervals at Inawi, Inawa, and Jesu Baibua,
to which the Bereina, Abiara, and Waima people come. During the crab
and crayfish season in the north-west monsoon, these markets are also
held every five days. Inawi and Inawa used to fight Bereina, and trouble
consequently often arose in the villages on market days. To lessen this
danger, the Government appointed a market to be held in the forest
between Inawa and Bereina. Roro has no regular market, but there is a
great market at the mouth of the little river of Oriki, near Abiara.

Owing to the physical features of the locality, the villages have a
superfluity of some food, or have access to a speciality, or are experts
in a handicraft; these naturally form their stock-in-trade. For instance,
the Roro of the coast from Pinupaka, Rabao (Yule Island), Marihau
(Delena), and even the villages of Nabuapaka beyond Delena, trade in
crabs, crayfish, and mussels, as well as pottery, for the taro, yams,
sweet potatoes, sago, bananas, and areca nuts of the Mekeo tribes as
far inland as Rarai, at the foot of Kovio (Mount Yule). Waima trade in
coconuts; Waima, part of the Kivori, Bereina, and Babiko provide yams
and some sago. If a big feast is approaching, the Mekeo people send for
wallabies and cassowaries to the villages of the rich game district on
the other side of Hall Sound, such as Pokao, Boinamai, Nabuapaka, and
Biziu. Even the Waima and Kivori and Bereina will send to Pokao for game,
although wallabies are obtained in the grassy plains round Bereina;
sometimes they get game from Kaima.

The natives of Rabao buy nose-skewers and arm-rings and other shell
ornaments from the Port Moresby villages, Pari, and other Motu villages;
feather ornaments, gourds, and forks from Mekeo; petticoats from Kivori;
and large bark belts from Toaripi. I believe these are plain bark belts,
as the Toaripi men obtain the decorated bark belts which they wear from
Vailala and Orokolo. The bows of the district are mainly manufactured at
Kaima.

       *       *       *       *       *

On July 14th a messenger arrived early in the morning, having very kindly
been sent overland by Mr. Gors, of Port Moresby, to say that the _Alice
May_ had been delayed on her way to call for us; so I decided to make a
trip inland, and had a chat with the Archbishop to arrange details. It
was settled that Brother Alexis should take us to Veifaa, and we were to
start by boat early in the afternoon with four native carriers, so we
hastily got our things together.

Unfortunately there was the usual delay in starting, owing to the
carriers not coming promptly from the village, but at last we got away,
and then unluckily the wind slackened.

However, in due time we reached Pinupaka, which is the port of this
district, owing to the shelter afforded by a sand spit jutting out from a
monotonous coast-line of miles upon miles of mangrove swamps.

Pinupaka is a miserable village, and poor Brother George, who had lived
in the district for twelve years, looked wan and worn, as well he may,
living in this wretched fever-stricken hole. Two months later the devoted
Brother died of hæmaturia. At high tide the sea comes up to the mission
premises, not a clear healthy sea, but muddy water from mangrove swamps.
Brother George offered us refreshment, but being desirous to push on we
would not delay, for every minute was precious.

Off we started at a rapid pace along a sand beach flanked by mangroves.
The sand was nearly black, and with but few shells or stones. The land
here appears to be sinking, as there are stumps of mangroves exposed at
low water, and many of the trees bordering the beach are dead. I may say
that there are several species of mangroves, and those at Pinupaka are
not the kind that encroach on the sea and accumulate land in their wake.

After about three-quarters of an hour we reached the first creek or
mouth of a river, but in this part of the world the rivers themselves,
far inland, are also called “creeks.” We waded this bare-legged, and
continued as fast as possible, for the sun was setting and the tide
rising fast, and on a low, sandy, windward shore this combination has a
sinister meaning. The second creek was known to be deeper than the first,
and the tide was also higher, so we took off our scanty clothing, rolling
it up into bundles to hold over our heads. Wilkin and I got along all
right, but Ray, being shorter of stature, found himself getting out of
his depth, walking on shifting sand and buffeted by breakers; so Wilkin
and I each seized one of his arms, and this enabled him to hold his
own, and we all safely gained the opposite side. In all these estuaries
crocodiles abound, and we were very thankful to have escaped these
brutes. In the muddy water their presence could not be seen, so there was
no means of escaping them should they happen to be present; but usually
crocodiles avoid noisy or numerous parties. By this time the sun had set,
and the short tropical twilight was too quickly passing, whilst we still
had a goodish bit of beach yet to traverse.

The tide was quickly gaining on the mangroves, and we had now to watch
our opportunity to bolt forward as a wave retreated, and dodge up
among the mangroves as it advanced; our progress was therefore slow
and laborious, as fallen trees put further difficulties in our way.
Eventually the high tide forced us altogether from the beach, and we then
took to the scrub and wended our way in the dark till we came to another
creek. After crossing this we halted and put on socks and shoes, for the
swamp was here crossed by a “corduroy road,” that is, a road made of logs
placed transversely and kept more or less in position by upright stakes.

It was a comfort to get on firm earth again, and after a half-hour’s walk
through plantations we were right glad to reach the hospitable house of
Fathers Cochard and Burke at Mohu.

A glass of white wine kept us going till dinner was ready. We had for
dinner a mound bird (_Megapodius_), which Father Cochard had shot that
morning, and we all thoroughly enjoyed our well-earned dinner. In the
evening Ray gave a phonograph entertainment. On his visit a few days
earlier he recorded a speech by Matsu, the chief, in which he exhorted
the people to make the Government road, and finished off with a hunting
song. This speech sounded very fine; it begins with the customary loud
clearing of the throat, and the sentences come in bursts, the intervals
of silence being evidently part of the orator’s art.

As soon as it was sufficiently light next morning I strolled round to
have a look at the village. There was a wonderful variety in the style
of its houses, perhaps more so than in any other village in British New
Guinea. On his previous visit Wilkin made notes of these and photographed
some of them.

The _marea_ had an enormously long projecting gable, which slants
upwards. Suspended from various parts of the _marea_ were long grass
fringes, and carved and painted wooden boards.

After an early breakfast we again started on our travels. The path we
followed was of dry mud and somewhat uneven, showing that it must be
very swampy in wet weather. All the country for many miles round is low
alluvial soil.

In forty minutes we reached Babiko, but had only time to glance at the
interesting _marea_. Half an hour later we struck the Government road
leading from the sea to Veifaa, the Government station of the Mekeo
district.

The road passed over a plain covered with a tall, coarse grass, growing
higher than our heads, and preventing any little wind there was from
reaching us. Fortunately the sky was cloudy, or it would have been simply
sweltering. There were numerous scattered trees, a kind of eucalypt, a
few pandanus, and occasional cycads. After leaving this grassy plain
our road lay through the forest. On first entering the forest we passed
through one of the smaller market places which characterise this
locality.

[Illustration: PLATE XXII

MOHU, MEKEO DISTRICT

MAREA AT MOHU]

Women from different villages or districts meet at appointed places,
usually at the boundary between two tribes, and there barter their
specialities for commodities from other localities. The bartering is done
by women only, but they are accompanied by a few armed men, who, however,
do not go amongst the market women, but stand a little way off. The men
bring a drum with them, which is beaten at the opening and close of the
market.

The “market-place” we passed on this occasion was only a small one, but
round about were remnants of the simple booths that the natives erect
when trading. After traversing a small patch of forest and a grass plain,
we crossed a river by a good wooden bridge, and shortly came to a large
forest. There was another small market-place where the road entered the
forest.

It was very enjoyable walking along the shady forest paths, and noting
for the first time typical tropical scenery. The trees were tall, but
by no means gigantic. Some had slab-like buttresses, which the natives
utilise as boards; there were wild bread-fruit trees, with their
beautiful foliage of a deep, glossy green, but in this species covered
with inedible fruit; half a dozen different kinds of palms; ferns,
bamboos, and a great profusion of shrubs and plants.

Our road passed at one point close to the Angabunga (St. Joseph River),
a swiftly-running river of dirty water. It is a noteworthy fact that
in this district many words have the _ng_ (as in “singing”), but this
peculiarity is scarcely found elsewhere in British New Guinea. Although
very common in the western tribe of Torres Straits, it does not occur in
Murray Island.

We had a short rest at Inawa. Whilst sitting on a platform of a house in
process of construction I saw a man cutting wooden arrow points with a
boar’s tusk, and bought the lot, much to his amusement.

We reached Inawi at noon, and found there was to be a large gathering of
the Sacred Heart Missioners to celebrate an anniversary of the founding
of their mission at Inawi. After lunch Wilkin and I went to the village,
which consists of one long street, with three rows of houses on each
side, and a population of some four hundred people.

There are several different types of houses here. The chief’s house is a
picturesque pile-dwelling, built in the form of a cross, and adorned with
long fringes of grass and carved and painted boards; from one of the
latter, hanging in front of the house, depended a mask. Each chief in the
Mekeo district builds a _marea_, and has his own designs on it, which no
one may copy, as this would constitute a valid reason for a quarrel. The
chief only has a right to hang a painted board in front of his house; it
is, in fact, a sign of chieftainship, since when a chief is appointed he
receives a board at the same time.

In the Mekeo district there appear to be two main divisions of family
groups, each of which has its chief. I have more than once alluded to a
dual division of a community in this part of the world, but here it seems
to have been made the basis of a higher social development than has been
hitherto recorded in New Guinea. The chief of one division is the war, or
administrative chief; the other headman is _afu_ (or taboo) chief. The
office of the latter is hereditary.

A somewhat similar division of function has occurred elsewhere. To take
two examples only: in ancient Gaul there were war chiefs and peace
chiefs; the _sachem_ of certain North American aboriginees was a peace
chief. It is not improbable that in the _afu_ chieftainship we have the
commencement of a priestly dynasty after the order of Melchisedek, but at
the Papuan stage of culture the secret of his power is probably a magical
control over harvests rather than the authority due to purely religious
functions. The mage has not yet become a priest.

On December 6th, 1897, the _afu_ chief of Inawi put _afu_ (taboo) on the
coconuts and areca nuts, as these crops were failing in his district.
Brother Alexis, who happened to be there, described the ceremony to me.

A small feast was made consisting of five pigs, five cassowaries, and
plenty of native food, _i.e._ yams, sweet potatoes, taro, bananas, etc.;
at about five o’clock Brother Alexis was invited to a place of honour on
the _marea_, and one pig, one cassowary ham, and two banana leaves of
native food were given him. The _Afu_ chief of the village then made a
speech proclaiming _afu_, stating that the coconuts and areca nuts would
run short if this were not done. A piece of cassowary and pig meat with
native food was placed in each person’s _oro_, or cooking-pot, and then
the _afu_ was planted. This consisted of three bamboos, to the lower
part of each was tied a leaf of the sago palm, and coconuts were tied to
the bamboos. The bamboos were erected, grouped like a “Prince of Wales”
feathers, to the noise of conch shells and a wailing shout sounding
like a siren. So far as I could discover, the bull-roarer is not known
in this district. Leafy fringes, like women’s petticoats, were put round
the supports of the bamboos. (This _afu_ still remained on the occasion
of our visit, except that the central bamboo had disappeared.) In the
evening there was a dance, and fifteen coconuts and a bunch of areca nuts
were given Brother Alexis.

For the three days following the ceremony the nuts might be taken, but on
the third day a small feast was held, and thenceforth no nuts could be
picked.

[Illustration: FIG. 28. AFU, OR TABOO SIGNAL, AT INAWI]

Another family than that to which the _afu_ chief belongs (there seem
to be only these two divisions or family groups in the village) has the
responsibility of seeing that the _afu_ is observed, and some fourteen or
fifteen men of this group, called _fulaari_, form a sort of constabulary.
Every evening they go round the village armed with clubs, and disguised
either in masks similar to that which was hanging up before the chief’s
house, or they were so covered with leaves as to be unrecognisable. At
Waima all the enforcers (_kaivakuku_) of a taboo wear masks (Pl. XXI.,
B, p. 256); at Inawa and Veifaa they paint the face and cover up part of
the body, but they sometimes wear masks; at Aipiana they cover over the
whole body with leaves. In the Gulf district there are several important
ceremonies at which masks are employed; in the Mekeo district this custom
is in the various stages of attenuation and disappearance.

All the time the _fulaari_ are in office they may not chew the betel nut,
nor drink coconut water, lest the areca and coco nuts should not grow.
They may not live with their wives; indeed, they may not even look at
a woman, and if they pass one they must keep their eyes on the ground.
Women must not go outside their houses whilst the _fulaari_ are going
their rounds, but if a woman is seen, the _fulaari_ places his club at
her feet, and she must remain standing there until a fine has been paid
for her. If the _fulaari_ convict a man of eating the tabooed nuts he is
tied to the tree from which he gathered the forbidden fruit, and is only
released on the payment of a pig as a fine.

The village from time to time gives presents of food to the _fulaari_.

When there is again a good show of nuts the _afu_ chief proclaims that
on a particular day the restriction will be removed. We were at Inawi
on July 15th and 16th, and the 18th the taboo would be removed from the
nuts, after an interval of thirty-two weeks.

We saw the preparations for a big feast, for which eighty-six wild boars
had been caught, besides numerous kangaroos and a large supply of native
food. We were very sorry that we could not stay to witness the feasting
and dancing.

During the afternoon and evening the missionaries arrived in detachments,
and our unexpected party of four rather complicated Father Vitale’s
arrangements, but he was so hospitable and friendly and all were so
kind that we did not feel _de trop_. We had two interesting phonograph
exhibitions in the afternoon and evening, and one chief made a speech
into it amid great excitement.

During our short stay at Inawi we bought a fair number of ethnographical
objects, especially lime gourds with burnt designs and stone blades of
the now obsolete stone adzes; no handles of these were to be had. These
stone adze heads were ruder than any I had previously seen from New
Guinea. The Papuan stone implements are usually characterised by being
neatly ground and finely polished. These implements were roughly hewn and
polished only at the cutting edge.

We also bought some whipping-tops; these are common here, and the
following game is played. Two rows of four or five boys stand a
considerable distance apart; each lad spins his own top, and they
gradually increase the severity of the lashing, till the tops career in
mid air across the space between the two rows, the object being to hit
one of the opponent’s tops. When this is accomplished the conqueror cries
out, “_Ango ango angaia!_” (“My top has bitten you”). The tops (_ango
ango_) are conical pieces of wood about two and a half to three inches in
length.

The whips (_ngapu ngapu_) are ordinary pieces of stick or cane to which
a lash is attached composed of a three-ply plat of strips of bark-cloth
from the _ipi_ tree. It is pretty certain that the whipping-top has not
been brought to New Guinea by the white man, for Dr. Lawes has previously
found it among the Kabadi tribe, where the natives had not been under the
influence of the foreigner.

The following day, July 16th, some of the missionaries arrived, and all
went to High Mass in the morning. We had so much else to do that we
thought it was not necessary to show our sympathy to the extent of going
to the service. We had quite a feast in the middle of the day, and all
were very merry. Just before grace after meat, Brother Philip left the
table, and in another part of the verandah played the air of our National
Anthem in honour of the guests. This act of courtesy pleased us much.

In the afternoon we separated. Our party walked to Veifaa, a distance
of forty minutes only, making a slight détour on the way to visit the
village Aipiana. Veifaa was reached in good time for the evening meal.
The boys’ schoolhouse was placed at our disposal, and three beds were put
up for us in the inner room.

_Sunday, July 17th._—We all went to early morning Mass, and Ray
afterwards exhibited the phonograph to a very large audience of
demonstrative, excitable natives and delighted missionaries. I was
particularly struck with the calm, strong, sweet face of the Sister
Superior. She is a Parisienne, with a narrow face and a finely-shaped
nose. The two Savoyarde Sisters contrasted with her in having round
faces and snubby noses; their more homely countenances were brimful of
simple-hearted kindliness. An instructive demonstration of two European
races when I was on the look-out for a lesson in Papuan ethnology! The
phonograph selection was decidedly mixed, but that did not matter in the
least. The Sisters appeared most pleased with the European orchestral
marches.

The people about here wear native clothing almost exclusively, and it is,
fortunately, quite rare to see a man or woman in European garments. The
men of the Mekeo district wear a wider perineal band than is worn in the
other places we visited, and these belts are here prettily painted in a
manner quite new to me, and we were fortunate enough to secure several of
them.

The women wear short black leaf petticoats, shorter than any we had
previously seen. I was informed that their dress in the mountains is even
scantier, as it consists merely of a broad perineal band.

The missionaries, wisely, do not care about introducing European clothing
into ordinary use, but they expect the women and girls to wear calico
gowns when attending the services. It was very comical to see the women
and girls, just before a service, go to the girls’ schoolhouse, bring
out their gowns, or throw gowns to other women waiting outside, and then
proceed to dress themselves in the courtyard. It was still funnier when,
after the service, the reverse process was gone through, and their native
dress alone remained as the garments of civilisation were doffed. Here,
as in most other parts of New Guinea, the women are extremely modest
and virtuous, another of the many examples that the amount of clothing
worn bears no relation whatever to modesty, though prudery is usually
developed in direct proportion to dress.

Our host knew I was very anxious to obtain ethnographical specimens from
this place, and made no difficulty whatever about our trading on Sunday,
as “ours were not commercial transactions.”

Indeed after service the good Father told his congregation to bring us
things for sale, and thus we obtained a fair number of specimens, chiefly
lime gourds and belts. Father Bouellat persuaded two girls to stand still
whilst I copied their tattoo patterns.

In the afternoon I made friends with the children, who played some of
their own games for us. For the first time I saw children playing games
that mimicked the hunting expeditions of their fathers. In this instance
a pig hunt and a kangaroo drive were very vividly acted. The “kangaroos”
hopped about on the grass, some hid under bushes. They were stalked and
surrounded by “men,” and a rush was made, and the flying kangaroos were
chased all over the ground. “Man” and “kangaroo” would tumble about in a
close embrace, the latter giving characteristic vigorous backward kicks
with his legs.

The “pigs” walked about on all fours, hands and feet. They were chased
by “men” with sticks to represent spears. When the men came close to the
pigs, the latter jerked their heads sideways with an upward movement,
as if trying to rip up the men with their tusks. One pig was eventually
captured, and two boys got a pole and the pig clasped it with his hands
and hooked his knees ever it, his body hanging down, and so, like a
tied-up pig, he was carried to a place where some boys had laid sticks
across one another to represent a fire. The pig was placed on this amid
much laughter. The shouting and noise during these games was considerable.

[Illustration: FIG. 29. BOYS AT VEIFAA DRESSED UP AS FULAARI]

Various other games were played, and towards the end of the afternoon
several boys ran off and stayed away some time. When they returned they
presented a remarkable appearance. They had bound round their bodies and
limbs green or sere banana leaves, and looked for all the world like
miniature knights of old in leafy armour. The head was entirely covered,
the leaves in some cases being prolonged above into a long spike, like
certain helmets. Flaps hung down from all the head-pieces like frilled
capes. One or two boys had a fringe round the waist, and all had leaves
radiating from their ankles; which gave them a very curious appearance,
so that they looked like Cochin China fowls. Usually the hands were
swathed in green strips, and the bandaging of the right arm was continued
in some on to a stick held in the hand, so that it was uninterruptedly
swathed.

The boys thus grotesquely accoutred chased the girls about and made them
scream. These naughty little fellows were mimicking the _fulaari_ of
Aipiana!

I was immensely pleased to see an existing important social function
imitated by children, and the game presumably also gave us an idea of
what the real costume was like. We measured a few men in this village,
and altogether had a most enjoyable and instructive time.

We started about 7 a.m. on Monday, July 18th, after breakfast, intending
to visit Waima (Maiva) _viâ_ Bereina; but at Inawi we received an urgent
message from Yule Island that the _Alice May_ had arrived there, and
would sail on the 19th. This necessitated our giving up the much-desired
visit to Waima, and returning instead to Yule Island. We therefore
retraced our walk of Friday, except that we kept to the Government road
leading direct to the sea. As it was low water the three creeks we had to
cross presented no difficulties, but Brother Alexis was very exhausted
when we reached Pinupaka at 4 p.m., after our eighteen miles’ walk, as he
was suffering from an attack of fever.

Brother George gave us a good meal, and we then had three and a half
hours’ beat to windward in the small Mission cutter, not arriving at
the Mission on Yule Island till after 10 p.m. All had gone to bed by
that time, but a frugal supper was somehow raked together, and we then
retired, fairly tired out by our long day.

Next morning we spent in packing, as Captain Inman wished to start early
in the day, and we left the good Fathers and Brothers, with very pleasant
memories of the kindness and hospitality of all the members of the Sacred
Heart Mission.

Before we left Yule Island for our little inland trip a Sister from
Veifaa arrived very ill indeed. She was carried in a hammock by some
natives, and shielded from the sun by a Sister holding an umbrella.
So far as Father Guis could tell, she suffered from acute rheumatism,
dropsy, and malarial fever. It seems a pity that with so many
missionaries of both sexes there should not be one qualified medical
man, or at all events one who has especially studied medicine. Father
Guis has a very good practical knowledge of diseases and their treatment,
but it is scarcely fair to expect an accomplished literary man to be
responsible for the health and lives of his colleagues in so unhealthy a
district. It would also seem desirable that the Brothers, who are often
untutored working men, should be ordered to take more precautions, and
especially to be careful as to the quality of their drinking water.




PART II




CHAPTER XVIII

JOURNEY FROM KUCHING TO BARAM


We left Singapore at ten o’clock of the morning of December 10th, on the
_Vorwärts_, and arrived at Kuching about 1.30 on the 12th. The voyage
up the twenty-three miles of the Sarawak river was charming as the
steamer glided along between the fringe of nipa palms and other luxuriant
vegetation.

Immediately on landing I called on the Honourable C. A. Bampfylde, the
Resident of the division, and who was acting for the Rajah, who was
then in England. He kindly invited us to stay with him for a few days,
and we had luxurious quarters in a most lovely garden, with a lawn that
would not disgrace a Cambridge college, surrounded by choice shrubs and
trees, conspicuous among the latter being a kind of areca palm that has a
brilliant red stem.

The various members of the British population were very kind and
hospitable, and did their best to render our stay in Kuching enjoyable,
and we look back upon our visit to Kuching with considerable pleasure.

Dr. A. J. G. Barker, the principal medical officer of Sarawak,
entertained Seligmann, and the two doctors had great talks about the
tropical diseases in which they were both so keenly interested. Sarawak
is to be congratulated on having so able and enthusiastic a medical
officer as Dr. Barker unquestionably is. Seligmann took advantage of his
stay in Kuching to visit a friend in the Land Dayak country.

Ray stayed at the hotel and spent most of his time in studying the Malay
language.

Mr. R. Shelford put me up, and we both enjoyed talking about Bornean
natural history and over mutual Cambridge friends. As there was no chance
of our getting away from Kuching for nearly three weeks, I devoted my
time to work in the museum and in laying a foundation for a study of
the decorative art of the natives of Sarawak. I photographed nearly a
hundred Sea Dayak fabrics, and recorded the names of a large number of
the designs on them.

The Resident gave his customary usual Christmas Eve dinner to his
colleagues and friends, to which we were invited, and Mr. Smith, the then
Manager of the Sarawak branch of the Borneo Company, invited us to his
usual New Year’s Eve dinner, when we again met “everybody,” and saw the
old year out in the orthodox fashion. Mr. Smith’s garden is on a height
that overlooks Kuching and the river. In a township of beautiful gardens
this was noted for its orchids, and the plants in Mr. Smith’s garden
truly were a sight to behold, especially one avalanche of the trailing
flower spikes of an _Arachnanthe Lowii_, which reached a length of some
fourteen feet.

The annual regatta took place on Monday, the 2nd of January. The poop
deck of the _Vorwärts_ was the grand stand, and most of the white
inhabitants were there.

It was a very gay and animated scene, on the shore crowds of quiet people
in all kinds of gay dress and undress. On the water were boats of every
size, from a tiny dug-out canoe that could scarcely support even a light
native to canoes cut out of giants of the forests that would hold fifty
to sixty men two abreast. These darted about hither and thither, smoothly
gliding like fish or rampaging with flashing paddles and spurting spray.

The natives in the boats gave themselves up to exuberant pleasure, and
there was no lack of shouting and merriment. There were large numbers of
roofed boats in which one could get occasional glimpses of bedecked and
bejewelled women and girls; nor were they ill provided with good things
to eat. We could imperfectly see one gorgeously dressed woman in one
of the covered boats eating her tiffin with a metal spoon. Some native
nurses on board the steamer, who were looking after the children, were
greatly interested to discover who could be showing off in this way by
eating like a white woman, and they threw pieces of cake at the boat in
order to attract the attention of the woman, who was hidden under the low
roof of the boat. At length their tactics were successful, and on her
showing herself they made grimaces at her.

[Illustration: PLATE XXIII

REGATTA AT KUCHING

VIEW FROM KABAN HILL, WITH THE BRUNEI HILLS IN THE DISTANCE]

I took some snapshots of the scene and of some of the races, but the day
was dull; in the morning there was rarely a gleam of watery sunshine, and
it rained all the afternoon.

All the white inhabitants, the half-castes, and the more important Malays
and Chinamen lunched in the court-house. The races lasted from 9 a.m.
till 4.30 or 5 p.m. A sort of comic side-show was provided in the shape
of a greased boom along which competitors had to walk in order to secure
a small flag that was stuck at the end. The successful as well as the
unsuccessful fell into the water, a matter of no moment to the amphibious
people.

Kuching, the capital of Sarawak, is only a small town. On the left
bank of the river, and situated in beautiful grounds, is the Astana,
the simple residence of the Rajah. Separated from it by a gully are
the fort and the barracks, the headquarters of the miniature Sea Dayak
army of Sarawak. On the right bank of the river is the town itself. At
the entrance to the wooden wharf at which the steamers tie up is the
custom-house, beyond is a square in which are grouped all the Government
offices. Immediately opposite the custom-house and for a short distance
down stream is the large bazaar or Chinese quarter, where everything
required for native or European use can be purchased at reasonable rates.
The comparatively large establishment of the Borneo Company is at the
extremity of the business end of the town. To the right, beyond the
Government offices, is the Malay town.

The few Europeans, who are all Government officials or connected with
the Borneo Company or the missions, live in the bungalow surrounded by
charming gardens well stocked with varied and beautiful shrubs and trees.
From most of the houses one obtains interesting views of distant isolated
mountains uprising from the somewhat flat country, and the sunset effects
with the lowering clouds of the rainy season are often very fine.

Despite the strange tropical vegetation, the township has a peculiar
home-like appearance, due to the prevalence of carefully trimmed lawns,
green hedges, and well-built roads. There is an air of neatness and quiet
beauty which was very refreshing after much wandering on watery ways and
the glare and bustle of some tropical towns and the frank unfoliaged
ugliness of others. The rampant verdure of luxuriant vegetation is here
kept within due bounds, though not without some difficulty. By day there
is the sweet singing of birds, and at night myriad insects chirp with
varied note, ranging from crude stridulation to what may be termed a
musical song.

A very good native band plays twice or thrice a week in the evening in a
public garden, and gives an excuse for social foregathering. The social
centre for the white man is naturally the club. Deserted during the day,
it wakes up in the evening, and about six o’clock members begin to drop
in; but all leave shortly before eight, to bathe, and dress for dinner.
There are a couple of tennis courts, but during the rainy season very
little tennis is possible. Generally one or two members play billiards,
but the great game is American bowls; this gives plenty of exercise, and
is really a fine game for the tropics.

On the hill is a large reservoir, formed by a dam thrown across an
irregular depression. The winding shore of this artificial lake,
embowered with rank vegetation, makes a most lovely walk. By the side
of the reservoir is the ice factory, which had only very recently been
completed, but now ice is regularly supplied at a cheap rate by the
Government.

On the slope of the same hill is the museum, and the picturesque house of
the curator. Close by is the large demesne of the Anglican Church, with
the bishop’s house, rectory, and official buildings. A considerable part
of the grounds is taken up with a cricket field for the Mission boys, and
with golf-links; but new golf-links have recently been laid elsewhere.

Owing to the sporting proclivities and fondness of horses of the present
Rajah, Kuching possesses one of the most picturesque racecourses in
the Far East. The roads, too, in and around the town are in excellent
condition, and they extend for a considerable distance into the country
in various directions.

The museum is a very pet institution of the Rajah’s, which he has wisely
and liberally endowed. In his address on the occasion of the opening
of the museum on the 4th of August, 1891, the Rajah admitted that it
had cost a good deal both of trouble and money, “but,” he continued, “I
consider that every country worthy of being called a country should have
a museum, and I hope that ours will be equal, at any rate in time, to any
other country in the East, including even India. It has been for many
years a great wish of my heart to see a good museum established here, and
at last I hope that wish is accomplished.”

The building is an attractive edifice, built in Queen Anne style,
consisting of three lower and three upper rooms, built in the form of an
H. It is very well lighted, and at the same time there is an abundance
of wall space. The foundation of the ethnographical collections was the
very valuable Brooke Low Collection, which the Rajah bought in England
and reshipped to its native land. This has been added to from time
to time, and although there is a good deal to be done before all the
arts and crafts of the natives of Sarawak are adequately represented,
the museum contains the best and most instructive collection extant
illustrating the ethnography of Sarawak. The fauna of Sarawak is
also most fully represented. All the specimens are well labelled and
attractively set out. Dr. G. D. Haviland was the first curator. He was
succeeded by Mr. E. Bartlett, and Mr. R. Shelford, the present curator,
was appointed in 1897.

The museum is a favourite resort for natives, and every day numbers
of Chinese, Malays, and Dayaks come to have a look round. Often women
and children come too, and very picturesque are some of the groups,
as fortunately the natives retain their own costumes, and do not ape
European clothing, which, whatever its effect when worn by ourselves, is
ugly and incongruous when adopted by most native races. The Dayak men
often have very little on, but that is an advantage, as one can then
admire their shapely limbs. Their “chawats,” or loin cloths, are varied
in colour, and however bright they may be, they always harmonise with the
beautiful deep cinnamon-coloured skin of the wearer.

Mr. Shelford has a Chinese clerk or assistant, who speaks English well
and has a very good knowledge of the zoology of Borneo. He is a Catholic,
and beats the big drum of the Catholic band with gusto. It is also
amusing to see a Dayak boy, clothed only in a small chawat, sorting and
drying bird skins. Several Dayak collectors are attached to the museum,
and they continually bring in all kinds of zoological specimens. When I
was working in the museum two of them got into trouble, one for carrying
pig-meat through the bazaar, and the other for firing off crackers on
Christmas Day at an unauthorised time. Pork may be carried along the
high-roads, but not along the smaller streets of the bazaar, on account
of the sentiments of the Mohammedans.

The enthusiastic curator had quite a menagerie in and under his house.
On one occasion when I was staying with him he had nine hornbills in
one cage, three different species being represented. In another cage
were four lemurs (_Nycticebus_). He had also a binturong, and another
small carnivore, three chained-up monkeys, one being a gibbon, and an
owl. There were always a lot of live jungle insects about, and in the
dining-room were a number of gigantic stick insects unceasingly munching
away at leaves; the allied mantidæ are insectivorous. Mr. Shelford is
anxious to induce the Rajah to add a small zoological garden to the other
attractions of the museum.

We left Kuching early on January 4th in the _Adeh_, a small but
comfortable coasting steamer. The morning was fine, but it rained all
the afternoon when we were ascending the Rejang. As soon as it was dark
we anchored, as it is against standing orders for the steamers to sail
in the rivers between six o’clock in the evening and six o’clock in the
morning.

By ten o’clock next day we reached Sibu, ninety miles up the river. On
landing we called on the Resident, the Honourable H. F. Deshon. Mr.
Johnson took us to the bazaar, the Malay town, and round the small, low
island that forms the central station of the large and important Rejang
district.

In the afternoon we went down river in a Government boat to see some
Kanauit natives at Saduan who made beautiful baskets. I was anxious to
see them at work, and to learn their names for the patterns; but our
boatmen made a mistake, and took us to see a Sea Dayak house at Sanamari.
It was a hopelessly wet afternoon, but still it was an enjoyable little
trip.

We visited a native cemetery on the way back. Sheds were built over
the graves, and under wall-less shelters were numerous pots, baskets,
articles of clothing, and all sorts of objects that appealed very
strongly to my collecting instincts, which, however, were rigorously kept
under control. Most of the objects appeared to me to have been old and
probably useless. Under one shed, or mausoleum as I suppose one ought
to call it, was an old Kayan shield and a tiny model of another shield,
also a mancala board. Mancala, the national game of Africa, is played
with pebbles, or similar objects, on a board provided with parallel rows
of depressions; the game has travelled nearly all over the world, the
extent of its distribution depending upon negro or Arab influence. I
think this is the first record from Borneo, though it is known in the
Philippines.

Over another grave was an imitation parang with a wooden blade. A parang
is a locally made steel sword, which is used for cutting down the jungle,
chopping wood, and as a sword when fighting. Apparently the survivors
considered that the spirits would be satisfied in some cases with the
essence of things offered to them. The cemetery was bountifully decorated
with parti-coloured red and yellow flags; there were also two long poles
covered with what appeared to be straw decorations.

We had tea at Mr. Deshon’s on our return to Sibu, and some Sea Dayak
women came, by appointment, to show me some patterns. The remainder of
the evening was very pleasantly spent at the Residency.

The steamer started at 5 a.m. next morning, and we reached the sea at one
o’clock, and proceeded on our eastward journey.

Unfortunately, we had arrived at the season when it is impossible to
cross the bar at the mouth of the Baram River, so we had to continue our
journey to Limbang, and thence to proceed by a long overland détour to
our destination.

The station at Limbang is situated at a bend of the river on its right
bank below the range of the Kaban Hills. In coming up the river one first
passes the Malay town, built as usual on piles, the houses being either
near the water’s edge or, as the Malays seem to prefer, actually over
the running water. Here were several sago factories. Later we passed the
bazaar, or Chinese quarter, for nearly all the shopkeepers in Sarawak are
Chinamen. Then we arrived at the fort, a two-storied wooden building, in
which are the Government offices; beyond were the barracks, stables, and
other outbuildings.

On the spur of the hills behind and above the fort is the Residency,
a commodious house, with a very large deep verandah, from which an
extensive view is obtained of all the lower valley of the Limbang as far
as the Brunei Hills.

Mr. O. F. Ricketts takes a great interest in his garden, and has laid
it out very tastefully in well-mown grassy terraces with flower-beds,
flowering shrubs, areca palms, and other tropical foliage. Mr. Ricketts
has a large selection of cannas and hibiscus, so that there are always
some bright flowers open. He has a delicate violet hibiscus brought from
Celebes, which I believe is a very rare variety; he has also raised
a colias with deep brown leaves that do not show a trace of green. He
procures all his canna seeds from England!

One evening we went up to the top of Kaban Hill, known popularly as
Mount Pisgah, and had a magnificent panoramic view from Mount Mulu in
one direction to Labuan in the other. The great swampy plains were
intersected by the sinuous courses of several rivers. By the aid of a
glass we could see part of the town of Brunei fringing Brunei Lake, and
at the horizon were the Brunei Hills. (Plate XXIII., B, p. 280.)

A very considerable portion of Sarawak appears to be low-lying land; in
some places the hills come down to the coast, but for about a hundred
miles inland the country is flat and more or less swampy. Here and there
solitary mountains rise above the level, and these are sculptured into
peaks and precipices. It seems as if relatively recently the country as
a whole has been slightly raised from the sea. Before this upheaval the
isolated mountains had been islands which have since been embraced by
the advancing land. Thus Sarawak would still be a land in the making, to
which the rivers contribute their quota of alluvial soil.

The river banks in the interior, with their layers of pebbles, alluvium,
and leaf beds, tell an unmistakable tale, and the spit at the mouth of
Baram River demonstrates the gradual extension of the land into the
sea. The innumerable gigantic tree trunks floated down by the river
are deposited by the action of prevailing winds and currents mainly on
the eastern or right side of the estuary, and river sediment and leaf
deposits are entangled in the natural breakwater, and so by the conjoint
efforts of the river and the sea the spit gradually grows. The swampy
soil is soon rendered more coherent by the growth of casuarinas and other
trees, and as the spit advances, so marches the appropriate vegetation
behind it in marshalled order.

The river scenery in the low lands is somewhat monotonous. As far as the
influence of salt water extends, palisades of nipa palms usually line the
banks. These trunkless palms, whose long leaves spring from the water’s
edge, are of varied use to man, for their leaves are utilised as thatch,
their sap produces sugar, and, when burnt, their ashes provide salt.

Behind the serried array of nipa palms are swamp trees, and beyond these
again, on firmer soil, are tall jungle trees. When one paddles up
the creeks a greater variety of vegetation manifests itself, and many
beautiful vistas open out which the wealth and luxuriance of the tropical
jungle tempt one to explore. We had our first experience of this at Sibu.

Immediately on our arrival Mr. Ricketts had sent messengers by jungle
tracks to Mr. Hose, to acquaint him of our arrival, so that he might
send boats to meet us on his side of the spur of Mount Mulu. As all this
would take time we were obliged to remain at Limbang for some days, and
a very enjoyable time we had there in the beautiful Residency, thanks to
the kindness and hospitality of our host. I cannot refrain from once more
remarking on the wonderful generosity and friendliness that was exhibited
to us throughout our travels. Any verbal acknowledgment can but feebly
express the gratitude we feel to those numerous friends who assisted and
cheered us on our way.

We devoted one morning to visiting a small Malay sago factory by the side
of the river. At the edge of the river bank were several lengths of the
stems of sago palms, and beside them was a heap of bark that had been
stripped off the trunks.

Under a shed, roofed with nipa palm leaves and supported on two
horizontal poles, was a peeled log of sago, part of which had been
scraped away by means of a long spiked rasp. A Malay showed us how their
grating was done, and on the floor were two heaps of the triturated pith
of the sago palm.

The man then removed some of the coarse powder to a mat on a neighbouring
platform, which more or less overhung the river, and trod the grated
pith, pouring water on it from a kerosene tin which was suspended by a
cord from the end of a long, slender pole. This contrivance for scooping
up water from the river is similar to the shaduf so extensively employed
in Egypt and the East, and is doubtless another example of indirect Arab
influence.

The dancing of the man separates, so to speak, the chaff from the wheat,
and the farinaceous water pours into an old canoe that lies alongside
of the platform. This canoe is covered over to prevent extraneous
matter from getting into the sago, and the lower end is boarded up. The
canoe thus forms a trough in which the sediment is deposited, while the
superfluous water dribbles away from one end into the river.

The sago thus crudely manufactured by the Malays is sold to the Chinese
factors, who give it extra washings and strain it through a fine cloth.
The fine mud is spread out to dry in the sun. The white impalpable
sago powder is packed in bags and shipped to Europe _viâ_ Kuching. The
granulation of the sago is a subsequent process. A considerable portion
of the sago consumed at home must come from Borneo. The amount of sago
flour exported from Sarawak in 1899 was 228,989 piculs (or over 12,000
tons), the value being $790,583 (or £79,058), which brought in an export
duty to the Sarawak Government of $19,503.01 (£1,950).

The 14th of January was a memorable day for us, as the Resident invited
us to accompany him to Brunei, which is one of the oldest of Malay towns.
It was first described by Pigafetti, who visited “Bornei” in July, 1521.
Even then the town was large and important, and the Sultan was powerful
and wealthy; consequently the Malays must have been established in the
country for at least five hundred years.

The former sultans held nominal sway over a considerable portion of
northern Borneo; but though the Malays brought with them a relatively
high civilisation, they only affected the coastal population, no
influence was exercised for the improvement of the condition of the
interior natives. The Malay traders have always been adventuresome,
and they introduced various trade goods up the rivers; but the
up-river tribes, such as the Kayans and Kenyahs, do not appear to have
acknowledged the authority of the sultans, or to have paid them tribute.

The power of the sultans and of their subordinates, from the highest
to the lowest, has for a long time been exerted to extract the maximum
amount of revenue out of those unfortunate coastal tribes who, by their
propinquity, could not escape from their cruel and rapacious neighbours.
Whatever it may have been in the past, the history of the Brunei
administration for the last half-century has been marked by rapine,
bloodshed, extortion, injustice, and utter hopelessness.

The fall of the power of Brunei is probably owing to causes that have
hastened the fall of other empires and cities. The State was founded by
a civilised and even a polished people, expert in the arts of life; but
success and power became undermined by wealth, luxury, and sensuality,
which destroyed the energy that created those conditions in which alone
they could thrive. Strength of character sunk into aimless cruelty.

The isolation of the town also prevented that intercourse with different
peoples which affords the necessary stimulus for advancement. It is true
that there were trading and diplomatic relations with China even in very
early times, but that was in the days when Brunei was a living force, as
it also must have been when centuries ago a Sultan of Brunei conquered
the Philippines and the neighbouring islands.

Founded by a pagan, the State soon became converted to Islamism, and the
religious fervour of the converts, backed by belligerent tenets of their
faith, were doubtless important factors in the building up of the power
of Brunei. But all that is now past, and Brunei has sunk into senile
decay.

The name Brunei is variously spelt Bruni or Brunai; an old form of it was
Brauni or Braunai, and another was Burni. Pigafetti called it Bornei.
Voyagers, applied the name of the town to the island as a whole; but the
name of Borneo is unknown to the natives of Sarawak, who call it Pulo
Kalamantan.

Most Europeans derive the term Kalamantan, or Klamantan, from an
indigenous sour wild mango, which is called _Kalamantan_; but Hose
believes this term is a corruption of _lemanta_, “raw sago.” There
is no obvious reason why Borneo should be known as the island of an
inconspicuous wild fruit, while it is very appropriately “the island of
raw sago.”

Owing to an ineffective and rapacious system of government, great
dissatisfaction with the Sultan has for a long time been felt by the
natives, and as a result the Sultanate has shrunk to the small triangular
area which constitutes the drainage basins of the Balait, Tutong, and
Brunei rivers. At the present time natives of the Balait and Tutong have
hoisted the Sarawak flag, and are urging the Rajah to take them over. It
is obvious that the days of Malay dynasty in Borneo are numbered.

Owing to their having taken territory from him, the Rajah of Sarawak
and the British North Borneo Company pay the Sultan a yearly tribute as
cession money of about $30,000 (£3,000), paid half-yearly in advance, and
practically this is the main source of his revenue.

Unfortunately we had for our excursion a dull day, unredeemed by a single
glint of sunshine, and it drizzled during part of the morning. We went
down the Limbang in the Government steam launch, the _Gazelle_, and owing
to the tide being low we stuck for an hour and a half in a sandbank near
the mouth of the river. When the tide turned we left the Limbang and
entered the mouth of Brunei River. Owing to the hills on the left bank of
the lower reaches of this river the scenery is much prettier than that
of the corresponding portions of other rivers of Sarawak. The right bank
is merely the coast of a large alluvial island deposited in the combined
delta of the Limbang, Brunei, and Kadayan rivers.

About six miles from its present mouth Brunei River extends into a sort
of elongated lake. The town is situated along the left or northern
shore, and opposite to it is some high land. The waters of the Brunei
and Kadayan rivers pass between this hill and the range of hills behind
the town. In other words Brunei is situated at the conjoint mouths of
the small Brunei and Kadayan rivers, and in close proximity to the large
Limbang River. Originally this spot was on the coast of the Brunei Bay,
but the growth of the largest of the delta islands, which is mainly due
to the action of the Limbang, has made the site of Brunei appear as if it
were actually up a river.

The situation of Brunei was extremely well chosen, as it is very
sheltered, and would have been easily defended in the old days.

The town of Brunei has been so often described that there is no need to
add one more account, especially as there is no reason to believe that it
has essentially altered in its character since the days when it was first
visited by Europeans, though it has probably become reduced in size, and
it must surely have also become meaner of aspect.

At first sight one is wonderfully impressed with the town. Some houses
are built on the bank, others on islets, but the vast majority form great
compact masses standing in piles in the shallow estuary. The groups of
pile-dwellings are intersected by broader or narrower waterways, along
and across which dart small canoes like so many skaters or other aquatic
insects that skim along the surface of our ponds.

On closer acquaintance, however, a good deal of the town presents rather
a dilapidated appearance. This is, doubtless, partially due to the houses
being built of wood, and thatched and usually walled with palm leaves. We
saw it on a dull, damp day, however, and the impression on my mind was
that it would take a great deal of time and material to put the town into
a good state of repair.

[Illustration: PLATE XXIV

BRUNEI

A FAMILY BATHE]

We rowed about the town and visited the small Chinese bazaar, but we did
not land for long as our time was limited and there did not appear to be
much that we could do. We took several snapshot photographs, but were too
low down in the water to get very good views. Although the place looked
poverty-stricken, I was informed there were a large number of ancient and
valuable objects in the houses of the important people, such as gold,
bronze, and brass work, Chinese vases and embroidery.

We should have greatly liked to call on the Sultan, but we were prevented
from doing so as we were on a Sarawak steamer, and there had been
recently a little friction between the Sultan and the Rajah’s Government.
The Resident had on board the half-yearly cession money and rent for
Brooketon, which was then due from the Rajah to the Sultan; but the
cession money was $1,000 short, for that sum had been paid by the Sarawak
Government as indemnity to some natives in the Limbang who had been
raided by some Brunei Malays.

On our arrival at Brunei word was sent to the Chamberlain, and soon that
distinguished functionary came to receive the dollars. He was an elderly,
fat man, with a clever, diplomatic face. There was a good deal of
conversation and documents were read, and finally the rent for Brooketon
was taken, as there was no dispute about that; but the Chamberlain had to
return to the Sultan to confer about the remainder. Finally the Sultan
refused to accept the diminished cession money, as he still claims
ownership of the Limbang, and on that ground the raided were his own
subjects, consequently, according to his position, the Sarawak Government
had no right to interfere.

In his recent life of Rajah Brooke, in the “Builders of Greater Britain
Series,” Sir Spenser St. John writes (p. 216): “The Sultan is the
Suzerain Lord of all the possessions of the present Rajah, with the
doubtful exception of Sarawak proper, and Great Britain is the Protector
of Sarawak and Brunei alike.”

The story of the first Rajah Brooke is most fascinating, and has several
times been told, so that it is superfluous to repeat it here, but I shall
content myself by merely alluding to the most prominent events.

Sir James Brooke first landed at Kuching from his schooner yacht
_Royalist_ on August 15th, 1839, and made acquaintance with Muda Hassim,
the Rajah of Sarawak. Pirates swarmed at the mouth of the Sarawak river,
the Rajah was not on friendly terms with his neighbours the Dutch, and
the population of Upper Sarawak was threatening him with a hostile force.
Trade was at a standstill, and people in and about the capital were
subjected to oppression and extortion from every petty officer of the
State.

As a friend of the Rajah, Sir James Brooke at once commenced his great
work. His first achievement was a bloodless victory over the rebel army,
which, after months of manœuvring and negotiation, was disbanded. For
this assistance he was offered the Governorship of Sarawak, which, after
some delay, he undertook, and at once set to work to clean out the Augean
stables of wrong and oppression and to reform irregularities, always,
however, regarding the customs and existing laws and rights of the
people. He was confirmed as Rajah in 1842.

Warlike expeditions to protect and avenge his subjects had to be
made against the wilder tribes of the interior, and to repress the
pirates, who, whilst they existed, were a constant source of trouble,
disorganising by one raid a whole district, which had perhaps taken years
to settle down since a previous raid.

When all things seemed to be progressing favourably the great Chinese
rebellion broke out in February, 1857, the story of which has been so
well told by Sir Spenser St. John. One result of this calamity was to
prove how well grounded Rajah Sir James Brooke was in the affection
of the Malays and Sea Dayaks, and, thanks to their loyalty, zeal, and
bravery the Chinese were completely routed after they had actually taken
and burnt Kuching. The country soon settled down and became even more
prosperous.

The “Old Rajah” died in England on the 11th June, 1868, and he was
succeeded by his nephew Charles Johnson Brooke, Rajah Muda of Sarawak,
who had long been in the country, and had distinguished himself in his
uncle’s service.

The Rajah is an absolute monarch who consults the Supreme Council on
important matters. This Council is composed of the Rajah, three senior
English officers, and four native chiefs of Sarawak proper. There is
also a General Council composed of the more important chiefs of various
districts and certain English officers. The General Council meets about
once a year, and on this occasion the Rajah makes an address and states
his policy and proposed changes in the administration or finance.

The Raj is divided into five main districts under English Residents:
Sarawak, Batang Lupar, Rejang, Baram, and Limbang. The mere enumeration
of these names shows what accessions to the original Raj of Sarawak
proper have been made in the progress of events. Limbang was annexed on
the 17th March, 1890.

There are various Government officials in Kuching, each of whom has
usually various duties to perform, but the practical administration of
the country is in the hands of the Residents and Assistant Residents. A
Resident is at the same time a governor and a magistrate, and his powers
depend upon his rank; but his influence depends upon his personality.
An energetic Resident who goes among the people can exercise an immense
power for good, but for this is required a knowledge of the languages
spoken in the district and a sympathy for the people themselves.

When Rajah Sir James Brooke first took over Sarawak it was with the
intention of administering the country for the benefit of the natives
rather than for personal aggrandisement, and ever since this has been the
central idea of the Government.

It has often been objected to the rule of the late and of the present
Rajah that they have not endeavoured to “open up” the country, and have
thrown obstacles in the way of those who desired to develop it. To a
certain extent this is true. So far as I understand it, the policy of the
Government has consistently been to let the growth of the country take
place slowly and, as far as practicable, naturally. Neither for the Civil
List, nor for official salaries, nor even for administrative purposes
and public works have the natives been exploited or the soil alienated.
Probably few countries are financed so economically; perhaps in many
cases the salaries of officials are too low, and there is at present a
tendency to save a few dollars by petty economies; but these are faults
of which the natives can scarcely complain. Life and property are safe,
and there is perfect freedom in religion and custom, provided that the
latter does not infringe on the life or belongings of others. These are
advantages which the natives did not formerly possess and which are
now thoroughly appreciated by them. The taxation, which is very light,
is collected with discretion, and falls hard on no one. There is no
difficulty in getting it paid by those heads of families who have but
recently come under the Government, for they realise that the benefits of
a settled government and of a secure outlet for their trade are more than
compensated for by the annual payment of a couple of dollars. The amount
of the “door” tax varies, but four shillings a year is what is usually
levied. In certain cases, half or the whole of this is remitted in return
for right to impress temporary labour. This system is very light, and is
entirely suited to local conditions.

There would be a grave danger to the natives if Sarawak was “opened up”
according to the desires of certain financiers or corporations whose
sole idea is to make money. The “development” of a country does not
necessarily mean the welfare of the original inhabitants; too often it
spells their ruin or extermination. The hustling white man wants to make
as much money as he can within the shortest possible time; but rapid
exploitation is not development, and in many tropical countries it has
meant that if the aborigines will not work as hard for the foreigner as
the latter desires, their place must be taken by coolies from elsewhere.

According to one point of view, a country belongs to its inhabitants;
but according to another, which is prevalent among Europeans, it should
belong to those who can extract the most from it. The Sarawak government
is based upon the former theory, and so far as I have observed it
honestly endeavours to help the people to govern themselves and assists
them towards a gradual bettering of their condition.

Sir Spenser St. John says: “The government of Sarawak is a kind of mild
despotism, the only government suitable to Asiatics, who look to their
chiefs as the sole depositary of supreme power. The influence of the
old Rajah still pervades the whole system, and native and European work
together in perfect harmony.” This is the judgment of one whose opinion
must always carry weight.

[Illustration: SKETCH MAP OF THE BARAM DISTRICT]




CHAPTER XIX

THE WAR-PATH OF THE KAYANS


Hose had arranged for us to go up the Limbang and the Madalam rivers,
to walk across a low watershed, and to come down the Malinau, Tutau,
and Baram to Claudetown. The greater part of this route was the ancient
war-path of the Kayans of the Baram, when they went head hunting in the
river basin of the Limbang; it is also a route by which gutta hunters
travel.

We left Limbang at eight o’clock on the morning of the 16th January in
the _Gaselle_, and steamed up the river trailing three boats behind us.
Each _goban_, or canoe, was about forty feet long, three to four feet
wide, and was covered with a palm-leaf roof. Strips of nipa palm had been
fastened together by ratan to form a kind of mat, or _kajang_; a number
of these were laid over a bamboo framework. The hull of each boat was a
large dug-out, the sides of which were heightened with boards.

For many miles up its course the river maintains the same general
character that it has at Limbang, except that it narrows and the nipa
palms which line the banks below the station are no longer to be met with.

We anchored that afternoon at Lasas, and search was made for fresh boats
and more men. One of our canoes, which leaked considerably, we wished to
replace, and we needed an extra one. Matters did not look promising at
night, but next morning, about 5.30 a.m., the requisite boats turned up,
and we started in them about eight o’clock, the steamer returning to the
fort.

The heavy goods were packed in the middle of each boat, and behind these
was the space reserved for each passenger. Four or five men paddled in
front, and one or two behind. We arrived at Tulu at five. We established
ourselves in the only house of the village, which was about a hundred
and thirty feet in length. Like most of the houses in Borneo, it was
situated on the bank of the river, and was built on piles, so that the
floor of the house was some ten feet above the ground. A log with deep
notches in it served for a ladder. On climbing up this we found ourselves
in a long gallery or verandah on the outer, or river, side of which were
placed mats. Along the verandah were one or two fireplaces, above each of
which was a small staging, and at one end of the verandah was a raised
platform used as a lounge and sleeping-place. The side of the verandah
that faced the river was more or less boarded up, but a long, narrow
opening was left of such a height that people sitting on the mats could
conveniently look out. As we paddled up the river we always saw faces
looking out at us through this opening in the various houses that we
passed; sometimes there was a long row of buff-coloured faces without any
body being visible.

On the other side of the verandah are the domiciles, each of which opens
by a separate door on to the verandah. A long house averages from four
to sixty or more distinct households, or “doors” as they are officially
termed. On the low partition walls of the domiciles were stacked large
quantities of firewood, and hanging from the rafters were loops of strips
of palm leaves ready for plaiting into mats. On the floor of the verandah
close to the walls of the homes were Chinese vases, gongs, and other
valuables, and suspended from deer antlers were parangs, bamboo boxes,
and various small articles.

The floor was composed of split bamboos placed a little distance apart,
like lattice-work. This kept the floors clean, as rubbish fell through,
and a little water spilt on the floor soon cleansed the smooth bamboo of
any dirt.

Below the house were the pigsties. The pigs were fed in wooden troughs,
which could be raised by a cord suspended from the floor of the house.
If one pig tried to get more than its share it was poked away from the
trough by a long bamboo, which passed through the flooring. When the
trough was slightly raised above the pigs’ heads the fowls could get
their meal in peace.

After our evening meal Ray brought out the phonograph and gave a
selection of Sea Dayak songs that he had obtained at Limbang. These
caused great delight. We tried to get some of the natives of the village
to sing into the machine, but they were too shy; at last one man made an
attempt, which was both feeble and brief. Then a Brunei Malay, one of our
crew, sang, but as he put his mouth too close to the trumpet the result
was rather tinny. Altogether our hosts were satisfied, and we had the
opportunity of seeing how these people express the emotion of pleasure.

We reached some rapids early the following morning; they were by no means
formidable, and merely necessitated extra exertion in paddling or in
poling. The excitement, however, was sufficient to cause the boatmen to
shriek and call out to one another. When really excited the Sea Dayak
is noisy, but not so much so, nor so demonstrative, as the Papuan. The
natives are skilled boatmen, creeping along under the banks out of the
swifter currents, and know how to take advantage of the lesser currents
in the concave side of the bends, so that the boat takes a comparatively
straight course, and as far as possible avoids the force of the stream.

On the morning of the nineteenth we entered the Madalam, an affluent
which is distinctly narrower than the main stream, and our journey up
it was more difficult, owing to the strength of the current and the
numerous rapids. We landed in the afternoon on one of the shingle beaches
or _karangang_ that occur in the concavity of a bend of the river, or
in other words, in the convexity of the bank, and immediately wood was
chopped and a fire lit, a folding table was set up, and in a very short
time a cup of afternoon tea was ready. After this we strolled about in
the jungle and on the small beach, and shortly before sunset had a swim;
there are no crocodiles to fear so far up the river. By this time our
boatmen had finished making a sleeping-shed for us. It is surprising how
quickly the natives will erect one of these huts. As there were three of
us they made the hut about ten or twelve feet long and about six feet
broad. A flooring of saplings or bamboos was raised two or three feet
off the ground by poles running lengthwise; the roof was covered with
_kajangs_ from the boats; the ends were slightly walled with boughs, but
the sides were open. This was of no consequence as the roof was low.
To make everything more secure we threw our waterproof sheets over the
_kajangs_ and others over the floorings. With a couple of blankets and a
pillow each, we had very comfortable quarters, safe from rain and damp.

We had a good dinner on the beach and turned in early.

The country we were passing through was a few years previously the scene
of a little disturbance, and I have culled the following account of it
from the _Sarawak Gazette_ (vol. xxv., 1895) in order to illustrate some
of the difficulties that the Government has had to contend against.

In December, 1894, Lahing, son of Orang Kaya Tumonggong Lawai, the chief
of the Long Patas, went from the Tutau to the Pandaruan River with the
avowed intention of collecting jungle produce, but when there, and only
three hours’ walk from the Government Station at Limbang, he murdered
three Kadayans and, with two of their heads as trophies, returned to his
father’s house on the Tutau; the third man sunk in the river directly
after he was killed, and so his head was not obtained. The heads were
feasted in the house on their arrival, and news of this having reached
the Resident of Baram, he at once ordered them to be given up and a
deposit of $1,500 to be put in the fort. This was done, but the Rajah was
not satisfied with the pledge, and ordered the Orang Kaya to pay a fine
of $2,000, and to move back to the Baram District, for in the meantime
he had shifted to the Madalam River. This the Orang Kaya refused to do,
nor would he meet the Resident of Baram, but commenced building a house
in the Madalam for himself and his people, who numbered about seventy
families, to the annoyance of the peaceable inhabitants of the district,
who had suffered on previous occasions from these men. The Resident of
Limbang sent for the Orang Kaya to come down to the fort, but he refused
to do so, and owing to the feeling of insecurity which was rife among the
people of the Limbang, and the certain prospect of future disturbances
should these men be allowed to settle in the Madalam, the Rajah decided
that force must be employed to punish the aggressors, and restore
tranquillity and confidence amongst the people in the Limbang.

The Rajah informed the Supreme Council on the 20th May, 1895, that
Orang Kaya Tumonggong Lawai and his son Lahing in former times had been
made use of by the Brunei Government for warlike purposes against the
population of the Limbang. Since their arrival in the Madalam the Orang
Kaya had on two occasions visited Brunei, where he was received in a
friendly manner by H.H. the Sultan of Brunei and his Government.

[Illustration: PLATE XXV

ORANG KAYA TUMONGGONG LAWAI, CHIEF OF THE LONG PATAS, IN WAR COSTUME,
WITH A KENYAH SHIELD

A SLEEPING HUT IN THE JUNGLE]

Under these circumstances the Rajah did not consider it safe to permit
this party to locate themselves in or near the Limbang and Brunei. He
felt sure that if they were allowed to settle there further troubles and
murders would ensue; he therefore intended to take steps to drive them
out of the locality without delay. The Rajah further stated that the
Resident of Limbang, Mr. Ricketts, had sent a message to call the Orang
Kaya Tumonggong to come and see him, but that he declined to answer to
the summons.

As regards the heads of the Kadayans murdered in Pandaruan, they were
kept and feasted in the house of Lahing and his father, but were
afterwards delivered up and sent to Baram fort with a deposit of $1,500,
which the Resident of Baram, Mr. Hose, had required from them. These were
to be detained in the fort as a guarantee for their future behaviour,
until he could learn the Rajah’s decision on the case. In a despatch
to Mr. Hose the Rajah had given instructions that either Lahing, the
murderer, or his father should be sent to Kuching to be dealt with. As
far as their lives were concerned, the deposit of money and the delivery
of the heads would render them safe, but some more certain pledge to
ensure peace for the future would be required, such as one or other of
the two men being detained as a hostage for some years in Kuching. Up to
recently the principal thing against the Orang Kaya and his followers had
been their untrustworthy characters, but now they were guilty of actual
murder. The immediate danger was that, having once committed themselves,
and having been well received since the commission of the offences at
Brunei, with its weak and anarchical state of government, they would,
if allowed to settle near Limbang, keep the peaceable inhabitants, who
depend upon Sarawak for protection, in a state of discomfort and alarm,
and this must be avoided at all hazards.

The members of Council gave their opinion that it was absolutely
necessary that these murderers should be treated as enemies, and
should be driven out of Limbang; and they hoped that the strongest
representations would be made to the Brunei Government to prevent a
recurrence of such conduct.

Towards the end of May a punitive expedition was organised, consisting of
sixty Malay and four hundred and sixty Sea Dayaks and two or three white
officials. They manned in all about forty boats.

The rebels held out a flag of truce, but the advance party on the
opposite side of the river could not see it, and it was not without much
trouble that the attacking force was checked. Only four men were killed,
and these lives would have been saved if the people had remained in the
house as they were ordered to do.

The Dayak portion of the expeditionary force having been restrained and
stationed to the rear, the Malays and Europeans advanced. Orang Kaya
Tumonggong Lawai was summoned to surrender himself, and warned that
should he refuse to do so the house would be attacked. After considerable
delay, during which he made several excuses, he came out and went to the
boats. The force then at once retired.

Lahing was found to be absent with a body of men in Baram, whither they
had gone to bring over the remainder of the property from their old house.

The rebels had received news of the advance of the expedition on the day
previous to its arrival. There were evident signs of an intention of
showing resistance, but the Government forces came upon the Orang Kaya
too suddenly for this, as he was not properly prepared, and many of his
men were away. The reason given for this attack upon the Pandaruan people
was that they had killed two Punans who were under the Orang Kaya; but
this story was false, the true reason being that the Long Patas heard
that the Kenyahs had killed several Sea Dayaks before, and they followed
their example.

       *       *       *       *       *

Our men got up at daylight on Friday, January 20th, and lit fires. We
had breakfast about 6.45, and started again a little before eight. About
8.35 we were stopped by a tree that had fallen across the river, and it
took an hour to cut through it. Had tiffin about noon, as usual on a
shingle beach. Shortly afterwards we passed some low cliffs, and at three
were stopped by a karangang across the river; but the men by removing
the bigger stones soon cleared a passage, through which they dragged the
boats. Near here wild mangoes grow on the steep banks. The fruit has a
pleasant aromatic odour, but I did not much care for the flavour. Still,
a little fresh fruit was an agreeable change.

We had a very heavy day on Saturday, or rather the boatmen had, as the
Madalam was little more than a succession of shallows, up which the boats
had either to be poled or hauled. At one place there was a steep, rocky
rapid, indeed a cascade, where we had to unship all our baggage while the
boats were hauled up a miniature waterfall. All day the men were nearly
as often in the water as out of it; they worked very well and cheerfully.
We stopped that afternoon at the junction of the Trunan (or Trikan) with
the Madalam.

_Sunday, January 22nd._—The Trikan is a very narrow river—practically a
stream. We were now no longer bothered with shallows or rapids, but with
trees that had fallen across the channel. Some of these we crept under,
others were well above our heads, some we dodged round, while others had
to be cut away.

We passed some durian trees, and the ripe fruit was floating in the water
or had fallen on to the banks. Our men collected these with joy, and
soon we had the extremely unpleasant odour of durian around us. Durian
is a large fruit with long, hard spines. When ripe it is yellow and
red externally; the thick rind has to be chopped open, and within four
compartments are the large bean-like seeds, surrounded by a slimy paste
which has a variable and indescribable taste. The first durian we tasted
was on the steam launch going to Brunei; this was not quite ripe, and
the stink of the fruit, combined with the hot oily smell of the engines,
was not encouraging. We persevered, but the flavour was a mixture of
slime, onions, and phosphorus, and all that afternoon and evening we had
resurrection tastes of phosphorus. Wallace, in his _Malay Archipelago_,
and others, have written in praise of durian; so there is another side
to it, but our first experience was certainly not promising. The one I
tasted in the Trikan was nothing like so unpleasant as the first two
I tried. I made three attempts in all, and then gave up all hope of
becoming a confirmed durian eater.

In about two and a half hours we came to a narrow channel, about five
hundred yards long, cut by the Kayans for the passage of the war canoes,
as the stream itself runs under a large rock. Shortly after passing this
rock we heard a shout; we yelled, an answer was returned, and we were
rejoiced to find we had made connection with the party sent to meet us.

It appears that Hose had left for the interior before hearing from
Limbang that we had arrived. He took McDougall with him, as the famous
and powerful chief, Tama Bulan, was very ill. Mr. R. S. Douglas, the
Extra Officer of Baram, read Mr. Ricketts’ letter, and kindly came on
himself with some men to meet us. He had started on Tuesday, the 17th,
and arrived at the trysting-place half an hour before we did! He had
gone about a hundred and ten miles by boat, and we had gone about ninety
miles. The greater part of both our routes had been difficult travelling,
and yet everything was so well arranged by Messrs. Hose, Ricketts, and
Douglas that we synchronously arrived at the spot agreed upon in the
depth of the jungle.

We soon settled our plans and then had tiffin. At two o’clock we started
for our tramp across the watershed to the upper waters of the Malinau
River. For about half-way we followed the track cut by the Kayans, along
which they used to haul their canoes, and to facilitate this arduous
labour they had lain trunks and poles transversely across the track. We
had a rapid and interesting seven-mile walk through the jungle, and I
made my first acquaintance with land leeches. We diverged from the main
track to a narrower one, which led us several times over streams and
small rivers, across which we had to wade.

About five o’clock we had reached the hut that Douglas had previously
erected at the head waters of the Malinau. As the carriers could not
transport the whole of our luggage on one trip we had to wait over the
following day for them to fetch the remainder of our goods.

On the morning of January 24th we crossed the river and strolled in the
jungle. Being what is known as “Old Jungle,” it was much more easy to
walk in than “New Jungle,” as the tall forest trees, by cutting off light
and air, prevent a dense undergrowth from springing up. Wherever land has
been cleared and then allowed to revert to jungle the undergrowth has a
chance, and a practically impenetrable tangled mass of vegetation results.

For the first time I saw various species of pitcher plants growing wild;
some grow close to the ground, others climb to a height of about six
feet. We also came across the forest paths made by wild pigs and by deer.
Even in full sunshine the forests are dull and gloomy, and the lower
vegetation reeks with moisture.

These jungles are inhabited by the simple nomadic Punans, who build rough
shelters in which they sleep for a few nights, and then wander again in
search of game and camphor trees.

As the last of our baggage did not come till midday, we could not start
till after tiffin. Douglas and I went in the smallest boat, and it was
very interesting shooting the very numerous rapids. How different it
was going down stream compared with the laborious journey against the
current! The boatmen built in a remarkably short time a very large hut to
accommodate the whole party for the night.

We started at 6.30 a.m. on Wednesday, January 25th, passing Batu Jilama
about seven o’clock. The river here flows past fine vertical limestone
cliffs five hundred feet in height. The Dayaks have a legend about a
winged ghost-tiger (_remaung_), which is supposed to inhabit the caves
in these cliffs, and to fly from one side of the river to the other. The
Dayaks are very fond of these tiger stories, but as this is not the Sea
Dayak country we need not believe this particular yarn.

A short distance before the Malinau joins the Tutau there is a bluff in
which is an old burial cave called Lobang Tulang. Hose and McDougall had
already visited it, and had brought away two skulls and a great many
bones, which must have belonged to at least thirty individuals. Douglas
and I clambered up the cave and had a look round. The cave was a small
one; great stalactites depended from the face of the cliff, which was
largely clothed with vegetation. There was a beautiful view of the bend
of the river and of the Mulu range beyond. That evening we slept in a
Long-Pata house on the Tutau opposite the entrance of the Malinau.

We left early the following morning, had a halt for breakfast at 7.45,
and travelled steadily all day, not landing again till we reached the
Umu Belubu house. This long house was very similar to those we visited
on the Limbang River. In the evening we had some borak, a ginlike spirit
made from rice, and Ray gave the inhabitants some native songs on the
phonograph, and I copied some patterns. This was the first time I had
come across people belonging to the Kayan group. Douglas and I were
tattooed on the arm early next morning by Balu Long who is perhaps the
best tattooer in the Baram District; she is the old mother-in-law of the
chief. The pattern was printed on the arm in charcoal or rather soot by
means of a wooden slab on which the design was cut in relief, and then
the impression was gone over three times with a tattooing needle tapped
by an iron rod. The whole process took a little over an hour. It was by
no means painful, and as we had previously disinfected the ink with
thymol, the punctured skin healed quickly with very little inflammation.

The Kayan men have a device tattooed on the fore-arm and thigh; very
frequently there is a rosette or circular design on the shoulder. The
back of the hand and fingers are tattooed when the man has taken a head.
More than once up-country women have asked me when I was going to have my
hands tattooed!

The Kayan women are tattooed all over the fore-arm and over the back of
the hand. The thighs are richly tattooed and the upper surface of the
foot and toes.

We left our friends in this house about ten o’clock, and reached Batu
Blah about three o’clock. Here the natives were building a large
long-house, and in the meantime resided in comparatively small houses.
Close by the village was a small cemetery, in which was one pillar tomb
boldly carved with spiral designs below a human face. It was the funeral
post of a chief, whose body was pressed into a jar let into the top of
the pillar.

[Illustration: FIG. 30.

KAYAN TATTOO DESIGNS.

A little less than half natural size.]

We had tea here, and then proceeded on our journey. About six we reached
the elongated house of the Orang Bukit at Long Linai. The Orang Bukits
are a branch of the Kadayans, but, unlike the Kadayans of the coast, they
are not Mohammedans. The _Lucille_, the Government river steamer for the
Baram district, was waiting for us here.

After dinner we witnessed a most interesting Berantu ceremony, a magical
ritual, which was employed in this instance to cure a sick woman.

[Illustration: PLATE XXVI

ASCENDING A RAPID

HOUSE OF THE ORANG BUKITS AT LONG LINAI, TUTAU RIVER]

Towards one end of the long verandah the floor was covered with mats,
in the centre of which and depending from a rafter was a streamer
(_lare_) of the frayed leaves of the areca palm; beneath, and partially
covered by the ends of the _lare_, was a brass Brunei salver, on which
were placed various folded cloths and garments. Around the salver were
distributed the spathe of the blossoms of the areca palm containing the
flower spikes, some leaves of the serimbangung and daunlong (a caladium),
a wooden image of a woman (_anak jilama_), an empty whisky bottle, two
small Chinese saucers, and a _maligai_, or house for the spirit.

To one side was a row of eight or nine gongs, suspended from a long
horizontal pole raised three or four feet from the floor, and close by
were several drums and a set of _geling tamgan_, or hand gongs, which
were beaten with two sticks, one in each hand of the performer. At one
end of the cleared space was a torch (_lutong_) of dammar supported in a
ratan framework, and at the other end was a small lamp.

[Illustration: FIG. 31. BERANTU CEREMONY ON THE ORANG BUKIT]

The chief medicine-man, whom we will call “A,” came and sat with crossed
legs in front of the altar, as the arrangement of the objects may be
conveniently called. He hid his face behind a fan (_kipas_) and murmured
incantations, every now and again calling the spirit by a chirruping
noise.

He wore a _detta_ as a turban, a white _blatchu_ over the right shoulder,
a Javanese _sarong_, and striped silk _seluar_ (trousers).

After a little time another man and two women came. The man (“B”) brought
a salver containing some cloths. When he had deposited this near the
other he lifted up some of the cloths and burnt incense (_kamanyan_)
below them.

On his head he had a Javanese _detta_, a piece of red _kasumba_, and a
piece of white cloth, the ends of which hung down his back; for the
rest he was dressed like the other medicine-man, but had in addition a
Sea Dayak bead belt (_tali pinggang marik_). The women were dressed in
the Mĕlanau fashion with Brunei sashes. One was a particularly beautiful
example of gold brocade (_kain benang mas_). This woman, whom I will term
“C,” had also a kasumba round her head.

During all this time the drums and gongs were beaten by women.

The man “B” and the women “C” and “D” sat down in this order, and
solemnly made their incantations with their fans in front of their faces.
The man “A” stood up, and while continuing his incantations he slowly and
gracefully waved his white cloth and fan, and occasionally put the edge
of the latter to his lips and chirruped to the spirit. He then walked
round the altar, left hand to centre, with a slow, dancing movement, the
body being held upright but the head bowed. The other three sat still
and covered their faces with their fans. To avoid repetition, I may here
state that during the whole time the incantations were made there was an
incessant booming, clanging accompaniment of drums and gongs.

The principal female attendant (“C”) and the other two got up and faced
“A,” who was seated now and slowly fanning himself. The latter arose, and
all gently swayed backwards and forwards, and very slowly processioned
round the altar. The movement consisted of a sedate walk, the heel being
slightly lifted two or three times at each shuffling step. After several
revolutions all sat down; later they stood up again.

The chief magician (“A”) took a mouthful of water and spat it over the
chest of the sick woman, who was sitting close by. He had previously been
chewing betel, so that he might be able to make a large red splash on the
woman’s bosom. He then patted her on the breast and head. He next took
the areca blossom from the spathe and held it over her head, and made
passes in front of her with it, ever and again stroking her head with it.

The attendants sat down while the chief woman (“C”) stood by the operator
(“A”); both then walked round the altar, the man still carrying the areca
blossom, which he solemnly waved about.

The whole process was repeated with the green leaves from the altar by
“B.” The others sat down and chirruped frequently.

The second female attendant (“D”) made passes over the chest of a boy
who was also ill. The two men (“A” and “B”) and the woman “C” then went
round the altar. The latter went to the female patient, while the others
continued their procession.

The medicine-man “A” took a knife and lightly pressed the edge of it
along the throat and chest of the patient, and placed it on the wooden
image. He then took the two saucers and, as it were, scraped the bad
blood from the wound supposed to have been caused by the knife, off
the chest of the woman with one saucer and poured it into the other.
Eventually the pretended blood was caught between the two saucers, which
were kept closed, the one on the top of the other, face to face. Having
put the saucers down, he waved the fan about and made passes over the
woman’s throat and chest, and finally he appeared to pick up the sickness
with the edge of the fan.

The two attendants (“B” and “D”) retired; later the female magician (“C”)
felt herself all over, and looked as if she had just awakened. When her
senses appeared to return to her, she took off her red and gold Brunei
sash, and then retired for a minute or two.

The medicine-man (“A”) next walked round the altar and took up the image
and the folded white cloth on which it lay; the latter he tied into a
sling which hung from his neck, and into this loop he placed the image,
which meanwhile had been held by the chief woman. He then stood in front
of the altar with his fan in front of his face.

The female magician (“C”) gave “A” a kris with which to fight the evil
spirit. His movements became rapid, and he jumped about flourishing the
weapon. While this battle with the unseen powers was taking place, the
woman put a pillow on the floor beside the altar, and placed on it the
flower of the areca palm. In front of the pillow she placed a basket, and
beside this the salver with cloths. “A” then placed the white cloth with
the image beside the basket. By this time he had slowly walked round the
objects and stood facing them on the far side. All the time the female
magician had been talking to him, telling him to make his incantations
thoroughly, so as to cure the patient; now she sat down and occasionally
talked to him.

The man next sat down, and later stood up and danced a little. He then
caught the wandering soul of the sick woman in his scarf over the salver
of cloths, and scooped it off the salver with his fan and poured it into
his scarf.

All the objects being removed from in front of the pillow, the magician
made a number of quick movements, advancing towards and retreating from
the pillow. The pillow was next removed, and the man jumped over the spot
where it had lain. He returned to where he was before, and then walked
back to his original position on the other side of the altar, and went to
the patient, made passes over and in front of her, and took the spirit
from his sash and put it on her head.

The female magician tied a handkerchief round the patient’s head and
retired, the patient too slipped away into a private apartment.

As soon as he noticed the patient had gone, the medicine-man went about
in a blind sort of way to look for her; then he rummaged among the
objects which constituted the altar, and tossed the cloths about. The
female magician gave him the image, telling him this was the patient.
He dumped it up and down on the floor and flourished it about in a
very excited manner, apparently not at all satisfied with the repeated
assurances of the female magician that this was really the sick woman. At
length the patient was recalled, and the medicine-man sat in front of her
and gave her some charms.

What we saw was only one incident in a protracted ceremony. The whole
operation extends over some three weeks. The chief woman magician (“C”)
was an expert, but the other two (“B” and “D”) were admittedly learning
the business.

Hose afterwards informed me that the Berantu ceremony belongs essentially
to the coast tribes, and it is only near the coast that one sees it
carried out with the most complete ritual.

Like other expert medical treatment, this “cure” was very expensive;
probably the patient would have to pay as a fee a Chinese gong of a value
of some three or four dollars, plates, cups, and other articles, to say
nothing of numerous fowls.

It would require a prolonged study of the complete ceremony to understand
the meaning of the ritual. The portion that I saw may perhaps thus be
explained.

First the spirits who might assist in the cure were invoked; then the
magician ripped open the neck and chest of the woman and collected the
blood and picked up the spirit of the sickness with his fan. In the
meantime I believe the spirit of the woman was resting in the _maligai_,
the spirit, or soul, house.

With his kris the magician fought and conquered the evil spirits.

The patient’s spirit was next caught by the magician in his scarf, and
holding it safely he jumped across the spot where a pillow had lain, and
beside which the wooden image was placed. I do not know what this act
symbolised. Her own spirit was next returned to the patient.

The magician next appeared to be himself possessed by the spirit of the
disease, and he blindly and clumsily searched among the paraphernalia
of the altar, and tossed the cloths about, vainly endeavouring to
discover the victim. The female magician then offered him the wooden
image, telling him it was the patient herself, and, further to call his
attention to it, she bounced it up and down, making the Chinese bell,
which was tied round its waist, tinkle as she banged it on the floor.
Eventually he appeared convinced against his will, and the spirit of the
disease entered into the effigy.

The magician then came to himself, and going to the sick woman, who had
just returned, gave her charms to keep the evil spirit from returning.

We left Long Linai early on the twenty-eighth in the steamer and arrived
at Marudi (Claudetown) at eleven o’clock a.m.—very glad to be at our
journey’s end. The rest of the day was spent in unpacking, settling in
and reading a heavy mail.

In the evening Aban Tingan, the brother of the great Kenyah chief Tama
Bulan, and several of his countrymen turned up at the Residency, and we
had a great drinking evening in true Kenyah style, chanting speeches
while presenting a drink, moving the glass backwards and forwards till
the time comes for the actual drinking. Whilst the glass is being drained
at a gulp all shout in a peculiar manner. It was really a most effective
performance, and might with advantage be introduced at home.

I felt it to be an appropriate, though quite an unarranged, welcome to
Marudi. Ray gave a phonographic performance, and not very late in the
evening Aban Tingan arrived at a well-known garrulous stage, and, later
on, he did not realise that we should be glad if he departed.




CHAPTER XX

THE COUNTRY AND PEOPLE OF BORNEO


(_a_) THE GEOGRAPHICAL AND GEOLOGICAL FEATURES OF BORNEO

The centre of Borneo does not appear to be occupied by one great central
continuous range of old folded mountains, but by numerous more or less
isolated peaks and ridges which rise in linear series from a medley
of hills. These high mountain islands not only occur in the higher
hill-land, but many rise up from the low hills that merge into great
coastal plains.

The central mountains radiate from Gunong Tebang, which lies in lat. 3°
N. and long. 115° 3′ 25″. From this central watershed an axial ridge
proceeds north-eastwards, and culminates in Kina Balu, 4,175 m. (13,698
feet), the highest mountain in the island. A south-east ridge ends at
Cape Kaniongan. An irregular southerly chain terminates in the Island
Pulo Laut and in Cape Salatan. A broad south-westerly series of mountains
stretches toward Cape Sambar; a more westerly branch of the latter
system curves round to the north and terminates at Cape Datu. The latter
watershed constitutes the boundary between Sarawak and Dutch Borneo.

On account of the peculiar configuration of mountain masses and divides,
Borneo contains a number of extensive and distinct river basins, which
radiate from the eccentric mountain centre.

The mountains proper are surrounded by hill-land, which gradually becomes
lower towards the plains. Schwaner states that “these hills do not form
ranges inclosing plains and valleys, nor are they very defined as regards
height and form. They may be described as an aggregate of rounded or
extended masses, often with very steep sides. Their usual height seldom
exceeds 200 to 300 feet; only in the neighbourhood of the divide do they
become higher and give the country a more mountainous character.” The
hill-land also sends spurs into the low-lying plains, which appear as
outliers.

[Illustration: GEOLOGICAL SKETCH MAP OF BORNEO. AFTER POSEWITZ]

The great plains extend from the hill-land to the sea. Towards the hills
there is dry flat land which gradually passes into swamps. Several
travellers describe swamps and marshes at the foot of the hills and
even in the mountain land. “On the other hand,” as Posewitz points out,
“outlines of the dry flat land stretch far into the swampy lowlands, and
isolated high-lying districts are then formed in the middle of marshy
low-lying plains.”


THE GEOLOGY OF THE “MOUNTAIN LAND”


_PALÆOZOIC_

Very little is accurately known about the geology of the “mountain
land” of Borneo. The mountain chains and their spurs are composed of
crystalline schists, the so-called “old slate formations,” which may be
of Devonian age, and the igneous rocks; among the latter are granites,
diorites, gabbros, and serpentines. The two latter appear to belong
rather to the spurs.

Verbeek distinguishes in Sumatra between an “old slate formation” and a
“younger slate formation” which he includes in the Lower Carboniferous
Culm Measures. He is of opinion that perhaps part of the schists of the
older group are of Archæan age, but that the greater part are Silurian or
Devonian, or a mixture of both.

In Borneo there are hornblende schists, mica schists, and quartzites,
which are likely to be Archæan, as there is no evidence for including
these rocks as Devonian. A part of the quartzite schist and phyllites are
perhaps Archæan, while another part may belong to the Devonian.

In Sumatra it is not always possible to separate the Culm Measures
sharply from the slates of the “old slate formation.” On the other hand,
the unconformity between the limestone facies of the Lower Carboniferous
and the “old slates” is clearly visible. Indeed, part of the “old slates”
in Borneo perhaps belongs to the Culm Measures in such districts as
British North Borneo and Sarawak.

The old crystalline rocks are very generally gold-bearing.

Deposits of the Carboniferous Formation usually form a broad zone
flanking on their northern aspect the older Palæozoic rocks that
constitute the backbone of the island. The Carboniferous rocks consist
mainly of sandstones and limestones, which must not be confused with
those of the Eocene Formation.

The older sandstone is coarse grained, and not very ferruginous: it rises
to 4,000 feet; while the Tertiary sandstone, as far as is at present
known, only constitutes a “hill-land” of very moderate altitude.

The older limestones are characterised by their hardness and bluish
colour; usually they do not contain fossils, except in isolated
localities; and the rocks are traversed by numerous calcite veins and by
ore-bearing quartz veins. In Sarawak the veins mostly contain antimony;
in Sabah iron pyrites and copper pyrites. Like the Tertiary coral reefs,
the older bands of limestone are full of caves, which, by-the-by, contain
edible swifts’ nests; but while the Tertiary rocks only attain a height
of 200 to 300 feet, the Carboniferous limestones reach as much as 1,200
feet. In places greenish or reddish slates are intercalated in the
limestone, or the latter alternates with sandstone.

Although the Carboniferous Formation is clearly marked off from the
Tertiary beds above it, this is not the case, as has been already noted,
with its lower boundary. In many cases beds of the Culm type cannot
at present be distinguished from the “old slate formation.” There is
much doubt as to the horizon to which in any given case a quartz schist
or slate belongs, and the same is the case with the old sandstone. In
Western Sarawak, which, with the “Chinese Districts” of West Borneo,
forms an immense mountain island, the sandstone is certainly Devonian,
and it may be of interest to note that these beds contain quicksilver.


_MESOZOIC_

No Secondary Formations have been described from Sarawak, though Jurassic
and Cretaceous rocks occur in Dutch Borneo.


THE GEOLOGY OF THE “HILL-LAND”


_CAINOZOIC_

The Tertiary “hill-land” forms a belt round the mountain land, which in
some places reaches to the sea, but in others is separated from it by
wide alluvial plains. It has been mentioned that the hill-land not only
surrounds the mountain land, but also penetrates within it, connecting
the separate chains; and it also surrounds isolated mountain chains.

From a geotectonic standpoint, the Tertiary hill-land only averages 200
to 300 feet. Towards the border of the mountains the hills become higher
where they are of Eocene Age; towards the plains their height diminishes,
and they form low ranges of Miocene or Pliocene Age.

Verbeek systematised as well as added to the labours of Horner, Schwaner,
and C. de Groot, and established a threefold division of the older
Tertiary beds for the south of Borneo.

1. _Sandstone Stage._—The lowermost beds are predominantly sandstones,
and contain the “Indian coal” seams. The sandstones are usually of a
white or yellow colour, and always contain flakes of a silvery-white
mica; the cement is argilaceous. They are probably derived from mica
schists. Alternating with them are bands of shale, carbonaceous shale,
and coal. The sandstone beds are much pierced and faulted by younger
eruptive rocks.

2. _Marl Stage._—Among yellowish-white sandstones are the following beds:
bluish-grey “Letten” and shales without fossils; bluish-grey “Letten”
with crustacean remains; grey Marl, with marl-clay nodules, often of the
large size and very full of fossils. The percentage of lime in these beds
increases from below upwards.

3. _Limestone Stage._—This stage consists of a hard whitish or bluish
limestone rich in fossils, and contains numerous nummulites.

All the above strata are pierced in numerous places by basalts and
hornblende-augite-andesites, the intrusion of which has disturbed their
bedding. The andesites are always accompanied by widespread deposits of
tuffs and volcanic agglomerates.

Verbeek[3] has recently recast his original allocation of these beds,
and now he regards the “Sandstone Stage” as Eocene; the “Marl Stage” as
Oligocene (Nari group of India); and the “Limestone Stage” to the later
Miocene.

Above the andesites are later Tertiary shales and sandstones, which were
previously regarded as of Miocene Age, but Verbeek now assigns them to
the Pliocene. A lower band of shales and an upper series of sandstones
can be distinguished; beds of a true brown coal are often present.

The Tertiary geology of Sarawak has chiefly been elucidated by A. H.
Everett, but a great deal more remains to be done. In the district of the
Sarawak River a hilly formation, comprising sandstones and limestones,
extends from the coast to the mountains at the boundary. Exact details as
to its composition are as yet wanting; we only know that the coal-bearing
sandstone of the Eocene occurs, and that there are Tertiary coral reefs.
The limestone beds, which appear to occur sporadically in Sarawak, are
penetrated by numerous caves; they dip at a high angle and contain many
fossils.

Intrusions of andesite have been found in the district of the Upper
Sarawak River. These recent eruptive rocks have often disturbed the
bedding of the coal-bearing strata. They are described as basalts and
felspar-porphyrites, occurring in hills, or as dykes in the lowlands.

In the Bay of Brunei the Tertiary coal-bearing sandstone hills extend
down to the coast. Coal is now worked at a mine close to Brooketown,
whence it is exported.

The Limbang River, in its lower and middle course, traverses a hilly
country, the elevations rising from 500 to 1,500 feet in height, and
consisting of hard sandstone, which contains coal in places, as in the
Madalam tributary. Limestone rocks are also found in the middle course of
the Limbang. In part they are Tertiary coral reefs, in part older rocks.

On the island of Labuan the Tertiary beds are greatly developed and
contain coal. The Rev. J. E. Tenison-Woods (_Nature_, April 23, 1885)
has stated that “the Labuan coals are probably of Oolite age, and not
connected with any marine formation, but apparently of Eolian origin.” I
am not aware that this view has received any support or confirmation.

Concretions of clay-ironstone are often present in the shales.


THE GEOLOGY OF THE PLAINS


_QUATERNARY_

Fringing the Tertiary beds almost continuously round Borneo, and often
extending into broad bands, are the earlier Quaternary beds, which are
to be regarded as shore deposits. These deposits constitute the great
coastal plains of Borneo, and were laid down during the last partial
submergence of the island. In part they form flat districts, in part
gently undulating plains.

In general the composition is everywhere the same. The highest bed
consists of a partly sandy clay, which towards the bottom becomes
more sandy, the sand grains at the same time increasing in size. The
conglomerates consist mainly of quartz pebbles, but also of pebbles of
different igneous rocks, such as gabbro, diorite, granite, etc.; they
also contain pebbles of the Tertiary strata, such as sandstones, coral
limestone, etc. Between these pebbles there is more or less of a clayey
earth, containing gold, diamonds, platinum, magnetic iron ore, and
chromite. The pebbly bed is often united by a very hard siliceous cement.

Towards the sea these deposits merge into marshy lowlands. While flowing
through the later alluvium the rivers have low banks, but in the earlier
Quaternary beds they flow between high, perpendicular, clay walls, in
a narrow gully. The bedding is horizontal, or, at the border of the
hill-land, only slightly inclined.


THE GEOLOGY OF THE MARSHES


_ALLUVIUM_

The river deposits show their greatest development in south Borneo,
where they form extended marshy plains. They are next best exemplified
in west Borneo; while they are least developed in the east and north.
They are composed of a dark brown, black, or bluish clay, which is often
rich in humus in its upper layers; in the lower layers it is of a harder
consistency. It is often mixed with, or traversed by, seams of sand; the
latter, as a rule, occurring on a lower level. The boundary with the
older Quaternary cannot be sharply drawn.

The bog formation and the marsh-land of the lower river courses of north
Borneo are of less account than in the south and west owing to the great
development of the sea sand, which hinders the formation of morasses.
They occur only in the river deltas, some of which are of considerable
extent. The great delta of the Rejang is a morass, and the swamps can
only be travelled over by boats. On the Baram the alluvium extends for
about a hundred miles from the coast.

The sea-sand formation extends from Sarawak as a long, broad strip of
sand dunes, right along the coast, excepting the river mouths.


(_b_) A SKETCH OF THE ETHNOGRAPHY OF SARAWAK.

We have not at present sufficient precise information to be able to
speak with certainty concerning the characters and affinities of all the
races and peoples that inhabit Borneo. One of our objects in visiting
Sarawak was the hope that by measuring a large number of people, and by
recording their physical features, we might help towards a solution of
the ethnic problems; we also hoped that further light might be thrown
on the matter by a comparative study of their customs, beliefs, as well
as of their arts and crafts. Our stay was of too short a duration, and
the ground we covered was not sufficiently extensive for us to do much
in this regard, and our physical results have yet to be fully worked
out. Fortunately Hose has made a prolonged and careful study of Bornean
ethnography, and when his voluminous manuscripts are published we shall
be in a much better position to pronounce on the subject. In the meantime
one must remain content with Ling Roth’s great compilation, _The Natives
of Sarawak and British North Borneo_.

In the following sketch of the ethnography of Sarawak I have purposely
dealt with the subject on broad lines only, since if we understand the
main features first we shall be the better able to formulate the real
problems, and this is a necessary first step towards their elucidation.
As most of the peoples that inhabit Borneo have representatives in
Sarawak, this sketch may be taken to apply provisionally to the island as
a whole.

Scattered over a considerable part of the jungle of Sarawak live the
nomad Punans. They are a slender people, of moderate height, and paler
in colour than most tribes. They were the lightest coloured of the
indigenous people that we met with in Sarawak; many have a distinct
greenish tinge. Those that we measured were slightly broad-headed, with
an average cephalic index of 81. The Ukit may be allied to the Punan,
but none of them have been measured as yet. Their mode of life is very
similar.

The wild Punans are grouped in small communities, and inhabit the dense
jungle at the head waters of the principal rivers of Borneo. They do not
cultivate the soil, but live on whatever they can find in the jungle.
There is so much that is edible in the jungle that there is no fear of
starvation, especially as these people live on a very mixed diet.

[Illustration: PLATE XXVII

PUNANS

A LELAK MAN, WITH TYPICAL TATTOOING ON SHOULDERS AND UPPER ARMS]

Their few wants are supplied by barter from friendly settled peoples, and
in return for iron implements, calico, beads, tobacco, etc., they offer
jungle produce, mainly gutta, indiarubber, camphor, dammar, and ratans.
They do not live in permanent houses, but erect miserable shanties in
which they sleep.

They are very mild savages, they are not head-hunters, do not keep
slaves, are generous to one another, are moderately truthful, and
probably never do an injury by purposely making a false statement.
On first acquaintance they appear melancholy, and certainly shy and
timid-looking, but when they have gained confidence they show themselves
in their true colours as a cheerful, bright people, who are very fond of
their children and kind to the women.

It is probable that eight hundred or a thousand years ago the greater
portion of Sarawak, perhaps the whole of it, was occupied by a weak,
agricultural people, who are now represented by the Land Dayak, Sĕbop,
Malang, Kanauit, Mĕlanau, Narom, Kadayan, Kajaman, Lelak, Long Kiput,
Batu Blah, Long Pata, Barawan, Kalabit, Dusun, and Murut. For this group
Hose and I propose the term Kalamantan.

From the measurements we have made of some of these tribes there is no
doubt that they were not all originally of one stock. Some are distinctly
narrow-headed, others are inclined to be broad-headed. As Hose and
myself propose dealing at some length elsewhere with the problem of the
ethnology of Sarawak, I will not here anticipate our discussion further
than to state that I believe it can be demonstrated that among this
primitive population, as indeed in most, if not in all, of the larger
islands of the Malay Archipelago, there are two stocks, one of which
is distinctly narrow-headed, and to which we may restrict the name
of _Indonesian_; the other being broad-headed, and to which the term
_Proto-Malay_ may conveniently be applied.

Hose states that the Muruts, according to their own traditions, migrated
from the Philippines. They are essentially of Indonesian stock, as are
also, I believe, the Land Dayaks. Probably it will be ultimately shown
that this dual element existed in very early times in the country, but it
has been blurred by intermarriage and by contact with immigrant peoples,
some of whom belonged to one or other or even a mixture of these two
stocks.

I do not intend to refer to even the main tribes of this group of
peoples; but I must allude to the Land Dayaks in order to emphasise their
distinctness from the Iban or Sea Dayaks.

My acquaintance with the Land Dayaks is of the slightest, and I have
had no opportunity of measuring any of them. Hose has given a Land
Dayak woman’s skull to the Cambridge Museum; its cranial index is 71·3.
Apparently they belong to a native stock that has been crossed with
Indo-Javan races; but they are not related in any way to the Iban. They
occupy the western end of the Raj as far as the Upper Sadong River; they
also extend into Dutch Borneo.

Brooke Low, who knew them well, gives a very favourable account of these
people, and this opinion has been confirmed by other travellers. They are
described as amiable, honest, grateful, moral, and hospitable. Crimes of
violence, other than head-hunting, are unknown. It is uncertain whether
the custom of head-hunting was indigenous to them, or adopted from the
Iban; probably it was an older custom than the arrival of the Iban, but
which had gradually increased until it was stopped by Rajah Brooke. The
Land Dayaks, alone in Sarawak, permanently kept the heads in a separate
house, which also served as the bachelors’ quarters.

The following account of the dealings of the Malays with the Land Dayaks,
which I have taken from _The Sarawak Gazette_ (Vol. xxiv., 1894, p. 98),
proves that the latter are rather easily imposed upon.

The Sarawak Malay can as a rule get on very fairly well with the Land
Dayak—better, perhaps, than he can with the Sea Dayaks up coast; he can
“_pèjal_,” that is, he can force his wares upon those who really have no
use for them, or who are not particularly in want of the goods hawked by
the Malay pedlar. Whilst the Land Dayak is turning over his mind as to
whether he will purchase or not, the seller sits patiently by smoking
and singing the praises of his wares. A Land Dayak usually takes a
considerable time in forming his mind in making a purchase, but time is
of no particular object to either party, and the bargain is completed.
The pedlar having obtained the customary cent. per cent. packs up his
baggage and departs to the next house or village as the case may be.

But the present Malay system of trading with the Land Dayaks is rotten
to the core. Land Dayak _bintings_, or villages, are perpetually
being visited, and the commonest articles of trade thrust upon them at
exorbitant rates, which they could purchase ever so much cheaper at any
of the numerous Chinese shops scattered through the river, and which are
easily accessible in a day’s journey, even from the remotest Land Dayak
habitation; such commodities as waist cloths (_chawats_) and petticoats
(_jamu_) trimmed with a little Turkey-red cloth are sold previous to
the rice harvest to be repaid in _padi_ at many times their respective
values; nor does it end here, the purchaser being expected to deliver
his payment at the house of the Malay merchant, entailing perhaps a long
journey on foot or miles of boat travelling, and again he is expected to
fully provide for those traders stopping in his house, such necessaries
as rice, firewood, provisions, and the like, which he does without the
slightest grumbling.

       *       *       *       *       *

According to Hose, the Kenyahs and Kayans migrated into Sarawak from
Dutch Borneo several hundred years ago, and he has previously published
his opinion that the Kenyahs migrated into the Baram River some hundred
years or so before the Kayans; they were the only people able to resist
the constant raids made by the blustering and warlike Kayans, who almost
exterminated the smaller tribes, and made slaves of the weaker ones.
Naturally the Kayans occupied the best tracts of lands which lay in
the undulating hills between the swampy low country and the mountains
at the head waters of the rivers. They also confiscated all the caves
of the esculent swifts, selling their nests to the traders whenever a
Brunei Malay or Chinaman dared to venture up-river amongst them. Kayans
often travelled as far as Brunei in their long boats, and some few even
ventured as far as Singapore to sell the produce of these caves, taking
passage in Chinese junks from Labuan.

All the tribes, except the Punans and Ukits, are agriculturists; they
clear the jungle off the low hills that flank the tributaries of the
large rivers, but always leave a few scattered trees standing; irrigation
is attempted by the Kalabits only, as the _padi_ (rice) is grown like any
other cereal on dry ground; swamp _padi_ is also grown in the lowland.
In their gardens they grow yams, pumpkins, sugar cane, bananas, and
sometimes coconuts and other produce. They hunt all land animals that
serve as food, and fish, usually with nets, in the rivers, or spear
the fish that have been stupefied with tuba; river prawns are also a
favourite article of diet.

They all live in long communal houses, which are situated on the banks of
the rivers. I have already described this type of dwelling, but although
the different tribes have their own peculiar modifications, the same
general plan is adhered to.

The social organisation is correspondingly higher than among Punans.
Amongst the small Kalamantan tribes the headman has not much influence,
unless he be a man of exceptional power and energy, but among the larger
tribes, and especially among the Kayans and Kenyahs, the headmen are real
chiefs, and exercise an undisputed sway. In some cases a pre-eminent man
will be acknowledged as the head chief of a considerable district.

Of all these tribes the Kenyahs are perhaps the highest in social
evolution. By their superior solidarity and their undoubted intelligence
they were able to hold their own against the turbulent Kayans. They
are the most expert boatmen of the Baram district, and, what is very
significant, the women are less shy than is the case among other tribes.
Indeed, some of the girls and young women—for example, those in Tama
Bulan’s house—are particularly friendly and lively, but always behave in
a really ladylike way.

All these agricultural tribes are artistic, but in varying degrees. They
are all musical people, and sing delightful chorus songs. Many of their
utensils are decorated with no mean skill. In some tribes the ends of the
beams of the houses are carved to represent various animals; in some the
verandah is decorated with boldly carved planks, or with painted boards
and doors. The bamboo receptacles are often carved in low relief in very
effective patterns, and the bone handles of the _parangs_ are always
carved in an intricate manner. Lastly, the minor utensils of daily life
are often decorated in a way that reveals the true artistic spirit, such,
for example, as the plaited patterns on the rice baskets and winnowing
trays. Nor must the neat and effective bead-work be overlooked.

The Kenyahs and Kayans smelt iron and make spear heads and sword
(_parang_) blades; the former are especially noted for their good steel.
The forge with two bellows is the usual form that is widely spread in
Malaysia.

The Iban, or Sea Dayaks, formerly occupied only the Saribas, Batang,
Lupar, and Kaluka rivers and their tributaries, and they still remain
there; but as the Kayans and other tribes on the Lower Rejang have
retreated more into the interior, this river, for a considerable portion
of its course, is also now populated by Iban, who have migrated at
various times from the above-mentioned rivers. As the country became more
settled these truculent people have rapidly increased, and now occupy
most of the best farming lands.

In more recent years migrations of the Iban have taken place to the head
of the Muka River, the Tatau, and lastly into the Baram, but in all cases
with the sanction of the Government. Before the establishment of the
present Government the Iban were unable to obtain a footing on the Baram
River, as they were afraid of the Kayans and Kenyahs. They are also found
in the head waters of many of the Kapuas tributaries on the watershed
between Sarawak and Dutch Borneo.

The Iban is short (average stature 5 feet 2½ inches) and has a broad head
(average cephalic index 83). The colour of the skin of the men is, on
the whole, darker than among the inland tribes. They have the same long,
slightly wavy, black hair, showing a reddish tinge in certain lights that
is characteristic of the Borneans generally. They are an active little
people.

In Sarawak these people are spoken of consistently as “Sea Dayaks,” or
more generally “Dayak.” It is customary for the Dutch and other Europeans
to term all the interior tribes of Borneo “Dayak,” with or without a
qualifying designation. As there is such confusion of the terminology in
the text-books, I consider it better to boldly face the situation and to
introduce a new term to science to which a perfectly definite meaning can
be applied.

Most of the Iban inhabit low-lying land; they prefer to live on the
low hills, but this is not always practicable, and so they plant swamp
_padi_. All those who settle at the heads of rivers plant padi on the
hills in the same manner as the up-river natives. They also cultivate
maize, sugar-cane, sweet potatoes, gourds, pumpkins, cucumbers, melons,
mustard, ginger, and other vegetables. Generally groups of relations work
together in the fields.

Although they are essentially an agricultural people, they are warlike
and passionately devoted to head-hunting. The Iban of the Batang Lupar
and Saribas in the olden days joined the Malays in their large war
prahus on piratical raids along the coast and up certain rivers. Although
they probably never went out a very great distance on the sea, by
coasting they were able to attack numerous villages round the coast, and
they owe their name of Sea Dayaks to this practice. The great piratical
forays were organised by Malays, who went for plunder, but they could
always induce the Iban to accompany them on the promise that all the
heads of the slain should fall to their share.

Of the Iban, the Balaus, who live in and about the Lingga River, are the
most efficient in handling boats at sea. The inland Iban of the present
day are usually inexpert boatmen in rough weather, and even in river work
they are nothing like so reliable in emergencies as the up-river Kenyahs.

The Iban women make beautiful cotton cloths on a very simple loom. The
intricate patterns are made by tightly tying up several strands of the
warp with leaves at varying intervals and then dipping the whole into
a dye. On removing the lashing the threads that were tied are found
to be undyed. This process is repeated if a three-colour is desired.
The pattern is produced solely in the warp; the woof threads are
self-coloured, and are not visible in the fabric, which is therefore
a cotton rep. I have accumulated material for a special study of the
numerous designs woven and embroidered by Iban women, as well as of the
elegant patterns engraved in low relief on bamboos by the men, but there
has not been time to work them out. It is an interesting fact that the
decorative art of the two sexes is entirely distinct in motive and style.

The Iban women did not tattoo, though a few may now be seen with a little
tattooing; but most of the men have adopted the custom from the Kayans.
They admit that the tattoo marks are Kayan designs, but it very rarely
happens that the Iban transfer such a design to their bamboo decorations,
and the Iban women never adopt Kayan or tattoo patterns for their fabrics.

It is probable that the Iban belongs to the same stock as the original
Malay. If this view is correct, the Iban migration may be regarded as the
first wave of the movement that culminated in the Malay Empire.

The Malay must have come to Borneo not later than the early part of
the fifteenth century, as Brunei was a large and wealthy town in 1521.
Probably the Malays came directly from the Malay Peninsula, but they must
have mixed largely with the Kadayans, Mĕlanaus, and other coastal people.

The Sarawak and Brunei Malays are probably mainly coastal Borneans with
some Malay blood; but they have absorbed the Malay culture, spirit, and
religion.

The movements of the different peoples which I have so briefly sketched
have a sociological significance which is worth tracing in detail, but I
do not propose to inflict on my present readers anything more than the
merest outline of this interesting line of inquiry.

The Punans represent the lowest grade of culture in Borneo. They are
nomad hunters, who combine with the chase the simple exploitation of
jungle produce. Without social organisation they are incapable of serious
combination, and are alike incapable of any real endemic improvement or
of seriously affecting other peoples.

The purely agricultural tribes that cultivate _padi_ on the low hills or
in the swamps form the next social stratum.

The Kalamantans were evidently a weak people, as they have been repressed
and often subdued by other peoples. For example, the Kadayans and the
Mĕlanaus have been very largely affected by the Malays, and the Iban have
harassed the Land Dayaks, and the latter had previously been influenced
by the Javano-Hindu colonisation of Borneo. It is also probable that some
of the tribes of this group of peoples have been modified by contact with
the Chinese. It is suggestive that all the stone implements Hose has
collected have been obtained from Kalamantans, either the pure or mixed
stock.

These indigenous tillers of the soil have been hard pressed by various
swarms of foreigners. The Kenyah-Kayan migration was that of a people
of a slightly higher grade of culture. It is true they also were
agriculturists, but their social organisation was firmer, and they were
probably superior in physique. Possibly they introduced iron weapons; if
so, this would give them an enormous advantage. At any rate they were
clever smiths. These immigrant agricultural artisans, who were directed
by powerful chiefs, had no difficulty in taking possession of the most
desirable land.

From an opposite point of the compass in early times came another
agricultural people, who strangely enough have strong individualistic
tendencies, the usually peaceable habits of tillers of the soil having
been complicated by a lust for heads and other warlike propensities.

Although inclined to raid their neighbours, the Iban do not appear to
have made much headway—certainly not against the Kayans and Kenyahs.
Conquest implies a strong leader, obedience to authority and concerted
action. So far as I can gather, the Iban only became formidable when led
and organised by Europeans, and at the present time the individualistic
temperament of the Iban manifests itself, even under the leadership of an
English civil officer.

The Malay was a yet higher social type. His political organisation was
well established; he had the advantage of religious enthusiasm, for
Islamism had no small share in the expansion of the Malay. In Borneo
he is not a cultivator of the soil, but is a keen trader, and this is
another factor in the Malay expansion, especially when coupled with pluck
and enterprise. Although a trader, the Malay is essentially a pirate; he
seeks to exploit the people with whom he comes in contact, and there is
a sporting element in his character, as I understand it, which is not
compatible with steady trade. It seems that it was chiefly the Malay in
his rôle of pirate who incited and led the Sea Dayak in his raids on
other tribes. While the glory and heads fell to the Iban, the valuable
spoils of war and the slaves were the booty of the Malay.

Then appeared on the scene the Anglo-Saxon overlord. The quality of
firmness combined with justice made itself felt. At times the lower
social types hurled themselves, but in vain, against the instrument that
had been forged and tempered in a similar turmoil of Iberian, Celt,
Roman, Teuton, and Viking in Northern Europe. Now they acknowledge that
safety of life and property and almost complete liberty are fully worth
the very small price they have to pay for them.

I do not know what were the conditions of the early Chinese trade with
Sarawak, but at present the Chinaman is a legitimate trader. Owing to the
settled state of the country under the white men’s rule, he is rapidly
increasing his sphere of influence, and by his better business habits he
is ousting the Malay. Even now the intrepid Malay trader will be found
paddling his trading canoe in the upper waters of the rivers of Sarawak,
where the Chinaman dare not venture; but wherever the Government builds
a fort, Chinamen lose no time in erecting their stores, and proceed to
absorb all the trade that previously was in the hands of the Malay.

The piratical cruises of the Malays have been stopped by the Anglo-Saxon
overlord, and their exploiting trading has had to give way before the
more legitimate commerce of the Chinaman.

    NOTE.—For the most recent information on the geology of Dutch
    Borneo the reader is referred to Dr. G. A. F. MOLENGRAAF’S
    _Geologische Verkenningstochten in Centraal-Borneo_. Leiden: E.
    J. Brill.




CHAPTER XXI

A TRIP INTO THE INTERIOR OF BORNEO


The following is an account of some experiences on an up-river trip, when
McDougall, Ray, and myself accompanied Dr. Charles Hose, the Resident
of the Baram District of Sarawak, Borneo, on one of his administrative
journeys.

The Baram is the second largest river in Sarawak; it rises about 3° 10′
north latitude in the unnamed and unexplored mountains which form the
division between Sarawak and Dutch Borneo, and enters the China Sea at
the end of a prominent spit at 114° east longitude.

The Government station and fort are situated at Marudi, or Claudetown,
about seventy miles up the river; here is also a large Chinese bazaar.
Hose and the Assistant Resident, Mr. Douglas, are the only two Europeans
resident in a district that comprises at least ten thousand square miles.

About thirty miles above Marudi the Tinjar joins the Baram; this affluent
is almost as large as the main stream, and for a hundred miles it runs
a course roughly parallel to the sea coast, but distant from it about
thirty to sixty miles, as the crow flies.

On February 6th (1899) we started for a trip up the Tinjar. Only three
or four white men had previously been up this river, and practically
nothing has been written about it; consequently we were to all intents
and purposes breaking fresh ground. But my object in writing this account
is not solely to describe a few incidents of our visit to some of the
interesting and unspoiled aborigines of Borneo, but also to give an idea
of the personal method of dealing with native peoples, which is the
keynote of the Sarawak theory of government.

[Illustration: PLATE XXVIII

SIDE VIEW OF A KAYAN HOUSE

VERANDAH OF A KAYAN HOUSE AT LONG LAMA, BARAM RIVER]

On the 7th of February we visited a Lelak village at Long Tru. The
village, as is often the case, consisted of a single house of great
length, and built on piles some ten feet high. The long houses of this
district of Sarawak are built along the banks of the rivers; usually a
notched tree trunk is laid on the slope of the steep bank, and other logs
are placed end-wise from this to the house to serve as a causeway across
the slippery and often foul mud. A house consists of two portions—a
verandah extending along the whole length of the river frontage, and a
series of domiciles opening on to the verandah.

The verandah is entered at the end, and by two or three doorways at the
side. The ladder consists of one or more notched tree trunks, usually
with a slight hand-rail, the use of which is as often as not dispensed
with by the nimble, bare-footed inhabitants, and even the dogs have
learnt to go up and down these precarious ladders. Sometimes light, broad
ladders are erected, of which the rungs are quite far apart.

On entering a verandah the first thing that one sees is the long wooden
partition, about eight to ten feet in height, that separates the verandah
from the dwelling apartments; this is pierced at fairly regular intervals
by wooden doors, each of which gives access to a separate house. Each
house, which, by-the-by, is always spoken of as the “door,” is divided
into variously sized rooms or cubicles; generally a narrow passage opens
into a central room, which is the living-room by day and a sleeping-room
at night; the cooking may be done here or in a separate small kitchen.
The wife has a separate bedroom, or if there are two wives, each has her
own room, and the elder girls usually also have one. A long house numbers
from ten to fifty, or even as many as eighty or ninety doors, so that
there may be from fifty to five hundred people, men, women, and children,
in one of these strange dwellings.

The privacy of the home is thoroughly respected, but the society of the
neighbours can always be enjoyed on the verandah, which is a broad, open
space that extends along one side of the house. This is practically
divided into an inner common gangway on to which the doors open, and a
portion that runs along the outer wall of the house, and is generally
slightly raised above the general level of the floor. The space of this
outer portion of the verandah opposite each house belongs to the owner
of the house, and, according to his taste or means, he keeps the space
in good order and lays down mats. It is here visitors are received, the
public business transacted, and neighbours sit and gossip and smoke or
chew betel.

Most interesting is it to lounge and watch the daily life of the
village, the men and women going to or returning from their gardens,
and girls bringing up water. In some tribes the pounding of the rice in
heavy wooden mortars is done on the verandah, and one is never tired
of watching the rhythmic movements of the nearly nude women as they
husk the rice with long thick poles, and gracefully push the grain into
the mortars with their feet; the sinuous motions of lithe damsels are
particularly fascinating. After the husking is finished the rice is
winnowed in plaited trays by standing or crouching women. Then there
are the jolly children, half fearful of the white-skinned stranger, yet
always ready for a game. Happy, contented little mortals they are, very
rarely squabbling among themselves, and still more seldom troubled by
their elders.

Hanging from the rafters of the verandah in most houses are trophies
of human skulls. They may be fastened to a circular framework looking
something like a ghastly parody on the glass chandeliers of our young
days, or they may be suspended from a long board, which in one house that
I visited was painted and carved at one end into a crocodile’s head, and
the board itself was suspended from carved images of men who represented
captives taken in war.

The skulls are smoke-begrimed and otherwise dirty, and interspersed
among them are streamers of dried palm leaves, which all over Borneo are
invariably employed in all ceremonies connected with skulls. Usually
close by the skulls are pronged skewers on which pieces of pig’s meat
may be stuck, and short sections of a small bamboo so cut as to form
cups ready for the reception of borak (a spirit made from rice), when it
is desired to feast the skulls or their spirits. Below the chandelier
of skulls there is always a fire which is kept continually burning, for
it is believed the skulls like to keep warm, and that if they are kept
comfortable and their wants supplied, they will bring good luck to the
house and ensure plentiful harvests.

The artistic taste of the people often manifests itself in the
decoration, by painting or carving, of the doors or of the wooden
partition of the verandah. On the latter are often hung shields,
gongs, and the large ornamented women’s hats, which have a really fine
decorative effect.

When one is tired of the sights of the verandah one can turn round and
look over the low-boarded parapet towards the river with the prospect
beyond. Sometimes jungle alone can be seen, but usually there are _padi_
fields on the low hills, and perhaps some plantations of yams and clumps
of bananas.

The word “Long,” which enters into so many Bornean names of villages,
means the mouth of a river, and as many villages are situated at the spot
where one river enters another, they are named from the smaller stream.
This village took its name from the Tru River, but it sometimes happens
that when a village shifts its quarters the old name is retained, and
some confusion may arise.

[Illustration: FIG. 32. BUTIONG IN A LELAK HOUSE]

The domicile at one end of the Long Tru house had projecting from the
partition into the verandah a queer wooden sleeping bunk with lattice
windows; a notched pole served as a ladder. It is not uncommon to find
sleeping bunks for men built on the verandah, but one attached to the
wall like a meat-safe is very unusual. By the side of the door of the
same dwelling stood a rudely carved wooden image (_butiong_), in this
instance a female figure, which represented a goddess who protected the
house from any harm or sickness, but should there be any illness previous
to the placing of the _butiong_ in the house, she would prevent it from
becoming worse. Stuck on to the wall of another dwelling was a portrait
of Lord Kitchener!

About twenty miles up the Tinjar is the Bok River, and we left the
steamer and paddled up this tributary in canoes to visit a small
community of Punans. The Punans are, as I have already stated,
essentially a nomad people, who inhabit the jungles of Sarawak and do
not build permanent habitations. They do not cultivate anything, but
they collect jungle produce which they sell and barter amongst the more
settled tribes, who further trade these with Malays or Chinamen. The
Punans are an interesting folk, and may be the remains of an ancient
aboriginal population. The settled Punans were very dirty, and looked
miserable; they lived in a tumble-down house. But one must not expect
much from people who are making the first step out of absolute savagery.

[Illustration: FIG. 33. SARCOPHAGUS OF A BOY IN A BARAWAN HOUSE]

The wilder Punans we saw later were a better-looking people, and compared
with the settled Punans it really seemed as if the latter were paying
rather dearly for their slight advance in civilisation; but probably a
fixed though squalid home is preferable to a temporary leafy shelter.

On the night of February 8th we slept at Taman Liri’s village at Long
Tegin. On the verandah against the partition-wall was the sarcophagus of
a child. It consisted of a sort of decorated wooden case with a lean-to
roof of palm leaves. From one end of the case projected a gaily-painted
board carved to represent a head, neck, and arms. The head with its
upright ears looked very much like that of a tiger, but we were assured
it was intended to be the effigy of the dead boy who lay in the hidden
coffin; hanging over this was the boy’s hat. Suspended from the eaves of
the tomb were wooden models of a sword, knife, kris, paddle, spear-head,
and other objects, and leaning against it were a couple of large
gongs. On one side of the sarcophagus were hen-coops, a gong, a basket
containing plates and a small bamboo vessel; on the other side were a
gong and a jar. On the partition-wall were three hats, two fish traps,
and a fishing net.

Although Taman Liri is a _penghulu_, or head chief, he complained that
the Long Tobai people had left him and had gone to live with Aban Abit at
Long Tisam, a little higher up the river, the latter chief having enticed
them away. Hose questioned some of the friends of the Long Tobai people,
who stated that the reason for the latter not wishing to live with Taman
Liri was that he constantly shifted his house, and that he did not fulfil
his annual promise of building a really good house. They were sick of
living in this unsatisfactory manner, and therefore went to live with
Aban Abit, who also was a Barawan, and who had a very good house at Long
Tisam. Hose told Taman Liri it was unreasonable to expect people to shift
their house every year, as the greater part of their time was taken up in
house-building, and their plantations suffered in consequence.

We next visited Aban Abit, who certainly has a much better house than
Taman Liri. Owing to the influx of people the house was being extended.
When we walked over the framework of the extension we were cautioned to
be careful not to fall through. This warning was not given solely to
save us from injury, although a fall of some fifteen feet would not be
particularly pleasant, but because if anyone fell off a house in process
of building a new house would have to be built elsewhere, as would also
be the case if a dog were killed in the house. We stayed here a couple
of days and measured a number of men, and I made some sketches and
photographs.

Soon after our arrival Aban Abit gave each of his new visitors a present,
a nice spear falling to my lot. Before leaving I gave his two wives some
white calico. On another occasion Tama Bulan, the most famous chief of
the Baram district, gave me a large shield decorated with hair, and a
Dayak fortman once gave me a musical instrument. But these were the only
presents I received from natives; indeed they very rarely give presents,
in our sense of the term, in any country I have visited.

[Illustration: FIG. 34. PRAYING TO A PIG IN A BARAWAN HOUSE

On the partition wall are two large women’s hats, with yellow and black
bead-work]

It was here I first saw the ceremony of divination by means of a pig’s
liver. A live pig with its legs tied was brought on to the verandah. Aban
Abit took a lighted brand and slightly scorched it, at the same time
praying to the Supreme God, and the pig was asked to give the message to
the god, who was requested to make his will known by means of the liver
of the pig. When the scorching was over the suppliant kept the fingers
of his right hand on the flanks of the pig, so that he was in touch with
the animal all through his address, at the same time slightly prodding
it with his fingers to make the pig pay attention to what he was saying.
Finally a spear was thrust into the neck of the pig, and as soon as all
the kicking was over the side of the pig was ripped open, and the liver
rapidly and dexterously extracted and placed on a dish. The old men
crowded round and discussed the augury. The size and character of the
various lobes of the liver, the appearance of the gall bladder, and the
amount of fat and tendon, are objects of the closest scrutiny, and these
all have a definite significance.

Divination by means of a pig’s liver is resorted to on most important
occasions. If anything special is wanted they inquire of the pig. If
they fear any enemies are coming, or ill luck or sickness, they ask the
pig whether it is a fact that this will happen. They tell the pig not to
mislead them, and to convey the message to the Supreme Being. The pig may
even be told that they are not going to kill it or eat it; but the pig is
killed the instant they have finished talking, lest the message should be
altered by the pig if it knew it was to be killed.

There is always great difficulty in arriving at the true explanation
of any particular custom; probably in many cases there is no single
explanation which is universally admitted by the natives themselves. It
rather seems as if in this pig ceremony the soul of the pig was directly
addressed, and that on the death of the pig it was liberated, and thus
was able to convey the message to the Supreme Being. The application of
the lighted brand may be a secondary custom, introduced from the analogy
of the cult of the omen animals. I am indebted to McDougall for this
latter suggestion, who also thinks that the primary proper function of
fire in a rite is to carry the message to birds or distant powers in case
no other messenger, such as a pig’s soul, is at hand.

Knowing that I was very anxious to obtain some human skulls for the
collection at Cambridge, Hose negotiated with Aban Abit for some. This
was a very difficult matter, as skulls are sacred, and not only bring
good luck if well treated, but contrariwise they may do harm if they are
offended. It is no small matter to prevail upon a man to part with skulls
under such circumstances, as he feels he is running great risks, and
natives fully realise that wealth can be bought too dearly. What gain is
it to have an extra gong if the harvests are bad, if sickness comes, if
troubles accumulate?

The following is the way in which the skulls were propitiated. A fowl
was obtained, a very little one, for these wide-awake people recognise
that it is the idea at the back of the sacrifice rather than the worth
of the victim that is efficacious, so there is no need to extravagantly
make use of a full-grown fowl when a fledgling will do as well. The
chirping chicken was waved over the skulls, and the skulls were told that
those of them that were going to be taken away were given and not sold
(for here, as in our folk-tales at home, it is very easy to deceive
spirits), that they would be well taken care of, and they were entreated
not to be angry, as everything was “quite correct,” and that the white
man would take the whole responsibility and bear all the risks. Then the
head and wings of the luckless chicken were torn off, and the spurting
blood sprinkled on the skulls and charms, and even on the notched pole
which served as a ladder. Hose had to provide a piece of iron, an old
spear-head in this case, as a gift to the man who took down the skulls.
It was only the great influence that Hose has over the natives and his
generous offer, combined with his knowledge of and deference to native
customs, and their personal regard for him, which enabled him to obtain
these and other skulls.

In the evening we had a performance on the phonograph, which gave great
enjoyment to the natives of both sexes and all ages. As in New Guinea,
the reproduction of their own songs pleased the people much more than
hearing the band-music and songs on the cylinders we had brought with us
from England. Later on several of the natives performed some of their
dances for us.

We were informed that people were spreading a scare similar to that known
as the _Panyamun_ scare of five years previously. Reports of all kinds
were rife as to the originators of the trouble; some said the Malangs
started it, others that it arose among the Sĕbops or the Barawans, while
some thought it had come from the Baram River.

Hose explained fully to the people the stupidity of circulating and
believing in such rumours, which always caused them a great deal of
trouble, and they could not have forgotten that, owing to the last
_Panyamun_ scare, several people lost their lives. It was, therefore, his
intention during this visit to the Tinjar to trace the originators of the
false rumours, and if the evidence was sufficient to convict them, they
would be heavily punished. It was consequently to everybody’s interest to
assist in the discovery of these troublesome people.

During the greater part of the year 1894 a remarkable and widely
distributed panic spread over Sarawak, and all the races of the Raj,
Chinese, Malays, Sea Dayaks (Iban), and various inland tribes were alike
affected.

The Malays of Sarawak and Brunei started a rumour all through the country
that the Rajah was anxious to obtain a number of human heads to lay
in the foundations of the new high-level reservoir at the waterworks
at Kuching, and that men were sent out at night to procure them.
Similar stories with accompanying panics have occurred elsewhere in the
East during the execution of large public works; as, for example, in
Singapore, when the cathedral was built.

Professor E. P. Evans states[4] that as the Siberian railway approached
the northern boundaries of the Chinese Empire, and surveys were made for
its extension through Manchuria to the sea, great excitement was produced
in Pekin by the rumour that the Russian minister had applied to the
Empress of China for two thousand children to be buried in the road-bed
under the rails in order to strengthen it. He also informs us that some
years ago, in rebuilding a large bridge which had been swept away several
times by inundations in the Yarkand, eight children, purchased from poor
people at a high price, were immured alive in the foundations. As the new
bridge was firmly constructed out of excellent materials, it has hitherto
withstood the force of the strongest floods, a result which the Chinese
attribute, not to the solid masonry, but to the propitiation of the river
god by the offering of infants.

I have elsewhere[5] alluded to this barbarous custom which has been
widely spread over the “Old World,” and which has left its mark in modern
Greek folk-song, and can still be traced in the singing-game of “London
Bridge” played by village children in the British Isles.

Sir Spenser St. John writes in his recent book _Rajah Brooke_: “Another
intelligent native remarked that the English must have been a barbarous
race, as formerly they sacrificed a human victim every time they prepared
to take the Sacrament, but that in more modern days they had become
more civilised, as now they only sacrificed dogs, a reference to the
periodical destruction in British settlements of all stray animals. What
a perverse interpretation of missionary teaching!”

Many Sarawak natives went so far as to assert that they had met with the
head-hunters among the villages. Great anxiety was caused amongst all
classes; at one time numbers of people left their plantations, refusing
to do any outdoor work except in large parties; even Chinese _padi_
planters in some instances left their isolated houses and crowded into
the bazaars.

Other equally absurd stories were circulated and believed in. About
fifty Ulu Simunjan Land Dayaks came down in September the same year
to the station at Sadong and stated that their district was infested
with spirits and ghouls. They asked for leave to hunt down the _hantus_
(spirits) in the jungle, as these came by night into the kampongs and
shoved sticks and weapons through the walls of their houses, much to
their alarm and fright. The Land Dayaks were warned against making this
an excuse for molesting anyone without just cause, for it was by no means
improbable that mischief would ensue if they were allowed to hunt down
_hantus_ indiscriminately. Thousands of people living many miles apart
were panic-stricken simultaneously, and believed it was unsafe to walk
about at night unless armed, and that death would result if a _hantu_
caught a man. One result of this particular scare was that coolies
refused to do any sort of work unless they could be safely back in their
houses before nightfall, and married couples who lived by themselves
crowded into the larger houses, which were already full.

Evilly disposed persons were not slack in utilising this _panyamun_, or
“robber,” scare for their own nefarious purposes, and numerous murders
were perpetrated, the murderers pleading that they thought the victims
were prowling round for heads.

It can be readily understood that the whole country was in an excited and
unsettled state, and this feeling was more or less answerable for various
crimes and tragedies. One example of each must suffice.

At the close of the year a man named Newa with four followers was killed
at Long Balukun on the Apoh River. A Kenyah named Mawa Obat asked Newa,
when sitting in his canoe, to give him some tobacco, and murdered him
whilst he was in the act of complying with his request. The Resident
believes that one Remau, a worthless Undup Iban, who had married a Kenyah
woman residing in the Long Balukun house, was to a great extent the cause
of the death of these five men. Remau made up a story about the spear
being thrust through the floor of his room, which spear he said belonged
to Newa, and afterwards, when it was proved that the spear could not
reach the floor of the house, as it was built very high off the ground,
he said it was through the wall that the spear was thrust. The Long
Balukun people were very short of food at the time, and there is very
little doubt that Newa and his party were murdered for the eight bags of
rice and fifteen katties of tobacco they had.

In January, 1895, Kempieng, an Iban, and his wife, were visiting Radin,
who had married Jerieng, the sister of Kempieng’s wife, and who lived on
the Beradong, an affluent of the Rejang River. One night, about 9 p.m.,
Jerieng left her room to go out on the _tanju_, or outside platform, her
husband, who accompanied her, going first. Kempieng and his wife were
sleeping in the _ruai_ (verandah), and as Jerieng passed them he sprang
up and speared her. Kempieng admitted the facts at his trial, but pleaded
that the people in Radin’s house were in a disturbed state, and kept
their weapons handy owing to a scare of _panyamuns_, or _hantus_ (robbers
or spirits). On the night in question, hearing someone moving near him,
he arose and took his spear down; whilst doing so he accidentally kicked
the lamp over and it went out. He did not thrust with his spear, but held
it before him, and the deceased ran against it. It is, however, more
probable that he got up in a state of alarm, and, without calling out,
blindly lunged with his spear, and thus killed his sister-in-law. For
this he was sentenced by the Rajah to three years’ imprisonment with hard
labour.

I was informed that some Brunei Malays, who had grudges against people
who owed them money, or who would not pay any longer the repeated calls
which these piratical traders made for fictitious debts, stirred up
the Kenyahs of the Baram against the Iban (Sea Dayaks). They said the
Rajah had sent out Iban to kill people for the purpose stated above, and
they pointed to the Iban who worked gutta near their villages, knowing
full well that this had long been a grievance of the Kenyahs against
the Iban. The Brunei Malays reminded the Kenyahs of one or two cases of
assassination of their people by Iban, and even went below Kenyah houses
at night and thrust spears through the flooring in order to make their
report appear more real.

At last the Kenyahs were roused, and killed twelve Iban. The Sĕbops of
the Tinjar followed suit and murdered two Chinamen, and the Long Patas,
seeing the Kenyahs had commenced, took the opportunity to go over into
the Limbang, and, as I have already narrated, killed three innocent
Kadayans.

Trade was at a standstill, and everybody was miserable; but by being
continually on the move up and down the river, and by going familiarly
amongst the people, Hose with great difficulty managed to stop any
further spread of the scare, and he effectively proved to the natives
that the trouble did not arise from any action by the Government. Having
thoroughly disgusted everyone throughout the district, the Brunei Malays
bolted back to Brunei. By this time they owed a good deal of money in the
bazaar at Marudi, and could not get any more credit.

It was no wonder, then, with the recollection of this unsettled and
anxious time fresh in his memory that Hose was determined to stamp out
what might prove to be the commencement of a similar panic.

Long Semitan was next visited. The Malangs who live in this village
requested that a Bakatan, who lived all alone in a Chinaman’s store,
should be told to leave the village, as he had done no work for months
and stole on every opportunity. The people described him as a savage
brute, of whom they were afraid, and he constantly threatened to do harm
to people if they refused him food, or indeed anything that he asked for.
The man was sent for, and Hose inquired of him what he was doing there.
He said he was waiting for a month or two before going into the jungle to
look for gutta, and denied that he had stolen anything. Hose decided to
send him down to Marudi, and told him he must follow a party of Bakatans,
Iban, or other people when they went gutta hunting, or he must return by
the first steamer to his own country up the Rejang River. He strongly
objected to go, although the Malangs had provided him with a boat and
food. Eventually he was ejected by force, and all had the satisfaction
of seeing this worthless loafer paddle down stream. It was evident that
he had done nothing for his own living for months past, and the Chinaman
stated that Aban Abit turned him out of his house two months ago, when
he shifted to Long Semitan with the intention of sponging on the Malang
people. Most probably he had really stolen, but unfortunately there was
not sufficient evidence to convict him.

We reached Long Aiah Kechil on the evening of the 13th. The headman of
this Sĕbop village is termed Tamoing. On our arrival a great wailing was
set up, because very shortly after Hose’s last visit the chief of the
village had died, and his return reminded his followers of their loss;
but they were soon comforted. The Barawans and Balmali people in the
neighbourhood appear to have had several quarrels with regard to farming
lands. Taman Aping Buling, the Sĕbop _penghulu_, had done his best to
settle their differences, but there was still a considerable amount of
discontent. The Tinjar is rather crowded here, and Hose considers it
would be a good thing if some of the people moved further down the river.

The Sĕbops probably belong to the aboriginal population of Borneo. Those
we measured were distinctly narrow-headed, their cephalic index being
about 75·5. These people are constantly chaffed by other tribes about
their procrastinating habits. If a man has to go on a journey he gets
ready and packs his basket, and when just about to go down to the boat he
may suddenly turn round and say, “_Sagum_” (“to-morrow”), and then may go
on for a number of days until he is perforce obliged to go. The Kenyahs
are fond of telling the following fable to illustrate the dilatoriness of
the Sĕbops:—

A monkey and a frog who were chums were sitting together in the jungle
when it came on to rain very heavily. It rained all that day and night,
and the monkey, cold and wet, said to the frog, “This is wretched
weather; to-morrow let us beat out a bark cloth from one of those
kumut trees.” “All right,” said the frog, “this incessant rain is very
disagreeable.” When daylight appeared the rain ceased and the sun shone
brightly. The frog hopped on to a fallen stump and basked in the sun, and
the monkey climbed to the top of a tree and felt jolly again. Presently
the monkey called to the frog, “Oh, comrade, how about that bark cloth we
were going to beat out to-day; let’s start in and do it.” “Oh,” said the
frog, being unwilling to move from his pleasant spot, “I’m not cold any
longer.” As night came on the rain began to pour down once more, and the
friends, shivering with cold, agreed that to-morrow they must really get
the bark cloth. This happened time after time, until at last the monkey
became disgusted with the frog always putting off making the covering,
and he said it was useless to be friends with a person of so little
energy; so he cleared off and left his old friend. The frog still hoots
and howls when the rain comes down, but sits silent in the sunshine.

It had long been arranged by our good friend Hose that one of the special
features of this trip up the Tinjar was to be an ascent of Dulit, a
mountain whose name is well known to those interested in the birds of
Borneo, for reasons that I shall shortly narrate. As Hose had a good deal
of administrative work to do, he did not intend accompanying us, and,
indeed, it would have been no novelty to him, as he has ascended it four
times, and spent at least six weeks on or near the summit during those
visits.

We made an early start on the morning of February 14th from Long Aiah
Kechil, which is the nearest village to the mountain. As we were paddling
down the Tinjar, quietly enjoying the swift gliding between banks of rank
verdure, a joyous shout and noisy exclamations startled my reverie, and
quickly our crews paddled to the bank. To the uninitiated but a small
thing had happened, merely that an inconspicuous little bird had flown
across the river from right to left. But this was no commonplace bird;
it was an “isit,” one of the omen birds, who come as messengers from the
gods to warn mortals of impending danger, or to encourage them in what
they are undertaking.

This was fortunately a favourable omen, hence the delight with which
it was hailed, and immediately on seeing it flashing into the open our
boatmen called upon it by name, and asked it to “make everything clear
and sweep away all difficulties and obstacles from the path, and to make
the white men strong in the legs, so that they can climb up Dulit.”

In this manner is a bird “owned,” and on hearing the prayer the bird
assumes all responsibility and takes the petitioners under its protection.

Our friends landed on the steep bank of the river, and, cutting down some
undergrowth, whittled a couple of sticks, so that they had a frilled
appearance. A match was struck, and as soon as the shavings flamed, they
asked the fire to tell the bird to inform the gods of the message, which
was then repeated.

An unexpected episode of this sort is very refreshing. Here was
illustration of that religious spirit which is so universally distributed
among mankind. Our men were encouraged by the knowledge of divine
sanction, and, moreover, their petition was unaccompanied by sacrifice,
gifts, or promises; the human words were simply wafted godwards by the
smoke. It is easy to call this paganism, to sneer at it as superstition,
but such practices are essentially religious ceremonies, and of a refined
character too, which require no intermediary between the spiritual
powers and the ordinary individual.

We resumed our way, and shortly entered a small river which Hose has
named the Scott-Keltie River, in honour of the Secretary of the Royal
Geographical Society. In the muddy banks at its mouth are immense
quantities of leaves, which give the alluvium a very characteristic
laminated appearance. When consolidated and turned into rock, these beds
will form ligneous shales, or earthy coal beds, such as we constantly
find in various geological formations.

We landed a short distance up this stream, and ran our boat high and
dry in a creek. Hose then left us, and we started on our way; our party
consisted of Aris, my Malay “boy,” three Iban fortmen, three Naroms
(a branch of the Mĕlanaus), and four Sĕbops from Long Aiah Kechil,
McDougall, and myself.

At first we walked for an hour or so on the alluvial plain through
plantations, some of which were abandoned and overgrown; then we struck
the Scott-Keltie River, and waded some distance along its rocky and
gravelly bed; later we forded it several times, as our direct route
through the jungle cut across its sinuosities.

Our path for some distance lay through “New Jungle,” but as we ascended
we passed into “Old Jungle.” In the earlier part of the day there was a
good deal of rain; when this ceased there was an aftermath of continual
dripping off the trees, and all the undergrowth was reeking wet, but
this was of little moment, as we wore woollen garments, and the heat of
the atmosphere and the continual exercise prevented our getting a chill.
There was the usual profusion of fallen, rotting trees, over, under, and
along which we had to pass. The soil was the yellow, slippery clay that
is met with in so many places in Sarawak. This laterite, as it is called
by geologists, is widely spread over the tropics. When our feet slipped
we clutched at what was nearest to hand, sometimes it was a thorny
climber, or perhaps a rotten sapling that looked strong enough, but which
was as weak as touchwood, owing to its being permeated by corroding
fungi. Our caps and clothes were continually caught by the fine thorny
filaments of a species of ratan or by other prickly plants.

Several men always preceded me to cut down the lianas and other impeding
vegetation, and they also served to collect on their legs some of the
land leeches, which, reaching out from the leaves of low shrubs, seek
whom they may devour. At every halt we overhauled ourselves, and pulled
off these tough, elastic worms.

We soon reached a ridge-like spur of the mountain, on each side of which
we could hear a river rushing over its stony bed. This spur had very
steep sides owing to the cutting down of the streams, but it was covered
with deep vegetation, which acted as a kind of umbrella, and so prevented
the heavy rains from denuding it down to a low watershed between the two
streams.

About three o’clock we went a little way down to the Scott-Keltie River,
and followed it up as far as a fine waterfall, some three hundred or four
hundred feet in height. Here we built a hut, and after a bathe and a good
meal felt very comfortable, and all except myself passed a good night.
Fortunately there was no rain.

We awoke early next morning, but it was nearly eight o’clock before
we started, owing to the dilatoriness of the Sĕbops in taking up
their burdens. Before starting, and also on the previous evening, I
photographed the Scott-Keltie Falls. The upper part of the falls is
hidden by trees; the central portion consists of two large quadrangular
faces of rock, one above the other, with a combined height of a hundred
to a hundred and fifty feet. Below the fall proper is a steep declivity
of fallen blocks of rock, many of huge dimensions, over which the water
pours. Indeed, for a considerable distance down the steep river-bed is
a mass of boulders which practically forms a continuous cascade. The
vegetation about the falls was lovely, the masses of ordinary forest
trees being relieved by graceful palms and shrubs of varied foliage
(Frontispiece).

We ascended the mountain, leaving the falls on our right. It was very
steep walking, and at places we had practically vertical escarpments of
rock to negotiate, which were slippery owing to recent rains. The roots
of trees and the stems of creepers afforded secure grip and foothold,
but at a few places I was glad of the assistance of a ratan. We were in
a mist the whole day, and every now and again a rift gave us tantalising
glimpses of the outer world that far below us stretched out in all its
tropical luxuriance and beauty. Sometimes we saw a bit of the river,
and could just distinguish a village, when the view dissolved; then a
neighbouring wooded spur of the mountain would shape itself out of the
mist, only to disappear in the steamy atmosphere.

We pitched our camp about three o’clock, and made a long hut on the crest
of a steep ridge at an elevation of over four thousand feet. Fortunately
there was no rain all day, so our clothes were fairly dry, and we had no
rain during the night. Of course it was chilly, but it was only really
cold when the wind rose.

We got up on Thursday morning at 5.30. As soon as breakfast was finished,
McDougall and all the carriers except Aris and one Sĕbop, who had a sore
leg, continued the ascent. I was not very well, and did not feel equal to
the climb, so I spent a quiet day, writing, and letting the influences of
the jungle soak into me. It was a strange sensation perched high up on a
narrow ridge in a tropical jungle and screened from the world by a mist!

[Illustration: FIG. 35. MOUNT DULIT FROM LONG AIAH KECHIL]

McDougall returned about 3.30. He had ascended the highest point, which
Hose has since named Cambridge Peak, but had not obtained a satisfactory
view. He had some difficulty in climbing the uppermost escarpments. As
the cliffs were absolutely vertical, the natives made ladders which they
leaned against trees projecting from the cliff, and from one tree another
ladder was raised to a tree above it, till the summit was reached. Mount
Dulit is, in geographical terminology, a partially dissected block
mountain of Carboniferous sandstone, the beds of which dip in a southerly
direction.

There was rain early next morning, but it soon cleared for a short
time, and we started on our homeward journey. We had a scanty lunch at
the Scott-Keltie Falls. The water was now a thin stream, indeed we had
noticed a difference in the amount on the Wednesday morning as compared
with that which fell during our first evening there. We retraced our
steps as quickly as possible, but I took several photographs of the falls
and river. We got back to our boat about 3.30, and returned to Long Aiah
Kechil before dark.

I was particularly interested in Mount Dulit, as it has been a happy
hunting-ground for Hose during some years past. He was the first European
to ascend the mountain, and he has made natural-history collections on
it from top to base. Hose here discovered a high-altitude fauna, more
particularly among the birds, which, like that of the famous Kina Balu in
British North Borneo, has affinities with the fauna of the Himalayas.

The island of Borneo lies at one edge of an immense submarine bank, while
the islands of Java and Sumatra are situated at its southern and western
sides, and the island of Celebes and the archipelago that stretches from
Java to Ombasi are annexes. The hundred-fathom contour line embraces this
vast area, and indeed a considerable portion of the sea between Borneo
and Java on the one hand, and Siam and the Malay Peninsula on the other,
is only fifty fathoms deep. In other words, the trivial elevation of
this area to three hundred feet would connect Borneo and Java with the
mainland of Asia. This continental shelf may be termed the Malay shelf.

I have already pointed out that the physical features of Borneo prove
that there are indications that it has undergone changes of level in
recent geological times. The geological structure of the island shows
that it formed part of a continent, as it contains formations of the
Palæozoic, Mesozoic, and Cainozoic periods, and is thus very different
from what are termed oceanic islands, that is, islands composed solely
of recent volcanic rocks or built upon coral banks. As Wallace[6] points
out: “A subsidence of five hundred feet would allow the sea to fill the
great valleys of the Pontianak, Banjarmassing, and Coti rivers, almost to
the centre of the island, greatly reducing its extent, and causing it to
resemble in form the island of Celebes to the east of it.”

About a hundred and forty species of mammals have been discovered in
Borneo, and of these “more than three-fourths,” according to Wallace,
“are identical with those of the continent. Among these are two lemurs,
nine civets, five cats, five deer, the tapir, the elephant, the
rhinoceros, and many squirrels, an assemblage which could certainly only
have reached the country by land.”

The most interesting of those species peculiar to the island, that
is not found elsewhere, are the long-nosed monkey and the tailless
porcupine. These peculiar forms, which amount to something over thirty
in number, “do not, however, imply that the separation of the island
from the continent is of very ancient date, for the country is so vast,
and so much of the once connecting land is covered with water, that the
amount of speciality is hardly, if at all, greater than occurs in many
continental areas of equal extent and remoteness.” The same story is told
by the birds, although one would imagine that possessing power of flight
their distribution would be more uniform than it is. Wallace concludes
that the majority of forest birds are restricted by narrow watery
barriers to an even greater extent than mammals.

Mr. John Whitehead has made some valuable collections on Mount Kina
Balu, the highest mountain in Borneo. “The Chinese Widow” is an isolated
mountain mass which rises to a height of 13,698 feet; at an elevation
of about 4,000 feet Mr. Whitehead began to find traces of a new fauna
which linked that mountain with the Himalayas. Hose has made a similar
discovery on Mounts Dulit and Mulu, so that Dr. R. B. Sharpe has stated
(_Ibis_, 1894, p. 542): “it is evident that Mount Mulu belongs to the
same system of the Himalayan offshoots, such as Kina Balu, Dulit, and
Kalulong” (_The Geographical Journal_, i. 1893, p. 203).

Hose has stated that “the fauna of Mount Dulit resembles that of Kina
Balu in a great number of instances, but it is a curious fact that all
the species above 2,000 feet are found at a higher altitude on Kina Balu
than they are on Mount Dulit. This, I think, can be accounted for by
the fact that Mount Kina Balu has been cleared of all the old jungle,
and farmed by the natives to a height of about 2,000 feet, whilst on
the Dulit there are no traces of human habitation within miles of the
mountain [this is a slight exaggeration on Hose’s part]. I think it is
reasonable to suppose that many of the Kina Balu birds and animals, which
prefer to live in the old jungle, have been in this way driven to a
higher elevation” (_Proc. Zool. Soc._, 1889, p. 228).

In a paper on the mammals of Kina Balu, Mr. Oldfield Thomas points out
the affinity of the mammalian fauna of the mountain at great heights with
that of the Himalayan region. For example, a water-shrew (_Chimarrogale
himalayica_) had previously been recorded from Sikhim, Assam, and the
Katchin Hills in the north of Burmah. On the other hand, a certain
mouse (_Mus musschenbroecki_) was previously known from Celebes, and
its occurrence on Kina Balu suggests that other members of the Oriental
element in the peculiar Celebean fauna may also prove to have survived
on the tops of the Bornean mountains. Dr. R. B. Sharpe (_Ibis_, 1892, p.
430) also states that some of the Kina Balu species of birds have been
obtained in high Sumatra.

There is evidence that during the Miocene Age Java was at least three
thousand feet lower than it is now, and, as Wallace suggests, “such a
depression would probably extend to considerable parts of Sumatra and
Borneo, so as to reduce them all to a few small islands.

“At some later period a gradual elevation occurred which ultimately
united the whole of the islands with the continent. This may have
continued till the glacial period of the northern hemisphere, during the
severest part of which a few Himalayan species of birds and mammals may
have been driven southward, and have ranged over suitable portions of the
whole area.

“Java then became separated by subsidence, and these species were
imprisoned in the island, while those in the remaining part of the
Malayan area again migrated northward when the cold had passed away from
their former home,” with the exception of those forms which were cut off
on isolated mountain masses, where they survived in those places where
the conditions were not very dissimilar from those they were accustomed
to.

In other words, these more northern forms retreated from the deluge of
the typical Malayan fauna up the mountains. The lower mountains were
overwhelmed by the equatorial forests and the profusion of animals that
are adapted for that peculiar condition of existence. The lesser spurs
of the high mountains shared the same fate, but the struggle between the
rival faunas became less keen at altitudes of three or four thousand
feet. Here the temperature is cooler, and so the conditions of life
become less favourable for the tropical lowland fauna, and more so to the
relic-fauna of the northern mountains, and in consequence we have these
faunistic islands.

Somewhat later the Malay continental shelf was submerged, and Borneo and
Sumatra became isolated.




CHAPTER XXII

A TRIP INTO THE INTERIOR OF BORNEO—CONTINUED


We reached the Sĕbop village of Long Puah, up the Lobong affluent of the
Tinjar, on the evening of February 19th. Jangan, the headman, made us
comfortable in the large new house, which was not yet completed. Hose
had insisted on going to the new house, as the old one was dirty and was
falling to pieces. The first ceremony to be performed before the house
could be inhabited was the removing of the skulls from a temporary hut to
their new quarters. This was to take place early the following morning.
The business to be transacted that day required the presence of some
women, and no women may enter a new house until the skulls have been
transferred to it.

At daybreak a number of men perched themselves on the ridge pole of the
new house and chanted invocations to the omen birds. They shouted for
joy as a propitious hawk duly flew away to the right after soaring, for
unless the omen was favourable nothing could have been accomplished
that day. Immediately the omen bird had given permission for matters
to proceed, there was a great din of shouting and gong-beating for
the purpose of preventing the people from hearing the hawk in case it
should scream, for that would have been an unlucky omen, and would have
necessitated a delay. At various intervals rice was thrown out of the
house by the old men as offerings to the omen birds and prayers made to
the Supreme Deity and to the lesser gods. Hose and I also sacrificed some
tobacco and rice to the birds.

Several men, accoutred as if for the war-path, went to the temporary hut
where the skulls were lodged. Most of the men had on a war coat, which
is the skin of a goat or a clouded tiger-cat, decked with the white and
black tail feathers of the hornbill, which feathers, by the way, may be
worn only by men who have been on the war-path or who have killed a man.
Each had on a war cap, with the long tail feathers of another species
of hornbill, and they carried shields and spears. Standing outside the
hut the men chanted songs while an old man removed the basket of skulls
from the hut. It is considered a dangerous matter to meddle with skulls,
as they resent liberties taken with them, and may perhaps harm him who
handles them; this business was therefore relegated to an old man, as it
did not much matter if harm befell him during his short remaining span of
life.

The skulls were hoisted on to the verandah of the new house from the
outside—as they must never be taken up the ladder and through the
house—and immediately they were hauled on to a rafter. Then the women
trooped up; in this instance they came up the ladder that was erected at
the open end of the verandah, but according to rigid custom the women
should only enter a new house for the first time through temporary doors
made for the purpose in the back wall of the house, but as that part of
the house was only in skeleton this could not be done.

Jangan, the chief, was quite an elderly man, who only two months
previously had been presented by his wife with his first child. His old
wife had died a couple of years since, but before her death she had
instigated him to marry his present young and pretty wife.

After three years of wedded life a boy appeared, greatly to the joy and
satisfaction of Jangan and his wife. As yet the boy had no name, and
therefore was not considered to have any social status. Before receiving
its name a male child is always spoken of as a _ukat_ and a girl as
_itang_. The Iban call such children _anak ulat_, or “young grub.” Our
visit was a convenient opportunity for the naming ceremony, and Hose
arranged with Jangan that I should act as godfather. This necessitated
the presentation on my part of a gong, for that is the recognised present
on such occasions. I was able to get one from a Malay trader, who had a
small store close by, and we all made additional presents of cloth, to
which I added a looking-glass.

A pig with tied legs was brought up into the house. This was the offering
of the father, who, squatting beside it, singed a few hairs with a
firebrand, and put his hands on the pig’s flanks, praying meanwhile as
follows:—

“O spiritual pig [Balli Boin], tell Balli Penyalong [the god of
child-naming] the reason of our meeting here to-day. We are here to name
my child, and we request you to convey our message to Balli Penyalong.
It is our intention to do all in the best manner possible. We are only
a poor people, and cannot do things on this river on a large scale. We
trust you will approve of our performances, and we hope that blessings
will come to all present who meet as friends.

“We also request Balli Penyalong to let us know by the inspection of your
liver whether the name which we intend to give this child is suitable,
whether it will in any way be harmful to him, whether he will suffer
sickness, and whether he will come to any harm through false reports.
Tuan Resident is a witness, and all those who have done us the kindness
of being present.”

Then turning to us he continued: “You are visitors to this country, and
we hope that you will not be displeased with our simple customs, which
are the ways of our forefathers, and which I request Tuan Resident to
explain to you as I am unable to speak your language.”

Again addressing the pig, he said: “The name which we have chosen has
been proposed by the old man with the beard.[7] The first name, Utang
[“Good-luck”], is entirely suitable, as his grandfather bore the same
name. The second name, Haddon, is also a name given by the old man with
the beard; in fact it is his own name, and the event has been marked by
suitable presents. We hope that all this is well, and that the augury
given in the liver will be the true one.

“We also employ you, O pig, for another little ceremony, to which,
of course, you will have no objection. We have here two peoples, the
Lepuanans and the Punans, who have met one another for the first time
since quarrelling, and who take this opportunity to square all grievances
and to make _urip_.”

The pig was then killed in the usual manner by a spear plunged into its
neck. Scarce was the unfortunate animal dead before it was cut open and
the liver carefully extracted and handed round for inspection. It was on
the whole a pretty fair one, but one or two points were not particularly
favourable; all the good points were, however, explained by Hose as
belonging to the child, whereas the less favourable details he asserted
referred to the recent hostilities between the Lepuanans and Punans. As
Hose is recognised by the natives as an expert in liver divination, his
interpretation was accepted. The blood of the pig was smeared on the
breasts of numerous spectators, mainly on those of Lepuanans and Punans.

The second or “house” pig was brought and spoken over by an old man of
the house. The liver, fortunately, was more propitious than the preceding
one. Some of the blood of the pig was smeared on a parang blade and
dabbed on my bare chest by Jangan, who said, “You have seen our customs
and how we make _urip_! Do not misrepresent us when you go back to your
own country, and do not tell lies about us.” I then smeared blood from
the same parang blade on the breasts of many of the people round about.

The Punans next killed a sucking-pig to ratify their friendship with the
Lepuanans.

The final ceremony of naming Jangan’s boy consisted in killing a chicken.
Some of the blood of the fowl was rubbed on a parang blade, and, taking
the gory iron, I applied it to the arms of Utang Haddon, saying to him in
English that I wished him good luck, a long life, a wife, and plenty of
children.

Hose made a speech, and everyone shouted and stamped.

Finally, the _borak_ (rice spirit) was produced. Hose gave a drink to the
mother. I gave one to the father, and made a small speech, wishing him
more children and a long life for himself, his wife, and his children.
The wife gave Hose and me a drink, thanking us for what we had done.

Drinks then became general, and there was much noise and enjoyment.

Lepuanans and Punans gave _borak_ to each other; the ladies were not
forgotten, nor did they omit to offer some to us and to the other men.
Great hilarity was caused in succeeding, or failing, as the case might
be, in making a few Mohammedans who were present partake of a liquid that
was prohibited to them by the Prophet.

Everything was very human, and, alas! the after results were in a few
cases very “human” too. The older men and the wiser of the younger men
who had court business to transact later in the day partook but sparingly
of the seductive drink, others were carried away by the infectious
gaiety, and subsequently became sleepy or excited, according to their
respective idiosyncrasies. One man was fighting mad, and had to be held
down by several men. One somnolent youth was affectionately tended by
three young women, one of whom nursed his head on her lap. Next morning
several men had sore heads.

Some of the Punans complained of certain Malay traders interfering with
their women, and also that their debts to the traders never came to an
end. They had paid many times for the same thing, and still the traders
produced their books and stated that the debts were not settled. Hose
heard their grievances, and having summoned all the Malays that were
about, he thoroughly investigated the matter. He took away with him when
he left four Malays who admitted that they had interfered with some of
the wives of the Punans, and cautioned the others as to their future
behaviour.

Some Malohs who were staying in this village wished to marry Sĕbop girls,
but the Sĕbop chiefs did not want this, as the Malohs are untrustworthy
people, being suspected of divorcing their wives on some trivial pretext
when they wish to return to their own country. Hose thinks the Malohs
possibly originally came from Java; they and allied people inhabit
the southern part of Borneo, but parties of them have penetrated into
various places in the interior, and have begun to make their way down
some of the upper branches of the tributaries of the Baram River. They
are essentially a trading people, and hence have no special interest
in settling down; they are also great workers in brass, and so are of
great use to the other natives. The Sĕbop girls appeared to be anxious
to marry the five Malohs, and as the latter had done no harm in the
village and there was absolutely nothing against them, Hose found it
somewhat difficult to prevent the marriages, though he appreciated the
reasonableness of the objection of the chiefs. He thereupon thought of a
plan which would probably prevent the marriages, but at the same time if
the girls were anxious to marry they would be allowed to do so. Hose gave
the Malohs permission to marry the girls provided they will come down to
Claudetown with their wives and live at Tangjong Upah with those Iban who
have married Kayan and Kenyah women. If the girls are really fond of the
Malohs they will go; on the other hand, their relatives will do their
best to dissuade them.

Hose has found from past experience that it is a very unsatisfactory
arrangement for foreigners like the Iban or Malohs, or even more nearly
allied peoples like the Mĕlanaus, to marry into and live amongst up-river
tribes. Sooner or later trouble arises through a lack of solidarity
between the aliens and the original inhabitants, cliques are formed,
and the foreigner sides with the disaffected and the irresponsible men,
such as are to be found in every community. Whenever possible he solves
the difficulty by making the parties of these mixed marriages live
together far from the wife’s relations, and he has caused them to build
a long house at Tangjong Upah on the Baram, about eight miles south of
Claudetown, where, being isolated, they can work out their own salvation,
but at the same time they are within easy reach of headquarters. Hose can
thus see that nothing goes wrong, but nevertheless they are left, as in
other native villages, to regulate their internal affairs.

In the evening we were entertained with a dance by the Sĕbops. A man who
played a _kaluri_, or mouth organ, walked in front; he was followed by
two men, and these by ten women, all in single file. They walked with
their toes well out, and scraped the sole of the advancing foot along the
ground, the body being swung slightly from side to side. None of the men
were specially dressed up, except the third, who had on a war coat and
carried a shield; the Sĕbop shield is similar to the plain, red shield of
the Kayans, but broader and rather more clumsy.

Another movement consisted in advancing two steps with a striding motion,
scraping the sole along the ground and stamping when bringing it to rest.
A lesser backward movement was made for two steps, then forward as before.

A third consisted in walking slowly and placing one foot pointing
outwards somewhat to the side, the other foot is brought up to it, the
moving foot being stamped twice before coming to a halt. In a variant of
this the whole body is alternately turned to the right and to the left.
The regular double stamping forms a pleasing feature.

In a fourth dance a backward and forward “goose step” was made, touching
the ground with the heel, but without shifting the position. Then two
forward steps were taken. At one interval the body was turned to the
right, at the next to the left, and so on alternately.

In the dance that followed one step was taken at a time, bringing up
the other to it, with the sole dragging along the ground. The string of
dancers moved forward in a serpentine course.

In the “Bird Dance” there was only a slight movement forwards, the feet
tapped the ground, and the arms were moved in an angular manner up and
down and backwards and forwards.

The performance concluded with a war dance by a single man dressed in a
war coat decorated with hornbills’ feathers, and wearing a long-plumed
war cap. First he danced without his weapons, then he picked up his
shield, and later his parang. The dance consisted of a series of
indescribable crouching, jumping, squirming movements, in which the
approved positions or attitudes of actual warfare were blended with the
gyratory motions and posturing of more ordinary dancing. Crouching on the
ground with war coat trailing behind and brandishing his shield in front,
the warrior turned, or rather hopped like an amorous cock-sparrow, first
to one side and then to the other, as if warding off blows from an unseen
adversary; then as if perceiving an advantage he would leap to his feet
and take the initiative.

The numerous and rapid graceful movements, the finely harmonising colours
of the buff skin, the ruddled shield, the black and tawny clouded
tiger’s skin coat and red loin cloth, and the bold contrast of the white
and black feathers of the hornbill, lit up by blazing fire and yellow
flickering lamps against a dim background of eager semi-nude natives
and spaces of outer darkness, made a fascinating picture of savagery,
in which the beauty of dextrous movement with harmony and contrast of
colour were combined with the deeply seated human passion for combat and
bloodshed.

We returned down the Lobong and again ascended the narrowing Tinjar, and
negotiated several rapids, one of which Hose has named after Ray. On one
occasion we had to wait a couple of hours in a sheltered spot by the bank
of the river, as the water suddenly rose and the force of the current was
too strong for our crew to paddle against it.

The scenery was very pretty, the rushing water passing between low wooded
hills, which were occasionally more or less cleared for _padi_. A few
birds flew across the river, and numerous gorgeous butterflies flitted in
the sunlight, and vermilion-bodied dragon flies darted in quest of their
prey. Tropical vegetation is perhaps seen at its best along the banks of
rivers, as the trees and bushes have full light and air on one side, and
more variety is seen in foliage and tints; but here, as elsewhere in the
tropics, there is a general absence of brightly coloured or conspicuous
flowers.

Our next stopping-place was at Long Dapoi, a village that, as its name
implies, is situated where the Dapoi joins the Tinjar.

Taman Aping Buling, the chief of Long Dapoi and _penghulu_ of the Upper
Tinjar, and his people were in great distress owing to the recent loss
of their former fine house by fire. It was not known how the fire arose,
as it occurred when most of the people were away working on their _padi_
farms. The village house was exceedingly well built, and was the largest
house in all the Tinjar District. We saw the mournful rows of charred
piles, and there was no reason to doubt the statement of the people that
they had lost a large proportion of their worldly goods. They now occupy
makeshift huts until the harvest is gathered in, when they will rebuild.
They however found time to erect a comfortable little house for us to
stay in, and were very anxious that we should spend some time with them.

Hose had a good deal of business to do, and so on the following morning,
while we measured heads, he went into the _penghulu’s_ house and settled
a number of cases of various kinds. Amongst these was one assault case,
and complaints of diverse natives with regard to land grabbing. Further
information was also obtained respecting the _panyamun_ scare. It appears
that one Turing, a Sĕbop, came up river to Long Dapoi, about ten days
ago, and told Ajang, Taman Gau, and Suran, of this village, that he had
narrowly escaped being killed by _panyamun_ (or “robbers”), and had
he not been near the house he would certainly have lost his life. The
robbers were armed with spears and other weapons. When closely questioned
who the people resembled were, he said, “Kayans from the Baram”; and when
asked if he could recognise any of their faces, he said, “No, I was too
frightened.” Here, then, was evidence that could be dealt with as regards
the statement of Turing, as all three men were willing to swear that they
heard Turing make the above statement. It was necessary for these three
men and the _penghulu_ to meet Turing. Hose therefore arranged with the
_penghulu_ that either Turing should be called here, or, if they wished
it, they could accompany Hose when he went down river, as Turing was
living in the Lower Tinjar; something in the way of expenses would, of
course, be allowed should their statement prove correct. They were all
not only willing but anxious to go with us on our return. All the people
were glad to have this matter cleared up, and it appeared that there was
every chance of the guilty parties being discovered.

When Hose had finished his business we continued our journeying
by ascending the Dapoi, a beautiful affluent of the Tinjar. Along
the greater extent of its banks are native plantations of bananas,
sugar-cane, and other edible plants; the low hills between which the
river flows are largely deforested for the cultivation of _padi_. This
small, swift river is a favourite one with the natives, and is well
populated.

We reached our furthest point, at a distance of some two hundred miles
from Marudi, on the evening of February 24th, at Long Sulan, on the Dapoi
River. This is the largest village I had yet seen in this district;
probably about fifteen hundred men, women, and children live here, and
wherever I went I was followed about by swarms of children. The people
are Long Pokuns, and belong to the Kayan group.

In front of the main house and facing the river was a large wooden model
of a man holding a shield and waving a spear. This was a representation
of Balli Atap, whose function is to ward off all sickness and misfortune.
Beside him was a roughly carved image of Tegulan, who also keeps off
sickness from people, and by means of this image you can either curse a
man or prevent him from cursing you.

Behind these were two wooden effigies of the tiger (_linjau_), facing
different ways. The object of these figures is to impress the enemies of
the village with the idea that the inhabitants are as fierce as tigers,
and should not be meddled with. They were intended to serve the same
purpose as the sentiment in the chorus of the famous music-hall song—

    “We don’t want to fight,
    But by Jingo if we do!”

Near these symbols of ferocity was a framework on which were some
curiously shaped stones. Usually similar stones are placed on separate
posts outside houses, and as a rule these are simply rounded boulders
which the natives believe have the power of increasing in size with
age. In several places the natives tell stories about the stones being
originally very small when they were in another district, but since then
they have grown, and you can see how large they are now. A sacrificial
fire is lit near them, or even a flaming firebrand will suffice. Fowl’s
or pig’s blood is on ceremonial occasions smeared on the stones. This is
always done when it is necessary to consult the omen birds before making
a long journey or before setting out on the war-path. The fire conveys
to the god the messages and desires of the worshippers. I am not quite
clear what part the stones are supposed to play in this ceremony. I was
informed that the fire is entreated to tell the stones to inform the god
of the desires of the sacrificers, but I would rather not commit myself
to this statement until it has been verified.

[Illustration: FIG. 36. LONG SULAN]

Around the shrine of sacred stones were a number of frayed poles and
sticks (_isang_). These play an important part in all ceremonies
connected with the war-path and the consequent bringing home of heads.
They are also erected when skulls are shifted from one house to another.

Not far off were a couple of very tall poles (_kelebong_) decorated with
shavings, from the tapered end of which depended a long decorated rope,
to the free end of which was fastened a round block of wood. This is now
an innocent object; formerly (and not so very long ago either) it would
have been a human head or skull. A _kelebong_ is erected on the return
from the war-path, or, as on the present occasion, when a new house is
built.

[Illustration: FIG. 37. KEDAMAN AND KELEBONG AT LONG SULAN]

There were two groups of curious upright boards (_kedaman_), with
streamers attached. A rough or conventional face is usually carved or
painted at the end, and there project two slanting cross-boards that
serve as arms. Indeed a _kedaman_ looks at a distance for all the world
like our familiar scarecrows, but their object is to attract and not to
frighten away certain birds. On the upper part of the board were a number
of spikes or thin skewers, on which were stuck small pieces of pig or
fowl meat, to sacrificially feed the omen birds. Often, and that till
quite recently, the flesh of enemies was offered in a similar manner.

On our way to Long Sulan we had picked up a Sĕbop chief, named Tingang,
who had married the niece of Taman Balan Deng, the Long Pokun chief.
Tingang had requested Hose to assist him in a little family matter. He
had been married about four years, but his wife was still living with her
relations, who refused to let her live with her husband in his present
village, though she was not unwilling to live with him.

It appears that about a year after he was married it was arranged that
he should send people to fetch his wife, and he agreed to pay over
a sum of about a hundred dollars as dowry. He then returned home to
make arrangements for his wife’s arrival, and thinking that all was
satisfactorily arranged and that there would be no difficulty or any
necessity for much ceremony, he sent only a few of the low-class people
of his house to fetch the lady.

It is usual on an occasion of this kind for some friendly chief with a
number of influential people to go in a long boat decorated with flags,
and to bring home the bride with a good deal of ceremony; this always
takes place a year or so after marriage.

On the present occasion Tingang’s wife expected something of this kind,
and when the emissaries arrived in a small boat she was naturally much
annoyed; her relations absolutely refused to allow her to go in such a
manner, and coldness sprang up between husband and wife for about a year.
Tingang, however, made repeated visits to the house, and now considered
that sufficient time had elapsed, and wished to make another effort
to get his wife away from her relations; therefore he asked Hose to
assist him. Hose questioned him with regard to the _brian_, or dowry; he
admitted there were about fifty dollars to pay, which, however, was of
no importance, and he would pay it at once, his relative Tama Bulan and
others having promised to help him.

On his arrival at Long Sulan, Hose, in the presence of Langat, a cousin
of the lady, and son of Taman Balan Deng, said to Tingang that I asked
where his wife was. Upon his answering that she was living in this house,
Hose asked him, “Why haven’t you taken her down to your house? You have
been married a long time now.” To which he replied, “I want to.” Langat
retired, and no doubt repeated the conversation to the relatives. Shortly
afterwards Tingang’s wife appeared, and asked Hose to go into her room.
When there Hose asked her why she did not go and live with Tingang. Her
answer was she was waiting for him to build a proper house. Hose did not
let her know that he had heard the story of Tingang’s sending for her,
and no doubt she had no intention of telling him about it. As Tingang
has really got a very wretched sort of house, Hose took the opportunity
of his entering the room to tell him that really and truly it was hardly
a suitable house to expect his wife to come to, and she had very good
reason for not wishing to come if he did not choose to build a better
one. He admitted that his house was unsatisfactory, and said that he had
already settled on a new site, and the posts had been prepared. The wife
stroked Hose and said, “That’s right, make him build a good house, and
then I’ll go down.” Later on in the day Hose spoke to Taman Balan Deng
about it, and he said, “Oh yes, I have no objection; no doubt Tingang
will make better preparation this time than formerly.” Tingang had
probably learnt his lesson.

The reason for Tingang having a poor house is a curious one. His house,
which originally was a good one, had become old, and he determined the
next year to rebuild it on the same site, but an Iban, who had been
loafing about for a long time, and for whom his people had a strong
objection, cursed some people of the house with whom he had trading
transactions and killed a dog in the house. The killing of a dog in a
house is a serious matter for Kenyahs and Kayans, and necessitates the
breaking up of a whole house and rebuilding it elsewhere. This is the
reason for the delay in the house-building, together with hindrances due
to farming operations. Later on Hose brought this Iban down to Marudi,
and on the charge being proved against him he was ordered out of the
Baram district back to his own people. As he had some sixty dollars owing
to him at the village he had injured, Hose told him that he could not
recover the debt, which would thus stand over as compensation.

The following day some Madangs from the Silat River arrived with the news
that Saba Irang, the Madang chief, who had conveyed messages from Hose
to the important chiefs who live on the Upper Batang Kayan River, would
return shortly, and that his mission had been most successful. The Batang
Kayan is a large river in Dutch Borneo, inhabited by people allied to
the Madangs and Kenyahs of the Baram district, but there has been some
friction between some of the Batang Kayan and Baram tribes, and it was
to relieve this that Hose has entered into friendly relations with the
foreigners.

Saba Irang reported that the chiefs of the Batang Kayan were very anxious
to meet Hose, and would come very shortly to Marudi (Claudetown). It was
also stated that some thirty “doors” (families) of Leppu Agas from the
Batang Kayan had moved into the Silat, being anxious for a more settled
life. Knowing that the Madangs had recently acknowledged allegiance to
the Government of Sarawak, the Leppu Agas were anxious to follow their
example, as they are related to the Madangs. This was good news, as
Hose is getting more and more into touch with the people of the Batang
Kayan, who, of their own accord, move over into the head waters of the
Baram district, and by mixing with the Baram people quickly become loyal
subjects of the Sarawak Government.

These Kenyah races are always the best workers of jungle produce, and
quickly accumulate wealth whenever they find an outlet for their trade.
They now fully realise that if they kill, or are at enmity with, the
surrounding peoples their trade is at a deadlock. Traders are unwilling
to enter their villages, and the natives are also equally unwilling to
pass by the houses or territory of their enemies. The result is that
trade is one of the most important civilising influences among these
interior tribes. The necessity for salt, tobacco, and other luxuries is
felt very severely when the supply is cut off, and they know well that
when under a settled government they can have most of their requirements
within easy reach.

We measured fifteen people here, and visited various houses and collected
a few objects. Unfortunately Hose was ill in the afternoon with fever, in
addition to the sore throat and cough from which he had been suffering
for some time.

We returned the following day to Long Dapoi, and after Hose had received
$200 for fines collected by the _penghulu_, went down river, the
people who had charged Turing accompanying us. Our crew paddled hard
all day, and at night reached Long Semitan. Here we found Turing, and
when questioned he admitted that he had made the previously mentioned
statement to Ajang, Taman Gau, and Suran, but said that he had been told
about the _panyamun_ by a Barawan woman named Obong. Obong was living a
little further down the river in the house of Taman Ladang. Hose told
Taman Aping Buling that he must fetch Obong to-morrow, and that at Long
Tisam he would make further inquiries.

There was a Punan medicine-man in the Long Semitan house, and Hose
allowed himself to be operated on so that we might have an opportunity of
witnessing native medical practice. Hose, who was really ill, was lying
in an inner room, and the Punan was sitting on a gong Hose had given him
for his fee. Like other inland natives he wore only a _chawat_, or loin
cloth, his black hair hung down his back, and a string of blue beads
encircled his right wrist.

The room was dark, save for the flickering of a distant fire and the
glimmer of a small lamp. The weird jungle man sat close to Hose with his
hands to the side of his own head.

He asked Hose what was the matter. Hose replied he had fever every
alternate day. The medicine-man asked if Hose had a headache, and other
details of his illness.

The Punan then requested the spirits not to allow the sickness to be too
bad. He sang, or rather crooned, and occasionally breathed loudly, and
wiped his head and hair and smoked a cigarette. Next he took the blade of
a parang, and so held it that the shadow of the iron fell on Hose, and he
attentively regarded the shadow. Again he blew, sang and smoked, looked
at Hose, felt his abdomen, and stroked it, singing all the while and
calling on the sickness to come out.

Once or twice he put his hands together so as to form a tube, through
which he blew the abdomen. He next covered his own ears with his hands
and blew on the pit of Hose’s stomach. Again he stopped his ears and
sucked at Hose’s abdomen through a small tube made of the stem of the
wild ginger; he had previously scratched the place with his finger-nail,
and he sucked so hard as to make the skin rise in the tube. By a clumsy
sleight of hand he brought a small ball of wax, from which projected
a few hairs, out of the tube, this he pretended he had extracted from
Hose’s body. After having shown it round he carefully dropped the pellet
of wax and the tube through the floor.

On Hose saying he had a headache the medicine-man pricked Hose’s temples
with his nails and proceeded as before. By this time the operator was
perspiring profusely.

Again he sang and examined the parang. Next he paid attention to Hose’s
legs, and stroked them from the knee to the ankle; then he covered his
head with a cloth and bent over the legs, pricked the skin with his nails
and sucked hard through a tube as before, again producing a pellet of wax.

Once more he repeated the process on the leg, looked at the parang, sang,
blew on the leg, and stated that Hose would be well on the morrow. The
whole operation was again repeated.

After an interval the same operation recommenced. The man called on the
different spirits by name: “Who has done this? Has ⸺ done it? Has ⸺ done
it?” When he had exhausted the enumeration of the spirits he looked into
the parang and saw that Hose’s soul was better.

A fresh supply of ginger stems was placed in front of the doctor; he
then took a hat, put it on, and pretended to cry. Once more he put a
cloth over his head, which he scratched, and then looked through a tube
of ginger at Hose’s abdomen, and pricked it slightly above the navel.
He looked inside the tube, smelt and tasted it, and applied it to the
sternum. After sucking the tube for a short time he produced a small ball
of wax from the ginger tube, which he examined and showed round; then he
burst into song and dropped the wax and tube through the flooring.

The whole process was again repeated. After this the patient thought
he had had enough of it, so he proclaimed himself much better, and we
retired to rest.

The medicine-man was evidently very much in earnest, and he did not
at all like Hose murmuring to me from time to time what was going on,
nor was he too well pleased at my taking notes; but he performed his
part with due seriousness and thoroughness. We clearly saw the man’s
finger-nails were coated with the wax, and under cover of the cloth a
pellet could easily be transferred to the tube of ginger. There is in the
stem of the wild ginger an inner tube, which can readily be pushed up and
down the outer sheath. First the medicine-man pushed the inner tube down
and inserted the pellet of wax in the larger aperture, with his finger he
pushed up from below the inner tube, and this ejected the pellet from the
stem of the ginger. The whole contrivance was very simple, and could not
impose on any but the most credulous.

The following morning we reached Long Tisam at 10 a.m., and the reports
about the _panyamun_ scare were inquired into. The truth then came
out. Turing and Obong when brought face to face with the Lirong people
admitted the whole thing. Turing stated that he had been told by Obong
that she had seen robbers (_panyamun_) round about her house, and that
she was afraid, and begged him to come down river to live with her and to
protect her, and that he had lied to the Lirong people when he said he
had himself seen the robbers.

Obong was then questioned, and admitted that the whole thing was false
from beginning to end, and that she had started the report with the idea
of frightening Turing into coming down river, for she was anxious for
him to live with her, being a lorn lone widow. She had previously tried
to persuade him to come, and he had refused, as he was busy with the
harvest, so this had been her plan to bring about what she desired. She
was fined fifty dollars, or in default six months’ imprisonment, and
Turing was fined twenty-five dollars, or three months’ imprisonment. The
fines were at once paid by their relatives, and Taman Aping Buling and
others present who had been considerably inconvenienced by having had
to come down river received compensation, and everybody appeared to be
considerably pleased that disquieting rumours had been proved false and
the guilty scandal-mongers punished.

I have already mentioned that we stopped at the Sĕbop village of Long
Aiah Kechil (the mouth of the little Aiah River) on our journey up the
river. On looking at the charms (_siap_) that were, as is always the
case, hanging from the roof of the verandah, I immediately recognised a
polished stone implement, half hidden amongst the sacred odds and ends
and wholly encrusted with soot and dirt. I quietly drew Hose’s attention
to it, and, though at first somewhat sceptical as to its really being an
implement, he at once began to negotiate for it.

This proved to be a very difficult and delicate operation, for the
natives have an extreme regard for their charms as being ancient and
sacred objects that bring good luck to the house. Hose reminded Tama
Sorong, the headman, that he had never asked anything of him before, and
gentle persuasion and patience prevailed when combined with the offer of
a liberal gift. A chicken was next procured and waved over the _siap_,
and an invocation made in which Tama Sorong said that the spirits were
not to be angry and bring misfortune to the people, and that “Tuan
Resident” was wholly responsible. The head of the unfortunate bird was
pulled off, and the spurting blood sprinkled over the _siap_. Then only
did Hose become the proud possessor of his first stone implement.

This stone adze-head had been found long ago in the bed of the Upper
Tinjar River. It is a narrow, thin slab of fibrolite, 7¾ inches (196 mm.)
long, and 1⁹⁄₁₀ inch (48 mm.) broad, ground to an edge at one end. This
hard, tough stone is extremely suitable for making implements. But our
friends the natives did not recognise it as an implement; they called it
“Silun Baling Go,” that is, the toe-nail of Baling Go, the thunder god.
It was also supposed by them to have fallen from the sky.

[Illustration: FIG. 38. STONE IMPLEMENTS FROM SARAWAK]

At every house we stopped at subsequently Hose made inquiries for Baling
Go’s toe-nails, and though he heard of the existence of other specimens,
he did not come across any till we came to Long Tisam on our way back,
where he obtained from Aban Abit a very typical adze-head (Fig. 38, B),
which was made from a rather soft stone; it was 131 mm. in length.

These Seping Kenyahs brought it with them when they came from the Pliran
River, a branch of the Upper Rejang. It was said to have been obtained in
the Madang district, and to have been found in or near the Tiut River.
The man who found it, several generations ago, said he had a dream that
the good spirits (_hantus_) were going to give him a valuable present,
and so he went to the river, and there he found this stone. On its being
pointed out to them the people recognised that it had been used as an
_asai_ or adze-head.

The following night we stopped on our way down stream at the Lelak
village of Long Tru, and another implement was discovered (Fig. 38, C).
This is smaller (81 mm. long) and thicker than the others, one surface is
smooth and slightly curved, the other is highly convex, somewhat rough,
but the cutting end is ground to a sharp edge.

It was stated to have been found, with several others, three generations
ago in the bed of the Lelak Lake by an old woman. One of the other
specimens is said to have been exactly like the blade of a _biliong_,
or axe. Unfortunately the other specimens were in a house that was
accidentally burnt, and they were consequently lost, or at all events
they were not carried away, as it is against custom to remove into a
new house objects that have been burnt in this way. This implement is
believed to be the front tooth of the lower jaw of Baling Go.

There was great difficulty in obtaining this specimen, but the old man
who owned it brightened up considerably when Hose offered him a black
silk _chawat_ (loin cloth) to die in. It is the ambition of up-river
natives to die respectably, and a man never feels easy at the thought of
death until he has laid by an expensive _chawat_ in which he can take his
departure with becoming credit.

We also saw hanging up with the _siap_ five abnormally curved boars’
tusks, some crystals, and other objects, including one or two stone
hooks. The latter were evidently mainly, if not entirely, artificially
shaped; it was difficult to imagine their use, as it seemed impossible
that they could ever have been employed as fish-hooks.

I was naturally very anxious to obtain a couple of these hooks, or
one and a boar’s tusk; the latter was precisely like the artificially
deformed boars’ tusks that are such valuable objects in Fiji and New
Guinea, and of which I had recently collected several in Torres Straits.
Insuperable difficulties were made; the several objects belonged to
different people, and some of these were absent. I then had to play my
trump card by asking Hose to offer a crystal sphere that I always carried
with me for emergencies. When I handed the glass ball round it was
fondled and passed from one to another; the old men especially admired
it immensely, and exhibited no surprise when they were informed by Hose
that it was Baling Go’s eyeball! One rhumous-eyed old gentleman directly
it was passed to him rubbed his bleared eyes with it. It was evident that
here was something they thoroughly appreciated. Hose told the men that I
valued this very highly, but he would ask me to part with it as a favour,
and that they were to give him two hooks or a hook and a boar’s tusk
for it. Nothing, however, could then be decided, as the owners of the
hooks had first to be consulted and squared. In order to show how keen
a man Hose is when on the scent for anything new, I cannot refrain from
mentioning the fact that he was weakened from fever, and suffering from a
bad sore throat, and yet he commenced these tedious negotiations at 4.30
a.m.

A few days after our return to Claudetown we heard that one hook would
be given for the glass ball. Although the price was relatively heavy,
I agreed, as in trading one has usually to pay disproportionately for
the first specimen, or even for the first few, after then the price
falls considerably. When the barter was concluded we were informed that
its origin was unknown, but the hook had been in the family for three
generations, and that it was used in the ceremony that takes place before
going on the war-path, and that it assists in obtaining another head
where one had been previously obtained. In fact, it had the same function
as the wooden hooks associated with skulls in the verandahs of the
houses, the hook acts symbolically and by telepathy hooks in other heads.

[Illustration: FIG. 39. MAGICAL STONE HOOK

About three-fourths natural size]

Another type of implement of which Hose has obtained specimens is
cylindrical and more or less oval in section, with an oblique polished
face at one end, which may be either flat or more or less concave (Fig.
38, D, is 173 mm. in length). They were obtained from the Sĕbops and
Muriks, who do not know their use, nor have they a name for them; like
the old adze-heads, they were hung up along with other _siap_. My
impression is they were formerly used for extracting the pith from the
sago palm.

Stone implements have long been known from the Malay Peninsula and from
most of the islands of the Malay Archipelago, including Borneo. Mr. A.
Hart Everett found one “embedded at the bottom of a bed of river gravel
exposed in a section on the left bank of the Upper Sarawak River. Sir
Charles Lyell pronounced it to be of Neolithic type.” This specimen is
now in the Pitt Rivers Museum at Oxford.

The only specimen I had previously seen was an adze-head which was
brought in to Mr. Shelford by one of his Dayak hunters one day when I
happened to be working in the Sarawak Museum; it is now in that museum.
Hose has generously given all the implements he collected to the Museum
of Archæology and Ethnology at Cambridge.

There is nothing unusual in the sacredness of these stone implements.
Nearly all over the world, wherever stone has been replaced by metal, the
same reverence for the ancient objects is found, and not infrequently
magical properties are ascribed to them. It is, however, rather strange
that they are almost universally regarded as having fallen from the
sky and usually as actual thunderbolts; a couple of examples of this
belief will suffice out of the numbers that could be cited. Messrs. C.
H. Read and O. M. Dalton, in their recently published sumptuous work on
the _Antiquities from the City of Benin and from other parts of West
Africa in the British Museum_, say, “Shango has many attributes, but is
especially the god of thunder and lightning, in which capacity he is
known as Jakuta, the stone-thrower; all aerolites are venerated as having
been thrown by him. In some of the castings the king is represented as
holding a ground stone axe-head in his hand, and reasoning on the analogy
of similar beliefs all over the world, we can safely argue that this was
a symbol of Shango. Such axes are venerated in various parts of Yoruba;
they are still _ara oko_, and are frequently daubed with palm oil and
blood” (p. 11).

But there is no need to go to Africa for superstitious beliefs concerning
stone implements. In Europe there are many records that peasants regard
them as thunderbolts, and ascribe magical qualities to them. In Denmark
prehistoric stone hatchets or arrow-heads are termed “thunder stones”
or “lightning stones”; they are often put by the side of the fireplace,
in the thatch of the roof, over or under the door, and are regarded as
charms that have supernatural power, the most important of which is
protection from fire. Professor T. Wilson, in his address as president
to the anthropological section of the American Association for the
Advancement of Science, stated that he knew a man in Denmark who said he
had seen a hatchet come down from heaven in a flash of lightning, that
it struck the field adjoining his house, and that he went over to it and
found the stone still hot. On no consideration would he part with it.

A similar belief occurs in our own country, the so-called celts are
usually believed to be “thunderbolts,” and stone arrow-heads are “fairy
darts.” I have seen stone implements in the north of Ireland which were
used a year or two ago as a charm for curing cattle.

We are not in a position to criticise the Borneans when they regard
similar implements as the teeth and toe-nails of the Thunder God, or as a
tooth of Balli Taun, the God of Harvest, or the nail of the little toe of
the huge river dragon Balungan.

On our next journey up the Baram, Hose obtained at Long Tamala, a Murik
village, two stone implements and a brass gouge-like implement. There
was great difficulty in getting them, and Bulieng, the owner, would not
part with any other _siap_. I particularly wanted some hook-like stones,
but these he could by no means be persuaded to sell, as he gave us to
understand that they, as it were, hooked his soul to his body, and thus
prevented the spiritual portion of him from becoming detached from the
material. Another reason was that these charms had been handed down to
him from his forefathers.

These three implements were contained in a basket which had not been
opened for forty or fifty years, and on the present occasion the natives
would not take it down from the beam where it was suspended, much less
would they open it, but requested us to do so. Previously to the basket
being touched by us, all the women and children were ordered out of the
house, lest any evil should befall them. I climbed up a notched pole,
which serves as a ladder in these parts, and unfastened the basket
and handed it down to Hose. It contained, in addition to the three
implements, three water-worn stone hooks, which appeared to me to be
entirely of natural formation, two water-worn ferruginous sandstone
pebbles, somewhat resembling phalanges in form, and which we were assured
were human finger-bones, two irregularly shaped stones with natural
perforations, and one spherical pebble about an inch and a quarter in
diameter.

After the implements had been sold and taken out of the house, it was
necessary to inform the spirits what had happened, and so a small chicken
was killed by having its head torn off, and Hose, holding Bulieng’s hand,
took the bleeding bird and anointed the basket which contained the other
stones and the neighbouring skulls with the blood; while the headman told
the spirits no sickness or harm were to come to the house, as Hose was
responsible for the removal, and the implements had been presented to
him. As a matter of fact, Bulieng had just sold them for a brass gong;
but he had no objection to deceive the spirits in this matter, their
feelings would be less hurt by a donation than by a sale. It would be a
pity to vex anyone when it can be avoided, especially a spirit who has
various means at his command for retaliation. As Hose held the chicken,
no iron was demanded, since the iron is the fee of him who performs this
part of the ceremony.

When all had been duly accomplished the women and children returned, and
Hose distributed tobacco as largess; but none of the women would take
any, as Hose had previously touched the sacred charms, although he had
subsequently taken the precaution to wash his hands in public.

On a subsequent occasion Bulieng, who accompanied us on our voyage,
informed us that he could not have been cured of sickness by any
medicine-man should he have parted with the hooks, and he would certainly
have been struck down by sickness. Even now, he said, it would be
necessary for him to go through a ceremony when he returned home. The
medicine-man (_dayong_) would examine him to discover if anything out
of the common had happened to his soul. If all is well with him, he
will merely have to kill another fowl and smear the blood on the basket
containing the remaining stones, explaining to them that he is pleased
that everything has gone on all right, and that he will sit in his house
for a whole day on their account, and also on account of his own soul.
He positively declared that the night after he had sold the implements
he dreamt he was sharing something of great importance with some male
person, an augury which he did not consider unfavourable.

It is not known where these implements were found. Bulieng inherited them
from his father, who brought them with him when he came from Long Sibatu,
near the source of the Baram River.


A TRIP UP THE PATA

I had another up-river trip with Hose in order to visit Tama Bulan, the
greatest of the Kenyahs, and one of the two or three inland chiefs who
have been sworn members of the General Council of Sarawak. Tama Bulan
lives on the Pata, a beautiful affluent of the Baram, whose swift course
is often complicated with rapids, some of which are very formidable.

Unfortunately this trip, which promised to be so interesting, was marred
for me by a bout of fever, and so I could not fully avail myself of the
opportunities it afforded of studying this important and well-organised
tribe of the Kenyahs.

Outside Tama Bulan’s large village are the usual groups of carved posts,
representing deities who have to be sacrificed to on important or
critical occasions, and I took a photograph (Plate XXIX., A) of one group
of carved and painted figures which were close to some sacred stones
(_batu tulor_). I have previously alluded to the fact that stones perched
on posts are generally to be found outside each house, and they are at
times sprinkled with the blood of fowls.

Tama Bulan received us with friendly dignity, and his womenfolk soon
prepared a palatable repast for us of rice and other native food served
in banana leaves and laid out on the mats of the living-room, and we
reclined on the floor and supped with princes.

Tama Bulan’s house is about three hundred yards in length, and is
supported some fifteen feet from the ground on huge posts of bilian,
or “iron-wood,” some of which are a foot and a half in diameter. The
structure of the house is similar in general arrangement to those I have
previously described, but it is famous for the size of the bilian planks
with which it is floored, some of them being as much as five feet broad.

The young ladies of Tama Bulan’s house proved to be the friendliest and
jolliest damsels I have met in all my travels. They were not shy, but sat
with us after the meal and made themselves agreeable. I quite envied Hose
his facility of chatting to them, but the girls tried to make me feel at
home by pulling my fingers to make them crack—this appears to be a sort
of delicate attention to pay to a friend. I could not help comparing the
behaviour of these girls with that of a merry party of frank, wholesome
girls in an English country-house. The non-essentials were as different
as possible—features, dress, ornaments, and habits—but there was the same
_camaraderie_ and good breeding.

Bulan (Plate XXIX., C), whose name signifies “the Moon,” was by no means
so good-looking as several of her companions, and though dignified and
friendly, she was not quite so genial. I do not think this was entirely
due to her being weighed down by the fact of her being the eldest child
of Tama Bulan; perhaps her domestic troubles had somewhat sobered her. I
forget the details, but it was something like this. She had been married,
or at least on the point of being married, three times. Once the omen
birds foreshadowed such evil fortune that it would have been flying in
the face of Providence to proceed further; and once, I think it was
immediately after her marriage, a fire broke out in the kitchen, and
this was regarded as an indication that the marriage should be null and
void. The future writer of Bornean love stories will not have far to seek
for obstacles in the path of true love. As Bulan was the firstborn, her
father, following the custom of the country, changed his own name to Tama
Bulan, “the father of Bulan.”

The day after our arrival at the village I went with Hose a short
distance up the Pata to visit the Leppu Lutong village. On our way we
passed a lovely spot where two streams met, which has an historical
interest. It was in the early days of Hose’s administration, before
he had fully acquired that influence over Tama Bulan which is now so
marked, and which constitutes such a bulwark for the stability of the
Rajah’s government among the interior tribes of this district. It is
a long story, but the gist of it is that Tama Bulan, with a host of
Kenyahs who were spoiling for a fight, had decided to go on the war-path
without permission. If they had done so it would have indicated to the
neighbouring tribes that the Sarawak Government could be flouted; so
Hose put a brave face on it and, with a few followers, hurried to meet
Tama Bulan and his warriors. They met at this rapid. Hose stood firm,
and for a short time a game of bluff was played, at which the white man
won, and Tama Bulan gave in; but it was a touch and go, and might very
well have ended in a catastrophe. Unfortunately I was not well enough to
photograph the spot, which I subsequently regretted, as the following
year, when he published his new map of the Baram district, Hose named
this rapid “Fanny Rapid,” in honour of my wife.

[Illustration: PLATE XXIX

SHRINE OUTSIDE TAMA BULAN’S HOUSE

BULAN

SABA IRANG, THE HEAD CHIEF OF THE MADANGS]

We have already seen that a Resident who takes a sympathetic interest
in his people is consulted about their private affairs, and in time he
may possess an intimate knowledge of the domestic life of large numbers
of natives. An example of the fatherly interest that Hose takes in his
people came under my notice on the occasion of this visit to Tama Bulan.

Ballan, a pleasant young man about nineteen or twenty years of age, son
of a Long Belukan Kenyah chief, spoke in a confidential tone to Hose,
saying he had something to tell him. Ballan explained that he very much
wanted to marry Laan, a nice-looking girl of about seventeen years of
age, who was a niece of Tama Bulan’s. He stated that the girl was willing
to be married, and anxious for him to inform Tama Bulan and her father to
that effect, but he was a little nervous of doing so.

As a matter of fact, a good number of youths in a similar predicament
come to Hose to ask him to help them, and as he is constantly discussing
such matters with Tama Bulan and other chiefs he is in a position to put
in a word in season and smooth over any difficulties that may arise, for
the course of true love does not always run smoothly even in Borneo. In
the present instance not only had the girl’s father to be approached, but
it was necessary that consent should be given by the great chief Tama
Bulan, who was also her uncle.

Hose questioned Ballan whether his was a genuine love affair, and the
latter emphatically stated that the girl was quite willing. Hose then
asked if he had slept in her room; and having been assured that he had
done so, he further inquired if they had slept on the same pillow,
and he said they had. Among these people it is customary for a young
man to visit the sleeping-chamber of his sweetheart and sit and talk
for several hours after the family has retired to rest. When friendly
relations are well established the lover may enter within the mosquito
curtains and sleep by the side of his beloved; but the sharing of the
pillow is only accorded to him who has been accepted as a prospective
husband. The young people behave with strict propriety, and I understand
that there is little to object to in this custom, which may have resulted
from the public life which everyone leads.

At all events we cannot criticise these good people very harshly, as the
very similar practice of “bundling” was in vogue until recently in Wales,
as Brand informs us in his _Antiquities_ (vol. ii. p. 98): “In Wales
there is a custom called ‘bundling,’ in which the betrothed parties go to
bed in their clothes.”

To return to my friend Ballan, Hose said he did not care to mention the
matter to the relatives unless Ballan was in earnest, and that now he
was assured of this he thought it was a very good and entirely suitable
match, and he would be very pleased to help it on by speaking to Tama
Bulan; if he waited on the verandah he would let him know the result.

Tama Bulan was in his room, and on entering Hose beckoned to him that
he had something to say privately. Tama Bulan got up and went to one
side and remarked, “Tuan?” “Oh, it’s nothing important. Some of these
young people want to get married, and as usual have asked me to put it
through for them.” “Who is it?” “Oh, Ballan wants to marry Laan, and
they are afraid to tell you.” “Oh yes, that’s a good match; we are all
connections. I’ll go and tell the father. You wait here a bit.”

Tama Bulan then went to consult Laan’s father, Aban Tingan, who no doubt
had seen what had been going on for the last few days, but he had held
his peace. In a few minutes Tama Bulan returned. “Oh yes, Aban Tingan is
agreeable; that’s all right.” Hose then put in a word for Ballan. “Will
there be any _brian_ [_i.e._ bride-price]?” “Oh no; we are all more or
less related. Ballan is my relative; there will be nothing very much.
There will be the usual _adat_ [custom] of expenses for a feast in which
we will all join; then there is the custom of depositing a _tarwak_ at
the time of proposal.” Hose then said he would be responsible for the
_tarwak_, for he had previously taken an interest in Ballan, and during
the earlier part of my stay at Claudetown Ballan had visited him.

Hose then went into the verandah and found Ballan anxiously awaiting the
result of the interview. Hose told him that Tama Bulan and Aban Tingan
were agreeable. Ballan then said that according to custom he would have
to find a _tarwak_. Hose reassured him by the information that he had
already arranged this for him.

Aban Tingan’s house, or rather suite of rooms, is next to Tama Bulan’s,
and that evening, when Hose retired into one of Tama Bulan’s rooms, he
heard the young people chatting in the adjoining room. Hose called out
to Ballan to come round and talk to him; for a long time he was very
unwilling, which was not unnatural, considering the circumstances. Having
secured him Hose forced the conversation, so that Ballan sent round for
his mat, and made preparations as if he were going to sleep in the same
room as his tiresome benefactor. In the meantime the lady, weary of
waiting, began to very softly play the usual lovers’ tune on the _kaluri_.

Hose, of course, understood what the girl was playing, and chaffed poor
Ballan about it; then, taking pity on the young people, he pretended to
go to sleep, and when Ballan thought he was soundly off, he rolled up his
mat and silently bolted. Next morning Laan came out to shake hands as
Hose was going away, and told him that Ballan had told her all that he
had done for them.

The subsequent history of this love affair was not quite such plain
sailing. Preparations had been made for the marriage, and two days before
the happy event a child, who was strolling in the farm, was killed by a
tree falling on it. This incident was unlucky, and it was necessary for
Ballan to return home and wait awhile.

Later they made a second attempt to get married, but it was first
necessary to consult the omen birds. They did so, and one old man in the
crowd said he saw a very bad omen. Ballan said to Taman Bulan he wanted
to be married, the white man did not bother about omens, and why should
he? A modern vernacular translation of one of his remarks to the great
chief was that he wanted to “chuck those blooming birds.”

It is really very doubtful how far Tama Bulan believes in these things,
but he is a statesman, and consequently always politic, so he replied
to Ballan, “_You_ may not mind, but your conduct may affect the whole
family.” Ballan had again to return home unmarried.

Subsequently Hose invited Ballan to come and stay for a month with him.
Tama Bulan happened to come down during that visit, and Ballan asked the
Resident to talk to Tama Bulan about his marriage. He did so, and Tama
Bulan said he would arrange it after the next harvest.




CHAPTER XXIII

NOTES ON THE OMEN ANIMALS OF SARAWAK


The cult of the omen animals is of such importance in the daily life of
most of the tribes of Borneo that it is desirable that more attention
should be paid to it by those who have the opportunity of studying it at
first hand.

The Ven. Archdeacon J. Perham has given a full account of the Sea Dayak
religion in the Journal of the Straits Branch of the Royal Asiatic
Society (Nos. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, and 8), which has been reprinted by Ling
Roth in his book, _The Natives of Sarawak and British North Borneo_. Mr.
Ling Roth has also compiled some other scattered references on omens
(vol. i. pp. 221-31). Although the following notes are very imperfect,
they contain some new facts derived from Hose, and also, thanks to
information derived from Hose, I am able for the first time to give a
fairly complete list of the omen animals of Sarawak with their scientific
names.

I have taken the liberty of abstracting the following account of the way
in which birds are “used,” as the Iban (Sea Dayak) say, from Archdeacon
Perham’s most valuable papers, as it is the best description known to me
of what is of daily occurrence in Borneo.

“The yearly rice-farming is a matter of much ceremony as well as of
labour with the Dayaks, and must be inaugurated with proper omens. Some
man who is successful with his _padi_ will be the augur, and undertake
to obtain omens for a certain area of land, which others besides himself
will farm. Some time before the Pleiades are sufficiently high above the
horizon to warrant the clearing the grounds of jungle or grass, the man
sets about his work. He will have to hear the _nendak_ (_Cittocincla
suavis_) on the left, the _katupong_ (_Sasia abnormis_) on the left, the
_burong malam_ (a locust) and the _beragai_ (_Harpactes duvauceli_) on
the left, and in the order I have written them. As soon as he has heard
the _nendak_ he will break off a twig of anything near, and take it home
and put it in a safe place. But it may happen that some other omen bird,
or creature, is the first to make itself heard or seen; and in that case
the day’s proceeding is vitiated. He must give the matter up, return,
and try his chance another day; and thus sometimes three or four days
are gone before he has obtained his first omen. When he has heard the
_nendak_, he will then go to listen for the _katupong_ and the rest, but
with the same liability to delays; and it may possibly require a month to
obtain all those augural predictions which are to give them confidence in
the result of their labours. The augur has now the same number of twigs
and sticks as birds he has heard, and he takes these to the land selected
for farming, and puts them in the ground, says a short form of address to
the birds and Pulang Gana (the tutelary deity of the soil, and the spirit
presiding over the whole work of rice-farming), cuts a little grass or
jungle, and returns. The magic virtue of the birds has been conveyed to
the land.

“For house-building, the same birds are to be obtained, and in the same
way. But for a war expedition birds on the right hand are required,
except the _nendak_, which, if it make a certain peculiar call, can be
admitted on the left.

“These birds can be bad omens as well as good. If heard on the wrong
side, if in wrong order, if the note or call be the wrong kind, the
matter in hand must be postponed or abandoned altogether; unless a
conjunction of subsequent good omens occur, which, in the judgment of
old experts, can overbear the preceding bad ones. Hence, in practice,
this birding becomes a most involved matter, because the birds will not
allow themselves to be heard in a straightforward orthodox succession.
After all it is only a balance of probabilities, for it is seldom that
Dayak patience is equal to waiting till the omens occur according to the
standard theory.

“These are the inaugurating omens sought in order to strike a line of
good luck, to render the commencement of an undertaking auspicious. The
continuance of good fortune must be carried on by omen influence to the
end.

“When any of these omens, either of bird, beast, or insect, are heard
or seen by the Dayak on his way to the _padi_ lands, he supposes they
foretell either good or ill to himself or to the farm; and in most cases
he will turn back and wait for the following day before proceeding again.
The _nendak_ is generally good, so is the _katupong_ on the right or
left, but the _papau_ (_Harpactes diardi_) is of evil omen, and the man
must beat a retreat. A _beragai_ heard once or twice matters not, but if
often, a day’s rest is necessary. The _mbuas_ (_Carcineutes melanops_)
on the right is wrong, and sometimes it portends so much blight and
destruction that the victim must rest five days. The ‘shout’ of the
_kutok_ (_Lepocestes porphyromelas_) is evil, and that of the _katupong_
so bad that it requires three days’ absence from the farm to allow
the evil to pass away; and even then a _beragai_ must be heard before
commencing work. The _beragai_ is a doctor among birds. If the cry of a
deer, a _pelandok_ (_Tragulus_) be heard, or if a rat crosses the path
before you on your way to the farm, a day’s rest is necessary, or you
will cut yourself, get ill, or suffer by failure of the crop. When a good
omen is heard, one which is supposed to foretell a plentiful harvest,
you must go on to the farm, and do some trifling work by way of ‘leasing
the work of your hands’ there, and then return; in this way you clench
the foreshadowed luck, and at the same time reverence the spirit which
promises it. And should a deer or _pelandok_ come out of the jungle and
on to the farm when you are working there, it means that customers will
come to buy the corn, and that therefore there will be corn for them to
buy. This is the best omen they can have, and they honour it by resting
from work for three days.

“But the worst of all omens is a dead beast of any kind, especially those
included in the omen list, found anywhere on the farm. It infuses a
deadly poison into the whole crop, and will kill some one or other of the
owner’s family within a year. When this terrible thing happens they test
the omen by killing a pig, and divining from the appearance of the liver
immediately after death. If the prediction of the omen be strengthened,
all the rice grown on that ground must be sold; and, if necessary, other
rice bought for their own consumption. Other people may eat it, for the
omen only affects those at whom it is directly pointed. A swarm of bees
lighting on the farm is an equally dreadful matter.”


THE OMEN ANIMALS OF SARAWAK

  -------------------------+--------+---------------+--------+------------
     SCIENTIFIC NAME.      | KAYAN. |     KENYAH.   | PUNAN. |   IBAN.
  -------------------------+--------+---------------+--------+------------
  Cervulus muntjac         |Telaau  |Telauoh        |Telauoh |Kijang
  Tragulus napu            |Planok  |Planok         |Planok  |Pelandok
     ”     javanicus       |Planok  |Planok         |Planok  |Kamaya Panas
  Arctogale leucotis       |Munin   |Munin          |  *     |  *
  Haliastur intermedius    |Niho    |Flaki          |Flaki   |Senalong
              (indus)      |        |               |        | Burong
  Carcineutes melanops     |  *     |Asi            |Asi     |Membuas
  Berenicornis comatus     |Makong  |Kong           |Makong  |  *
  Harpactes diardi         |Upau    |Pengolong Bioh |Pengiok | Papau
      ”     kasumba        |  *     |Pengolong Bioh |Pengiok |  —
      ”     duvauceli      |  *     |Pengolong Lomit|Pengiok |Beragai
  Lepocestes porphyromelas |        |Kieng or Usa   |Kieng   |Pangkas or
                           |  *     |  Kieng        |or Ratat| Kotok, or
                           |        |               |        | rarely Jaloh
  Sasia abnormis           |  *     |Ukang          |Bukang  |Katupong
  Cittocincla suavis       |  *     |   *           |  *     |Nendak
  Orthotomus cineraceus    |  *     |   *           |  *     |Briak
  Platylophus coronatus    |Pajan   |Telajan        |Telajan |Bejampong or
                           |        |               |        | Kajampong
  Arachnothera longirostris|Isit    |Isit or Sit    |Sit     |Enkrasak
      ”        modesta     |Isit    |Sit Asa        |Sit     |Enkrasak
      ”        chrysogenys |Isit    |Sit Asa        |Sit     |Enkrasak
  (Anthreptes malaccensis) |Isit    |   *           |  *     |  *
  Coluber melanurus        |  —     |Kusai          |  *     |  *
  Simotes octolineatus     |Batang  |   *           |  *     |  *
                           | Lima   |               |        |
  Doliophis bivirgatus     |        |               |        |
             (flaviceps)   |  —     |Semoi          |  *     |  *
     ”      intestinalis   |  —     |Nawan          |  *     |  *
  Lachesis wagleri         |  —     |Laun Nangur    |  *     |  *
  Gryllacris nigrilabris   |  *     |  *            |  *     |Malam or
                           |        |               |        | Kundin
  Chrysocoris eques        |  —     |Turok Parai    |  —     |  —
  Melipona vidua           |  *     |  *            |  *     |Manyi
  -------------------------+--------+---------------+--------+-------------

In the above table a blank space indicates that I am uncertain whether
that people use the particular omen animal; the * means that it is not
employed.

Omen animals are called _aman_ by the Kayan, Kenyan, and Punan, and
_burong_ by the Iban.

For the convenience of those who would like more precise information
about these animals I give a table showing their position in zoological
classification.

                                 MAMMALIA

    UNGULATA       Artiodactyla    Tragulina      Tragulidæ   Tragulus
           ”           ”           Pecora         Cervidæ     Cervulus
    CARNIVORA      Carnivora vera  Æluroidea      Viverridæ   Arctogale

                                   AVES

    FALCONIFORMES  Accipitres      Falconidæ        —         Haliastur
    CORACIIFORMES  Coraciæ         Alcedinidæ     Halcyoninæ  Carcineutes
        ”            ”             Bucerotidæ       —         Berenicornis
        ”          Trogones        Trogonidæ        —         Harpactes
        —          Pici            Picidæ         Picinæ      Lepocestes
        —            ”                ”           Picumninæ   Sasia
    PASSERIFORMES  Oscines         Turdidæ        Turdinæ     Cittocincla
        ”            ”                ”           Sylviinæ    Orthotomus
        ”            ”             Laniidæ          —         Platylophus
        ”            ”             Nectariniidæ     —         Arachnothera
        ”            ”                ”             —         Anthreptes

                                  REPTILIA

    OPHIDIA        Colubridæ       Aglypha        Colubrinæ   Coluber
        ”            ”                ”              ”        Simotes
        ”            ”             Proteroglypha  Elapinæ     Doliophis
        ”          Viperidæ            —          Crotalinæ   Lachesis

                                  INSECTA

    ORTHOPTERA     Locustodea      Gryllacridæ      —         Gryllacris
    HEMIPTERA          —           Scutelleridæ     —         Chrysocoris
    HYMENOPTERA    Petiolata       Apidæ            —         Melipona

The “barking deer” (_Cervulus muntjac_) is very important as an omen to
all peoples, but least so to the Iban. The bark of the deer prevents
people from continuing their journey, and even divorces people who are
newly married.

The little chevrotains, _planok_ or _pelandok_ (_Tragulus napu_ and _T.
javanicus_), have the same function as the muntjac so far as a journey is
concerned, but otherwise they are not very important.

The Rev. W. Chalmers says: “If the cries of any of the three kinds of
deer found in Sarawak be heard when starting on a journey, or when going
to consult the birds by day or by night, it is a sure sign that, if the
matter in hand be followed up, sickness will be the result. Also if a
newly married couple hear them at night they must be divorced, as, if
this be not done, the death of the bride or bridegroom will ensue. I
myself have known instances of this omen causing a divorce, and I must
say the separation has always been borne most philosophically by the
parties most concerned; in fact, the morning of one of these divorces, I
remember seeing an ex-bridegroom working hard at shaping some ornamental
brass-work, which Dayak women are in the habit of wearing round their
waists, and he said he intended to bestow it on a certain damsel whom he
had in his eye for a _new_ wife.”

Sir Spenser St. John writes: “To hear the cry of a deer is at all times
unlucky, and to prevent the sound reaching their ears during a marriage
procession gongs and drums are loudly beaten. On the way to their farms,
should the unlucky omen be heard, they will return home and do no more
work for a day.”

A Malay told me: If a Sarawak Malay was striking a light in the evening
in his house, and a _pelandok_ made a noise at the same time, the whole
family would have to leave the house for three days; should they not do
so, the house would catch fire and be burned down, or sickness or other
calamity would overtake them.

On the second day of one of Hose’s journeys through the jungle, the chief
who was with him saw a _pelandok_ rush across the path. Hose being behind
did not observe it, but he saw all his party sitting on a log, and the
chief informed Hose that he could not proceed that day as his “legs were
tied up.” This was most inconvenient, as Hose was in a hurry; but the men
would not go on. Hose freely took upon himself all the responsibility,
and said he would go first and would explain to the _pelandok_ that he
was the person in fault. The chief would not agree even to this, and
did not budge, but said he would follow the next day. Hose went on with
some of the men as far as he could, and then camped. Next day the chief
caught Hose up at noon, and appeared very much surprised that no harm had
befallen him. Hose chaffed him about his legs, and was “pleased to see
that they had become untied”!

The small viverrine carnivore, _Arctogale leucotis_, is one of the most
important omens for Kenyahs and Kayans, who, however, have a particular
dread of coming in contact with it, lest it should produce sickness;
they will never so much as touch a piece of its dried skin. It is not an
omen for the Iban nor for the Punans, who even kill and eat it. After
having obtained other omens the Kayans are glad to see the _munin_, as it
is useful in conjunction with other omens, but they do not like to hear
it squealing.

The screeching of the large hawk (_Haliastur intermedius_), which is
closely allied to or a sub-species of Brahminy kite (_H. indus_), is a
cautionary sign with the Kayans, and though it is not in itself a bad
sign, they will generally return home from any enterprise on hearing
it if they are still taking omens, or at all events they will remain
where they are for the day. What the Kayan and Kenyahs most desire when
“owning” a hawk is to see it skim silently, without moving its wings
either to the right or to the left, as they wish it. Any other action
than this, such as a swoop down or continued flapping of the wings, is
considered unfavourable. Something bad is going to take place, they do
not know what it may be or to whom it will happen, so everyone who sees
the hawk do this turns away his face, or retires to some place out of the
sight of the hawk, lest on being observed he should be the one on whom
the misfortune will fall. On such an occasion no one speaks a word, and
all return into the house and wait from ten minutes to half an hour. If
they are very anxious to go on again that day they slip quietly out of
the house so that the hawk may not see them, get into their boats, and
start on their journey.

If the hawk appears on the wrong side when men are paddling a few days
away from home and nearing another village, they immediately turn the
boat right round and pull to the bank and light a fire. By turning round
they put the hawk on the right side, and being satisfied in their own
minds they proceed on their journey as before.

The hawk, or, as the Iban call it, _Sengalong Burong_, is a very
important being. The little woodpecker (_Sasia abnormis_), _Katupong_, is
his son-in-law, being married to Dara Inchin Temaga Indu Monkok Chilebok
China, a poetical _hantu_ who mentions in her songs the names of all the
mouths of the rivers in their order, from Sarawak River to some distance
up the coast. This is probably the remnant of a migration saga. The
smallest of the trogons (_Harpactes duvauceli_), _beragai_, also married
another daughter of _Sengalong Burong_.

Although this is the most important of any Iban omen bird, it is his
sons-in-law that are most used. Food is offered to _Sengalong Burong_.

I believe that other large hawk-like birds are used as omens.

The Brahminy kite is popularly supposed in India to be the sacred Garuda,
the mythical bird, half eagle and half man, which in Hindu mythology is
the _vahana_, or “vehicle,” of Vishnu. Whenever Bengali children see one
of these birds they cry out—

“Let drinking vessels and cups be given to the _Shankar Chil_” (Brahminy
kite); “but let the common kite get a kick on its face.”

There is a kingfisher that lives in the jungle (_Carcineutes melanops_)
which is not a particularly lucky bird. If, when they are making a trap,
the Iban hear the long, mournful whistle of the _membuas_ they know that
although the trap will catch things, it will only be after an interval
of ten or fourteen days that they will have any luck. On other occasions
it is not unusual for them to catch little partridges, such as _Rollulus
rouloul_, directly they have set up the trap, but often, under ordinary
circumstances, it will be a day before they catch anything.

The Kenyahs apparently dislike this bird, which they call _asi_, as it is
not very favourable; in fact, they would rather not see it.

The white-crested hornbill (_Berenicornis comatus_), which has a
moderate-sized, black-keeled casque on its beak, and bare, blue orbits
and throat, is an _aman_, that is sought for by Kenyahs and Kayans,
particularly by the latter, when felling jungle for planting, and when
going on the war-path. The Kenyahs use it slightly, and the Iban not at
all; it is in any case an omen bird of secondary importance.

The trogon, called by the Iban _papau_ (_Harpactes diardi_), is
particularly useful to these people when hunting in the jungle for deer,
pig, etc., as it is a sure sign that they will obtain something that
day. The bird’s note of “pau, pau, pau,” infuses fresh energy into them.
Supposing some Iban were making a spring-trap (_panjok_), the moment one
of them heard the cry of the _papau_, or _beragai_ (_H. duvauceli_), he
would at once snap off or cut off a small twig with a _parang_—the small
piece of wood thus cut or broken off is used for the release of the
trap—the man would at the same time remark to the bird, “Here we are!”

Other tribes, such as the Kenyahs and Punans, use _H. diardi_ as an
omen, but it is not an important one; but _H. duvauceli_ is of very
considerable importance to the Kenyahs when going on the war-path, it
being one of the omens of which it is imperative to obtain a sight or
hearing. _H. kasumba_ is employed indifferently with _H. diardi_.

_Lepocestes porphyromelas_ is one of the most important of the omen
birds, as it makes two perfectly distinct notes, one of which is
favourable and the other unfavourable. On a rainy day it calls “tok, tok,
tok,” but when the sun comes out it bursts into a long “kieng, kieng.”
_Tok_ is bad, but _kieng_ is good.

When a Kenyah hears the _tok_ cry he immediately stops, lights a fire,
and takes the usual precautions in talking to it. He knows perfectly well
that the same bird makes the two notes, and he waits for the _kieng_.
His explanation is that when the bird calls “tok” it is angry, and
in a good temper when it sings “kieng,” and therefore it is well not
to go contrariwise to the omen. The Iban behave in a similar manner.
The Kenyahs regard it as a bird of warning, but not one that assists
in getting anything. If a man was doing anything with a _parang_, or
a knife, or other sharp-edged tool, and heard even “kieng,” he would
probably desist from further use of it for that day.

The little woodpecker (_Sasia abnormis_) is in high favour among the
Iban; in fact, they consider it most important, as he represents his
father-in-law, _Senalong Burong_. The _katupong_ appears to produce
whatever result they require. It is of less importance with other peoples
of Sarawak.

Mr. Crossland informs us if a _katupong_ enters a house at one end and
flies out by the other, men and women snatch up a few necessaries, such
as mats and rice, and stampede, leaving everything unsecured and the
doors unfastened. If anyone approaches the house at night he will see
large and shadowy demons chasing each other through it, and hear their
unintelligible talk. After a while the people return and erect the ladder
they have overthrown, and the women sprinkle the house with water “to
cool it.”

A kind of thrush (_Cittocincla suavis_) is particularly useful to the
Iban when looking for gutta or other jungle produce. _Nendak_ is a good
bird to own, as it is a _burong chelap_, and on hearing it they would not
be afraid of any sickness.

Before starting on a gutta expedition they would require to see something
before _beragai_ (_Harpactes duvauceli_), as this is a _burong tampak_,
that is, an omen animal that is potent for hunting. What they like is:
first to get _nendak_; then wait three days while they are “owning”
it; finally, to get _beragai_ on the right. This combination signifies
certain success; not only would they find gutta, but would obtain plenty
of it, and no harm or sickness would befall them. If, however, they went
for gutta on _beragai_ alone, and that perhaps appeared on the left, they
would obtain a fair amount of gutta, but they would stand a good chance
of some misfortune happening to them, and one of their party might fall
sick or even die.

The tailor bird (_Orthotomus cineraceus_), although employed by Iban
only, is of very little use, as it is only a secondary _burong_. It may
be employed as an additional argument when deciding for _selam_, or trial
by the water ordeal. This consists in the two disputants putting their
heads under water, and the one who has the most staying power has right
on his side.

The Bornean shrike, which has an erectile crest of long and broad
feathers on its head (_Platylophus coronatus_), is used by the Iban as
a weather prophet on account of its unerring faculty of foretelling a
storm, for whenever its whistle is heard rain is always to be expected.
It is very important for Kenyahs and Kayans in connection with tilling
farms. When Kayans are clearing away undergrowth for a farm, after having
offered to _niho_ (_Haliastur intermedius_) and other _aman_, it is
desirable they should hear _pajan_, the shrike, for then they know they
will get plenty of _padi_ of good quality, but there will be a good deal
of hard work, and possibly a considerable amount of sickness and cuts and
wounds. If they procure this omen they take the precaution of building
very substantial granaries.

Three species of sun birds (_Arachnothera longirostris_, _A. modesta_,
and _A. chrysogenys_) are very important to Kayans, Kenyahs, and Punans.
Any one of these species is used impartially, and they bear the name of
_sit_ or _isit_.

The _sit_ is always the first bird to look for when undertaking anything.
Fortunately an individual of one of the three species is almost always
to be seen crossing the river. It is one of the least important omen
birds with the Iban. When Kayans, Punans, and Mĕlanaus go in search of
camphor it is first necessary to see a _sit_ fly from right to left, and
then from left to right. A Mĕlanau who is intending to start on such an
expedition sits in the bow of his boat and chants—

    _O Sit, Sit, ta-au, Kripan murip, Sit._
    _Ano senigo akau, ano napan akau._

    (“O Sit, Sit, on the right, give me a long life, Sit.
    Help me to obtain what I require, make me plenty of that for
      which I am looking.”)

An allied bird, _Anthreptes malaccensis_, is commonly mistaken by Kayans,
but by them only, for _Arachnothera longirostris_, who then use it as an
omen bird, but it is not so used by the Kenyahs, by whom it is called
_manok obah_.

All the snake _aman_ are bad omens, and in the case of a Kayan seeing
_batang lima_ (_Simotes octolineatus_) he will endeavour to kill it, and
if successful no evil will follow; should he fail to kill it then “look
out”!

I believe that the Sea Dayaks pay some regard to _sawa_, a large python
(_Python reticulatus_), and to _tuchok_, a kind of gecko or house lizard
(_Ptychozoon homalocephalum_), and to _brinkian_, another kind of gecko;
but I do not know whether these are, strictly speaking, _burong_.

The omen _padi_ bug, _turok parai_ (_Chrysocoris eques_), is of
importance to the Kenyahs alone, and that only because it injures the
crops.

The bee _manyi_ is an Iban _burong_ only. If a swarm of bees settled
underneath a house that had recently been built it would be considered a
bad sign, and probably it would be necessary to destroy that particular
section of the house or to leave the house altogether.

Many Land Dayaks, on the contrary, keep bees in their houses, and among
most of the peoples of Borneo, including the Iban, it is most lucky in
planting time to dream of an abundance of bees.

There are other creatures whose appearance, cry, or movements may signify
good or bad luck, which are not omen animals (_i.e._ _burong_ or _aman_)
in the strict sense of the term. For example, the hawk owl (_Ninox
scutulata_) makes a melancholy cry at night, on account of which it is
very much disliked by the natives, who regard it as a foreteller of
death. Its native name is _pongok_.

If the Malay bear (_Heliarctos malayanus_) climbs into an Iban’s house
it is a bad sign, and the house would have to be pulled down.

According to Perham, in answer to the question of the origin of this
system of “birding,” some Dayaks [Iban] have given the following. In
early times the ancestor of the Malays and the ancestor of the Dayaks
had, on a certain occasion, to swim across a river. Both had books. The
Malay tied his firmly in his turban, kept his head well out of water, and
reached the opposite bank with his book intact and dry. The Dayak, less
wise, fastened his to the end of his waist cloth, and the current washed
it away. But the fates intervened to supply the loss, and gave the Dayak
this system of omens as a substitute for the book.

Another story relates the following. Some Dayaks [Iban] in the Batang
Lupar made a great feast, and invited many guests. When everything was
ready and arrivals expected, a tramp and hum, as of a great company of
people, was heard close to the village. The hosts, thinking it to be the
invited friends, went forth to meet them with meat and drink, but found
with some surprise they were all utter strangers. However, without any
questioning, they received them with due honour, and gave them all the
hospitalities of the occasion. When the time of departing came, they
asked the strange visitors who they were and from whence, and received
something like the following reply from their chief: “I am _Sengalong
Burong_, and these are my sons-in-law and other friends. When you hear
the voices of the birds (giving their names), know that you hear us,
for they are our deputies in this lower world. Thereupon the Dayaks
discovered they had been entertaining spirits unawares, and received as
reward of their hospitality the knowledge of the omen system.”

Archdeacon Perham is perfectly right in his statement that “the
sacredness of the omen birds is thus explained: they are forms of animal
life possessed with the spirit of certain invisible beings above, and
bearing their names; so that when a Dayak [Iban] hears a _beragai_,
for instance, it is really the voice of _Beragai_ the son-in-law of
_Sengalong Burong_; nay, more, the assenting nod or dissenting frown
of the great spirit himself. ‘These birds,’ says _Sengalong Burong_,
‘possess my mind and spirit, and represent me in the lower world. When
you hear them, remember it is I who speak for encouragement or for
warning.’ The object of the bird-cultus is like that of all other rites:
to secure good crops, freedom from accidents and falls and diseases,
victory in war, profit in exchange and trade, skill in discourse, and
cleverness in all native craft.”

We know that such very distinct peoples in Sarawak alone as the Iban,
Land Dayaks, Muruts, Punans, Kayans, and Kenyahs pay attention to omen
animals, and in most cases to the same animals. This points to a common
origin of the cult, for in some cases there is no specially obvious
reason why that particular species of animal should have been selected.
In the three last-mentioned peoples the names of the omen animals are
practically similar, but many of the Iban names are different.

There is no doubt that this cult is indigenous to Borneo; it is probable
that it formed part of the fundamental religious equipment of the Iban,
but it is also probable that the Iban have borrowed somewhat from
neighbouring indigenous tribes. Much more information must be obtained
before a satisfactory history of this interesting cult can be written.

The question may be asked whether the cult of omen animals in Borneo is
connected with totemism. Personally I do not think this is the case,
as there is in the omen cult no direct relationship between a species
of animal and a group of men or a single individual. Neither does it
enter at all into social organisation nor marriage restrictions. It is
extremely probable that totemism, in the true sense of the term, is only
one of several cults of animals; but this is not the place to enter into
a discussion of these difficult and polemical problems.




CHAPTER XXIV

THE CULT OF SKULLS IN SARAWAK


A good deal has been written on the subject of head-hunting in Borneo,
and Ling Roth has collected together the available information about the
practice in Sarawak.

There can be little doubt that one of the chief incentives to procure
heads was to please the women. Among some tribes it was said to be an
indispensable necessity for a young man to procure a skull before he
could marry, and the possession of a head decapitated by himself seemed
to be a fairly general method employed by a young man to ingratiate
himself with the maiden of his choice. The fact of a young man being
sufficiently brave and energetic to go head-hunting would promise
well for his ability to protect a wife. This is, at all events, one
sufficiently rational reason for the custom, and there may be others as
yet not even guessed at.

The pride women feel in their men-folk who have taken heads is not
confined to these people of Borneo; formerly amongst the western tribe of
Torres Straits a young man who had taken a skull would very soon receive
a proposal of marriage from some eligible young woman.

Some tribes believe that the persons whose heads they take will become
their slaves in the next world. In this case head-collecting would mean
for them a wise precaution for the future.

A desire for reprisal of injuries, the vendetta or blood feud is a very
common reason for going on the war-path and bringing home the appropriate
trophies.

The following incident was recorded in the _Sarawak Gazette_ (vol.
xxv., 1895, p. 91): A low-class Kayan named Boi Wan at Long Lama had
taken a head from the Kayan graveyard and hung it up near his farm, and
another Kayan named Jelivan said he had killed a man under the house,
but this was a false statement, no one having been killed. The reason
for these two men acting in this way was that they might wear hornbills’
feathers, and have their hands tattooed, which is allowed by Kayan custom
only to those who have taken a head. These two men caused a great deal
of trouble, and the neighbourhood was in a very disturbed state. The
Resident fined each man fifty dollars, and made them put the head in the
grave whence it had been stolen.

It is the custom amongst the Kayans and Kenyahs that, before the
people can go out of mourning for a chief or for one of a chief’s near
relations, either a new head must be taken or an old one, or some portion
of one must be obtained.

If the people obtain an old head from some friendly community they go
through the same ceremony as if they had recently taken the head of an
enemy. The head, by-the-by, is always given, never sold. A head that has
once been given in this way, or even only lent, is seldom returned to
the place from which it has been taken. If a skull should be returned it
is generally put under the house or in some separate shed. Kayans and
Kenyahs, however, generally take skulls back into the house.

As Rajah Brooke will not permit the taking of a fresh head to enable
a community to go out of mourning, and as there is sometimes great
difficulty in borrowing a skull, or even a portion of one, the dilemma
has been overcome and custom satisfied, I have been informed, by the
village borrowing a skull from the collection kept at certain Government
forts for this purpose. These skulls are labelled A, B, C, etc., and a
record kept of each borrowing transaction. When all the ceremonies are
over the skull has to be returned to the fort, where it is available for
another occasion.

When a skull is given to a friend the following ceremony has to be gone
through. A living chicken is waved over the man who takes down the head,
over the ladder, the basket or framework that contains the head, as well
as over the skull itself. The owner talks to the fowl, telling it to
explain to the head that they are parting with it to friends who will
treat it even better than it was treated in its own house. That the new
owners will feast it, and it must not consider itself to be slighted in
the least degree. All then present join in a war-whoop.

A piece of iron is taken, an old parang blade, or a spear-head, or
anything made of _iron_, and the head and wings of the chicken are torn
off with the iron, which thus becomes covered with blood. The hand of the
owner of the skull, who is generally the chief or headman of the house,
is next smeared with the bloody iron. This ceremony is called _urip_,
that is, “life,” and has for its object the prevention of harm coming
to the original owner. Finally, some of the wing feathers of the fowl
are pulled out, and stuck into the framework or basket containing the
remaining skulls.

The skull is brought into the house of mourning with all the ceremony
that would ensue if the head had been captured on the war-path, and the
_urip_ rite is again performed.

After the sprinkling ceremony everybody in the house and all relations
in neighbouring houses take off their old mourning clothes, which are
usually made of bark cloth; they then wash themselves and put on clean
clothes. They also shave the hair round the crown and make themselves
smart. Every “door,” that is every family, kills a pig or a fowl, and all
eat, drink, and are merry. Very often after this ceremony the head is
taken out of the house, and hung up at the grave of the deceased chief.

After a good harvest, or after a successful head-hunting expedition, or
when one or more skulls are added to the collection, a cube of cooked fat
pork, with a skewer of wood thrust through it to keep it in position, is
placed in the nose of each skull, and borak, the spirit made from rice,
is put into a small bamboo receptacle about an inch and a half long,
which is placed by the skull. Wooden hooks (_kawit_) are hung up near the
skulls, with the idea that they will help the head-hunters to obtain more
skulls on their forays. It is an example of sympathetic magic, the object
of the wooden hooks being to hook in fresh heads.

I cannot refrain from mentioning what strikes one as being, to say the
least of it, an illogical action on the part of the Sarawak Government.
Head-hunting is rigorously put down, and rightly so; but when the
Government organises a punitive expedition, say, to punish a recalcitrant
head-hunting chief, the natives (generally Iban) comprising the
Government force are always allowed to keep what heads they can secure.
This is their perquisite. Surely it would be a more dignified position
not to allow a single head to be taken away by anyone in the Raj under
any pretext whatever, and to remunerate the punitive force in some more
direct manner.

[Illustration: PLATE XXX

SKULL TROPHY IN A KAYAN HOUSE

SKULL TROPHIES IN ABAN ABIT’S HOUSE AT LONG TISAM, BARAWAN TRIBE]

According to the Kayans and Kenyahs, head-hunting has been in vogue only
for some eight to ten generations, certainly not earlier. Hose would put
the time of its introduction to these tribes not more than two hundred
years ago.

A Kenyah version of the origin of the custom is as follows; it was
narrated by Aban Jau, a Sĕbop.

In olden days—and they still continue the practice—the Kenyahs took only
the hair of a man killed on the war-path, and with this they decorated
their shields.

One Rajah Tokong determined to retaliate on a neighbouring tribe that
had killed some of his people, and having made all the customary
preparations, he set out with his followers. They started, as is usually
the case when going on the war-path, just after the _padi_ had been
planted, as this is a slack season, and paddled down the river and
entered the jungle. On the third or fourth day, whilst they were cooking
their rice on the bank of a small brook, they heard a frog croaking,
“Wang kok kok tatak batok, Wang kok kok tatak batok” (_tatak batok_
signifies “cut the neck,” in other words, “cut off the head”). Tokong
listened to the frog and said, “What do you mean?” The frog replied, “You
Kenyahs are dreadful fools; you go on the war-path and kill people, and
only take their hair, which is of very little use, whilst if you were to
take away the whole skull you would have everything that you required—a
good harvest and no sickness, and but very little trouble of any kind. If
you do not know how to take a head, I will show you.” Thus spoke the frog
taunting them, and catching a little frog, he chopped off its head.

Tokong did not think much of this, but one of his _bakis_, or right-hand
men, who was an elderly man, pondered long over the incident, and during
the night he had a strange dream. He dreamt that he saw fields of _padi_,
the plants being weighted down with their heavy grain, and in addition
he saw an abundance of other food—sugar-cane, sweet potatoes, and what
not. Next morning he said to Tokong, “I am very much concerned about what
the frog said,” and then he narrated his dream. Tokong still appeared to
think very little of it, but the other men strongly advised him, if they
were successful, to bring back one or two of the heads.

Eventually they attacked the hostile house and killed seven people.
The old _bakis_ put three of the heads in his basket with the consent
of Tokong, who had been persuaded that no harm could be done in trying
this new venture. They returned at the usual breakneck pace, and found
that they were able to travel at a great rate without much fatigue.
On reaching the river they witnessed a phenomenon they had never seen
before; the stream, although it was far above the reach of the tide,
commenced running up immediately they got into their boats, and with very
little exertion in the way of poling they quickly reached their farms.

To their surprise they saw the _padi_ had grown knee-deep, and whilst
walking through the fields it continued to grow rapidly, and ultimately
burst into ear.

The usual war-whoops were shouted as they neared their home, and were
answered by a din of gongs from the house. The people, one and all, came
out to welcome them, the lame commenced dancing, and those who had been
sick for years were sufficiently energetic to go and fetch water, and
everybody appeared to be in perfect health.

The heads were hung up and a fire lighted underneath to warm them, and
everything was very jolly.

Seeing all this, Tokong remarked, “The frog was certainly right, and in
future we must bring back the heads.”

       *       *       *       *       *

Suppose the members of a community of Kenyahs are intending to move into
a new house and do not wish to take all the old skulls with them, it is
necessary to devise some means for keeping the fact of their proposed
removal from the knowledge of the skulls, for otherwise, should the
skulls find out that they had been deserted, they would avenge themselves
on the people of the house by causing many to go mad, and various other
calamities would also ensue.

The skulls are deceived in the following manner. After the new site has
been selected, and favourable omens obtained, but before any actual work
has been commenced, a small hut is built close to the old house; this is
well roofed, but only partly walled with leaves; a fireplace is made on
the ground with large pebbles, and if necessary a new board or framework
is suspended above it for the reception of the skulls. A fire is lit
and the place made what they consider snug. The skulls that are to be
left behind are then taken down by some very old man and with great care
are hung up in the new hut. A pig or chicken is killed, and the usual
ceremony (as described above) is performed.

The skulls are left in the hut, and each day a fire is lit beneath them,
and apparently they are very comfortable and pleased with their new home;
but at times suspicious skulls are heard to “kriak kriak,” and they may
even throw themselves down on to the floor. If this should happen the
skulls are taken back again, for the people dare not run the risk of
displeasing them; but if nothing takes place the people know that the
skulls are quite contented with their lot.

A good deal of trouble is taken by the people to prevent the skulls from
knowing anything that is going on, and no mention is made before them of
a new house being built.

When the new house is completed, the skulls that remained in the old
house are removed to the new one with great ceremony. Before they are
actually moved, the headman touches them and speaks to Balli Pengalong,
the Supreme Being, and to Balli Urip, who gives men long life, and
likewise he brings in by name most of the other gods; they fear to leave
them out lest the slighted gods should be annoyed and retaliate on the
inhabitants of the house. Then fowls are killed and their blood sprinkled
in the usual manner.

The men go into the new house by the front entrance, but the basket
containing the skulls is hauled up outside the house, and then pulled in
through the open space in front of the verandah; it may not be carried up
the steps and through the main entrance. The _siap_ (charms) are brought
in afterwards.

On the morning of the day when the people enter the new house a fire is
built up beneath the skulls that are left behind of wood that smoulders
for a long time, and the people skulk away from the hut as if afraid.

After about three days the fire burns out, and the skulls begin to talk
and grumble to one another. “Where are the people?” “How is it that no
fire has been put here?” “It’s fearfully cold.” The roof then chimes in,
“Oh, they are probably away at the farms; most likely they will be here
in a day or two.”

Day after day goes by. No one comes back, and the skulls begin to feel
sure something is wrong. However, they live in hope for some time. After
a month or so the leafy roof begins to leak; when the skulls feel the
rain they say to the roof, “Why do you serve us so badly? Why do you
allow the rain to fall on us? Why don’t you make the people come and
mend you.” The roof replies, “Don’t you know that you have been left.
The people have gone long ago.” Then the skulls begin to hustle around
and seek to revenge themselves on the people who have deserted them.
They look up river and down river and along the banks, but rain has
obliterated all the tracks the people made when they flitted; and finding
it hopeless to follow them they give themselves up to their fate, and
gradually become bleached by the rain and the heat of the sun. Their
ratan lashing rots, and they fall to the ground. So the people are saved
from any serious harm coming to them.

It may be asked, Why do people ever leave skulls behind them when they
move into a new house, as they are always very anxious to obtain new
ones? There is a very common-sense reason for this apparently anomalous
proceeding.

Although the skulls are very old, and those who obtained them are long
dead and buried, they have to receive the same care and attention while
they are still in the house as the more recent skulls. They have to be
fed with pork and refreshed with _borak_, and the fire has to be attended
to daily; unless all this is done the inhabitants of the house will have
only bad luck. On the other hand, those in the house receive no benefit
from these skulls, that is, assuming the owners to have died. Why, then,
should they be put to all this trouble and even run a risk of ill luck
should the skulls consider themselves slighted, but at the same time gain
no advantage? The natives of Borneo are sharp enough to appreciate that
this is not good business, and so they judiciously relieve themselves of
their somewhat troublesome benefactors.




CHAPTER XXV

PEACE-MAKING AT BARAM


At the close of our stay at Baram we had the good fortune to be present
at a great gathering of chiefs and representative men, with their
followers, from all parts of this large district. The festivities and
competitions connected with the gathering commenced on April 8th, and
lasted for several days. After these were over, taxes were paid in at
the fort, and during the whole time that the visitors were in Claudetown
a great deal of business was done in the bazaar with the Chinese
storekeepers, for large quantities of jungle produce were brought down
the river, and many goods purchased by the natives. To do them justice I
must add that the leading Chinese storekeepers had volunteered a handsome
donation towards the heavy expenses of the meeting, the remainder being
met by private subscriptions from the white men then present.

It was not possible to count the number of people gathered together. Tama
Bulan estimated the Kenyahs at about 2,500; there may have been 1,500
Kayans, and some 500 Madangs, including a few Batang Kayans; the Long
Kiputs, Long Patas, Naroms, etc., probably numbered 1,500; thus making a
grand total of at least 6,000 persons.

It was quite exciting seeing the canoes arrive and to welcome old
friends, whom one had met in their own homes, and to make fresh
acquaintances, as they come to pay their respects to the Resident.

From every part of the district they streamed in, and even from beyond.
Deputations came from the Orang Bukits of the Balait River, and from
the people of the Tutong River who are still under the authority of the
Sultan of Brunei. Representatives also came from tribes on the upper
waters of the Batang Kayan, or Balungan River, who are nominally under
the Dutch Government. Besides all these settled peoples, numerous nomad
Punans put in an appearance from different quarters.

In order to give a stimulus to the cultivation of _padi_ of superior
quality, a _padi_ and rice competition was previously announced; unhusked
rice is here referred to as _padi_. As this was the first attempt at a
competition of this sort in the district, only the down-river natives
were invited to compete. There were a hundred and fifty-seven entries in
each class; for each class there were three prizes. The native judges
unanimously awarded the first rice prize to Abit, an Orang Bukit.

On the morning of the 9th was a boat race, limited to canoes carrying a
crew of fifteen men. The course was two and a quarter miles, and the time
was eleven minutes five seconds. Tama Bulan’s people, the Long Belukan
Kenyahs, won the race, but they were hardly pressed by a Malay boat.

An obstacle race next took place, which caused great amusement. The
competitors had to run up and down one or two hillocks, to jump over a
hurdle, and then dive off a crazy staging into a pond; after swimming
this there was a steep hill to climb, next a converging framework ended
in two small orifices which led into two canvas tubes which had been
coated internally with soot, and finally a pool had to be passed through.
Those who came through presented a very bedraggled appearance, and
received the good-humoured chaff of the onlookers.

The same evening we had a display of Chinese fireworks. The rockets
and fire-balloon were greatly appreciated, but the cataract of Chinese
crackers was rather trying to the nerves of some of the people.
Unfortunately the following evenings were too wet to allow of more
fireworks.

In the afternoon a large preliminary gathering was held in the temporary
hall which Hose had erected for this purpose. The chiefs and Europeans
sat on a raised platform, of which a portion was railed off for the
separation of the more important personages. The meeting was opened
by _borak_ being handed round. Tama Bulan, in giving me a whisky and
soda, made the usual speech in musical declamation, and repeated the
performance to the other members of the party. Next he offered drink to
and apostrophised Douglas, and finally Hose. The two officials received
tremendous applause from the crowded throng. I then gave a drink to Tama
Bulan, and delivered a little recitative in the English tongue but in
the Kenyah manner, and we cheered him again and again, and sang—

    “For he’s a jolly good fellow.”

Tama Bulan gave drinks to most of the chiefs present, emphasising with
appropriate speeches the more important of them. With some he was
evidently on very friendly terms, sitting down and caressing them while
speaking; he also made a point of being markedly friendly with the Madang
chief whom he had recently visited with Hose.

Aban Tingan, the warrior brother of Tama Bulan, gave a drink to Taman
Jaat Kirieng, a chief of the Lepu Agas who recently came to reside in
the Silat. The latter chief formerly lived in the Batang Kayan, in Dutch
territory, where a number of his people still remain. It was interesting
to see these two men sit and cuddle one another and drink together, when
one remembered that until very recently they were at enmity, and a few
years ago Aban Tingan, when on the war-path, had thrust a spear through
the thigh of Taman Jaat Kirieng, a wound which nearly proved fatal.

There was also a Kenyah-Kayan-Madang group of chiefs, who sat with their
arms round one another and sipped from the same glass of _borak_.

That evening I was in a war-canoe that was engaged with two or three
others in an exciting practice race. The vociferous effervescence of the
rival crews, the exhilaration of rapid movement, and the stimulation of
half-stifling showers of spurting spray, formed a striking contrast to
the sweet tranquillity of a waning tropical day, as it folded itself to
rest in the gorgeous robes of sunset.

But a new element of turmoil arose as the Lirongs dashed down the river
in three canoes, chanting their war-song, and dressed in feathered war
coats and caps. They were received with re-echoed shouts, which were
merged into a continuous roar of sound. No sooner had they landed than
they rushed up the hill, and before one could realise what was happening
there was a rough-and-tumble, in which the Resident and Tama Bulan were
mixed up, and everyone had his share of blows. Hose, as a matter of fact,
had fully expected this encounter, as it is according to custom that
people who feel aggrieved should make some display when first meeting
those against whom they have a grudge. In this instance the Lirongs had
a score to pay off on Tama Bulan, as two years previously he had led
a Government punitive expedition against them, in which two murderers
were attacked and killed. Tama Bulan did not know that the Lirongs had
arrived, and was quite unprepared, although a number of his followers,
seeing the Lirongs’ canoes scudding down the last reach, had rushed to
their huts and donned the panoply of war. No serious damage was done, and
all friction ought then to have been over.

The next morning a public meeting was announced in the temporary hall,
but whilst the people were assembling, the Lirongs, assisted by the
Sĕbops, started another _jawa_, and there was a great hubbub and some
scuffling as they attempted to drag the Kenyah chiefs from the platform
on which they were seated. This was not according to lawful custom, and
indicated spite, as the scrimmage of the previous evening should have
settled the affair.

The people became mad with excitement when blood was seen flowing down
Tama Bulan’s face, owing to a blow over the left eye. This was the signal
for less covert hostilities, and the Kenyahs and Kayans rushed to their
several huts for weapons, and the Lirongs made for their boats, but the
Long Kiputs and Sĕbops were nearer their huts, and soon armed themselves.
Hose had wisely arranged that the Kenyahs and Kayans were encamped on the
lawn near the Residency, while the Lirongs were located in the Bazaar, a
good way off down the hill and beyond the Long Kiput encampment; between
these and the camp of the Kenyahs and Kayans was a large unoccupied
tract, in which was the fort.

Hose immediately grasped the situation, ran to the fort, and in a very
short space of time had the two small cannon charged with shot, the one
trained towards the huts of the Long Kiputs, and the other towards the
main encampment. The fortmen and some of the crew of the _Lucille_, and
one or two other trusted men were armed by Douglas with rifles.

No sooner had Hose given his orders than he rushed unarmed down to the
Lirong boats, and after a great deal of trouble succeeded in quieting
down the Lirongs and other natives, who had by this time armed themselves
with spears, parangs, and shields. The din was awful, and the excitement
intense; that Hose came out of it unharmed was due to the fact that the
trouble was purely local, and had nothing to do with the Government,
which, as represented by the Resident, was loyally respected. The esteem,
not unmixed with fear, in which Hose is personally held by all the
natives of his immense district, stood him in good stead, and the rapid
quieting down of the overwrought, gesticulating crowd was a powerful
argument in favour of a “personal Government.”

Douglas had charge of the fort, and no one was allowed to pass from one
side of the open ground to the other. He also succeeded in pacifying the
Long Kiputs and Long Patas.

Beyond, there were angry and vociferating groups of Kenyahs and Kayans,
and one or two men danced and brandished imaginary spears and shields
as they harangued their several groups and clamoured for vengeance.
Thanks to the good sense of the chiefs, assisted by the calming words of
McDougall, they gradually simmered down.

All danger was now over, and Hose went about interviewing chiefs, and
orders were issued that no one was to carry a spear, parang, or other
weapon, on pain of its being confiscated temporarily.

In the afternoon, at Hose’s instigation, the Lirongs presented Tama Bulan
with two tawaks and three gongs. Tama Bulan wanted to make peace without
compensation being made to him, and the Kenyah chiefs and Tama Bulan’s
followers were also disinclined to allow any sort of compensation to
be made to Tama Bulan, but for a different reason, and suggested they
should in any case wait to see how the wound progressed before anything
was received. Fortunately for the sake of peace, McDougall was on the
spot, and bound up Tama Bulan’s wound directly, and under his treatment
it rapidly healed, though the eye was black for some days. Tama Bulan was
thoroughly at one with Hose, and was equally anxious to bring matters to
a close, and said he was ready to accept apologies only.

Hose next went down to the Bazaar and suggested to Taman Aping Bulieng,
the headman of the Lirongs, that he should call on Tama Bulan to inquire
after him. He at once acquiesced, and immediately went to call on Tama
Bulan, with whom he stayed a couple of hours. All through there was
little friction between the chiefs themselves, the misunderstanding was
principally due to the inferior men, who had nothing to lose by causing
trouble.

This unfortunate occurrence put a stop to any further festivities for
that day. The social atmosphere was too electrical for friendly rivalry,
and there were great searchings of heart among the various combinations
of natives, and many arrangements had to be made by Hose and Douglas to
ease down the excitement.

The Lirongs admitted they were entirely in the wrong, as there was no
custom that allowed a _jawa_ to be done a second time. In order to
quiet his followers, Tama Bulan immediately he was hurt gave out that
he was hit by a fallen roof-pole of the hall and not by a blow from a
Lirong. Later, when all was settled, the truth leaked out, and also
with his customary good sense he was content to accept the apologies of
the Lirongs, and to let bygones be bygones; but for politic reasons he
accepted their presents.

It is occasions of this sort that test the loyalty and capability of men,
and bravery and readiness in an emergency are bound to make themselves
felt. It will be remembered that a few years before Orang Kaya Tumonggong
Lawai was an ill-disposed warrior whom the Government had some little
difficulty in bringing to reason. This former defier of the Government
proved his loyalty by walking up and down among the excited people, armed
only with a walking-stick, and he effectually exerted his influence to
quiet them down.

A little incident like this proves that the present form of government
is extremely suitable for the people. As in the case of Tama Bulan in
the early days when the Baram was taken over, and in other instances, a
little rough discipline served to develop what sterling qualities were
lying latent in them. Indeed, trouble is usually given at first instance
by those men of character who later on shape into loyal and capable
adherents of the Government.

One great feature of the peace-making was a _tuba_ fishing on an
unprecedented scale, and a lake connected with Baram River was to be the
scene of the attempt.

We started in the steamer at 6 a.m. on the morning of the 11th, and on
our way down stream we passed numerous canoes that had started still
earlier. On arriving at the scene of action we transhipped into a boat
and entered Logan Ansok by a narrow waterway which meandered through a
tropical jungle composed of divers trees of varied size, interspersed
among which were screw pines, palms, ratans, and ferns, epiphytes
clinging on to trunk and bough added to the complexity of the luxuriant
foliage.

[Illustration: FIG. 40. FIGURE-HEADS OF CANOES, BARAM DISTRICT]

We stayed a little time in this verdant water-lane and allowed several
canoes to pass us. First rounding the corner, and as it were peering
through the foliage, would appear a grotesque head of what seemed to be a
monstrous dragon with long, sharp tusks, goggle eyes, and erratic horns,
but the long, thin neck soon resolved itself into the bow of a war-canoe,
paddled by lithe-bodied, copper-coloured natives, in some instances
wearing a hairy war-coat adorned with the black and white feathers of the
hornbill, and on their heads ratan war-caps ornamented with the long tail
feathers of another species of hornbill. Other men were clad solely in
the usual _chawat_, or loin cloth; some wore in addition a white cotton
jacket. The heads of nearly all were protected by large round hats.

At one spot the canoes had to be dragged in shallow water through the
jungle, owing to a huge hard-wood tree having fallen and so blocked
up the waterway, and the weirdness was enhanced by the cadenced
hauling-cries of the men as they laboriously tugged their canoes. It
is impossible to adequately describe the scene and the noise. The
vivid colouring of some of the costumes was jewelled against the green
background by the broken sunshine as it streamed through the tropical
foliage, and all was instinct with human life and activity.

Eventually we found ourselves in a large lake entirely surrounded by
trees; unfortunately the river was high, and so the water had overflowed
its banks, and the lake had an apparent rather than a definite margin,
as the water was spread out among the surrounding trees. The placid
water shimmered in the sunshine, and the varied foliage lit by the early
morning sun looked very beautiful, but the interest was greatly increased
by the numerous canoes now paddling about in full sunshine, the high
lights, catching the large, round palm-leaf hats or some unprotected
portion of skin or clothing, being emphasised by deep shadows. The rows
of hats alone constituted a striking decorative feature.

The boats were ultimately ranged round the lake, and were tied up to
trees and bushes as far as possible in the shade. The next business was
to cut logs and short billets from thick boughs to serve as mallets.
The small packets of tuba root were separated from the large bundles
with which every boat was well supplied, and these were beaten with the
mallets on the logs which were placed in the canoes. Many men preferred
to climb on to trees and beat the tuba on fallen trunks, or, perched
aloft, they employed the branches for that purpose.

From all around the lake came the measured beating, varied by an
irregular access of loudness and rapidity, reminding one somewhat of the
company firing of a distant review or sham-fight.

Later the boats came into the open; in most several men were hammering
away, while others baled water over the crushed roots. Then the bilge
of discoloured water was ladled into the lake, and the clouds of the
infusion gradually dispersed. The characteristic but indescribable odour
of crushed tuba was wafted over the surface of the still waters.

[Illustration: PLATE XXXI

BEATING TUBA AND BALING THE INFUSION OUT OF A CANOE

PENCHALLONG PREPARED FOR THE GREAT PEACE-MAKING]

In about an hour a few tiny fish were observed wriggling in an uneasy
manner near the surface of the water; these were at once netted. I was
in a boat with the Resident, Tama Bulan, and Aban Batu, a Umo Poh chief,
when the first little fish we saw was captured. This miserable firstfruit
was offered to Balli Flaki by Tama Bulan, who said to the omen bird
that he gave it the largest share and that we had kept the smallest for
ourselves. This was strictly true, as hitherto we had caught nothing,
and therefore a diminutive fishlet was a greater share than nothing at
all. Aban Batu then lit a match and asked Balli Flaki to make the tuba
strong that we might catch plenty of fish. It was rather a descent to the
commonplace to burn a lucifer match instead of the shredded sticks that
are used customarily, but doubtless the smoke was as effectual a medium
for the conveyance of the prayer as if it were produced in the orthodox
manner.

At one spot just within the jungle ten sticks were stuck in the water,
the cleft upper end of each holding an egg. These were placed there by
the Kayans, probably as an offering to the birds to secure good omens,
and possibly, in addition, because some of their number had never been in
the Lower Baram before, and it is customary for two eggs to be offered in
this way on entering a river for the first time.

Unfortunately while the lake was being tuba’ed the river rose, and so the
increase of the water prevented the operation from being a success, and
only a few small fish were obtained. Some twenty-five piculs (over three
thousand pounds) of tuba had been provided by natives from all over the
district, and this would have proved sufficient for the purpose had not
the heavy rains caused floods.

A very large number of men and boats were engaged, and we all spent an
enjoyable day, for as a native chief remarked some time previously, when
the arrangements were being made, “The scale on which the tubaing was
done and the general excitement would please the people even if no fish
were caught.”

The second boat race took place early on the morning of the 12th; sixteen
canoes started, seven of which belonged to the Kenyahs, four to the
Kayans, and four to other up-river tribes; the Naroms of Baram had one
canoe. The number of each crew was unlimited, and some boats carried
as many as sixty or seventy men, so that there must have been about a
thousand engaged in the race.

The first prize of fifty dollars was won by the Naroms by about two
lengths; the Long Kiputs gained the second place and a prize of ten
dollars. The course was about 3¼ miles and the time was 15 minutes 10
seconds. The Oxford and Cambridge course from Putney to Mortlake is 4¼
miles, and the average time for the last ten years is 20 minutes 34½
seconds. Thus the speed of these untrained natives is slightly faster
than that of a trained University crew, but it is doubtful whether this
would be the case if the Baram course were as long as that on the Thames;
further, it must be remembered that in Borneo they paddled down a fairly
large swift river, whereas on the Thames they row on a full tide.

Many of the Tinjar people were delayed by one or two deaths occurring, so
they arrived too late to participate in the great race of war-canoes. But
as they wanted to maintain the honour of their river, Taman Liri of Long
Tegin and the Lelaks of Long Tru challenged the Naroms to a supplemental
race. This was rowed on the evening of the 13th, the course being about
a mile. The result was a dead heat, which was gratifying to the pride of
the Tinjar folk.

The final public meeting took place on the morning of the 13th; by this
time nearly everyone had arrived who was expected; amongst the late
comers was Saba Irang, the head chief of the Madangs (Pl. XXIX., C., p.
376). On a low staging in front of the platform reclined three enormous
pigs, with tied legs, which the Resident had provided for the purpose
of swearing peace and friendship; one was primarily intended for the
Baram tribes, one for the Lirongs of the Tinjar, and the third for the
Madangs. At the other end of the hall was a gigantic gaily painted model
of a hornbill, on which a very large number of cigarettes were suspended.
The body was a large barrel; each wing consisted of two hairy Kenyah
or Madang shields, and the head had been skilfully hewn out of a great
block of wood by Iban fortmen. A model of a hornbill is the customary
table-piece, so to speak, of an Iban feast, but this “Penchallong”
or “Tenyalang” surpassed the usual effigy as much as this occasion
transcended an ordinary feast (Pl. XXXI., B). A great quantity of borak
was provided, which was duly despatched at the close of the meeting.

After a little preliminary talking the following representative chiefs
crouched by the pigs: Saba Irang, a Madang; Taman Oding Silong, a Kenyah;
Taman Balan Deng, an Upper Tinjar Long Pokun; Taman Aping Bulieng, a
Lirong; Jangan, an Upper Tinjar Sĕbop, and others. Saba Irang, taking
a glowing brand, singed a pig and spoke to it, telling it to act as a
witness in the ceremony of peace-making. He solemnly swore that he and
his people would be friends with those now assembled, and would not
combine with outside enemies against them, and he himself, so far as he
had the power, would endeavour to prevent others from breaking the peace.
Should they break this solemn oath, they hoped that the gods would call
down upon them all sorts of illness, and that they might be destroyed by
crocodiles or other harmful beasts.

Tama Bulan then pointed out that the Baram people had formerly taken a
similar oath, which they had kept. Now they were making friends with the
Madangs, and were in future to be one people. Old scores had been wiped
out, and there was nothing now to complain of. The Government had brought
them together, and they had mixed with one another and had discussed old
troubles; now was the time to speak if they had anything to say.

Dr. Hose stood up and said, “Now you have sworn the inviolable oath.
This meeting was assembled that there should be a lasting peace in the
district. There is nothing to gain by war, but everything to gain by
peace. The difficulty in the past has been to make enemies meet one
another with a view to settling their differences amicably; now this
difficulty has been overcome, thanks mainly to the assistance of those
chiefs who have supported me. Now all of you present! see this multitude,
and bear in mind that whoever breaks this oath, which has been taken
to-day in the presence of everybody, does so at his own peril. Who of you
would dare after this to kill anyone if he thought what the consequences
would be? It would be a matter of only a few minutes to wipe him and his
people off the face of the earth. The Rajah’s dogs will hunt, if it prove
necessary to call them out; as is known to everybody, they require no
hounding on. So remember the oath, and peace, I hope, is assured.”

Several of the chiefs stated that they were very pleased the Resident had
spoken so plainly, as they did not like to do so themselves. After this
the pig was killed in the usual manner by sticking it in the neck with a
spear, and the liver was duly examined amid great excitement.

The Madangs admitted the liver was everything that could be desired;
they stated they had already felt that the Baram people had kept their
promises to them, and now they had every confidence in them. Saba Irang,
in a great speech, said he was pleased to see such unity among everybody
in the district, and the Madangs all felt that this was everything to
them. Not only were his people glad to join Baram, but he knew that many
of the people of the Batang Kayan had already begun to appreciate this
general good fellowship, and he had every reason to believe those chiefs
were anxious to be on friendly terms with the Baram folk.

Another highly excited Madang chief made a vociferous speech, emphasising
his points by violent jumping. “The Madangs,” he said, “were anxious to
have the same advantages as the others, and the Baram people would see
that, after all, they were no worse than anyone else (jump). For years
we had to hold our own on all sides; we now feel assured that our people
will meet with no opposition when endeavouring to trade in the Baram
district, and I will be responsible for any fault committed by my people,
but I feel they will not be the first to break the peace (great jumping).
I have finished” (jump).

Speeches in a similar strain were made by Tama Bulan and others. All said
they were loyal to the Government; they would do what they were told to
do even unto death. So the great palaver came to an end.

The meeting of the chiefs and principal natives of the Baram district
was organised primarily for the sake of the Madangs. Last November, when
Hose went into the Madang country, it was the first time a white man had
visited them, and he received the adherence of a number of chiefs, some
of whom promised to come shortly into the Baram district, a few having
previously done so. Hose therefore deemed it politic to have a mass
meeting at which the Madangs would be publicly acknowledged as Baram
subjects, both by the Government and by the other natives.

The Madangs, who live in the healthy uplands of Central Borneo, have
at divers times raided the inhabitants of the affluents of the Rejang
and Baram in Sarawak, on the one hand, and those of the streams of the
Batang Kayan in Dutch Borneo on the other. As they live in a country
that is very difficult of access, they have hitherto practically been
beyond the pale of the Government, and have had a disquieting effect
upon the natives who have given their adherence to the Rajah. Certain of
the Madang villages had already received some punishment in the Rejang
district, but it was necessary that this unsettled state of affairs
should cease, and these energetic agriculturists be brought in under the
Sarawak Government. The up-river Baram people were pleased to make peace,
as tranquillity is always more remunerative than hostility, and the men
felt it to be irksome to be always in suspense when working in their
gardens, or to be anxious about the folk at home when they are out gutta
hunting.

The fact that Hose could collect all the important people from Miri on
the sea coast on the one hand, to Silat, one of the head streams of the
Baram, on the other, and from the as yet unvisited Kalabit country to
the east to their own country in the interior, would naturally impress
the Madangs with the far-reaching influence of the Government, and would
give them confidence in the power of the Government to preserve peace and
protect property.

The same argument would appeal to those chiefs who came from the Batang
Kayan River across the border. Several houses have already come into the
Silat and Lata Rivers, tributaries of the Baram, and more are prepared to
come. Hose had hoped that a large contingent would arrive from the Batang
Kayan, and he knew that the head chief Tama Kuling and several minor
chiefs with a considerable following had actually made a start. It is
probable, however, that at the last they were somewhat fearful of meeting
such a large gathering of foreigners, many of whom were hereditary foes;
and it was through the territories of the latter that they would have to
pass to reach Claudetown. Small wonder, then, that they held back, though
they promised to come down shortly afterwards when there were fewer
people about. The few Batang Kayans who did come would tell their friends
about the meeting, and there is no doubt it will have a tangible effect
on those who feared to put in an appearance.

There are always local jealousies and feuds in every district, and the
river-basin of the Baram is not exempt therefrom, as we have already
seen in the fracas of the Lirongs with the Kenyahs. It is therefore of
importance that representatives of all the larger villages from the
various rivers should meet occasionally to discuss and arrange matters,
and there is little doubt that the presence of such a large number of
persons would tend to smooth over local difficulties, as those not
immediately interested could give counsel.

There are certain petty chiefs, remnants of good stock, who keep up
as long as they can the old exclusive traditions, and who are usually
situated in out-of-the-way places.

Owing to the number of difficulties of access and to the raids that have
taken place among the intermediate peoples, and also owing to the fact
that every Kayan and Kenyah chief is chary of giving in or of admitting
that he is in any way inferior to any other chief, it is easy to
understand that until brought together by an external power these people
rarely meet one another even though they may be friends.

It is not difficult to imagine that in course of time the less important
chiefs should acquire an exaggerated opinion of their power and authority
generally. They see nobody but people who listen to them, and having no
opposition, they regard themselves as small lords of creation. Some in
their excited moments of drunkenness tell their followers that the sky
and earth belong to them; and in the case of people like the Kalabits it
is not uncommon to find a chief who adds the name Langit (“the sky”) to
his proper name.

The really important Kenyah and Kayan chiefs laugh at this sort of
thing, and men like Tama Bulan and others strongly object to have any
title given them. Taman Aping Kuleh, a Long Sibatu Lepupun, when told
by Hose that Borneo was an island, remarked that it might be so, but
that he knew nothing about it; it was of no consequence to him where the
river ran out, and that he and his people knew only of the country and
people immediately round about, and they regarded themselves as the most
important people.

Nor must the purely social element be left out of account. Gatherings
such as these tend largely towards creating a solidarity between more or
less isolated peoples. As it is, the different tribes or villages which
live on a small river, or on a long stretch of a large river, tend to
constitute a social group, so that one can speak of the Silat people or
of the Upper or Lower Tinjar people as recognised groups. In the case
of the two latter, although there is friction between them, yet they
combine in the case of a common trouble, and so, for example, we have a
temporary Tinjar combination of sentiment against the Baram.

This is the initiatory step towards the development of a feeling of
nationality, and there is no doubt that in time a wider sentiment of a
similar character may be induced by meetings such as this. It appears to
me that one probable result of Hose’s system of government may be the
development of a patriotic feeling for the Baram district as a whole.
Should this occur in this and other rivers or divisions, a Sarawak nation
may in time arise, composed, as practically every European nation is, of
several races and innumerable tribes.

A nation is an organism of slow growth, and requires careful tending,
especially in its early stages. As in some other instances in the past
elsewhere, the cementing bonds in the present instance probably will be
the relief from anxiety in the daily agricultural pursuits and the mutual
interests of commerce. But no nation is worthy of the name that has
not a patriotic feeling consisting of love for the country, regard for
fellow-countrymen, and loyalty to the Government.




FOOTNOTES


[1] Ray informs me that _Kake!_ is a word of address to a woman; the
corresponding term to a man is _Kame!_ I suppose my informant, who
was a Mabuiag man, made a slip, as he would himself naturally begin a
love-letter with “_Kake!_”

[2] _Nakö_ is an interrogative.

[3] _Neues Jahrbuch für Mineralogie_, etc, 1892, i. p. 65.

[4] EVANS, E. P., “Superstition and Crime,” _Appleton’s Pop. Sci.
Monthly_ (New York), vol. liv., December, 1898.

[5] HADDON, A. C., _The Study of Man_, 1898.

[6] _Island Life_, second edition, p. 375.

[7] When travelling about I let my beard grow.




INDEX


  Aban Abit, 335, 337, 369

  Acolytes, Papuan, 256

  Adzes, stone, still used in canoe making, 220;
    in Mekeo, 272;
    Borneo, 368-70

  Afu (taboo in Mekeo), 270, 271

  Afu symbol at Inawi, 271

  Agi, 244, 245

  Agricultural ceremonies, 106
    charms, Torres Straits, 67, 86, 87, 107, 140;
      New Guinea, 104-7, 202, 205

  Agriculturists, 212, 262, 323

  Agu, turtle trophy, 154-6

  Alexis, Brother, 252, 266, 270, 271, 276

  Alluvium, 212, 319

  Alukune, 221

  Aman (omen animals), 384

  Amentum, 201

  Andersen, Neil, 4-8

  Angabunga River, 261

  Anglo-Saxon overlord, 328, 329

  Anthreptes, 384, 385, 391

  Arachnothera, 384, 385, 390

  Archbishop Navarre, 185, 203, 252, 266

  Arctogale, 384-6

  Areca nut (betel), 217

  Ari, chief of Murray Island, 8, 9, 20, 28, 29, 57, 72, 74

  Ari (personal totem) at Cape York, 193, 194

  Arrow-points, making with a boar’s tusk, 269

  Astrolabe Range, 239

  Atsiamakara village, 242

  Augŭd (totem), 132

  Au kosker (big women shrine), 69

  Australian aspect of vegetation, 239
    colour names, 24
    dance, 193
    languages, 30
    medicine-man, 90

  Australians, Cape York, 190-4


  Baby, paying for, 175

  Balfour, Henry, 225

  Baling Go (the thunder god), 369

  Baling Go’s eyeball, 371
    front tooth, 370
    toe-nails, 369

  Ballantine, Hon. D., 205, 206, 236, 241, 244-6, 248, 251

  Balli Atap, 360

  Balli Flaki, offering to, 384, 409

  Balli Penyalong (god of child-naming), 354

  Balli Taun (god of harvest), 373

  Balungan (river dragon), 373

  Bamboo knife, 115

  Bampfylde, Hon. C. A., 279, 280

  Barawan, 321, 343
    house, 334, 336

  Bark belts, 266

  Bark-cloth shawl, 259

  Barker, Dr. A. J. C., 279

  Barking deer, 385

  Bartlett, E., 283

  Batang Kayans, 364, 365, 401, 403, 412, 413

  Batu Blah, 306, 321

  Beardmore, E., 111, 114

  Bêche-de-mer, 2, 3

  Beehive house in Murray Island, 58

  Bees, 383, 391

  Beheading knife, 115

  Berantu ceremony, 306-11

  Berenicornis, 384, 385, 388

  Betel, 217

  Biofa, 261

  Bird dances, Sĕbop, 358;
    Torres Straits, 49, 114, 189

  Birding, 392

  Blood-letting, 222, 223

  Boar’s-tusk knife, 243, 269

  Boars’ tusks, abnormally curved, 370

  Boat races, 280, 401, 409

  Boigu, the island of spirits, 90

  Bok River, 333

  Bomai, 46, 47, 80, 180

  Brass-workers, 356

  Broad-headed natives, Sarawak, 321;
    Torres Straits, 119, 120

  Borepada village, 204

  Bornean love stories, 376-80

  Borneo, physical features of, 212, 348

  Bouellat, Father, 274

  Bow and arrow fleam, 223

  Boys dressed up as Fulaari, 275

  Boy-throwing, game of, 228

  Brahminy kite, 388

  Brother Edmond, death of, 253, 254

  Bride-price, 363, 378

  Bridge, sacrifice for a, 339

  Brooke, Rajah Sir Charles. Cf. Rajah of Sarawak

  Brooke, Rajah Sir James, 291-3

  Bruce, John, 8, 9, 31-5, 77, 78, 84

  Bruce, Robert, 168

  Brunei, 288, 291, 300, 327
    Malay, 327, 338, 341, 342

  Bulaa dances, 231
    village, 211, 212, 221-34

  Bulan, 376

  Bull-roarer, 42, 227;
    in Torres Straits, 33, 107, 140, 156, 157;
    in Kiwai, 104, 105;
    at Cape York, 191, 192

  “Bundling” in Wales, 378

  Burial cave, 305

  Burke, Father, 253, 268

  Burns Philp, 235

  Burnt village, 208, 359

  Burong (omen animals), 384

  Burying under houses, 262

  “Bushmen,” Masingara, 111, 112

  Butiong (wooden image), 333


  Cainozoic rocks, 316

  Cambridge Peak, 347

  Canoe (Sarawak), 297

  Canoe-making in New Guinea, 220

  Cape York natives, 190-4

  Carcineutes, 384, 385, 388

  Card players (Papuan), 185

  “Cat’s cradle” games, 38, 39, 175, 201

  Cave of skulls, Pulu, 141-3;
    Borneo, 305

  Cemetery, 284, 306

  Ceremony for the removal of skulls, 337, 352

  Ceremony of child-naming, 353, 354

  Cervulus, 384, 385

  Chalmers, Mrs., 95, 128

  Chalmers, Rev. James, 95-8, 104, 107-109, 128-30, 197, 203, 213, 249,
        250

  Chalmers, Rev. W., 385

  Chapel, service in Catholic (New Guinea), 255

  Charms, agricultural (New Guinea), 104-7, 202, 205;
      (Torres Straits), 67, 86, 87, 107, 140
    curative, 107
    fishing (dugong), 133, 134, 153, 154, 202
    injuring people, 106, 202, 203

  Chawat (loin cloth), 283
    to die in, 370

  Chevrotains, 385

  Character of Mabuiag people, 122
    of Murray Islanders, 72

  Chiefs, petty, in Sarawak, 414

  Children’s toys and games, 224, 231, 274

  Child-naming ceremony, 353

  Chinamen, 327-9

  Chinese districts, 316

  Chorus songs, 324

  Church at Saibai, 170;
    at Mabuiag, 122

  Cicatrices, 110, 113, 200

  Cittocincla, 381, 384, 385, 389

  Clan houses, 99, 171

  Clarinet, 225

  Claudetown, 297, 311, 330, 357, 371, 379, 401-13

  Club houses in New Guinea, 99, 100, 208, 256, 257, 262, 268, 270

  Coal in Borneo, 318

  Cochard, Father, 185, 259, 268

  Cockatoo feathers for dances, 234

  Cockatoos, tame, 234

  Coconut palm, triple crowned, 172

  Coconut shrine, 67

  Codrington, Rev. Dr., 44

  Colour blindness, 126
    vision of natives, 24, 25, 245
    vocabulary, Australian, 24;
      Kiwai, 24;
      Torres Straits, 24

  Comet, 80-2

  Confederation of mountain tribes, 247

  Conscientiousness of Murray Islanders, 27, 29

  Constabulary, for enforcing taboo, 271

  Constellations, 139, 165-8, 381

  Cooking in Torres Straits, 41

  Copper Maori, 41

  Copra, 3

  Craniology, Torres Straits, 18, 119, 120

  Cotton cloths of the Iban women, 280, 285, 326

  Cowling, J., 117

  Crocodile-man, 171, 172

  Crystal sphere, 370

  Culm measures, 315

  Cult of skulls, 332, 394-400

  Cuscus, 110

  Customs of the Ibitoes, 258

  Cyclone, 79, 80, 88

  Cymodocea, 151


  Dalton, O. M., 372

  Dam, ceremony at, 61

  Dance costume, 113, 187, 214, 233, 234, 358

  Dances stopped by teachers, 35, 128

  Dances:
    Australian, 193.
    Bornean, 357, 358.
    Papuan:
      Babaka, 214-19;
      Bulaa, 231;
      Kăpăkăpă, 210;
      Mabuiag, 131, 139, 140, 233;
      Mawatta, 113, 114;
      Muralug, 186-8;
      Murray Island, 47-9, 60, 102;
      Nagir, 182.
    South Sea, 35;
      Rotumah, 36, 53
    _Ceremonial_: Agricultural dances, 215-19;
      death dances, 139, 182;
      fishing dances, 183, 184;
      Malu dances, 47-9, 102;
      war dances, 60, 131, 140, 186-8, 233, 358
    _Festive_, 188, 189, 210, 231-3
    _Mimetic_, 49, 114, 188, 189, 358

  Danilkau, a funeral buffoon, 139, 140

  Danish thunderbolts, 372

  Dapoi River, 360

  Darnley Island (Erub), 5, 12, 51, 95

  Daru, 95

  Dauar, 12, 17, 18, 64-8

  Dauncey, Rev. H. M., 199, 201

  Death of a baby, 123
    of Brother Edmond, 253, 254

  Decorated skull, 91, 181

  Decoration, native, 332

  Deer, 383-6

  Delena, 199-201, 259, 260

  Deshon, Hon. H. F., 284, 285

  Devonian rocks, 315

  Divination by means of a parang, 366
    by pig’s liver, 336, 337, 354, 355, 411, 412
    in Murray Island, 54-6

  Divining grasshopper, 92
    skull, Torres Straits, 91, 92, 182
    zogo, 91

  Dog killing unlucky, 335, 364

  Dogs, supposed by natives to be sacrificed by the English, 339

  Doiom (rain charm), 32-5, 86

  “Doors,” 298, 331

  “Door” tax, 294

  Dorgai, 166
    constellation, 166

  Douglas, Hon. John, 1, 4, 20, 123, 170

  Douglas, R. S., 303, 304, 330, 337, 404-6

  Dowry, 363

  Dyeing patterns on cloth, 326

  Dragon, river, 373

  Drinking customs, 311, 402, 403

  Drought, 84, 86

  Drum-making, 257

  Drums, 231, 233;
    sacred drum, 45

  Drunkenness, 356

  Dubu, 100, 208, 217, 234
    ascended by girls, 218

  Dugong, 151
    charms, 133, 134, 153, 154, 202
    food of, 151, 152
    harpoon, 149
    methods of catching, 148-54

  Dukduk, in New Britain, 51

  Dulit Mount, 344, 347, 348, 349

  Durian, 303

  Dusun, 321


  Earthquake in Murray Island, 78, 79

  Eastern Papuans, 199

  Economic defects of a hunting existence, 265

  Edible earth, 203

  Edmond, Brother, 253, 254

  Elevera, 235

  English, A. C., 206, 210, 214, 219, 226, 234, 248

  Eocene, 317

  Erabo (club house), 100

  Erub, 5, 12, 51, 95

  Eruptive rocks of Borneo, 318

  Ethnography of Sarawak, 320

  Evanena, 228

  Evans, Prof. E., 339

  Everett, A. Hart, 318, 372

  Eyesight, defects of, among natives, 24
    of hill tribes, 245


  Fable of the monkey and the frog, 343

  Fairy darts, 373

  Fanny Rapid, 377

  Fauna of Mount Dulit, 348

  Feasts, Murray Island, 39-41;
    Mekeo, 272

  Feeding skulls, 396

  Fertility ceremony, 218

  Figure-heads of canoes, 407

  Fire, legend of origin, 108

  Fire-making in New Guinea and Torres Straits, 108, 109

  Fireworks, 402

  First man, legend of origin of, 108

  Fish, shooting with bow and arrows, 259

  Fisher-folk in New Guinea, 207, 221, 260, 261

  Fish, zogo, 68

  Fleam, 223

  Flutes, 205, 258

  Food restrictions, 135, 257

  Forge, 324

  Frazer, Dr. J. G., 134, 135

  Frigate bird, 204

  Frog, fable of, 343
    game, 228

  Fulaari, 271, 272, 275, 276

  Funeral in Murray Island, 93;
    in Yule Island, 254


  Gaile, 206

  Games:
    Borneo, mancala, 284
    Papuan adults’ games: hockey, 78;
      _tamar_, 40, 58, 59, 62;
      top-spinning (_kolap_), 40, 41
    Papuan children’s games: balancing (_evanena_), 228;
      boy-throwing (_omoro_ or frog), 228;
      hopping, 227;
      hunting kangaroo and pig, 274, 275;
      imitating ceremonies, (_fulaari_), 275, (_kwod_), 180;
      jumping, 227;
      leap-frog, 227;
      pig-a-back, 227;
      revolving (_maki gegelaki_ and _rapurapu_), 228;
      ring games (_kwaito pinupinu_ and _mota ĕrĕmpto_), 229;
      round sitting games, played with the hands, (_korikini_), 229,
        (_toitoi kinimali_), 230, 231;
      skipping, 227;
      top-whipping, 272, 273

  Gapu (sucker-fish), 155, 156

  Garden charms, Torres Straits, 67, 86, 87, 107;
    New Guinea, 104-7

  Gasiri (tree houses), 248

  Geigi’s fish-spear, 68

  Gelam, 16

  Genealogies of natives, 124

  Geographical features of Borneo, 312
    of British New Guinea, 207, 239-41
    of Sarawak, 286, 348

  Geological features of Borneo, 312, 348
    of British New Guinea, 207, 239, 240

  Geology of Sumatra, 315

  George, Brother, 266, 267, 276

  Gewe (chief of Agi), 244-6

  Ghost (lamar), 89, 90

  Ghost tiger, 305

  Girls ascending dubu, 218;
    seclusion of, in Mabuiag, 135

  God of Harvest, 373

  Gold in Sarawak, 315;
    in Torres Straits, 4

  Gomoridobo village, 234

  Gope (charm), 103, 104

  Gors, Mr., 205, 251, 266

  Government of Sarawak, 292, 294
    of Torres Straits by Queensland, 19-21

  Grammar of Torres Straits languages, 29, 127

  Granville, 235

  Grasshopper, divining, 92

  Graves, New Guinea, 112

  Great houses in New Guinea, 99, 213;
    in Sarawak, 298

  Guilbaud, Father, 255

  Guis, Father, 253, 258-60, 276, 277

  Guise, R. E., 218

  Gunboat, 249


  H., Captain, 5, 6, 22, 80, 82, 95

  Hair, 18, 119, 223, 234, 325
    wavy, among Papuans, 234

  Haliastur, 384, 385, 387, 390

  Hammond Island, 185

  Hantus (spirits), 340, 369

  Hanuabada village, 235

  Harpoon, 148

  Harpactes, 381-5, 387-90

  Haviland, G. D., 283

  Hawk omen, 387, 352

  Hawk-owl, 391

  Head-hunters, Kiwai, 107

  Head-hunting, 322, 325, 328, 339;
    object of, 107
    origin of, in Borneo, 397
    in Sarawak, reasons for, 394

  Hearing, acuity and range, 25

  Heliarctos, 391

  Hely, Hon. Bingham A., 95, 98, 103, 109

  Hill-land of Borneo, 316

  Hill tribes, colour-vision of, 245
    keenness of eyesight, 245

  History of Sarawak, 291, 292

  Hockey in Murray Island, 78

  Hoe, shell, 109

  Hogeri, 244

  Holiness, 67, 258

  Hood Bay, 219
    Peninsula, 211-34

  Hooks, magical, 370, 371, 373, 396

  Hopping, game, 227

  Hornbill, 410
    white-crested, 388

  Hornbills’ feathers, 395

  Hose, Dr. C., 297, 301, 303-5, 320-415

  Houses:
    Torres Straits, 58, 110;
    Kiwai, 99, 100;
    New Guinea, 204, 206, 208, 211, 213, 223, 224, 242, 243, 268, 269;
    Sarawak, 298, 290, 331-3, 335

  Hula, 211. Cf. Bulaa

  Human heads for foundations of Kuching waterworks, 339

  Human sacrifice, 339
    skulls. Cf. skulls

  Hunters, 265

  Hunting games, 274

  Huts, 110;
    sleeping hut in jungle, 299

  Hurricane in Torres Straits, origin of, 79, 80, 82, 87, 88


  Iasa (Kiwai), 98-108

  Iban (Sea Dayak), 281, 283, 301, 302, 305, 322, 324-8, 338, 341,
        381-93

  Ibitoe, customs of, 256-9

  Inawi village, 269, 272

  Indo-Javan people, 322, 327

  Indonesian, 321

  Ingratitude of natives, 19

  Initiation ceremonies, 42;
    in Murray Island, 44, 135, 140, 176, 191

  Instruction of lads (Murray Island), 49, 50

  Iriam Moris, 64

  Ireland, stone implements used as charms in, 373

  Iron, 338, 366, 395

  Irupi dance, 217

  Isang, 361

  Isit, 344, 384, 385, 390

  Islamism, 328


  Jangan, 352-5, 411

  Japanese in Thursday Island, 2, 3

  Jar burial, 306

  Jardine, Frank, 190

  Javano-Hindu colonisation of Borneo, 322, 327

  Javelin, miniature, 224

  Jawa, 404, 406

  Jesu baibua, 262

  Jumping game, 227

  Jungle, new, 304, 345

  Jungle, old, 304, 345


  Kadayans, 300, 301, 306, 321, 327, 341

  Kaikai, origin of term, 39, 40

  Kaivakuku, mask at Waima, 271

  Kajaman, 321

  Kalabit, 321, 323, 414

  Kalamantan, 289, 321, 324, 327

  Kalo village, 212-14, 219, 220

  Kalulong Mount, 349

  Kaluri, 357, 379

  Kamut (string puzzles in Murray Island), 38, 39

  Kanauit, 321, 284

  Kangaroo drive game, 274

  Kap, 188. Cf. Torres Straits dances

  Kăpăkăpă village, 208, 210

  Karangang, 299, 302

  Kayan tattoo designs, 306

  Kayans, 288, 297, 304-6, 323-5, 328, 357, 360, 364, 384, 386-93, 394,
        395, 397, 401, 404, 405, 409, 414
    war-path of, 297, 304

  Kawit, 396. Cf. Hooks, magical.

  Keapara village, 219-22

  Kedaman, 362

  Kelebong, 361

  Kenyah drinking songs, 311

  Kenyah-Kayan migration, 327

  Kenyahs, 288, 302, 323-5, 328, 340, 341, 364, 365, 384, 386-93,
        395-8, 401, 402, 404, 405, 409, 413, 414

  Kerepunu. Cf. Keapara

  Kernge (lads during initiation), 140

  Kersi (lads during initiation), 45, 48, 50, 61, 70

  Kina Balu, Mount, 349, 350

  Kingfisher, 388

  Kinimali (game), 230

  Kiriri Island, 185

  Kiwai Island, 24, 96-109;
    natives of, 101

  Knife, bamboo, 115
    made of boar’s tusk, 243

  Knocking out tooth, 193

  Koiari, 244

  Koitapu, 249;
    language of, 249

  Kolap (top), 40, 41

  Kŏpa-kŏpa, 175

  Korikini (game), 229

  Kwaito pinupinu (game), 229

  Kwari kwari (toy), 227

  Kwod (sacred ceremonial ground), 192
    in Mabuiag, 134
    in Nagir, 181
    in Pulu, 137-42
    in Tut, 176-78
    in Yam, 178-80
    small boys’, 180

  Kwoiam (the hero of Mabuiag), 136-47

  Kuching, town of, 279-84

  Kupor (navel shrine), 142, 177, 179

  Kuru (toy), 225


  Labuan Island, 286, 318

  Ladies of Tama Bulan’s house, 375

  Lakatois, 248

  Lamar (ghost), 89, 90

  Land Dayak, 321, 322, 327, 340, 391, 393

  Land inheritance, Cape York, 193

  Land leeches, 304, 346

  Langa (toy), 225

  Lange, Mr. H. W. de, 95, 97

  Language of Roro, 261
    Australian, 30
    Melanesian, 29, 30
    Papuan, 29, 30

  Languages of Torres Straits, 28-30, 127

  Lantern entertainment in Murray Island, 37, 38
    at Port Moresby, 246

  Laterite, 345

  Lawes, Dr., 208, 209, 234, 249, 273

  Lawes, Mrs., 209, 234

  Laziness of natives, 19

  Leap-frog, 227

  Legends:
    Gelam, 16, 155;
    of various shrines, 53-69;
    origin of man, 108;
    origin of fire, 108;
    the stone that fell from the sky, 138;
    of Kwoiam, 136-47;
    about dugong, 155

  Lelak, 321, 410
    village, 330

  Lepocestes, 383-5, 389

  Lepuanans, 354, 355

  Liberality of natives, 90

  Life token, 259

  Lifu, colour-blindness of natives, 126
    head-form, 126

  Limbang, 285-90, 293, 297

  Ling, Roth H., 320, 381

  Linjau, 360

  Lirongs, 403-6, 410, 413

  Liver of pig, 336, 354, 355, 411, 412

  Lobong River, 352

  Logan Ansok, 406

  Loin-cloth to die in, 370

  London Missionary Society’s stations:
    Murray Island, 9;
    Kiwai, 96, 97;
    Mabuiag, 117;
    Vatorata, 208-10;
    Delena, 199;
    Bulaa (Hula), 211;
    Port Moresby, 235

  “Long,” 333

  Long Aiah Kechil, 342, 344, 348
    Kiput, 321, 401, 404, 405, 410
    Pata, 302, 321, 341, 401, 405
    Pokuns, 360
    Puah, 352
    Semitan, 342
    Sulan, 360
    Tegin, 334
    Tru, 330

  Love affairs, Mawatta, 112;
      Mabuiag, 158-64
    charms, Torres Straits, 106
    letters, Papuan, 163, 164

  Love-making in Mekeo, 258
    in Sarawak, 377-80

  Lovers’ tune, 379

  Low, Brooke, 283, 322

  Lower carboniferous rocks, 315


  Mabuiag, 117-64
    church, 122
    language, 127
    social condition of, 118
    war dance, 233

  Macfarlane, Rev. Dr. S., 7, 120, 127, 142, 143

  Macgregor, Sir William, 97, 102, 203, 205, 206, 209, 213, 251, 262

  Madangs, 364, 401, 410, 412, 413

  Madub (garden charm), 106, 107

  Madubu (bull-roarer), 104-6

  Magic. Cf. Sorcery
    symbolic, 257, 133, 134

  Magical ceremonies, 133, 134, 184
    stone hooks, 370, 371, 373, 396

  Magur (“devil” belong Malu), 50

  Maiau, 180

  Maino (chief of Tut and Yam), 171, 174-80, 184, 185

  Maki gegelaki (game), 228

  Malangs, 321, 342

  Malay Archipelago, 372
    bear, 391
    Peninsula, 372
    rule, 288
    traders, 356

  Malays, 326-9, 338, 341, 342

  Malohs, 356, 357

  Malu, 46, 61, 180
    ceremonies, 42-52, 61-3, 102
    masks, 46-8, 92
    songs, 45, 46, 62, 63

  Mammals of Borneo, 348, 349

  Mamoose (Torres Straits chief), 8, 20, 21

  Mancala game, 284

  Mangoes, 302

  Mangroves, 266

  Manufacture of stone club, 245

  Map of stones, 61

  Marea (club-house), 100, 257, 262, 268, 270

  Mari, 181

  Mariget, 181

  Marine pile dwellings, 206, 223

  Marital relations in Mabuiag, 161
    in Murray Island, 20, 76, 78

  Market-place, 269

  Market women, 269

  Markets in Mekeo district, 265

  Marriage customs, Torres Straits, 158-64;
    Borneo, 363, 364, 377-80

  Marsh land of Borneo, 319

  Marudi. Cf. Claudetown

  Masingara “bushmen,” 111, 112

  Mask, war ceremony, 59;
    Mawatta, 114;
    fishing dance, 183;
    Malu ceremony, 46-8
    in Mekeo district, 271

  Mausoleum, 284

  Mawatta, 111-116

  May Meeting, 128-31

  McDougall, W., 22, 23, 26, 28, 303, 305, 330, 337, 347, 405

  Medicine-man (Australian), 90;
    (Bornean), 307, 374

  Meeting, public, 402, 410

  Mekeo district, 252-77
      markets, 265, 269
    tribe, 261, 262

  Mĕlanau, 321, 327, 357, 390, 391

  Melanesia, secret societies in, 44

  Melanesian languages, 29, 30

  Melanesians, 18

  Mer. Cf. Murray Island

  Mesozoic rocks in Borneo, 316

  Milman, H., 111-113, 175

  Mimetic dances, 49, 114, 188, 189

  Miocene in Borneo, 317

  Mirror-writing, 25

  Mission schools in New Guinea, 97, 98, 208, 209

  Mixed marriages, 357

  Modesty of New Guinea women, 274

  Mohu, 252, 268

  Monkey and frog fable, 343

  Morality, code of in Torres Straits, 176

  Mosquito nets, native Papuan, 259

  Mota ĕrĕmpto (game), 229

  Motu tribe, 249

  Mountain ranges of Borneo, 312
    tribes, New Guinea confederation of, 247

  Mount Ernest. Cf. Nagir
    Warirata, 240, 241

  Mourning in Murray Island, 94

  Mulu, Mount, 349

  Mummies, Torres Straits, 91

  Muntjac, 385

  Muralug (Prince of Wales Island), 119, 185-9

  Murder, 340

  Murders in Sarawak, 300-2, 338-41

  Muriks, 371

  Murray Island (Mer), 8, 11-21;
    climate, 18;
    geology, 12-17
    Islanders, 18, 19, 118, 119, 127

  Muruts, 321, 393

  Museum, Sarawak, 282-4, 372

  Musgrave, Hon. A., 205, 206, 236, 251

  Myers, C. S., 22, 23, 25, 26, 28


  Nagir, Island of, 180-3

  Names, reluctance to mention, 103

  Nara, tribe, 260

  Naroms, 321, 401, 409, 410

  Narrow-headed natives, Torres Straits, 18, 119, 120;
    Sarawak, 321, 343

  Native cemetery (Sarawak), 284
    grief (Papuan), 222

  Navarre, Archbishop, 185, 203, 252, 266

  Navel shrines, 142, 177, 179

  Nēĕt (dugong platform), 152, 153

  New Guinea oratory, 268
    vegetation, 239, 241

  New Jungle, 304, 345

  Ninox, 391

  Numerals, Papuan, 30, 243

  Nurumara (totem of Kiwai), 101-3


  Oboe, 225

  Obstacle race, 401

  Offering of eggs, 409
    to Balli Flaki, 409

  Old Jungle, 304, 345

  Oligocene in Borneo, 317

  “Olive Branch,” 197

  Omen animals of Sarawak, 381-93
    birds, 344, 352, 362, 379, 381-93
      offerings to, 352

  Omens, 259, 344, 352, 362, 379, 381-93

  Omoro (game), 228

  Oracles, 53-7, 178

  Orang Bukit, 306, 401, 402

  Orang Kaya Tumonggong Lawai, 300-2, 406

  Oratory, Bornean, 411, 412
    Papuan, 268

  Origin of fire, 108

  Orthotomus, 384, 385, 390

  Owning an omen bird, 344


  Padi bug, 391
    competition, 401
    cultivation of, 323, 327, 360, 381-3
    swamp, 323, 325

  Painted board, sign of chieftainship, 270

  Palæozoic rocks in Borneo, 315

  Panyamun scare, 338, 340, 359, 365, 368

  Papuan Gulf, 198
    language, 29, 30

  Papuans, true, or Western, 119, 249

  Parang, 285, 324

  Pasi, Mamoose of Dauar, 8, 28, 72, 74

  Pata River, 375

  Paying for a baby, 175

  Peace-making at Baram, 401-15

  Pearl-shelling industry, 2-4, 6, 85, 121

  Pelandok, 383-6

  Pelican dance, 114, 189

  Penchallong, 410

  Penghulu, 335

  Pepker the hill-maker, 64, 65

  Perham, Ven. Archdeacon J., 381, 392

  Perineal band, painted, 274

  Personal totem, 194

  Petticoats (leaf), New Guinea, 111, 175, 274

  Philip, Brother, 273

  Phlebotomy, 223

  Phonograph, 37, 100, 200, 234, 252, 256, 273, 338;
    in a marea, 256

  Photographing natives, 28
    zogos, 66

  Photographs (natives recognising friends), 9

  Physical features of Borneo, 348

  Pictographs, 137, 140, 185

  Pig-a-back, game of, 227

  Pig ceremony in Sarawak, 336, 353-5, 411, 412
    hunt (game), 274
    offering of for feast, 217, 270

  Pigsties, 298

  “Pigeons,” 74

  Pile dwellings: Kiwai, 99;
      Saibai, 173;
      New Guinea, 204, 206, 208, 211, 213, 235;
      Borneo, 290, 298, 330, 331, 375
    driving, 224
    village, marine, 206, 208, 211, 235, 290

  Pinupaka, village of, 266, 267, 276

  Piracy, 291, 326

  Plains of Borneo, 315

  Plantations of the natives, 214, 234

  Platforms, taboo, 208

  Platylophus, 384, 385, 390

  “Play” in Murray Island, 36, 37, 63

  Pleiades, 381

  Pokao tribe, 262

  Police (native), Torres Straits, 19, 20, 76, 77

  Poles, frayed, 361

  Port Kennedy. Cf. Thursday Island

  Port Moresby, 205, 235, 246, 248, 249

  Porpoises, 151

  Posts, carved, 375

  Pottery, manufacture of, 200, 248, 261

  Prayer to an omen bird, 344

  Praying to a pig, 336, 354, 411

  Presents from natives, 10, 122, 130, 172, 335, 336

  Prince of Wales Island. Cf. Muralug

  Procrastinating habits of Sĕbops, 343, 346

  Proposals of marriage, 158, 162-4, 377

  Proto-Malay, 321

  Psychological laboratory, 23

  Psychology, experimental, 23-8, 109, 120, 200, 222

  Pulu, Island of, 136-43

  Punan medicine-man, 366

  Punans, 302, 304, 320, 323, 324, 327, 334, 355, 384, 389, 390, 393

  Punishments in Torres Straits, 20, 21

  Punitive expedition in Sarawak, 301

  Purchasing a stone implement, 368-74


  Quaternary rocks in Borneo, 318

  Queensland. Cf. Australia


  Rabao (Yule Island), 199, 200, 203, 252-61, 276

  Race, practice, 402

  Raiding by New Guinea natives, 247

  Rain-making in Torres Straits, 33-5, 86, 87, 134
    stopping, 87

  Rajah of Sarawak, 279, 282, 284, 289, 291, 293, 300, 322, 338, 341,
        411

  Rapids, 299, 358

  Rapurapu (game), 228

  Ray, S. H., 28-31, 39, 126, 127, 243, 248, 249, 252, 267, 273, 279,
        298, 330, 358
    Rapids, 358

  Reaction experiments, 26

  Read, C. H., 372

  Reefs (coral), 1, 6-8, 12, 15-18, 117, 148

  Regatta at Baram, 402, 409, 410
    at Kuching, 280

  Relationship between two Papuan villages, 258

  Relic-fauna in Borneo, 351

  Remaung (ghost-tiger), 305

  Requiem Mass in New Guinea, 254
    in Rome, 254

  Reservoir in Kuching, 282;
    scare about heads for foundations of, 339

  Resident, 293

  Restrictions in food, 135, 257

  Reticence of natives, 32, 45

  Revolving game, 228

  Rice, cultivation of. Cf. Padi

  Ricketts, O. F., 285, 287, 301, 304

  River scenery, 286, 358, 359

  Rivers, Dr. W. H. R., 23-5, 27, 39, 59, 123, 124

  Rock paintings, 137, 140, 185

  Roro language, 261
    tribe, 260

  Rotumah dances, 36

  Roth, H. Ling, 320, 381

  Rove, 258


  Saba Irang, 364, 365, 410-12

  Sacred Heart Mission, 203, 252-6, 262, 266-77

  Sacredness, 67, 258

  Sacred stones, 360, 375;
    of Murray Island, cf. Zogo
    words or songs, 31, 32, 45, 40, 62, 63

  Sago factory, 287
    trade (native) in New Guinea, 248
      in Sarawak, 288

  Saguane village, 96-9, 104, 109

  Saibai, Island of, 170-4

  Salter, Dr., 1

  Samaria kosker (women of Samaria), 84

  Sarawak, 293
    geographical features of, 286
    history of, 291-3
    Malay, 322, 327
    Museum, 282-4, 372

  Sarcophagus, 334

  Sasia, 381, 384, 385, 387, 389

  Saw-fish chant, 184

  Scarification, 110, 113, 200

  Scott-Keltie Falls, 346, 348
    River, 345, 346

  Sea-cow, 151

  Sea Dayaks. Cf. Iban

  Sĕbop, 321, 341, 343, 346, 357, 363, 371, 404
    chief, 363
    dances, 357, 358
    fable about, 343
    girls, 356
    head-form, 343
    village, 352, 368

  Seclusion of boys in Tut, 176
    of girls in Mabuiag, 135

  Secret societies in Melanesia, 44

  Secular dances, 188, 189, 233, 357

  Seligmann, C. G., 1, 23, 28, 62, 109, 135, 154, 200, 245, 248, 279

  Sengalong Burong, 384, 385, 387-9, 392

  Sensitiveness to pain, 26

  Shaduf, 287

  Sharpe, Dr. R. B., 350

  Shelford, R., 279, 283, 284, 372

  Shell hoe, 109
    ornaments, 261

  Shields, 357, 358, 360, 410

  Shirt as symbol of loyalty, 244

  Shrike, 390

  Shrines in Torres Straits:
    Rain, 34;
    Tomog Zogo, 54;
    Zabarker, 60;
    wind, 60;
    Iriam Moris, 64;
    therapeutic, 65;
    coconut, 67, 87;
    fishing, 68;
    turtle, 69;
    Au Kosker, 69;
    Waiad, 69, 70;
    yam, 86;
    constipation, 88;
    navel, 142, 177, 179;
    of Kwoiam, 136-145

  Siap (charms), 368, 370, 372, 373, 399

  Sibu, town of, 284

  Siberian railway, sacrifice for, 339

  Sigai, 177, 179, 180

  Skipping game, 227

  Skull collecting, 92, 93, 120, 121, 337, 338
    cult of, 394-400
    danger of meddling with, 337, 353, 374, 399, 400
    decorated, 91, 181, 182
    divination, 92, 182

  Skulls:
    Mer, 91-93;
    Mawatta, 115;
    Mabuiag, 120, 142;
    Yam, 180;
    Kiriri, 185;
    Sarawak, 332, 337, 352, 394-400
    leaving old, 398
    loaning, 395
    preparation of in Kiwai, 107

  Sleeping with a sweetheart, 377

  Smell, sense of (Murray Islanders), 25

  Smelling a dance, 250

  Smith, Mr., 280, 283

  Smoking, Papuan method of, 75

  Snakes, omen, 391

  Social divisions in Mekeo, 270

  Sociology of Torres Straits, 19-21, 77, 118-20, 125, 145, 146;
    of Kiwai, 99-109;
    of New Guinea, 207, 208, 212-14, 242, 243, 247, 248, 270-2;
    of Sarawak, 327-9

  Sogeri tribe, 244

  Songs, chorus, 324

  Sorcerer’s kit, 201

  Sorcerers, Mabuiag, 154, 262
    of Koitapu, 249

  Sorcery, New Guinea, 83, 202
    Murray Island, 128

  Soul house, 311
    of a sick woman, 310
    of the pig, 337

  South Sea dances, 35

  Spear-throwers, 200, 201

  Speeches, 354, 355, 411, 412

  Spencer, Prof. Baldwin, 134

  Spiral designs, 260

  Spirits (lamar), 89, 90, 340
    of sickness, 366

  Star myths (Torres Straits), 165-9

  St. John, Sir Spenser, 292, 294, 339, 386

  St. Joseph River, 261

  Stockades in New Guinea, 247

  Stone adzes in use (New Guinea), 220, (Mekeo), 272;
    axes, Africa, 372
    club, manufacture of, 245
    clubs, 251
    implements in Kiwai, 108
      in Sarawak, 327, 368-72

  Stones, sacred, in Borneo, 360, 375

  String puzzles and tricks, 38, 39, 175, 201

  Sucker fish (Echeneis), fishing with, 155

  Suggestibility of natives, 27

  Sumatra, geology of, 315

  Sun birds, 390

  Sun, moon, and night (myth of), 168

  Supreme God in Sarawak, 336, 337, 352

  Sultan of Brunei, 288, 300

  Swimming diving, 121

  Symbolic magic, 257


  Taboo, 257, 270, 272

  Taburi, 244

  Tagai constellation, 166

  Tailor bird, 390

  Tama Bulan, 324, 335, 375-80, 401-6, 409-14

  Taman Liri, 335

  Tamar, 40, 58, 59, 62

  Tamate, 95, 128. Cf. Rev. J. Chalmers

  Taste, 26

  Tattooed hands, 306, 395

  Tattooing, 199, 204, 214, 222, 259, 305, 306, 326
    process of, in New Guinea, 222;
      in Borneo, 305, 306

  Taxation in Sarawak, 293

  Teetotum, 227

  Tegulan, 360

  Thief, 222

  Thomas, Oldfield, 120, 142, 350

  Throwing-stick, 201

  Thrush, 389

  Thunderbolts, 372, 373
    in Europe, 372

  Thunder god, 369

  Thursday Island, 1-4, 183-5, 189-93

  Tiger, effigy of, 360

  Tight-lacing in New Guinea, 256

  Time, estimation of, 25

  Tingang, 363

  Tinjar River, 330, 358

  Tobacco, native, 243
    pipes, Papuan, 75

  Toitoi (game), 230, 231

  Tomb decorations, 285

  Tomog Zogo, 53-7

  Tooth, knocking out, 193

  Top-spinning in Murray Island, 40
    in New Guinea, 227, 272, 273

  Totemism, 43, 44
    in New Guinea, 101-3
    in Queensland, 193, 194
    in Sarawak, 393
    in Torres Straits, 102, 132-5, 138, 142, 171, 172

  Toy bows and arrows, 222
    throwing spear, 200

  Toys: Papuan children’s toys:
    _kuru_ (diamond), 225;
    _kwari kwari_ (hummer), 227;
    oboe (_vili vili_), 225-7;
    palm leaf puzzles (_langa_), 225-7;
    spear (or javelin) throwing, 200, 201, 224, 225;
    teetotum, 227;
    tops, 272, 273;
    whirligig, 225;
    whistle, 227

  Trade, native: Borneo, 321-3, 356, 365;
    New Guinea, 204, 213, 214, 222, 261, 265, 266, 269
    on the half-profit system, 222
    voyages, 248

  Tragulus, 385. Cf. Pelandok

  Tree-houses in New Guinea, 242, 248

  Tripang, 3

  Triple-crowned coconut palm, 172

  Trogon, 388

  Trumpet, 225

  Tuba-fishing, 324, 406, 408, 409

  Tuk (New Guinea sorcery), 83, 84

  Turtle charms, 69, 134, 140
    cutting up, 205, 157
    fishing, 155-7
    tracks in sand, 67
    zogo, 69

  Tut, Island of, 174-8


  U zogo (coconut shrine), 67

  Ufapie, 258

  Ukit tribe, 320, 323

  Umu Belubu, 305

  Urip, 354, 355, 396


  Vaccination marks, 172

  Vanigela River, 212

  Variability of native temperament, 27
    in character of the hair, 223

  Vatorata, 208, 234

  Vee, 261

  Vegetation, 65, 118, 212, 219, 239, 240-2, 269, 280, 281, 286, 304,
        359

  Veifaa, 273-6

  Verandah in New Guinea houses, 99, 242, 243
    in Sarawak houses, 298, 331

  Vili vili (toy), 226

  Villages on top of hills, 242

  Visual acuity, 23

  Vitale, Father, 272


  Wag Zogo (wind shrine), 60

  Waiad, 69
    ceremonies, 70

  Waier, Island of, 12, 17, 18, 68-70

  Waima, masked men at, 271

  Waipem (turtle shrine), 69

  Wallace, A. Russell, 303, 348, 349

  Walker, Rev. F. W., 197

  War dances, 60, 131, 140, 186-8, 233, 258

  Waria, chief of Mabuiag, 123

  Warirata Mount, 240, 241

  Warpath of the Kayans, 297

  Warrior Island, 174. Cf. Tut

  Waterspouts, spirits of, 141

  Wauri, 156, 157

  Wedding in Mabuiag, 161

  Weight, discrimination of, 26

  West Africa, stone axe-heads, 372

  Whipping-tops, Mekeo, 272;
    Kabadi, 273

  Whirligig, 225

  Whistle, 227

  Widow in mourning, 206

  Wife-beating and slanging, 20, 76, 83

  Wilkin, A., 27, 28, 38, 100, 157, 248, 252, 267

  Wilson, Prof. T., 273

  Wind charm, 60, 82
    instruments, 225
    zogo, 60

  Women beating drums, 218

  Women’s ceremony, 219

  Wooden belt, 256
    bowl, 220
    hooks, 396
    images, 104-7, 333, 360, 375

  Woodpecker, 389


  Yam, Island of, 174, 176, 178-80

  Yam charms, 104-7, 202, 203
    zogo, 86

  Yaraikanna tribe, 190

  Yeku, 262

  Yellow earth, 172

  Yule Island. Cf. Rabao


  Zab Zogo (fishing-shrine), 68

  Zabarker shrine, 60

  Ziai Neur Zogo, 65

  Ziria, 252, 256

  Ziriam Zogo, 59

  Zogo, 53-70;
    meaning of term, 67;
    coconut, 87;
    divining skull, 91;
    of Wiwar (constipation), 88, 89;
    yam, 86
    mer (sacred words), 31, 32, 45, 46, 63

  Zogole (sacred men of Murray Island), 48, 61, 70, 88, 89, 92

                                 PLYMOUTH
                         WILLIAM BRENDON AND SON
                                 PRINTERS

[Illustration]




A CATALOGUE OF BOOKS AND ANNOUNCEMENTS OF METHUEN AND COMPANY PUBLISHERS:
LONDON 36 ESSEX STREET W.C.


CONTENTS

                                          PAGE
    FORTHCOMING BOOKS,                       2
    POETRY,                                 12
    BELLES LETTRES, ANTHOLOGIES, ETC.,      12
    ILLUSTRATED AND GIFT BOOKS,             16
    HISTORY,                                17
    BIOGRAPHY,                              19
    TRAVEL, ADVENTURE AND TOPOGRAPHY,       21
    NAVAL AND MILITARY,                     23
    GENERAL LITERATURE,                     24
    PHILOSOPHY,                             26
    SCIENCE,                                27
    THEOLOGY,                               27
    FICTION,                                32
    BOOKS FOR BOYS AND GIRLS,               42
    THE PEACOCK LIBRARY,                    42
    UNIVERSITY EXTENSION SERIES,            42
    SOCIAL QUESTIONS OF TO-DAY,             43
    CLASSICAL TRANSLATIONS,                 44
    EDUCATIONAL BOOKS,                      44

NOVEMBER 1901


                                                             NOVEMBER 1901

MESSRS. METHUEN’S

ANNOUNCEMENTS

[Illustration]


Belles Lettres

DANTE STUDIES AND RESEARCHES. By PAGET TOYNBEE, D. Litt., M.A. _Demy 8vo.
10s. 6d._

    Among the subjects dealt with are ‘Dante’s Latin Dictionary,’
    ‘Dante and the Lancelot Romance,’ Dante’s references to
    Pythagoras, Dante’s obligations to Alfraganus, to Orosius,
    to Albertus Magnus; Dante’s theories as to the spots on the
    moon, the seven examples of munificence in the Convivio, the
    Commentary of Benvenutoda Imola on the _Divina Commedia_, etc.,
    etc.


Methuen’s Standard Library

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION. By THOMAS CARLYLE. Edited by C. R. L. FLETCHER,
Fellow of Magdalen College, Oxford. _Three Volumes. Crown 8vo. 6s. each._

    This edition is magnificently equipped with notes by a scholar
    who has given three years to its preparation.

THE LIFE AND LETTERS OF OLIVER CROMWELL. By THOMAS CARLYLE. With an
Introduction by C. H. FIRTH, M.A., and Notes and Appendices by Mrs.
LOMAS. _Three Volumes. 6s. each._

    This edition is brought up to the standard of modern
    scholarship by the addition of numerous new letters of
    Cromwell, and by the correction of many errors which recent
    research has discovered.

CRITICAL AND HISTORICAL ESSAYS. By LORD MACAULAY. Edited by F. C.
MONTAGUE, M.A. _Three Volumes. Crown 8vo. 6s. each._

    The only edition of this book completely annotated.


Little Biographies

_Fcap. 8vo. Each Volume, cloth, 3s. 6d.; leather, 4s. net._

Messrs. METHUEN are publishing a new series bearing the above title. Each
book contains the biography of a character famous in war, art, literature
or science, and is written by an acknowledged expert. The books are
charmingly produced and well illustrated. They form delightful gift books.

THE LIFE OF JOHN HOWARD. By E. C. S. GIBSON, D.D., Vicar of Leeds. With
12 Illustrations.


The Works of Shakespeare

Messrs. METHUEN are publishing an Edition of Shakespeare in single Plays.
Each play is edited with a full Introduction, Textual Notes, and a
Commentary at the foot of the page.

KING LEAR. Edited by W. J. CRAIG. _Demy 8vo. 3s. 6d._


The Little Library

    ‘The volumes are compact in size, printed on thin but good
    paper in clear type, prettily and at the same time strongly
    bound, and altogether good to look upon and handle.’—_Outlook._

_Pott 8vo. Each Volume, cloth, 1s. 6d. net; leather, 2s. 6d. net._

Messrs. METHUEN are producing a series of small books under the above
title, containing some of the famous books in English and other
literatures, in the domains of fiction, poetry, and belles lettres. The
series contains several volumes of selections in prose and verse.

The books are edited with the most sympathetic and scholarly care. Each
one contains an Introduction which gives (1) a short biography of the
author, (2) a critical estimate of the book. Where they are necessary,
short notes are added at the foot of the page.

Each book has a portrait or frontispiece in photogravure, and the volumes
are produced with great care in a style uniform with that of ‘The Library
of Devotion.’

CHRISTMAS BOOKS. By W. M. THACKERAY. Edited by S. GWYNN.

ESMOND. By W. M. THACKERAY. Edited by S. GWYNN. _Two volumes._

CHRISTMAS BOOKS. By CHARLES DICKENS. Edited by GEORGE GISSING. _Two
volumes._

THE COMPLEAT ANGLER. By ISAAC WALTON. Edited by J. BUCHAN.

THE ESSAYS OF ELIA; First and Second Series. By CHARLES LAMB. Edited by
E. V. LUCAS.

THE ENGLISH POEMS OF RICHARD CRASHAW. Edited by EDWARD HUTTON.

A SENTIMENTAL JOURNEY. By LAURENCE STERNE. Edited by H. W. PAUL.

THE PARADISO OF DANTE. Translated by H. F. CARY. Edited by PAGET TOYNBEE.

CALIPH VATHEK. By WILLIAM BECKFORD. Edited by E. D. ROSS.


Illustrated Books and Books for Children

THE BROTHERS DALZIEL: being a Record of Fifty Years of their Work,
1840-1890. With 150 Illustrations after Pictures by Lord LEIGHTON,
P.R.A., Sir J. E. MILLAIS, Bart., P.R.A., Sir E. J. POYNTER, P.R.A.,
HOLMAN HUNT, DANTE G. ROSSETTI, Sir JOHN TENNIEL, JOHN RUSKIN, and many
others. _Quarto. 21s. net._

THE ESSAYS OF ELIA. By CHARLES LAMB. With over 100 Illustrations by A.
GARTH JONES, and an Introduction by E. V. LUCAS. _Demy 8vo. 10s. 6d._

    This is probably the most beautiful edition of Lamb’s Essays
    that has ever been published. The illustrations display
    the most remarkable sympathy, insight, and skill, and the
    introduction is by a critic whose knowledge of Lamb is
    unrivalled.

THE VISIT TO LONDON. Described in verse by E. V. LUCAS, and in coloured
pictures by F. D. BEDFORD. _Small 4to. 6s._

    This charming book describes the introduction of a country
    child to the delights and sights of London. It is the result of
    a well-known partnership between author and artist.


The Little Blue Books for Children

Edited by E. V. LUCAS

_Illustrated. Square Fcap, 8vo. 2s. 6d._

Messrs. METHUEN have in preparation a series of children’s books under
the above general title. The aim of the editor is to get entertaining or
exciting stories about normal children, the moral of which is implied
rather than expressed. The books will be reproduced in a somewhat unusual
form, which will have a certain charm of its own. The first three volumes
arranged are:

1. THE CASTAWAYS OF MEADOW BANK. By T. COBB.

2. THE BEECHNUT BOOK. By JACOB ABBOTT. Edited by E. V. LUCAS.

3. THE AIR GUN: or, How the Mastermans and Dobson Major nearly lost their
Holidays. By T. HILBERT.


History

CROMWELL’S ARMY: A History of the English Soldier during the Civil Wars,
the Commonwealth, and the Protectorate. By C. H. FIRTH, M.A. _Crown 8vo.
7s. 6d._

    An elaborate study and description of Cromwell’s army by which
    the victory of the Parliament was secured. The ‘New Model’ is
    described in minute detail, and the author, who is one of the
    most distinguished historians of the day, has made great use of
    unpublished MSS.

ANNALS OF CHRIST’S HOSPITAL. By E. H. PEARCE, M.A. With numerous
illustrations. _Demy 8vo. 7s. 6d._

A HISTORY OF RUSSIA FROM PETER THE GREAT TO ALEXANDER II. By W. R.
MORFILL, Jesus College, Oxford. _Crown 8vo. 7s. 6d._

    This history, by the most distinguished authority in England,
    is founded on a study of original documents, and though
    necessarily brief, is the most comprehensive narrative in
    existence. Considerable attention has been paid to the social
    and literary development of the country, and the recent
    expansion of Russia in Asia.

A HISTORY OF THE POLICE IN ENGLAND. By Captain MELVILLE LEE. _Crown 8vo.
7s. 6d._

    This highly interesting book is the first history of the police
    force from its first beginning to its present development.
    Written as it is by an author of competent historical and legal
    qualifications, it will be indispensable to every magistrate
    and to all who are indirectly interested in the police force.

A HISTORY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE: From its Beginning to Tennyson. By L.
ENGEL. _Demy 8vo. 7s. 6d._

A HISTORY OF THE BRITISH IN INDIA. By A. D. INNES, M.A. With Maps and
Plans. _Crown 8vo. 7s. 6d._


Biography

THE LIFE OF ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON. By GRAHAM BALFOUR. _Two Volumes. Demy
8vo. 25s. net._

    This highly interesting biography has been entrusted by
    Mr. Stevenson’s family to his cousin, Mr. Balfour, and all
    available materials have been placed at his disposal. The
    book is rich in unpublished MSS. and letters, diaries of
    travel, reminiscences of friends, and a valuable fragment of
    autobiography. It also contains a complete bibliography of all
    Stevenson’s work. This biography of one of the most attractive
    and sympathetic personalities in English literature should
    possess a most fascinating interest. The book will be uniform
    with The Edinburgh Edition.

THE LIFE OF FRANÇOIS DE FENELON. By VISCOUNT ST. CYRES. With 8 Portraits.
_Demy 8vo. 10s. 6d._

    This biography has engaged the author for many years, and the
    book is not only the study of an interesting personality, but
    an important contribution to the history of the period.

THE CONVERSATIONS OF JAMES NORTHCOTE, R.A. and JAMES WARD. Edited by
ERNEST FLETCHER. With many Portraits. _Demy 8vo. 10s. 6d._

    This highly interesting, racy, and stimulating book, contains
    hitherto unpublished utterances of Northcote during a period of
    twenty-one years. There are many reminiscences of Sir Joshua
    Reynolds, much advice to young painters, and many references to
    the great artists and great figures of the day.


Travel, Adventure and Topography

HEAD-HUNTERS, BLACK, WHITE, AND BROWN. By A. C. HADDON, Sc.D., F.R.S.
With many Illustrations and a Map. _Demy 8vo. 15s._

    A narrative of adventure and exploration in Northern Borneo. It
    contains much matter of the highest scientific interest.

A BOOK OF BRITTANY. By S. BARING GOULD. With numerous Illustrations.
_Crown 8vo. 6s._

    Uniform in scope and size with Mr. Baring Gould’s well-known
    books on Devon, Cornwall, and Dartmoor.


General Literature

WOMEN AND THEIR WORK. By the Hon. Mrs. LYTTELTON. _Crown 8vo. 2s. 6d._

    A discussion of the present position of women in view of the
    various occupations and interests which are or may be open to
    them. There will be an introduction dealing with the general
    question, followed by chapters on the family, the household,
    philanthropic work, professions, recreation, and friendship.

ENGLISH VILLAGES. By P. H. DITCHFIELD, M.A., F.S.A. Illustrated. _Crown
8vo. 6s._

    A popular and interesting account of the history of a typical
    village, and of village life in general in England.

SPORTING MEMORIES. By J. OTHO PAGET. _Demy 8vo. 12s. 6d._

    This volume of reminiscences by a well-known sportsman and
    Master of Hounds deals chiefly with fox-hunting experiences.


Science

DRAGONS OF THE AIR. By H. G. SEELEY, F.R.S., With many Illustrations.
_Crown 8vo. 6s._

    A popular history of the most remarkable flying animals which
    ever lived. Their relations to mammals, birds, and reptiles,
    living and extinct, are shown by an original series of
    illustrations. The scattered remains preserved in Europe and
    the United States have been put together accurately to show the
    varied forms of the animals. The book is a natural history of
    these extinct animals, which flew by means of a single finger.


Theology

REGNUM DEI. THE BAMPTON LECTURES OF 1901. By A. ROBERTSON, D.D.,
Principal of King’s College, London. _Demy 8vo. 12s. 6d. net._

    This book is an endeavour to ascertain the meaning of the
    ‘Kingdom of God’ in its original prominence in the teaching
    of Christ. It reviews historically the main interpretations
    of this central idea in the successive phases of Christian
    tradition and life. Special attention is given to the sense in
    which St. Augustine identified the Church with the Kingdom of
    God. The later lectures follow out the alternative ideas of the
    Church, and of its relation to civil society which the Middle
    Ages and more recent types of Christian thought have founded
    upon alternative conceptions of the Kingdom of God.

OLD TESTAMENT HISTORY. By G. W. WADE, D.D. With Maps. _Crown 8vo. 6s._

    This book presents a connected account of the Hebrew people
    during the period covered by the Old Testament; and has been
    drawn up from the Scripture records in accordance with the
    methods of historical criticism. The text of the Bible has
    been studied in the light thrown upon it by the best modern
    commentators; but the reasons for the conclusions stated
    are not left to be sought for in the commentaries, but are
    discussed in the course of the narrative. Much attention has
    been devoted to tracing the progress of religion amongst the
    Hebrews, and the book, which is furnished with maps, is further
    adapted to the needs of theological students by the addition of
    geographical notes, tables, and a full index.

THE AGAPE AND THE EUCHARIST. By J. F. KEATING, D.D. _Crown 8vo. 3s. 6d._

THE IMITATION OF CHRIST. A Revised Translation, with an Introduction, by
C. BIGG, D.D., Canon of Christ Church. With Frontispiece. _Crown 8vo. 3s.
6d._

    A new edition, carefully revised and set in large type, of Dr.
    Bigg’s well-known version.


Oxford Commentaries

General Editor, WALTER LOCK, D.D., Warden of Keble College, Dean
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THE ACTS OF THE APOSTLES: With Introduction and Notes by R. B. RACKHAM,
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ISAIAH. Edited by W. E. BARNES, D.D., Fellow of Peterhouse, Cambridge.
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The Novelist

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XXIII. THE HUMAN BOY. EDEN PHILLPOTTS.

XXIV. THE CHRONICLES OF COUNT ANTONIO. ANTHONY HOPE.

XXV. BY STROKE OF SWORD. ANDREW BALFOUR.

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Methuen’s Sixpenny Library

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THE CONQUEST OF LONDON. DOROTHEA GERARD.

A VOYAGE OF CONSOLATION. SARA J. DUNCAN.

THE MUTABLE MANY. ROBERT BARR.


A CATALOGUE OF

MESSRS. METHUEN’S

PUBLICATIONS

[Illustration]


Poetry

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The Works of Shakespeare

General Editor, EDWARD DOWDEN, Litt.D.

Messrs. METHUEN have in preparation an Edition of Shakespeare in single
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IN MEMORIAM. By ALFRED, LORD TENNYSON. Edited, with an Introduction and
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THE EARLY POEMS OF ALFRED, LORD TENNYSON. Edited by J. C. COLLINS, M.A.

MAUD. By ALFRED, LORD TENNYSON. Edited by ELIZABETH WORDSWORTH.

A LITTLE BOOK OF ENGLISH LYRICS. With Notes.

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CRANFORD. By Mrs. GASKELL. Edited by E. V. LUCAS.

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THE MALVERN COUNTRY. By B. C. A. WINDLE, D.Sc., F.R.S. Illustrated by E.
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Illustrated and Gift Books

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=F. D. Bedford.= NURSERY RHYMES. With many Coloured Pictures by F. D.
BEDFORD. _Super Royal 8vo. 2s. 6d._

=S. Baring Gould.= A BOOK OF FAIRY TALES retold by S. BARING GOULD. With
numerous Illustrations and Initial Letters by ARTHUR J. GASKIN. _Second
Edition. Cr. 8vo. Buckram. 6s._

=S. Baring Gould.= OLD ENGLISH FAIRY TALES. Collected and edited by S.
BARING GOULD. With Numerous Illustrations by F. D. BEDFORD. _Second
Edition. Cr. 8vo. Buckram. 6s._

    ‘A charming volume.’—_Guardian._

=S. Baring Gould.= A BOOK OF NURSERY SONGS AND RHYMES. Edited by S.
BARING GOULD, and Illustrated by the Birmingham Art School. _Buckram,
gilt top. Crown 8vo. 6s._

=H. C. Beeching.= A BOOK OF CHRISTMAS VERSE. Edited by H. C. BEECHING,
M.A., and Illustrated by WALTER CRANE. _Cr. 8vo, gilt top. 3s. 6d._


History

=Flinders Petrie.= A HISTORY OF EGYPT, FROM THE EARLIEST TIMES TO THE
PRESENT DAY. Edited by W. M. FLINDERS PETRIE, D.C.L., LL.D., Professor of
Egyptology at University College. _Fully Illustrated. In Six Volumes. Cr.
8vo. 6s. each._

VOL. I. PREHISTORIC TIMES TO XVITH DYNASTY. W. M. F. Petrie. _Fourth
Edition._

VOL. II. THE XVIITH AND XVIIITH DYNASTIES. W. M. F. Petrie. _Third
Edition._

VOL. IV. THE EGYPT OF THE PTOLEMIES. J. P. Mahaffy.

VOL. V. ROMAN EGYPT. J. G. Milne.

VOL. VI. EGYPT IN THE MIDDLE AGES. Stanley Lane-Poole.

    ‘A history written in the spirit of scientific precision so
    worthily represented by Dr. Petrie and his school cannot but
    promote sound and accurate study, and supply a vacant place in
    the English literature of Egyptology.’—_Times._

=Flinders Petrie.= RELIGION AND CONSCIENCE IN ANCIENT EGYPT. By W. M.
FLINDERS PETRIE, D.C.L., LL.D. Fully Illustrated. _Crown 8vo. 2s. 6d._

    ‘The lectures will afford a fund of valuable information for
    students of ancient ethics.’—_Manchester Guardian._

=Flinders Petrie.= SYRIA AND EGYPT, FROM THE TELL EL AMARNA TABLETS. By
W. M. FLINDERS PETRIE, D.C.L., LL.D. _Crown 8vo. 2s. 6d._

    ‘A marvellous record. The addition made to our knowledge is
    nothing short of amazing.’—_Times._

=Flinders Petrie.= EGYPTIAN TALES. Edited by W. M. FLINDERS PETRIE.
Illustrated by TRISTRAM ELLIS. _In Two Volumes. Cr. 8vo. 3s. 6d. each._

    ‘Invaluable as a picture of life in Palestine and
    Egypt.’—_Daily News._

=Flinders Petrie.= EGYPTIAN DECORATIVE ART. By W. M. FLINDERS PETRIE.
With 120 Illustrations. _Cr. 8vo. 3s. 6d._

    ‘In these lectures he displays rare skill in elucidating the
    development of decorative art in Egypt.’—_Times._

=C. W. Oman.= A HISTORY OF THE ART OF WAR. Vol. II.: The Middle Ages,
from the Fourth to the Fourteenth Century. By C. W. OMAN, M.A., Fellow of
All Souls’, Oxford. Illustrated. _Demy 8vo. 21s._

    ‘The whole art of war in its historic evolution has never
    been treated on such an ample and comprehensive scale, and we
    question if any recent contribution to exact history of the
    world has possessed more enduring value.’—_Daily Chronicle._

=S. Baring Gould.= THE TRAGEDY OF THE CÆSARS. With numerous Illustrations
from Busts, Gems, Cameos, etc. By S. BARING GOULD. _Fifth Edition. Royal
8vo. 15s._

    ‘A most splendid and fascinating book on a subject of undying
    interest. The great feature of the book is the use the
    author has made of the existing portraits of the Cæsars and
    the admirable critical subtlety he has exhibited in dealing
    with this line of research. It is brilliantly written,
    and the illustrations are supplied on a scale of profuse
    magnificence.’—_Daily Chronicle._

=F. W. Maitland.= CANON LAW IN ENGLAND. By F. W. MAITLAND, LL.D., Downing
Professor of the Laws of England in the University of Cambridge. _Royal
8vo. 7s. 6d._

    ‘Professor Maitland has put students of English law under a
    fresh debt. These essays are landmarks in the study of the
    history of Canon Law.’—_Times._

=John Hackett.= A HISTORY OF THE CHURCH OF CYPRUS. By JOHN HACKETT, M.A.
With Maps and Illustrations. _Demy 8vo. 15s. net._

    A work which brings together all that is known on the subject
    from the introduction of Christianity to the commencement of
    the British occupation. A separate division deals with the
    local Latin Church during the period of the Western Supremacy.

=E. L. Taunton.= A HISTORY OF THE JESUITS IN ENGLAND. By E. L. TAUNTON.
With Illustrations. _Demy 8vo. 21s. net._

    ‘A history of permanent value, which covers ground never
    properly investigated before, and is replete with the
    results of original research. A most interesting and careful
    book.’—_Literature._

    ‘A volume which will attract considerable
    attention.’—_Athenæum._

=H. de B. Gibbins.= INDUSTRY IN ENGLAND: HISTORICAL OUTLINES. By H. DE B.
GIBBINS, Litt.D., M.A. With 5 Maps. _Second Edition. Demy 8vo. 10s. 6d._

=H. E. Egerton.= A HISTORY OF BRITISH COLONIAL POLICY. By H. E. EGERTON,
M.A. _Demy 8vo. 12s. 6d._

    ‘It is a good book, distinguished by accuracy in detail,
    clear arrangement of facts, and a broad grasp of
    principles.’—_Manchester Guardian._

=Albert Sorel.= THE EASTERN QUESTION IN THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY. By ALBERT
SOREL. Translated by F. C. BRAMWELL, M.A. _Cr. 8vo. 3s. 6d._

=C. H. Grinling.= A HISTORY OF THE GREAT NORTHERN RAILWAY, 1845-95. By C.
H. GRINLING. With Illustrations. _Demy 8vo. 10s. 6d._

    ‘Mr. Grinling has done for a Railway what Macaulay did for
    English History.’—_The Engineer._

=Clement Stretton.= A HISTORY OF THE MIDLAND RAILWAY. By CLEMENT
STRETTON. With numerous Illustrations. _Demy 8vo. 12s. 6d._

    ‘A fine record of railway development.’—_Outlook._

    ‘The volume is as exhaustive as it is comprehensive, and is
    made especially attractive by its pictures.’—_Globe._

=W. Sterry.= ANNALS OF ETON COLLEGE. By W. STERRY, M.A. With numerous
Illustrations. _Demy 8vo. 7s. 6d._

    ‘A treasury of quaint and interesting reading. Mr. Sterry
    has by his skill and vivacity given these records new
    life.’—_Academy._

=G. W. Fisher.= ANNALS OF SHREWSBURY SCHOOL. By G. W. FISHER, M.A. With
numerous Illustrations. _Demy 8vo. 10s. 6d._

    ‘This careful, erudite book.’—_Daily Chronicle._

    ‘A book of which Old Salopians are sure to be proud.’—_Globe._

=J. Sargeaunt.= ANNALS OF WESTMINSTER SCHOOL. By J. SARGEAUNT, M.A. With
numerous Illustrations. _Demy 8vo. 7s. 6d._

=A. Clark.= THE COLLEGES OF OXFORD: Their History and their Traditions.
Edited by A. CLARK, M.A., Fellow of Lincoln College. _8vo. 12s. 6d._

    ‘A work which will be appealed to for many years as the
    standard book.’—_Athenæum._

=T. M. Taylor.= A CONSTITUTIONAL AND POLITICAL HISTORY OF ROME. By T. M.
TAYLOR. M.A., Fellow of Gonville and Caius College, Cambridge. _Crown
8vo. 7s. 6d._

    ‘We fully recognise the value of this carefully written work,
    and admire especially the fairness and sobriety of his judgment
    and the human interest with which he has inspired a subject
    which in some hands becomes a mere series of cold abstractions.
    It is a work that will be stimulating to the student of Roman
    history.’—_Athenæum._

=J. Wells.= A SHORT HISTORY OF ROME. By J. WELLS, M.A., Fellow and Tutor
of Wadham Coll., Oxford. _Third Edition._ With 3 Maps. _Crown 8vo. 3s.
6d._

    This book is intended for the Middle and Upper Forms of Public
    Schools and for Pass Students at the Universities. It contains
    copious Tables, etc.

    ‘An original work written on an original plan, and with
    uncommon freshness and vigour.’—_Speaker._

=O. Browning.= A SHORT HISTORY OF MEDIÆVAL ITALY, A.D. 1250-1530. By
OSCAR BROWNING, Fellow and Tutor of King’s College, Cambridge. _In Two
Volumes. Cr. 8vo. 5s. each._

    VOL. I. 1250-1409.—Guelphs and Ghibellines.

    VOL. II. 1409-1530.—The Age of the Condottieri.

=O’Grady.= THE STORY OF IRELAND. By STANDISH O’GRADY, Author of ‘Finn and
his Companions.’ _Crown 8vo. 2s. 6d._


Byzantine Texts.

Edited by J. B. BURY, M.A., Litt.D.

ZACHARIAH OF MITYLENE. Translated into English by F. J. HAMILTON, D.D.,
and E. W. BROOKS. _Demy 8vo. 12s. 6d. net._

EVAGRIUS. Edited by Professor LÉON PARMENTIER and M. BIDEZ. _Demy 8vo.
10s. 6d. net._

THE HISTORY OF PSELLUS. By C. SATHAS. _Demy 8vo. 15s. net._


Biography

=R. L. Stevenson.= THE LETTERS OF ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON TO HIS FAMILY
AND FRIENDS. Selected and Edited, with Notes and Introductions, by SIDNEY
COLVIN. _Fourth and Cheaper Edition. Crown 8vo. 12s._

LIBRARY EDITION. _Demy 8vo. 2 vols. 25s. net._

    ‘Irresistible in their raciness, their variety, their animation
    ... of extraordinary fascination. A delightful inheritance,
    the truest record of a “richly compounded spirit” that the
    literature of our time has preserved.’—_Times._

=J. G. Millais.= THE LIFE AND LETTERS OF SIR JOHN EVERETT MILLAIS,
President of the Royal Academy. By his Son, J. G. MILLAIS. With 319
Illustrations, of which 9 are in Photogravure. _Second Edition. 2 vols.
Royal 8vo. 32s. net._

    ‘This splendid work.’—_World._

    ‘Of such absorbing interest is it, of such completeness
    in scope and beauty. Special tribute must be paid to the
    extraordinary completeness of the illustrations.’—_Graphic._

=S. Baring Gould.= THE LIFE OF NAPOLEON BONAPARTE. By S. BARING GOULD.
With over 450 Illustrations in the Text and 12 Photogravure Plates.
_Large quarto. Gilt top. 36s._

    ‘The main feature of this gorgeous volume is its great wealth
    of beautiful photogravures and finely-executed wood engravings,
    constituting a complete pictorial chronicle of Napoleon I.’s
    personal history from the days of his early childhood at
    Ajaccio to the date of his second interment.’—_Daily Telegraph._

=W. A. Bettesworth.= THE WALKERS OF SOUTHGATE: Being the Chronicles of a
Cricketing Family. By W. A. BETTESWORTH. Illustrated. _Demy 8vo. 7s. 6d._

    ‘A most engaging contribution to cricket literature ... a
    lasting joy.’—_Vanity Fair._

=G. S. Layard.= THE LIFE OF MRS. LYNN LINTON. By G. S. LAYARD. With
Portraits. _Demy 8vo. 12s. 6d._

    ‘Mrs. Lynn Linton is here presented to us in all her moods. She
    lives in the book; she is presented to us so that we really
    know her.’—_Literature._

    ‘A thoroughly good book, very interesting, and at the same time
    in very good taste.’—_Daily Graphic._

    ‘Mr. Layard may be congratulated on having produced an honest
    and interesting record of a notable woman.’—_Athenæum._

=Stanley Lane-Poole.= THE LIFE OF SIR HARRY PARKES. By STANLEY
LANE-POOLE. _A New and Cheaper Edition._ With Maps and Portrait. _Crown
8vo. 6s._

=Helen C. Wetmore.= THE LAST OF THE GREAT SCOUTS (‘Buffalo Bill’). By his
Sister, HELEN C. WETMORE. With Illustrations. _Demy 8vo. 6s._

    ‘The stirring adventures of Buffalo Bill’s career are described
    vigorously and picturesquely, and with a directness that
    inspires the fullest confidence.’—_Glasgow Herald._

=Constance Bache.= BROTHER MUSICIANS. Reminiscences of Edward and Walter
Bache. By CONSTANCE BACHE. With Sixteen Illustrations. _Crown 8vo. 6s.
net._

=P. H. Colomb.= MEMOIRS OF ADMIRAL SIR A. COOPER KEY. By Admiral P. H.
COLOMB. With a Portrait. _Demy 8vo. 16s._

=C. Cooper King.= THE STORY OF THE BRITISH ARMY. By Colonel COOPER KING.
Illustrated. _Demy 8vo. 7s. 6d._

    ‘An authoritative and accurate story of England’s military
    progress.’—_Daily Mail._

=R. Southey.= ENGLISH SEAMEN (Howard, Clifford, Hawkins, Drake,
Cavendish). By ROBERT SOUTHEY. Edited, with an Introduction, by DAVID
HANNAY. _Second Edition. Crown 8vo. 6s._

    ‘A brave, inspiriting book.’—_Black and White._

=W. Clark Russell.= THE LIFE OF ADMIRAL LORD COLLINGWOOD. By W. CLARK
RUSSELL. With Illustrations by F. BRANGWYN. _Fourth Edition. Crown 8vo.
6s._

    ‘A book which we should like to see in the hands of every boy
    in the country.’—_St. James’s Gazette._

=Morris Fuller.= THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF JOHN DAVENANT, D.D.
(1571-1641), Bishop of Salisbury. By MORRIS FULLER, B.D. _Demy 8vo. 10s.
6d._

=J. M. Rigg.= ST. ANSELM OF CANTERBURY: A CHAPTER IN THE HISTORY OF
RELIGION. By J. M. RIGG. _Demy 8vo. 7s. 6d._

=F. W. Joyce.= THE LIFE OF SIR FREDERICK GORE OUSELEY. By F. W. JOYCE,
M.A. _7s. 6d._

=W. G. Collingwood.= THE LIFE OF JOHN RUSKIN. By W. G. COLLINGWOOD, M.A.
With Portraits, and 13 Drawings by Mr. Ruskin. _Second Edition. 2 vols.
8vo. 32s. Cheap Edition. Crown 8vo. 6s._

=C. Waldstein.= JOHN RUSKIN. By CHARLES WALDSTEIN, M.A. With a
Photogravure Portrait. _Post 8vo. 5s._

=A. M. F. Darmesteter.= THE LIFE OF ERNEST RENAN. By MADAME DARMESTETER.
With Portrait. _Second Edition. Cr. 8vo. 6s._

=W. H. Hutton.= THE LIFE OF SIR THOMAS MORE. By W. H. HUTTON, M.A. With
Portraits. _Second Edition. Cr. 8vo. 5s._

    ‘The book lays good claim to high rank among our biographies.
    It is excellently, even lovingly, written.’—_Scotsman._

=S. Baring Gould.= THE VICAR OF MORWENSTOW: A Biography. By S. BARING
GOULD, M.A. A new and Revised Edition. With Portrait. _Crown 8vo. 3s. 6d._

    A completely new edition of the well known biography of R. S.
    Hawker.


Travel, Adventure and Topography

=Sven Hedin.= THROUGH ASIA. By SVEN HEDIN. Gold Medallist of the
Royal Geographical Society. With 300 Illustrations from Sketches and
Photographs by the Author, and Maps, _2 vols. Royal 8vo. 20s. net._

    ‘One of the greatest books of the kind issued during the
    century. It is impossible to give an adequate idea of the
    richness of the contents of this book, nor of its abounding
    attractions as a story of travel unsurpassed in geographical
    and human interest. Much of it is a revelation. Altogether the
    work is one which in solidity, novelty, and interest must take
    a first rank among publications of its class.’—_Times._

=F. H. Skrine and E. D. Ross.= THE HEART OF ASIA. By F. H. SKRINE and E.
D. ROSS. With Maps and many Illustrations by VERESTCHAGIN. _Large Crown
8vo. 10s. 6d. net._

    ‘This volume will form a landmark in our knowledge of Central
    Asia.... Illuminating and convincing.’—_Times._

=R. E. Peary.= NORTHWARD OVER THE GREAT ICE. By R. E. PEARY, Gold
Medallist of the Royal Geographical Society. With over 800 Illustrations,
_2 vols. Royal 8vo. 32s. net._

    ‘His book will take its place among the permanent literature of
    Arctic exploration.’—_Times._

=T. H. Holdich.= THE INDIAN BORDERLAND: being a Personal Record of Twenty
Years. By SIR T. H. HOLDICH, K.C.I.E. Illustrated. _Demy 8vo. 15s. net._

    ‘Probably the most important work on frontier topography that
    has lately been presented to the general public.’—_Literature._

    ‘Interesting and inspiriting from cover to cover, it will
    assuredly take its place as the classical on the history of the
    Indian frontier.’—_Pilot._

    ‘A work that should long remain the standard authority.’—_Daily
    Chronicle._

=A. B. Wylde.= MODERN ABYSSINIA. By A. B. WYLDE. With a Map and a
Portrait. _Demy 8vo. 15s. net._

    ‘The most valuable contribution that has yet been made to our
    knowledge of Abyssinia.’—_Manchester Guardian._

    ‘A book which will rank among the very best of African
    works.’—_Daily Chronicle._

    ‘A repertory of information on every branch of the
    subject.’—_Literature._

=Alex. Hosie.= MANCHURIA. By ALEXANDER HOSIE. With Illustrations and a
Map. _Demy 8vo. 10s. 6d. net._

    A complete account of this important province by the highest
    living authority on the subject.

    ‘This book is especially useful at the present moment when the
    future of the country appears uncertain.’—_Times._

=E. A. FitzGerald.= THE HIGHEST ANDES. By E. A. FITZGERALD. With 2 Maps,
51 Illustrations, 13 of which are in Photogravure, and a Panorama. _Royal
8vo. 30s. net._ Also a Small Edition on Hand-made Paper, limited to 50
Copies, _4to. £5, 5s._

    ‘The record of the first ascent of the highest mountain yet
    conquered by mortal man. A volume which will continue to be the
    classic book of travel on this region of the Andes.’—_Daily
    Chronicle._

=F. W. Christian.= THE CAROLINE ISLANDS. By F. W. CHRISTIAN. With many
Illustrations and Maps. _Demy 8vo. 12s. 6d. net._

    ‘A real contribution to our knowledge of the peoples and
    islands of Micronesia, as well as fascinating as a narrative of
    travels and adventure.’—_Scotsman._

=H. H. Johnston.= BRITISH CENTRAL AFRICA. By Sir H. H. JOHNSTON, K.C.B.
With nearly Two Hundred Illustrations, and Six Maps. _Second Edition.
Crown 4to. 18s. net._

    ‘A fascinating book, written with equal skill and charm—the
    work at once of a literary artist and of a man of action who
    is singularly wise, brave, and experienced. It abounds in
    admirable sketches.’—_Westminster Gazette._

=L. Decle.= THREE YEARS IN SAVAGE AFRICA. By LIONEL DECLE. With 100
Illustrations and 5 Maps. _Second Edition. Demy 8vo. 10s. 6d. net._

=A. Hulme Beaman.= TWENTY YEARS IN THE NEAR EAST. By A. HULME BEAMAN.
_Demy 8vo._ With Portrait. _10s. 6d._

=Henri of Orleans.= FROM TONKIN TO INDIA. By PRINCE HENRI OF ORLEANS.
Translated by HAMLEY BENT, M.A. With 100 Illustrations and a Map. _Cr.
4to, gilt top. 25s._

=Chester Holcombe.= THE REAL CHINESE QUESTION. By CHESTER HOLCOMBE.
_Crown 8vo. 6s._

    ‘It is an important addition to the materials before the
    public for forming an opinion on a most difficult and pressing
    problem.’—_Times._

    ‘It is this practical “note” in the book, coupled with the
    fairness, moderation, and sincerity of the author, that gives
    it, in our opinion, the highest place among books published in
    recent years on the Chinese question.’—_Manchester Guardian._

=J. W. Robertson-Scott.= THE PEOPLE OF CHINA. By J. W. ROBERTSON-SCOTT.
With a Map. _Crown 8vo. 3s. 6d._

    ‘A vivid impression.... This excellent, brightly written
    epitome.’—_Daily News._

    ‘Excellently well done.... Enthralling.’—_Weekly Dispatch._

=S. L. Hinde.= THE FALL OF THE CONGO ARABS. By S. L. HINDE. With Plans,
etc. _Demy 8vo. 12s. 6d._

=A. St. H. Gibbons.= EXPLORATION AND HUNTING IN CENTRAL AFRICA. By Major
A. ST. H. GIBBONS. With full-page Illustrations by C. WHYMPER, and Maps.
_Demy 8vo. 15s._

=A. H. Norway.= NAPLES: PAST AND PRESENT. By A. H. NORWAY, Author of
‘Highways and Byways in Devon and Cornwall.’ With 40 Illustrations by A.
G. FERARD. _Crown 8vo. 6s._

    In this book Mr. Norway gives not only a highly interesting
    description of modern Naples, but a historical account of its
    antiquities and traditions.

=S. Baring Gould.= DARTMOOR: A Descriptive and Historical Sketch. By S.
BARING GOULD. With Plans and Numerous Illustrations. _Crown 8vo. 6s._

    ‘A most delightful guide, companion, and
    instructor.’—_Scotsman._

    ‘Informed with close personal knowledge.’—_Saturday Review._

=S. Baring Gould.= THE BOOK OF THE WEST. By S. BARING GOULD. With
numerous Illustrations. _Two volumes._ VOL. I. Devon. _Second Edition._
VOL. II. Cornwall. _Crown 8vo. 6s. each._

    ‘Bracing as the air of Dartmoor, the legend weird as twilight
    over Dozmare Pool, they give us a very good idea of this
    enchanting and beautiful district.’—_Guardian._

=S. Baring Gould.= A BOOK OF BRITTANY. By S. BARING GOULD. With numerous
Illustrations. _Crown 8vo. 6s._

    Uniform in scope and size with Mr. Baring Gould’s well-known
    books on Devon, Cornwall, and Dartmoor.

=S. Baring Gould.= THE DESERTS OF SOUTHERN FRANCE. By S. BARING GOULD. _2
vols. Demy 8vo. 32s._

=J. F. Fraser.= ROUND THE WORLD ON A WHEEL. By JOHN FOSTER FRASER. With
100 Illustrations. _Crown 8vo. 6s._

    ‘A classic of cycling, graphic and witty.’—_Yorkshire Post._

=R. L. Jefferson.= A NEW RIDE TO KHIVA. By R. L. JEFFERSON. Illustrated.
_Crown 8vo. 6s._

=J. K. Trotter.= THE NIGER SOURCES. By Colonel J. K. TROTTER, R.A. With a
Map and Illustrations. _Crown 8vo. 5s._

=W. Crooke.= THE NORTH-WESTERN PROVINCES OF INDIA: THEIR ETHNOLOGY AND
ADMINISTRATION. By W. CROOKE. With Maps and Illustrations. _Demy 8vo.
10s. 6d._

=A. Boisragon.= THE BENIN MASSACRE. By CAPTAIN BOISRAGON. _Second
Edition. Cr. 8vo. 3s. 6d._

=H. S. Cowper.= THE HILL OF THE GRACES: OR, THE GREAT STONE TEMPLES OF
TRIPOLI. By H. S. COWPER, F.S.A. With Maps, Plans, and 75 Illustrations.
_Demy 8vo. 10s. 6d._

=W. B. Worsfold.= SOUTH AFRICA. By W. B. WORSFOLD, M.A. With a Map.
_Second Edition. Cr. 8vo. 6s._

    ‘A monumental work compressed into a very moderate
    compass.’—_World._

=Katherine and Gilbert Macquoid.= IN PARIS. By KATHERINE and GILBERT
MACQUOID. Illustrated by THOMAS R. MACQUOID, R.I. With 2 maps. _Crown
8vo. 1s._

    ‘A useful little guide, judiciously supplied with
    information.’—_Athenæum._

=A. H. Keane.= THE BOER STATES: A History and Description of the
Transvaal and the Orange Free State. By A. H. KEANE, M.A. With Map.
_Crown 8vo. 6s._


Naval and Military

=F. H. E. Cunliffe.= THE HISTORY OF THE BOER WAR. By F. H. E. CUNLIFFE,
Fellow of All Souls’ College, Oxford. With many Illustrations, Plans, and
Portraits. _In 2 vols. Vol. I., 15s._

    ‘The excellence of the work is double; for the narrative is
    vivid and temperate, and the illustrations form a picture
    gallery of the war which is not likely to be rivalled.... An
    ideal gift book.’—_Academy._

=G. S. Robertson.= CHITRAL: The Story of a Minor Siege. By Sir G. S.
ROBERTSON, K.C.S.I. With numerous Illustrations, Map and Plans. _Second
Edition. Demy 8vo. 10s. 6d._

    ‘A book which the Elizabethans would have thought wonderful.
    More thrilling, more piquant, and more human than any
    novel.’—_Newcastle Chronicle._

    ‘As fascinating as Sir Walter Scott’s best fiction.’—_Daily
    Telegraph._

=R. S. S. Baden-Powell.= THE DOWNFALL OF PREMPEH. A Diary of Life in
Ashanti, 1895. By Maj.-Gen. BADEN-POWELL. With 21 Illustrations and a
Map. _Third Edition. Large Crown 8vo. 6s._

=R. S. S. Baden-Powell.= THE MATABELE CAMPAIGN, 1896. By Maj.-Gen.
BADEN-POWELL. With nearly 100 Illustrations. _Fourth and Cheaper Edition.
Large Crown 8vo. 6s._

=J. B. Atkins.= THE RELIEF OF LADYSMITH. By JOHN BLACK ATKINS. With 16
Plans and Illustrations. _Third Edition. Crown 8vo. 6s._

=H. W. Nevinson.= LADYSMITH: The Diary of a Siege. By H. W. NEVINSON.
With 16 Illustrations and a Plan. _Second Edition. Crown 8vo. 6s._

=Barclay Lloyd.= A THOUSAND MILES WITH THE C.I.V. By Captain BARCLAY
LLOYD. With an Introduction by Colonel MACKINNON, and a Portrait and Map.
_Crown 8vo. 6s._

=Filson Young.= THE RELIEF OF MAFEKING. By FILSON YOUNG. With Maps and
Illustrations. _Crown 8vo. 6s._

=J. Angus Hamilton.= THE SIEGE OF MAFEKING. By J. ANGUS HAMILTON. With
many Illustrations. _Crown 8vo. 6s._

    ‘A thrilling story.’—_Observer._

=H. F. Prevost Battersby.= IN THE WEB OF A WAR. By H. F. PREVOST
BATTERSBY. With Plans, and Portrait of the Author. _Crown 8vo. 6s._

    ‘The pathos, the comedy, the majesty of war are all in these
    pages.’—_Daily Mail._

=Howard C. Hillegas.= WITH THE BOER FORCES. By HOWARD C. HILLEGAS. With
24 Illustrations. _Second Edition. Crown 8vo. 6s._

    ‘A most interesting book. It has many and great
    merits.’—_Athenæum._

    ‘Has extreme interest and scarcely less value.’—_Pall Mall
    Gazette._

=H. C. J. Biss.= THE RELIEF OF KUMASI. By Captain H. C. J. BISS. With
Maps and Illustrations. _Second Edition. Crown 8vo. 6s._

    ‘Pleasantly written and highly interesting. The illustrations
    are admirable.’—_Queen._

    ‘We should say it will remain the standard work on its very
    interesting subject.’—_Globe._

=E. H. Alderson.= WITH THE MOUNTED INFANTRY AND THE MASHONALAND FIELD
FORCE, 1896. By Lieut.-Colonel ALDERSON. With numerous Illustrations and
Plans. _Demy 8vo. 10s. 6d._

=Seymour Vandeleur.= CAMPAIGNING ON THE UPPER NILE AND NIGER. By Lieut.
SEYMOUR VANDELEUR. With an Introduction by Sir G. GOLDIE, K.C.M.G. With 4
Maps, Illustrations, and Plans. _Large Crown 8vo. 10s. 6d._

=Lord Fincastle.= A FRONTIER CAMPAIGN. By Viscount FINCASTLE, V.C., and
Lieut. P. C. ELLIOTT-LOCKHART. With a Map and 16 Illustrations. _Second
Edition. Crown 8vo. 6s._

=E. N. Bennett.= THE DOWNFALL OF THE DERVISHES: A Sketch of the Sudan
Campaign of 1898. By E. N. BENNETT, Fellow of Hertford College. With a
Photogravure Portrait of Lord Kitchener. _Third Edition. Crown 8vo. 3s.
6d._

=W. Kinnaird Rose.= WITH THE GREEKS IN THESSALY. By W. KINNAIRD ROSE.
With Illustrations. _Crown 8vo. 6s._

=G. W. Steevens.= NAVAL POLICY. By G. W. STEEVENS. _Demy 8vo. 6s._

=D. Hannay.= A SHORT HISTORY OF THE ROYAL NAVY, FROM EARLY TIMES TO THE
PRESENT DAY. By DAVID HANNAY. Illustrated. _2 Vols. Demy 8vo. 7s. 6d.
each._ Vol. I., 1200-1688.

    ‘We read it from cover to cover at a sitting, and those who
    go to it for a lively and brisk picture of the past, with all
    its faults and its grandeur, will not be disappointed. The
    historian is endowed with literary skill and style.’—_Standard._

=E. L. S. Horsburgh.= WATERLOO: A Narrative and Criticism. By E. L. S.
HORSBURGH, M.A. With Plans. _Second Edition. Crown 8vo. 5s._

    ‘A brilliant essay—simple, sound, and thorough.’—_Daily
    Chronicle._

=H. B. George.= BATTLES OF ENGLISH HISTORY. By H. B. GEORGE, M.A., Fellow
of New College, Oxford. With numerous Plans. _Third Edition. Cr. 8vo. 6s._

    ‘Mr. George has undertaken a very useful task—that of making
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    readers—and has executed it with a large measure of
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General Literature

=S. Baring Gould.= OLD COUNTRY LIFE. BY S. BARING GOULD. With Sixty-seven
Illustrations. _Large Cr. 8vo. Fifth Edition. 6s._

    ‘“Old Country Life,” as healthy wholesome reading, full of
    breezy life and movement, full of quaint stories vigorously
    told, will not be excelled by any book to be published
    throughout the year. Sound, hearty, and English to the
    core.’—_World._

=S. Baring Gould.= AN OLD ENGLISH HOME. By S. BARING GOULD. With numerous
Plans and Illustrations. _Crown 8vo. 6s._

    ‘The chapters are delightfully fresh, very informing, and
    lightened by many a good story. A delightful fireside
    companion.’—_St. James’s Gazette._

=S. Baring Gould.= HISTORIC ODDITIES AND STRANGE EVENTS. By S. BARING
GOULD. _Fifth Edition. Crown 8vo. 6s._

=S. Baring Gould.= FREAKS OF FANATICISM. By S. BARING GOULD. _Third
Edition. Cr. 8vo. 6s._

=S. Baring Gould.= A GARLAND OF COUNTRY SONG: English Folk Songs with
their Traditional Melodies. Collected and arranged by S. BARING GOULD and
H. F. SHEPPARD. _Demy 4to. 6s._

=S. Baring Gould.= SONGS OF THE WEST: Traditional Ballads and Songs of
the West of England, with their Melodies. Collected by S. BARING GOULD,
M.A., and H. F. SHEPPARD, M.A. In 4 Parts. _Parts I., II., III., 3s.
each. Part IV., 5s. In one Vol., French morocco, 15s._

    ‘A rich collection of humour, pathos, grace, and poetic
    fancy.’—_Saturday Review._

=S. Baring Gould.= YORKSHIRE ODDITIES AND STRANGE EVENTS. By S. BARING
GOULD. _Fifth Edition. Crown 8vo. 6s._

=S. Baring Gould.= STRANGE SURVIVALS AND SUPERSTITIONS. By S. BARING
GOULD. _Cr. 8vo. Second Edition. 6s._

=Marie Corelli.= THE PASSING OF THE GREAT QUEEN: A Tribute to the Noble
Life of Victoria Regina. By MARIE CORELLI. _Small 4to. 1s._

=Cotton Minchin.= OLD HARROW DAYS. By J. G. COTTON MINCHIN. _Cr. 8vo.
Second Edition. 5s._

=W. E. Gladstone.= THE SPEECHES OF THE RT. HON. W. E. GLADSTONE, M.P.
Edited by A. W. HUTTON, M.A., and H. J. COHEN, M.A. With Portraits. _Demy
8vo. Vols. IX. and X., 12s. 6d. each._

=M. N. Oxford.= A HANDBOOK OF NURSING. By M. N. OXFORD, of Guy’s
Hospital. _Crown 8vo. 3s. 6d._

    ‘The most useful work of the kind that we have seen. A most
    valuable and practical manual.’—_Manchester Guardian._

=E. V. Zenker.= ANARCHISM. By E. V. ZENKER. _Demy 8vo. 7s. 6d._

=Emily Lawless.= A GARDEN DIARY. By the Hon. EMILY LAWLESS. _Demy 8vo.
7s. 6d. net._

=S. J. Duncan.= ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE LATCH. By SARA JEANNETTE DUNCAN
(Mrs. COTES), Author of ‘A Voyage of Consolation.’ _Second Edition. Crown
8vo. 6s._

=W. Williamson.= THE BRITISH GARDENER. By W. WILLIAMSON. Illustrated.
_Demy 8vo. 10s. 6d._

=Arnold White.= EFFICIENCY AND EMPIRE. By ARNOLD WHITE. _Crown 8vo. 6s._

    ‘Stimulating and entertaining throughout, it deserves the
    attention of every patriotic Englishman.’—_Daily Mail._

    ‘A notable book.’—_Literature._

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    to rouse the British to a knowledge of the value of their
    Empire.’—_Bookman._

    ‘A more vigorous work has not been written for many
    years.’—_Review of the Week._

=A. Silva White.= THE EXPANSION OF EGYPT: A Political and Historical
Survey. By A. SILVA WHITE. With four Special Maps. _Demy 8vo. 15s. net._

    ‘This is emphatically the best account of Egypt as it is
    under English control that has been published for many
    years.’—_Spectator._

=Chas. Richardson.= THE ENGLISH TURF. By CHARLES RICHARDSON. With
numerous Illustrations and Plans. _Demy 8vo. 15s._

    ‘As a record of horses and courses, this work is a valuable
    addition to the literature of the Turf. It is crammed with
    sound information, and with reflections and suggestions that
    are born of a thorough knowledge of the subject.’—_Scotsman._

    ‘A book which is sure to find many readers; and in an easy,
    agreeable style.’—_Daily Chronicle._

    ‘From its sensible introduction to its very complex index, this
    is about the best book that we are likely for some time to see
    upon the subject with which it deals.’—_Athenæum._

=Philip Trevor.= THE LIGHTER SIDE OF CRICKET. By Captain PHILIP TREVOR
(DUX). _Crown 8vo. 6s._

    A highly interesting volume, dealing with such subjects as
    county cricket, village cricket, cricket for boys and girls,
    literary cricket, and various other subjects which do not
    require a severe and technical treatment.

    ‘A wholly entertaining book.’—_Glasgow Herald._

    ‘The most welcome book on our national game published for
    years.’—_County Gentleman._

=Peter Beckford.= THOUGHTS ON HUNTING. By PETER BECKFORD. Edited by J.
OTHO PAGET, and Illustrated by G. H. JALLAND. _Demy 8vo. 10s. 6d._

    ‘Beckford’s “Thoughts on Hunting” has long been a classic with
    sportsmen, and the present edition will go far to make it a
    favourite with lovers of literature.’—_Speaker._

=E. B. Michell.= THE ART AND PRACTICE OF HAWKING. By E. B. MICHELL. With
3 Photogravures by G. E. LODGE, and other Illustrations. _Demy 8vo. 10s.
6d._

    ‘No book is more full and authoritative than this handsome
    treatise.’—_Morning Leader._

=H. G. Hutchinson.= THE GOLFING PILGRIM. By HORACE G. HUTCHINSON. _Crown
8vo. 6s._

    ‘Without this book the golfer’s library will be
    incomplete.’—_Pall Mall Gazette._

=J. Wells.= OXFORD AND OXFORD LIFE. By Members of the University. Edited
by J. WELLS, M.A., Fellow and Tutor of Wadham College. _Third Edition.
Cr. 8vo. 3s. 6d._

=C. G. Robertson.= VOCES ACADEMICÆ. By C. GRANT ROBERTSON, M.A., Fellow
of All Souls’, Oxford. With a Frontispiece. _Pott 8vo. 3s. 6d._

    ‘Decidedly clever and amusing.’—_Athenæum._

=Rosemary Cotes.= DANTE’S GARDEN. By ROSEMARY COTES. With a Frontispiece.
_Second Edition. Fcp. 8vo. 2s. 6d. Leather, 3s. 6d. net._

    ‘A charming collection of legends of the flowers mentioned by
    Dante.’—_Academy._

=Clifford Harrison.= READING AND READERS. By CLIFFORD HARRISON. _Fcp.
8vo. 2s. 6d._

    ‘An extremely sensible little book.’—_Manchester Guardian._

=L. Whibley.= GREEK OLIGARCHIES: THEIR ORGANISATION AND CHARACTER. By L.
WHIBLEY, M.A., Fellow of Pembroke College, Cambridge. _Crown 8vo. 6s._

=L. L. Price.= ECONOMIC SCIENCE AND PRACTICE. By L. L. PRICE, M.A.,
Fellow of Oriel College, Oxford. _Crown 8vo. 6s._

=J. S. Shedlock.= THE PIANOFORTE SONATA: Its Origin and Development. By
J. S. SHEDLOCK. _Crown 8vo. 5s._

    ‘This work should be in the possession of every musician and
    amateur. A concise and lucid history and a very valuable work
    for reference.’—_Athenæum._

=A. Hulme Beaman.= PONS ASINORUM; OR, A GUIDE TO BRIDGE. By A. HULME
BEAMAN. _Second Edition. Fcap 8vo. 2s._

    A practical guide, with many specimen games, to the new game of
    Bridge.

=E. M. Bowden.= THE EXAMPLE OF BUDDHA: Being Quotations from Buddhist
Literature for each Day in the Year. Compiled by E. M. BOWDEN. _Third
Edition. 16mo. 2s. 6d._

=F. Ware.= EDUCATIONAL REFORM. By FABIAN WARE, M.A. _Crown 8vo. 2s. 6d._

=Sidney Peel.= PRACTICAL LICENSING REFORM. By the Hon. SIDNEY PEEL, late
Fellow of Trinity College, Oxford, and Secretary to the Royal Commission
on the Licensing Laws. _Second Edition. Crown 8vo. 1s. 6d._


Philosophy

=L. T. Hobhouse.= THE THEORY OF KNOWLEDGE. By L. T. HOBHOUSE, Fellow of
C.C.C., Oxford. _Demy 8vo. 21s._

    ‘The most important contribution to English philosophy
    since the publication of Mr. Bradley’s “Appearance and
    Reality.”’—_Glasgow Herald._

=W. H. Fairbrother.= THE PHILOSOPHY OF T. H. GREEN. By W. H. FAIRBROTHER,
M.A. _Second Edition. Cr. 8vo. 3s. 6d._

    ‘In every way an admirable book.’—_Glasgow Herald._

=F. W. Bussell.= THE SCHOOL OF PLATO. By F. W. BUSSELL, D.D., Fellow of
Brasenose College, Oxford. _Demy 8vo. 10s. 6d._

=F. S. Granger.= THE WORSHIP OF THE ROMANS. By F. S. GRANGER, M.A.,
Litt.D. _Crown 8vo. 6s._


Science

=E. H. Colbeck.= DISEASES OF THE HEART. By E. H. COLBECK, M.D. With
numerous Illustrations. _Demy 8vo. 12s._

=W. C. C. Pakes.= THE SCIENCE OF HYGIENE. By W. C. C. PAKES. With
numerous Illustrations. _Demy 8vo. 15s._

    ‘A thoroughgoing working text-book of its subject, practical
    and well-stocked.’—_Scotsman._

=A. T. Hare.= THE CONSTRUCTION OF LARGE INDUCTION COILS. By A. T. HARE,
M.A. With numerous Diagrams. _Demy 8vo. 6s._

=J. E. Marr.= THE SCIENTIFIC STUDY OF SCENERY. By J. E. MARR, F.R.S.,
Fellow of St. John’s College, Cambridge. Illustrated. _Crown 8vo. 6s._

    ‘A volume, moderate in size and readable in style, which will
    be acceptable alike to the student of geology and geography,
    and to the tourist.’—_Athenæum._

=J. Ritzema Bos.= AGRICULTURAL ZOOLOGY. By Dr. J. RITZEMA BOS. Translated
by J. R. AINSWORTH DAVIS, M.A. With an Introduction by ELEANOR A.
ORMEROD, F.E.S. With 155 Illustrations. _Crown 8vo. 3s. 6d._

    ‘The illustrations are exceedingly good, whilst the information
    conveyed is invaluable.’—_Country Gentleman._

=Ed. von Freudenreich.= DAIRY BACTERIOLOGY. A Short Manual for the Use
of Students. By Dr. ED. VON FREUDENREICH, Translated by J. R. AINSWORTH
DAVIS, M.A. _Second Edition, Revised. Crown 8vo. 2s. 6d._

=Chalmers Mitchell.= OUTLINES OF BIOLOGY. By P. CHALMERS MITCHELL, M.A.
_Illustrated. Cr. 8vo. 6s._

    A text-book designed to cover the new Schedule issued by the
    Royal College of Physicians and Surgeons.

=George Massee.= A MONOGRAPH OF THE MYXOGASTRES. By GEORGE MASSEE. With
12 Coloured Plates. _Royal 8vo. 18s. net._

    ‘A work much in advance of any book in the language treating of
    this group of organisms. Indispensable to every student of the
    Myxogastres.’—_Nature._

=C. Stephenson and F. Suddards.= ORNAMENTAL DESIGN FOR WOVEN FABRICS. By
C. STEPHENSON, of the Technical College, Bradford, and F. SUDDARDS, of
the Yorkshire College, Leeds. With 65 full-page plates. _Demy 8vo. Second
Edition. 7s. 6d._

    ‘The book is very ably done, displaying an intimate knowledge
    of principles, good taste, and the faculty of clear
    exposition.’—_Yorkshire Post._

=C. C. Channer and M. E. Roberts.= LACE-MAKING IN THE MIDLANDS, PAST
AND PRESENT. By C. C. CHANNER and M. E. ROBERTS. With 16 full-page
Illustrations. _Crown 8vo. 2s. 6d._

    ‘An interesting book, illustrated by fascinating
    photographs.’—_Speaker._


Theology

=W. R. Inge.= CHRISTIAN MYSTICISM. The Bampton Lectures for 1899. By W.
R. INGE, M.A., Fellow and Tutor of Hertford College, Oxford. _Demy 8vo.
12s. 6d. net._

    ‘It is fully worthy of the best traditions connected with the
    Bampton Lectureship.’—_Record._

=Lady Julian of Norwich.= REVELATIONS OF DIVINE LOVE. By the LADY JULIAN
of Norwich. Edited by GRACE WARRACK. _Crown 8vo. 6s._

    A partially modernised version, from the MS. in the British
    Museum of a book which Dr. Dalgairns terms ‘One of the most
    remarkable books of the Middle Ages.’ Mr. Inge in his Bampton
    Lectures on Christian Mysticism calls it ‘The beautiful but
    little known _Revelations_.’

=R. M. Benson.= THE WAY OF HOLINESS: a Devotional Commentary on the 119th
Psalm. By R. M. BENSON, M.A., of the Cowley Mission, Oxford. _Crown 8vo.
5s._

    ‘His facility is delightful, and his very sound and accurate
    theological sense saves him from many of the obvious dangers
    of such a gift. Give him a word or a number and at once there
    springs forth a fertile stream of thought, never commonplace,
    usually both deep and fresh. For devotional purposes we
    think this book most valuable. Readers will find a great
    wealth of thought if they use the book simply as a help to
    meditation.’—_Guardian._

=Jacob Behmen.= THE SUPERSENSUAL LIFE. By JACOB BEHMEN. Edited by BERNARD
HOLLAND. _Fcap 8vo. 3s. 6d._

=S. R. Driver.= SERMONS ON SUBJECTS CONNECTED WITH THE OLD TESTAMENT. By
S. R. DRIVER, D.D., Canon of Christ Church, Regius Professor of Hebrew in
the University of Oxford. _Cr. 8vo. 6s._

    ‘A welcome companion to the author’s famous
    “Introduction.”’—_Guardian._

=T. K. Cheyne.= FOUNDERS OF OLD TESTAMENT CRITICISM. By T. K. CHEYNE,
D.D., Oriel Professor at Oxford. _Large Crown 8vo. 7s. 6d._

    A historical sketch of O. T. Criticism.

=Walter Lock.= ST. PAUL, THE MASTER-BUILDER. By WALTER LOCK, D.D., Warden
of Keble College. _Crown 8vo. 3s. 6d._

    ‘The essence of the Pauline teaching is condensed into little
    more than a hundred pages, yet no point of importance is
    overlooked.’—_Guardian._

=F. S. Granger.= THE SOUL OF A CHRISTIAN. By F. S. GRANGER, M.A., Litt.D.
_Crown 8vo. 6s._

    A book dealing with the evolution of the religious life and
    experiences.

    ‘A remarkable book.’—_Glasgow Herald._

    ‘Both a scholarly and thoughtful book.’—_Scotsman._

=H. Rashdall.= DOCTRINE AND DEVELOPMENT. By HASTINGS RASHDALL, M.A.,
Fellow and Tutor of New College, Oxford. _Cr. 8vo. 6s._

=H. H. Henson.= APOSTOLIC CHRISTIANITY: As Illustrated by the Epistles of
St. Paul to the Corinthians. By H. H. HENSON, M.A., Fellow of All Souls’,
Oxford, Canon of Westminster. _Cr. 8vo. 6s._

=H. H. Henson.= DISCIPLINE AND LAW. By H. HENSLEY HENSON, M.A., Fellow of
All Souls’, Oxford. _Fcap. 8vo. 2s. 6d._

=H. H. Henson.= LIGHT AND LEAVEN: HISTORICAL AND SOCIAL SERMONS. By H. H.
HENSON, M.A. _Crown 8vo. 6s._

=J. Houghton Kennedy.= ST. PAUL’S SECOND AND THIRD EPISTLES TO THE
CORINTHIANS. With Introduction, Dissertations, and Notes, by JAMES
HOUGHTON KENNEDY, D.D., Assistant Lecturer in Divinity in the University
of Dublin. _Crown 8vo. 6s._

=Bennett and Adeney.= A BIBLICAL INTRODUCTION. By W. H. BENNETT, M.A.,
and W. F. ADENEY, M.A. _Crown 8vo. 7s. 6d._

    ‘It makes available to the ordinary reader the best scholarship
    of the day in the field of Biblical introduction. We know of
    no book which comes into competition with it.’—_Manchester
    Guardian._

=W. H. Bennett.= A PRIMER OF THE BIBLE. By W. H. BENNETT. _Second
Edition. Cr. 8vo. 2s. 6d._

    ‘The work of an honest, fearless, and sound critic, and
    an excellent guide in a small compass to the books of the
    Bible.’—_Manchester Guardian._

=C. F. G. Masterman.= TENNYSON AS A RELIGIOUS TEACHER. By C. F. G.
MASTERMAN. _Crown 8vo. 6s._

    ‘A thoughtful and penetrating appreciation, full of interest
    and suggestion.’—_World._

=William Harrison.= CLOVELLY SERMONS. By WILLIAM HARRISON, M.A., late
Rector of Clovelly. With a Preface by ‘LUCAS MALET.’ _Cr. 8vo. 3s. 6d._

=Cecilia Robinson.= THE MINISTRY OF DEACONESSES. By Deaconness CECILIA
ROBINSON. With an Introduction by the Lord Bishop of Winchester. _Cr.
8vo. 3s. 6d._

    ‘A learned and interesting book.’—_Scotsman._

=E. B. Layard.= RELIGION IN BOYHOOD. Notes on the Religious Training of
Boys. By E. B. LAYARD, M.A. _18mo. 1s._

=T. Herbert Bindley.= THE OECUMENICAL DOCUMENTS OF THE FAITH. Edited with
Introductions and Notes by T. HERBERT BINDLEY, B.D., Merton College,
Oxford. _Crown 8vo. 6s._

    A historical account of the Creeds.

=H. M. Barron.= TEXTS FOR SERMONS ON VARIOUS OCCASIONS AND SUBJECTS.
Compiled and Arranged by H. M. BARRON, B.A., of Wadham College. Oxford,
with a Preface by Canon SCOTT HOLLAND. _Crown 8vo. 3s. 6d._

=W. Yorke Fausset.= THE _DE CATECHIZANDIS RUDIBUS_ OF ST. AUGUSTINE.
Edited, with Introduction, Notes, etc., by W. YORKE FAUSSET, M.A. _Cr.
8vo. 3s. 6d._

=J. H. Burn.= THE SOUL’S PILGRIMAGE: Devotional Readings from the
published and unpublished writings of GEORGE BODY, D.D. Selected and
arranged by J. H. BURN, B.D. _Pott 8vo. 2s. 6d._

=F. Weston.= THE HOLY SACRIFICE. By F. WESTON, M.A., Curate of St.
Matthew’s, Westminster. _Pott 8vo. 6d. net._

=À Kempis.= THE IMITATION OF CHRIST. By THOMAS À KEMPIS. With an
Introduction by DEAN FARRAR. Illustrated by C. M. GERE. _Second Edition.
Fcap. 8vo. 3s. 6d. Padded morocco, 5s._

    ‘Amongst all the innumerable English editions of the
    “Imitation,” there can have been few which were prettier than
    this one, printed in strong and handsome type, with all the
    glory of red initials.’—_Glasgow Herald._

=J. Keble.= THE CHRISTIAN YEAR. By JOHN KEBLE. With an Introduction and
Notes by W. LOCK, D.D., Warden of Keble College. Illustrated by R. ANNING
BELL. _Second Edition. Fcap. 8vo. 3s. 6d. Padded morocco. 5s._

    ‘The present edition is annotated with all the care and insight
    to be expected from Mr. Lock.’—_Guardian._


Oxford Commentaries

General Editor, WALTER LOCK, D.D., Warden of Keble College, Dean
Ireland’s Professor of Exegesis in the University of Oxford.

THE BOOK OF JOB. Edited, with Introduction and Notes, by E. C. S. GIBSON,
D.D., Vicar of Leeds. _Demy 8vo. 6s._

    ‘The publishers are to be congratulated on the start the series
    has made.’—_Times._

    ‘Dr. Gibson’s work is worthy of a high degree of appreciation.
    To the busy worker and the intelligent student the commentary
    will be a real boon; and it will, if we are not mistaken,
    be much in demand. The Introduction is almost a model of
    concise, straightforward, prefatory remarks on the subject
    treated.’—_Athenæum._


Handbooks of Theology

General Editor, A. ROBERTSON, D.D., Principal of King’s College, London.

THE XXXIX. ARTICLES OF THE CHURCH OF ENGLAND. Edited with an Introduction
by E. C. S. GIBSON, D.D., Vicar of Leeds, late Principal of Wells
Theological College. _Third and Cheaper Edition in One Volume. Demy 8vo.
12s. 6d._

    ‘We welcome with the utmost satisfaction a new, cheaper, and
    more convenient edition of Dr. Gibson’s book. It was greatly
    wanted. Dr. Gibson has given theological students just what
    they want, and we should like to think that it was in the hands
    of every candidate for orders.’—_Guardian._

IN INTRODUCTION TO THE HISTORY OF RELIGION. By F. B. JEVONS, M.A.,
Litt.D., Principal of Bishop Hatfield’s Hall. _Second Edition. Demy 8vo.
10s. 6d._

    ‘The merit of this book lies in the penetration, the singular
    acuteness and force of the author’s judgment. He is at
    once critical and luminous, at once just and suggestive. A
    comprehensive and thorough book.’—_Birmingham Post._

THE DOCTRINE OF THE INCARNATION. By R. L. OTTLEY, M.A., late fellow of
Magdalen College, Oxon., and Principal of Pusey House. _In Two Volumes.
Demy 8vo. 15s._

    ‘A clear and remarkably full account of the main currents
    of speculation. Scholarly precision ... genuine tolerance
    ... intense interest in his subject—are Mr. Ottley’s
    merits.’—_Guardian._

AN INTRODUCTION TO THE HISTORY OF THE CREEDS. By A. E. BURN, B.D.,
Examining Chaplain to the Bishop of Lichfield. _Demy 8vo. 10s. 6d._

    ‘This book may be expected to hold its place as an authority on
    its subject.’—_Spectator._

THE PHILOSOPHY OF RELIGION IN ENGLAND AND AMERICA. By ALFRED CALDECOTT,
D.D. _Demy 8vo. 10s. 6d._

    ‘Singularly well-informed, comprehensive, and fair.’—_Glasgow
    Herald._

    ‘A lucid and informative account, which certainly deserves a
    place in every philosophical library.’—_Scotsman._


The Churchman’s Library

General Editor, J. H. BURN, B.D., Examining Chaplain to the Bishop of
Aberdeen.

THE BEGINNINGS OF ENGLISH CHRISTIANITY. By W. E. COLLINS, M.A. With Map.
_Cr. 8vo. 3s. 6d._

    ‘An excellent example of thorough and fresh historical
    work.’—_Guardian._

SOME NEW TESTAMENT PROBLEMS. By ARTHUR WRIGHT, M.A., Fellow of Queen’s
College, Cambridge. _Crown 8vo. 6s._

    ‘Real students will revel in these reverent, acute, and
    pregnant essays in Biblical scholarship.’—_Great Thoughts._

THE KINGDOM OF HEAVEN HERE AND HEREAFTER. By CANON WINTERBOTHAM, M.A.,
B.Sc., LL.B. _Cr. 8vo. 3s. 6d._

    ‘A most able book at once exceedingly thoughtful and richly
    suggestive.’—_Glasgow Herald._

THE WORKMANSHIP OF THE PRAYER BOOK: Its Literary and Liturgical Aspects.
BY J. DOWDEN, D.D., Lord Bishop of Edinburgh. _Second Edition. Crown 8vo.
3s. 6d._

    ‘Scholarly and interesting.’—_Manchester Guardian._

EVOLUTION. BY F. B. JEVONS, M.A., Litt.D., Principal of Hatfield Hall,
Durham. _Crown 8vo. 3s. 6d._

    ‘A well-written book, full of sound thinking happily
    expressed.’—_Manchester Guardian._


The Churchman’s Bible

General Editor, J. H. BURN, B.D.

Messrs. METHUEN are issuing a series of expositions upon most of the
books of the Bible. The volumes will be practical and devotional, and
the text of the authorised version is explained in sections, which will
correspond as far as possible with the Church Lectionary.

THE EPISTLE OF ST. PAUL TO THE GALATIANS. Explained by A. W. ROBINSON,
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The Library of Devotion

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THE SORROWS OF SATAN. _Forty-Fourth Edition._

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THE GOD IN THE CAR. _Ninth Edition._

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A CHANGE OF AIR. _Sixth Edition._

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A MAN OF MARK. _Fifth Edition._

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THE CHRONICLES OF COUNT ANTONIO. _Fourth Edition._

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PHROSO. Illustrated by H. R. MILLAR. _Fifth Edition._

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SIMON DALE. Illustrated. _Fifth Edition._

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THE KING’S MIRROR. _Third Edition._

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QUISANTE. _Third Edition._

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PIERRE AND HIS PEOPLE. _Fifth Edition._

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MRS. FALCHION. _Fourth Edition._

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THE TRANSLATION OF A SAVAGE. _Second Edition._

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THE TRAIL OF THE SWORD. Illustrated. _Seventh Edition._

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WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC: The Story of a Lost Napoleon. _Fifth
Edition._

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AN ADVENTURER OF THE NORTH: The Last Adventures of ‘Pretty Pierre.’
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THE SEATS OF THE MIGHTY. Illustrated. _Eleventh Edition._

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THE POMP OF THE LAVILETTES. _Second Edition. 3s. 6d._

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URITH. _Fifth Edition._

IN THE ROAR OF THE SEA. _Seventh Edition._

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CHEAP JACK ZITA. _Fourth Edition._

THE QUEEN OF LOVE. _Fifth Edition._

MARGERY OF QUETHER. _Third Edition._

JACQUETTA. _Third Edition._

KITTY ALONE. _Fifth Edition._

NOÉMI. Illustrated. _Fourth Edition._

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THE PENNYCOMEQUICKS. _Third Edition._

DARTMOOR IDYLLS.

GUAVAS THE TINNER. Illustrated. _Second Edition._

BLADYS. Illustrated. _Second Edition._

DOMITIA. Illustrated. _Second Edition._

PABO THE PRIEST.

WINEFRED. Illustrated. _Second Edition._

THE FROBISHERS.

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=Lucas Malet.= THE WAGES OF SIN. By LUCAS MALET. _Thirteenth Edition.
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=Robert Barr.= THE MUTABLE MANY. By ROBERT BARR. _Second Edition. Crown
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=Robert Barr.= THE COUNTESS TEKLA. By ROBERT BARR. _Third Edition. Crown
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=Robert Barr.= THE STRONG ARM. By ROBERT BARR, Author of ‘The Countess
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=R. Hichens.= BYEWAYS. By ROBERT HICHENS. Author of ‘Flames,’ etc.
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    ‘The work is undeniably that of a man of striking
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=R. Hichens.= TONGUES OF CONSCIENCE. By ROBERT HICHENS, Author of
‘Flames.’ _Second Edition. Crown 8vo. 6s._

    ‘Of a strange, haunting quality.’—_Glasgow Herald._

=Stephen Crane.= WOUNDS IN THE RAIN. WAR STORIES. By STEPHEN CRANE,
Author of ‘The Red Badge of Courage.’ _Second Edition. Crown 8vo. 6s._

    ‘A fascinating volume.’—_Spectator._

=Dorothea Gerard.= THE CONQUEST OF LONDON. By DOROTHEA GERARD, Author of
‘Lady Baby.’ _Second Edition. Crown 8vo. 6s._

    ‘Bright and entertaining.’—_Spectator._

    ‘Highly entertaining and enjoyable.’—_Scotsman._

=Dorothea Gerard.= THE SUPREME CRIME. By DOROTHEA GERARD. _Crown 8vo. 6s._

    ‘One of the very best plots we have met with in recent fiction,
    and handled with that quiet unerring realism which always
    distinguishes the author’s best work.’—_Academy._

=C. F. GOSS.= THE REDEMPTION OF DAVID CORSON. By C. F. GOSS. _Third
Edition. Crown 8vo. 6s._

    ‘Dramatic instinct and a vigorous imagination mark this soul
    history of a Quaker mystic.’—_Athenæum._

    ‘A really fine book.’—_Public Opinion._

    ‘A powerful and original book, and unusually striking.’—_Pilot._

    ‘Worthy to stand high in the ranks of modern
    fiction.’—_Literature._


OTHER SIX-SHILLING NOVELS

_Crown 8vo._

A SECRETARY OF LEGATION. By HOPE DAWLISH.

THE SALVATION SEEKERS. By NOEL AINSLIE.

STRANGE HAPPENINGS. By W. CLARK RUSSELL and other Authors.

THE BLACK WOLF’S BREED. By HARRIS DICKSON. Illustrated. _Second Edition._

BELINDA FITZWARREN. By the EARL OF IDDESLEIGH.

DERWENT’S HORSE. By VICTOR ROUSSEAU.

ANNE MAULEVERER. By Mrs. CAFFYN (Iota).

SIREN CITY. By BENJAMIN SWIFT.

AN ENGLISHMAN. By MARY L. PENDERED.

THE PLUNDERERS. By MORLEY ROBERTS.

THE HUMAN INTEREST. By VIOLET HUNT.

THE KING OF ANDAMAN: A Saviour of Society. By J. MACLAREN COBBAN.

THE ANGEL OF THE COVENANT. By J. MACLAREN COBBAN.

IN THE DAY OF ADVERSITY. By J. BLOUNDELLE-BURTON.

DENOUNCED. By J. BLOUNDELLE-BURTON.

THE CLASH OF ARMS. By J. BLOUNDELLE-BURTON.

ACROSS THE SALT SEAS. By J. BLOUNDELLE-BURTON.

SERVANTS OF SIN. By J. BLOUNDELLE-BURTON.

PATH AND GOAL. _Second Edition._ By ADA CAMBRIDGE.

THE SEEN AND THE UNSEEN. By RICHARD MARSH.

MARVELS AND MYSTERIES. By RICHARD MARSH.

ELMSLIE’S DRAG-NET. By E. H. STRAIN.

A FOREST OFFICER. By Mrs. PENNY.

THE WHITE HECATOMB. By W. C. SCULLY.

BETWEEN SUN AND SAND. By W. C. SCULLY.

SIR ROBERT’S FORTUNE. By Mrs. OLIPHANT.

THE TWO MARYS. By Mrs. OLIPHANT.

THE LADY’S WALK. By Mrs. OLIPHANT.

MIRRY-ANN. By NORMA LORIMER.

JOSIAH’S WIFE. By NORMA LORIMER.

THE STRONG GOD CIRCUMSTANCE. By HELEN SHIPTON.

CHRISTALLA. By ESMÉ STUART.

THE DESPATCH RIDER. By ERNEST GLANVILLE.

AN ENEMY TO THE KING. By R. N. STEPHENS.

A GENTLEMAN PLAYER. By R. N. STEPHENS.

THE PATHS OF THE PRUDENT. By J. S. FLETCHER.

THE BUILDERS. By J. S. FLETCHER.

DANIEL WHYTE. By A. J. DAWSON.

THE CAPSINA. By E. F. BENSON.

DODO: A DETAIL OF THE DAY. By E. F. BENSON.

THE VINTAGE. By E. F. BENSON. Illustrated by G. P. JACOMB-HOOD.

ROSE À CHARLITTE. By MARSHALL SAUNDERS.

WILLOWBRAKE. By R. MURRAY GILCHRIST.

THINGS THAT HAVE HAPPENED. By DOROTHEA GERARD.

LONE PINE: A ROMANCE OF MEXICAN LIFE. By R. B. TOWNSHEND.

WILT THOU HAVE THIS WOMAN? By J. MACLAREN COBBAN.

A PASSIONATE PILGRIM. By PERCY WHITE.

SECRETARY TO BAYNE, M.P. By W. PETT RIDGE.

ADRIAN ROME. By E. DAWSON and A. MOORE.

GALLIA. By MÉNIE MURIEL DOWIE.

THE CROOK OF THE BOUGH. By MÉNIE MURIEL DOWIE.

A BUSINESS IN GREAT WATERS. By JULIAN CORBETT.

MISS ERIN. By M. E. FRANCIS.

ANANIAS. By the Hon. Mrs. ALAN BRODRICK.

CORRAGEEN IN ’98. By Mrs. ORPEN.

THE PLUNDER PIT. BY J. KEIGHLEY SNOWDEN.

CROSS TRAILS. By VICTOR WAITE.

SUCCESSORS TO THE TITLE. By Mrs. WALFORD.

KIRKHAM’S FIND. By MARY GAUNT.

DEADMAN’S. By MARY GAUNT.

CAPTAIN JACOBUS: A ROMANCE OF THE ROAD. By L. COPE CORNFORD.

SONS OF ADVERSITY. By L. COPE CORNFORD.

THE KING OF ALBERIA. By LAURA DAINTREY.

THE DAUGHTER OF ALOUETTE. By MARY A. OWEN.

CHILDREN OF THIS WORLD. By ELLEN F. PINSENT.

AN ELECTRIC SPARK. By G. MANVILLE FENN.

UNDER SHADOW OF THE MISSION. By L. S. MCCHESNEY.

THE SPECULATORS. By J. F. BREWER.

THE SPIRIT OF STORM. By RONALD ROSS.

THE QUEENSBERRY CUP. By CLIVE P. WOLLEY.

A HOME IN INVERESK. By T. L. PATON.

MISS ARMSTRONG’S AND OTHER CIRCUMSTANCES. By JOHN DAVIDSON.

DR. CONGALTON’S LEGACY. By HENRY JOHNSTON.

TIME AND THE WOMAN. By RICHARD PRYCE.

THIS MAN’S DOMINION. By the Author of ‘A High Little World.’

DIOGENES OF LONDON. By H. B. MARRIOTT WATSON.

THE STONE DRAGON. By R. MURRAY GILCHRIST.

A VICAR’S WIFE. By EVELYN DICKINSON.

ELSA. By E. M’QUEEN GRAY.

THE SINGER OF MARLY. By I. HOOPER.

THE FALL OF THE SPARROW. By M. C. BALFOUR.

A SERIOUS COMEDY. By HERBERT MORRAH.

THE FAITHFUL CITY. By HERBERT MORRAH.

IN THE GREAT DEEP. By J. A. BARRY.

BIJLI, THE DANCER. By JAMES BLYTHE PATTON.

THE PHILANTHROPIST. By LUCY MAYNARD.

VAUSSORE. By FRANCIS BRUNE.


THREE-AND-SIXPENNY NOVELS

_Crown 8vo._

THE MESS DECK. By W. F. SHANNON.

A SON OF THE STATE. By W. PETT RIDGE.

CEASE FIRE! By J. MACLAREN COBBAN.

THE KLOOF BRIDE. By ERNEST GLANVILLE.

THE LOST REGIMENT. By ERNEST GLANVILLE.

BUNTER’S CRUISE. By CHARLES GLEIG. Illustrated.

THE ADVENTURE OF PRINCESS SYLVIA. By Mrs. C. N. WILLIAMSON.

A VENDETTA OF THE DESERT. By W. C. SCULLY.

SUBJECT TO VANITY. By MARGARET BENSON.

FITZJAMES. By LILIAN STREET.

THE SIGN OF THE SPIDER. _Fifth Edition._ By BERTRAM MITFORD.

THE MOVING FINGER. By MARY GAUNT.

JACO TRELOAR. By J. H. PEARCE.

THE DANCE OF THE HOURS. By ‘VERA.’

A WOMAN OF FORTY. By ESMÉ STUART.

A CUMBERER OF THE GROUND. By CONSTANCE SMITH.

THE SIN OF ANGELS. By EVELYN DICKINSON.

AUT DIABOLUS AUT NIHIL. By X. L.

THE COMING OF CUCULAIN. By STANDISH O’GRADY.

THE GODS GIVE MY DONKEY WINGS. By ANGUS EVAN ABBOTT.

THE STAR GAZERS. By G. MANVILLE FENN.

THE POISON OF ASPS. By R. ORTON PROWSE.

THE QUIET MRS. FLEMING. By R. PRYCE.

DISENCHANTMENT. By F. MABEL ROBINSON.

THE SQUIRE OF WANDALES. By A. SHIELD.

A REVEREND GENTLEMAN. By J. M. COBBAN.

A DEPLORABLE AFFAIR. By W. E. NORRIS.

A CAVALIER’S LADYE. By Mrs. DICKER.

THE PRODIGALS. By Mrs. OLIPHANT.

THE SUPPLANTER. By P. NEUMANN.

A MAN WITH BLACK EYELASHES. By H. A. KENNEDY.

A HANDFUL OF EXOTICS. By S. GORDON.

AN ODD EXPERIMENT. By HANNAH LYNCH.

TALES OF NORTHUMBRIA. By HOWARD PEASE.


HALF-CROWN NOVELS

_Crown 8vo._

HOVENDEN, V.C. By F. MABEL ROBINSON.

THE PLAN OF CAMPAIGN. By F. MABEL ROBINSON.

MR. BUTLER’S WARD. By F. MABEL ROBINSON.

ELI’S CHILDREN. By G. MANVILLE FENN.

A DOUBLE KNOT. By G. MANVILLE FENN.

DISARMED. By M. BETHAM EDWARDS.

IN TENT AND BUNGALOW. By the Author of ‘Indian Idylls.’

MY STEWARDSHIP. By E. M’QUEEN GRAY.

JACK’S FATHER. By W. E. NORRIS.

A LOST ILLUSION. By LESLIE KEITH.

THE TRUE HISTORY OF JOSHUA DAVIDSON, Christian and Communist. By E. LYNN
LYNTON. _Eleventh Edition. Post 8vo. 1s._


The Novelist

MESSRS. METHUEN are making an interesting experiment which constitutes a
fresh departure in publishing. They are issuing under the above general
title a Monthly Series of Novels by popular authors at the price of
Sixpence. Many of these Novels have never been published before. Each
Number is as long as the average Six Shilling Novel. The first numbers of
‘THE NOVELIST’ are as follows:—

I. DEAD MEN TELL NO TALES. E. W. HORNUNG.

II. JENNIE BAXTER, JOURNALIST. ROBERT BARR.

III. THE INCA’S TREASURE. ERNEST GLANVILLE.

IV. _Out of print._

V. FURZE BLOOM. S. BARING GOULD.

VI. BUNTER’S CRUISE. C. GLEIG.

VII. THE GAY DECEIVERS. ARTHUR MOORE.

VIII. PRISONERS OF WAR. A. BOYSON WEEKES.

IX. _Out of print._

X. VELDT AND LAAGER: Tales of the Transvaal. E. S. VALENTINE.

XI. THE NIGGER KNIGHTS. F. NORREYS CONNELL.

XII. A MARRIAGE AT SEA. W. CLARK RUSSELL.

XIII. THE POMP OF THE LAVILETTES. GILBERT PARKER.

XIV. A MAN OF MARK. ANTHONY HOPE.

XV. THE CARISSIMA. LUCAS MALET.

XVI. THE LADY’S WALK. Mrs. OLIPHANT.

XVII. DERRICK VAUGHAN. EDNA LYALL.

XVIII. IN THE MIDST OF ALARMS. ROBERT BARR.

XIX. HIS GRACE. W. E. NORRIS.

XX. DODO. E. F. BENSON.

XXI. CHEAP JACK ZITA. S. BARING GOULD.

XXII. WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC. GILBERT PARKER.


Methuen’s Sixpenny Library

_A New Series of Copyright Books_

THE MATABELE CAMPAIGN. By Major-General BADEN-POWELL.

THE DOWNFALL OF PREMPEH. By Major-General BADEN-POWELL.

MY DANISH SWEETHEART. By W. CLARK RUSSELL.

IN THE ROAR OF THE SEA. By S. BARING-GOULD.

PEGGY OF THE BARTONS. By B. M. CROKER.

BADEN-POWELL OF MAFEKING: A Biography. By J. S. FLETCHER.

ROBERTS OF PRETORIA. By J. S. FLETCHER.

THE GREEN GRAVES OF BALGOWRIE. By JANE H. FINDLATER.

THE STOLEN BACILLUS. By H. G. WELLS.

MATTHEW AUSTIN. By W. E. NORRIS.


Books for Boys and Girls

_A Series of Books by well-known Authors, well illustrated._

THREE-AND-SIXPENCE EACH

THE ICELANDER’S SWORD. By S. BARING GOULD.

TWO LITTLE CHILDREN AND CHING. By EDITH E. CUTHELL.

TODDLEBEN’S HERO. By M. M. BLAKE.

ONLY A GUARD-ROOM DOG. By EDITH E. CUTHELL.

THE DOCTOR OF THE JULIET. BY HARRY COLLINGWOOD.

MASTER ROCKAFELLAR’S VOYAGE. By W. CLARK RUSSELL.

SYD BELTON: Or, The Boy who would not go to Sea. By G. MANVILLE FENN.


The Peacock Library

_A Series of Books for Girls by well-known Authors, handsomely bound, and
well illustrated._

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THE RED GRANGE. By Mrs. MOLESWORTH.

THE SECRET OF MADAME DE MONLUC. By the Author of ‘Mdle. Mori.’

OUT OF THE FASHION. By L. T. MEADE.

DUMPS. By Mrs. PARR.

A GIRL OF THE PEOPLE. By L. T. MEADE.

HEPSY GIPSY. By L. T. MEADE. 2_s._ 6_d._

THE HONOURABLE MISS. By L. T. MEADE.


University Extension Series

A series of books on historical, literary, and scientific subjects,
suitable for extension students and home-reading circles. Each volume is
complete in itself, and the subjects are treated by competent writers in
a broad and philosophic spirit.

Edited by J. E. SYMES, M.A., Principal of University College, Nottingham.

_Crown 8vo. Price (with some exceptions) 2s. 6d._

_The following volumes are ready_:—

THE INDUSTRIAL HISTORY OF ENGLAND. By H. DE B. GIBBINS, Litt.D., M.A.,
late Scholar of Wadham College, Oxon., Cobden Prizeman. _Seventh
Edition_, Revised. With Maps and Plans. 3_s._

A HISTORY OF ENGLISH POLITICAL ECONOMY. By L. L. PRICE, M.A., Fellow of
Oriel College, Oxon. _Third Edition._

PROBLEMS OF POVERTY: An Inquiry into the Industrial Conditions of the
Poor. By J. A. HOBSON, M.A. _Fourth Edition._

VICTORIAN POETS. By A. SHARP.

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION. By J. E. SYMES, M.A.

PSYCHOLOGY. By F. S. GRANGER, M.A. _Second Edition._

THE EVOLUTION OF PLANT LIFE: Lower Forms. By G. MASSEE. With
Illustrations.

AIR AND WATER. By V. B. LEWES, M.A. Illustrated.

THE CHEMISTRY OF LIFE AND HEALTH. By C. W. KIMMINS, M.A. Illustrated.

THE MECHANICS OF DAILY LIFE. BY V. P. SELLS, M.A. Illustrated.

ENGLISH SOCIAL REFORMERS. By H. DE B. GIBBINS, Litt.D., M.A.

ENGLISH TRADE AND FINANCE IN THE SEVENTEENTH CENTURY. By W. A. S. HEWINS,
B.A.

THE CHEMISTRY OF FIRE. The Elementary Principles of Chemistry. By M. M.
PATTISON MUIR, M.A. Illustrated.

A TEXT-BOOK OF AGRICULTURAL BOTANY. By M. C. POTTER, M.A., F.L.S.
Illustrated. 3_s._ 6_d._

THE VAULT OF HEAVEN. A Popular Introduction to Astronomy. By R. A.
GREGORY. With numerous Illustrations.

METEOROLOGY. The Elements of Weather and Climate. By H. N. DICKSON,
F.R.S.E., F.R. Met. Soc. Illustrated.

A MANUAL OF ELECTRICAL SCIENCE. By GEORGE J. BURCH, M.A., F.R.S. With
numerous Illustrations. 3_s._

THE EARTH. An Introduction to Physiography. By EVAN SMALL, M.A.
Illustrated.

INSECT LIFE. By F. W. THEOBALD, M.A. Illustrated.

ENGLISH POETRY FROM BLAKE TO BROWNING. By W. M. DIXON, M.A.

ENGLISH LOCAL GOVERNMENT. By E. JENKS, M.A., Professor of Law at
University College, Liverpool.

THE GREEK VIEW OF LIFE. By G. L. DICKINSON, Fellow of King’s College,
Cambridge. _Second Edition._


Social Questions of To-day

Edited by H. DE B. GIBBINS, Litt.D., M.A.

_Crown 8vo. 2s. 6d._

_The following Volumes of the Series are ready_:—

TRADE UNIONISM—NEW AND OLD. By G. HOWELL. _Third Edition._

THE CO-OPERATIVE MOVEMENT TO-DAY. By G. J. HOLYOAKE. _Second Edition._

MUTUAL THRIFT. By Rev. J. FROME WILKINSON, M.A.

PROBLEMS OF POVERTY. By J. A. HOBSON, M.A. _Fourth Edition._

THE COMMERCE OF NATIONS. By C. F. BASTABLE, M.A., Professor of Economics
at Trinity College, Dublin. _Second Edition._

THE ALIEN INVASION. By W. H. WILKINS, B.A.

THE RURAL EXODUS. By P. ANDERSON GRAHAM.

LAND NATIONALIZATION. By HAROLD COX, B.A.

A SHORTER WORKING DAY. By H. DE B. GIBBINS, D.Litt., M.A., and R. A.
HADFIELD, of the Hecla Works, Sheffield.

BACK TO THE LAND: An Inquiry into the Cure for Rural Depopulation. By H.
E. MOORE.

TRUSTS, POOLS AND CORNERS. By J. STEPHEN JEANS.

THE FACTORY SYSTEM. By R. W. COOKE-TAYLOR.

THE STATE AND ITS CHILDREN. By GERTRUDE TUCKWELL.

WOMEN’S WORK. By LADY DILKE, Miss BULLEY, and Miss WHITLEY.

SOCIALISM AND MODERN THOUGHT. By M. KAUFMANN.

THE HOUSING OF THE WORKING CLASSES. By E. BOWMAKER.

MODERN CIVILIZATION IN SOME OF ITS ECONOMIC ASPECTS. By W. CUNNINGHAM,
D.D., Fellow of Trinity College, Cambridge.

THE PROBLEM OF THE UNEMPLOYED. By J. A. HOBSON, B.A.

LIFE IN WEST LONDON. By ARTHUR SHERWELL, M.A. _Third Edition._

RAILWAY NATIONALIZATION. By CLEMENT EDWARDS.

WORKHOUSES AND PAUPERISM. By LOUISA TWINING.

UNIVERSITY AND SOCIAL SETTLEMENTS. By W. REASON, M.A.


Classical Translations

Edited by H. F. FOX, M.A., Fellow and Tutor of Brasenose College, Oxford.

ÆSCHYLUS—Agamemnon, Chöephoroe, Eumenides. Translated by LEWIS CAMPBELL,
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CICERO—De Oratore I. Translated by E. N. P. MOOR, M.A. 3_s._ 6_d._

CICERO—Select Orations (Pro Milone, Pro Murena, Philippic II. In
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Trinity College, Oxford. 5_s._

CICERO—De Natura Deorum. Translated by F. BROOKS, M.A., late Scholar of
Balliol College, Oxford. 3_s._ 6_d._

CICERO DE OFFICIIS. Translated by G. B. GARDINER, M.A. _Crown 8vo. 2s.
6d._

HORACE: THE ODES AND EPODES. Translated by A. GODLEY, M.A., Fellow of
Magdalen College, Oxford. 2_s._

LUCIAN—Six Dialogues (Nigrinus, Icaro-Menippus, The Cock, The Ship, The
Parasite, The Lover of Falsehood). Translated by S. T. IRWIN, M.A.,
Assistant Master at Clifton; late Scholar of Exeter College, Oxford.
3_s._ 6_d._

SOPHOCLES—Electra and Ajax. Translated by E. D. A. MORSHEAD, M.A.,
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TACITUS—Agricola and Germania. Translated by R. B. TOWNSHEND, late
Scholar of Trinity College, Cambridge. 2_s._ 6_d._


Educational Books


_CLASSICAL_

THE NICOMACHEAN ETHICS OF ARISTOTLE. Edited with an Introduction and
Notes by JOHN BURNET, M.A., Professor of Greek at St. Andrews. _Demy 8vo.
15s. net._

    ‘We must content ourselves with saying, in conclusion, that we
    have seldom, if ever, seen an edition of any classical author
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THE CAPTIVI OF PLAUTUS. Edited, with an Introduction, Textual Notes, and
a Commentary, by W. M. LINDSAY, Fellow of Jesus College, Oxford. _Demy
8vo. 10s. 6d. net._

    For this edition all the important MSS. have been re-collated.
    An appendix deals with the accentual element in early Latin
    verse. The Commentary is very full.

    ‘A work of great erudition and fine scholarship.’—_Scotsman._

A GREEK ANTHOLOGY. Selected by E. C. MARCHANT, M.A., Fellow of
Peterhouse, Cambridge, and Assistant Master at St. Paul’s School. _Crown
8vo. 3s. 6d._

PASSAGES FOR UNSEEN TRANSLATION. By E. C. MARCHANT, M.A., Fellow of
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College, Oxford; Assistant Masters at St. Paul’s School. _Crown 8vo. 3s.
6d._

    ‘We know no book of this class better fitted for use in the
    higher forms of schools.’—_Guardian._

TACITI AGRICOLA. With Introduction, Notes, Map, etc. By R. F. DAVIS,
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TACITI GERMANIA. By the same Editor. _Crown 8vo. 2s._

HERODOTUS: EASY SELECTIONS. With Vocabulary. By A. C. LIDDELL, M.A.
_Fcap. 8vo. 1s. 6d._

SELECTIONS FROM THE ODYSSEY. By E. D. STONE, M.A., late Assistant Master
at Eton. _Fcap. 8vo. 1s. 6d._

PLAUTUS: THE CAPTIVI. Adapted for Lower Forms by J. H. FREESE, M.A., late
Fellow of St. John’s, Cambridge. 1_s._ 6_d._

DEMOSTHENES AGAINST CONON AND CALLICLES. Edited with Notes and
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EXERCISES IN LATIN ACCIDENCE. By S. E. WINBOLT, Assistant Master in
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    An elementary book adapted for Lower Forms to accompany the
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NOTES ON GREEK AND LATIN SYNTAX. BY G. BUCKLAND GREEN, M.A., Assistant
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_Crown 8vo. 3s. 6d._

    Notes and explanations on the chief difficulties of Greek and
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NEW TESTAMENT GREEK. A Course for Beginners. By G. RODWELL, B.A. With a
Preface by WALTER LOCK, D.D., Warden of Keble College. _Fcap. 8vo. 3s.
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THE FROGS OF ARISTOPHANES. Translated by E. W. HUNTINGFORD, M.A.,
Professor of Classics in Trinity College, Toronto. _Cr. 8vo. 2s. 6d._


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A COMPANION GERMAN GRAMMAR. By H. DE B. GIBBINS, D.Litt., M.A.,
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GERMAN PASSAGES FOR UNSEEN TRANSLATION. By E. M’QUEEN GRAY. _Crown 8vo.
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GENERAL ELEMENTARY SCIENCE. By J. T. DUNN, D.Sc., and V. A. MUNDELLA.
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THE WORLD OF SCIENCE. Including Chemistry, Heat, Light, Sound, Magnetism,
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ELLIOTT STEEL, M.A., F.C.S. 147 Illustrations. _Second Edition. Cr. 8vo.
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THE PRINCIPLES OF MAGNETISM AND ELECTRICITY: an Elementary Text-Book.
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HOW TO MAKE A DRESS. By J. A. E. WOOD. _Illustrated. Second Edition. Cr.
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CARPENTRY AND JOINERY. By F. C. WEBBER. With many Illustrations. _Second
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PRACTICAL MECHANICS. By SIDNEY H. WELLS. With 75 Illustrations and
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PRACTICAL PHYSICS. By H. STROUD, D.Sc., M.A., Professor of Physics in the
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MILLINERY, THEORETICAL, AND PRACTICAL. By CLARE HILL, Registered Teacher
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PRACTICAL CHEMISTRY. By W. FRENCH, M.A., Principal of the Storey
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_ENGLISH_

ENGLISH RECORDS. A Companion to the History of England. By H. E. MALDEN,
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THE ENGLISH CITIZEN: HIS RIGHTS AND DUTIES. By H. E. MALDEN, M.A. 1_s._
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