Perhaps nothing stands more in the way of the advancement of the Papuan than his love for feasting and all-night dancing. Nearly every incident connected with his life, from his entering it to his leaving it, gives occasion for the feast and the dance, and if the energy put into these were spread over the year’s work in the garden, the hunting and fishing, he would rarely know what hunger means, and would be able to put by for a rainy day.

In some villages informal dances take place nearly every night, but for these no special preparations are made. A big dance is a more important matter, and is talked of for months before it comes off. Invitations are sent out, but not on printed cards. Someone representing the founder of the feast walks into a village, and in the easy, no-hurry-to-morrow-will-do style begins to tell that So-and-So is beginning to gather his food and fatten his pigs. Of course they all know what that means, and are prepared to see the visitor produce some betel nuts (the fruit of the areca palm) and hand them round. Each person receiving a nut accepts it as an invitation. Perhaps the date has not been fixed, but later on word of that will be passed from village to village.

I have been present at several of these dances, and have seen as many as three thousand taking part. That was years ago, and I told many of you about it when I was in England, so I will deal with the last, the particulars of which are fresher in my mind.

Nara consists of a group of inland villages, not far from Delena. The principal village is Oroi, and there reigns Queen Koloka, the only woman I have known in Papua who is the recognized head of a village. Others may have plenty to say in the management of affairs through their husbands, but Koloka is the undoubted head, recognized by both husband and people, and is strong and wise and rules her people well. We were included in the invitation to her feast, and as a special inducement were informed that twenty-three pigs were to be killed.

The Delena people were busy for some days getting their feathers in order, and furbishing up their ornaments, and then started off ahead of us. The south-east wind made our progress slow, and the sun was nearly down when we landed with a three hours’ walk ahead of us. Lamps are great conveniences, but they do not give much help in showing what is round your feet on a bush track, and Nara has its full share of snakes. The last half-mile of the track winds round the side of a hill, and here we suddenly found ourselves in the dressing-room of the Delena people. It was a dark night and fires had been lit at intervals, and round these were grouped the performers and their dressers. Here a wife was painting the lines and patterns on her husband’s face. There some girls were having their new grass skirts fitted, and cut away to the right length, so as to leave enough weight behind to give the required swing. Yonder one young man was arranging the hair of another, and next him was one blowing the oil over a companion’s body. Others were tuning the drums, and along the line went old men and women advising and criticizing. Tongues were busy as well as hands, and the firelight reflected from the gay feathers, the well-oiled bodies, and sparkling from the leaves and branches which met overhead, made a picture one longed to reproduce in colour.

Having traversed the whole length of this strange dressing-room, we reached the teacher’s house, and had time for an evening meal before the signal was given for the festivities to begin. The roll of drums could be heard in all directions, for eight villages were to be represented, and each had its own forest dressing-room. Then came the shrill call of a policeman’s whistle (certainly a new importation into a Papuan dance), and the first party marched in in Indian file, to the accompaniment of drum-beating and chanting. Their ball-room was an open space that might have been called the village green if only it had had grass growing upon it, and here they began to dance with the monotonous swinging of the body and slow lifting of the feet, distinctive of this district.

In quick succession in marched other groups representing other villages, till seven lots were in motion at one time. Each group of dancers supplied its own orchestra, nothing but the drum and the chant, and as there was no conductor to give the key and the time, seven different times and seven different keys were going simultaneously. Result—Bedlam, but happiness for the natives.

The ball-room floor was far from tempting. The village is built round the top of a hill, formed by an outcrop of stone, and the softer parts had worn away and left knife-like edges running from end to end of the village. These may have interfered with the comfort of the dancers, but certainly did not put an end to their performance. Hour after hour the same tom, tom, tom of the drums, the same chant made a little more objectionable as the voices became tired and hoarse. As any dancer became weary he withdrew without any effect upon the figure such as it was. Two at least who were present wearied of the monotony and wished they were back at the Mission House at Delena. Sleep was out of the question, and at last light began to show at the back of the great mountain range, and as it became stronger revealed a bedraggled remnant of those who had started with such energy some ten hours before. They were evidently tired out, but native custom would not allow them to stop till the all-important pig-killing had been accomplished, and they were called to receive their share.

Painfully deliberate were the movements of those in charge. The sun mounted higher, and the ground got so hot that the dancers were obliged to put more energy into their movements, like the much-talked-of cat on hot bricks. When they could bear it no longer their friends brought banana leaves and refuse from the food, and threw amongst their feet so as to make a carpet. The dancers never travelled over a great area, but it was amusing to watch how they now took care not to move off the leaves so thoughtfully provided for them.

Some of the weary men were, I think, relieved when we asked them to step out of the dance and let us take their pictures. The village club house was like a theatrical property shop. Feather head dresses eight and ten feet high were standing round the walls, hanging from the rafters, and one even on the roof. We hardly recognized some of our friends under the paint and feathers. Will any of you, I wonder, recognize an old friend in an unfamiliar head dress.

I remember once being told at a bacon-curing factory that three hundred pigs were often killed before breakfast, and that no unpleasant traces of the slaughter remained. Dispatch of that kind would not suit the Nara folk, nor would they care for so few traces of the slaughter. Under the club house lay the twenty-three pigs, their legs fastened together so that a pole could be passed through, and each pig carried head down. Much to the disgust of our boys we left the village as soon as the squealing of the pigs began, but those who remained behind to receive our share described how all the due formalities were observed. Koloka’s eldest son, Naime, is always master of the ceremonies. When all the pigs have been put in a row no one can lay a hand on them till Naime, with his fighting stick, has killed his pig by a blow on the side of the head. His cousin must then kill his and then the village men can kill theirs. Naime must also take the lead in the cutting up and distribution of the joints. The women and children are allowed certain small portions, but all that is considered best is appropriated by the men.

Great preparations had been made for this feast, and what was the occasion of it all? Five young men were to be invested with the Garter. Not the elaborately bejewelled Garter so much coveted by those of high degree, but a neat little pair of string garters made like the macramÉ work. Not much to look at, but to the native the sign that the wearer was now a man, and had a man’s place in the village. Five mothers had worked the garters for their sons, and when the day arrived, the sons were taken outside the village, and for once in a way their bodies were really cleaned and then carefully oiled before the garters were placed below their knees. They must not be seen, however, till after the feast, so that the legs are carefully swathed round with strips of bark cloth, and coated with red clay and oil. These five young men were the centre of the feast, and they were conscious of it. So fond of praise are they at such times, that they actually pay for it. As they strut round a friend will say, “Naime, you do walk grandly. Mine is a wallaby”; and Naime will later on go and catch the wallaby and give it to the friend who praised him before others. Another will tell Naime that he handles the drum well, and mention that he is fond of fish, and Naime is in honour bound to supply the fish within a reasonable time. One can well understand that too many friends may at such a time become a serious burden, but it is a burden that the praise-loving young fellow is quite willing to shoulder.