In 1887 the natives of Moviavi made a raid upon the coast village of Motumotu. Amongst those killed were Tauraki, the Rarotongan teacher at Motumotu, and his child. Papua was then a British Protectorate and the Government sent a party to Moviavi to inflict punishment for the raid and murders. At the end of the next year Chalmers went to live for a time at Motumotu, and Walker and I went to visit him. Till then there had been no communication between Moviavi and Motumotu, though Chalmers had been pleading for peace.

So much by way of introduction. Now for the story. One evening Lahari, the fighting chief of Motumotu, and in those days one of the finest built men I had ever seen, came to the house and had a long talk with Tamate (Chalmers). Not knowing anything of the language we had to wait till Lahari had gone, and then Tamate told us we were in for a good thing, as an official “peace making” had been arranged between the two villages, and we were invited to attend. The Mission teacher had been killed, so the missionaries must be present at the burying of the hatchet, and join in the peace. Details had to be arranged, but they would all be arranged in a few days, and we should be informed when the day had been officially settled.

It was something for new arrivals in the country to have the opportunity of being present at such a function, and I for one looked forward eagerly to the day. The notice duly arrived, and early one morning, accompanied by the peace-loving old chief Hori, we started up the Williams River in the whale boat. We were to take the “short cut,” and so soon turned out of the main river into one of the many small streams which drain the Delta. This narrowed so quickly that before long the boatmen had a difficulty in keeping their oars clear of the banks, and the wonderful vegetation, not content with the land, reached out over the stream till meeting overhead it formed the nave of one of nature’s cathedrals. Sago palms with fronds forty feet long predominated, but where the ground was a little dryer cocoanut and areca palms abounded, and underneath them flourished crotons, hybiscus, pandanus, all wreathed together by vines of many kinds.

In time the stream became so narrow that rowing was impossible, and the men taking hold of the trees pulled the boats along, while others made use of the punting poles which had been put in the boat when we started. After joining and going down one of the main streams for a time, we turned into another narrow one on the other side.

So far we had seen nothing to indicate that anything special was happening, but not long after entering the small stream we noticed fully armed and painted natives watching us from behind the trees. Their numbers increased the nearer we got to the village, and instead of hiding behind the trees they fell in on either bank, and marched along as an escort and joined the crowd awaiting us at the landing. What a landing it was. For some distance the boat had been pulled through mud and not water, and the prospect of getting over the side was anything but inviting. I suppose the people saw us hesitating, for they got an old canoe and pushed it out to the boat, and one at a time, in this, we were dragged to firmer ground.

The procession that was then formed would have been the making of a Lord Mayor’s Show. The three white men, though evidently the centre of attraction, were very insignificant in their helmets and soiled white clothes, but the natives more than made up what was lacking by their display of paint, feathers and bright-coloured crotons, and the martial element was supplied by the bows and arrows and clubs. The parrot house at the Zoo would be peace itself compared with Moviavi at that hour.

First went Tamate with a native holding each hand, and closely followed by the man who had turned light porter and taken his bag from the boat. Walker was escorted by two more men, and his bag and umbrella proudly carried behind him. Donisi came next, and behind him his traps, and all around a shouting, surging mass of natives. In this way we were conducted to a shaded platform and there presented with fine new young cocoanuts to drink, while the people crowded round and examined us and our belongings, and no doubt expressed their opinions very freely, only we could not understand them. Tamate was presented with a pig, but as it was small, and there was no time for killing and eating it then, it was earmarked by cutting a hole in its ear and tying a strip of red handkerchief through, and then put out at board till some future time when Tamate might need it.

Soon after Lahari arrived, and evidently there were troublesome points to be settled, for a long and heated discussion followed, in which no rules of debate were observed. Each man tried his best to make himself heard above all the others. When matters had quieted down a little the procession was reformed and we moved to another village. It seemed as though we were beating the bounds of the proposed peace.

Early in the afternoon we began to move towards the boat, and though there had been plenty to interest there had not been the demonstration I had expected. I did not know what we were to see before sundown. The best was reserved till last.

Partly walking through the stinking swamp and partly riding on the backs of well oiled natives we reached the boat, and began the homeward journey.

On the way up in the morning we had seen Moviavi men watching us from behind the trees, but now we found every vantage point occupied by fully armed Motumotuans in all their best paint and feathers. The surprise, and interest, increased when we reached the main stream and found it almost blocked by canoes full of more people from Motumotu. Two of the largest were “manned” by Amazons with a uniform of bright-red paint. We decided to see the matter through, so drew to the bank near Lahari’s canoe.

It seemed as though they had been waiting for our arrival before beginning the last act. Lahari shouted an order, and in a moment the scene was one never to be forgotten. Intense excitement prevailed. Drums sounded all along the line, and conch shells blown lustily added to the din and shout that greeted the appearance of nine double canoes. Dashing round the bend, down with the swift current they came, as fast as twenty pairs of strong arms could drive them through the water. The men at the paddles were standing to their work, and the platforms between each pair of canoes were crowded with other men, some drumming for all they were worth, and others with their arrows drawn to the head, threatening all sides in turn. After passing the boat they altered their course, and charged on to the low land at the mouth of the creek leading to Moviavi. In a moment, as though by magic, the Moviavians swarmed on to the scene, ready to repel the attacking force. The scene beggars description.

A dangerously realistic sham fight took place, and all semblance of a peace-making vanished. Hori became anxious and explained that if only one man let his arrow slip from the bow the fight would be real and not sham. By means of much shouting and rushing about in company with other leading men, he managed to restore some sort of order, and more quietly and more slowly the leading canoes filed past the boat and made their way up stream.

All told nearly seventy canoes had put in an appearance from Motumotu, and the crews ranged from twenty to forty. Many had some distinguishing badge, as in the case of a crew of youths, each of whom had red hybiscus flowers in the hair, and green and yellow crotons waving from their armlets, waist-belts, knees and ankles.

The last we saw was a very noisy exchange of Motumotu shell-fish for Moviavi sago, and it made old Hori more anxious than ever to get his crowd away and start safely on the homeward journey. Some of his young men seemed bent on a row, for he heard one telling a Moviavi man, in very strong language, that his sago was only fit for pigs to eat, and that he was not a pig.

We were delayed by our anchor getting foul of a log, and before it was cleared Hori had the satisfaction of seeing the last canoe vanish round the bend on the homeward way. Whether the crew of Amazons had very particular friends amongst the men in our boat, or whether they simply wished to show off before the white men, I know not, but their canoe flashed past us in grand style. Twelve paddles on either side, rising and falling with the regularity of a machine, made her travel grandly. Each stroke seemed almost to lift her out of the water, and our whale boat was soon left behind.

That we had had a field day there was no mistake, but there had been little to suggest a peace-making, and as we returned quietly down the Williams River in the evening, many were the questions Tamate was asked to put to Hori.

“How long had the two tribes been on unfriendly terms?”

“For six rounds of the seasons,” replied Hori.

“Would the peace be lasting?”

“He did not know, as there were many in both villages who did not want peace.”

“Why had there been such a warlike display?”

“Just to show that each was a strong village.”

“Why had the nine canoe-loads of fighting men charged on to the bank at the mouth of the creek, as though bent on attacking Moviavi, and why had the Moviavi men pretended to drive them back into the river?”

The idea of peace had originated with Motumotu, and their men wanted to show the Moviavians that though they had suggested peace they had not done so because they were unable to attack and pay off old scores. On the other hand the inland men had to let those from the coast know that if they did attack they would receive a warm welcome and be repulsed. On a big scale they had been acting out the small boy’s talk “I am not going to fight you, but do not think it is because I cannot fight, nor because I am afraid of you.”

There was one incident which was not referred to till we met at breakfast the next morning, then Tamate remarked, “Boys, you must remember to be thankful this morning, for it was just a question whether we were to get away from Moviavi yesterday with our lives.”

This was news to us. We had seen plenty of excitement, and heard noise enough to last for a long time, but not a hint that possibly that day might be our last. You may be sure we were all attention, and that we wanted the particulars from Tamate.

“Well there is not much to tell,” he said, “and even if they had killed us I do not think we could have blamed them very much. When the Government punished them for the raid and murder some of their people were shot, and all along they had been against peace being re-established. They refused to have anything to do with yesterday’s demonstration. Their account was unsettled and they were dissatisfied.

“Do you remember what happened when we were sitting on the platform drinking cocoanuts? You probably saw, as I did, that Tima (one of the teachers) jumped up hurriedly and went on to the platform of the big Dubu in front of us, but you would not understand what he called to me in Rarotongan. It was a warning to look out, as the men were covering our party with their arrows, and advice to clear out while he obstructed their aim by walking about in front of them. Lahari, too, saw what the men were up to, and hurried us away to the second village. Tima and the other teachers were all right, as the score was marked up against the white men, and not against them.”

Tamate is dead, Hori is dead, Lahari is dead, but the peace they all helped to establish has never been broken, and the last time I was at Moviavi we stayed in a Samoan teacher’s house and met many of the men at the service in the church, and heard their children read words of peace in the school.