Ume Nou was at one time a teacher at Orokolo, but his wife died and he returned to his native village of Delena. When the picture was taken he had not turned scientist and found part of one of those wonderful creatures with the wonderful long name, that lived so long ago, but was holding the lower and part of the upper jaw of one of their relations.

Crocodiles are too plentiful for comfort round Delena, and a long chapter could be written about the people they have carried off. One morning I saw a great brute snatch away two girls who were bathing in front of the Mission house, and though after a couple of hours chase the bodies were recovered, the crocodile got away. Later two of the Mission boys were fishing at night. There was a rush, a splash, and the one boy saw his companion snatched from the canoe by a crocodile.

Crab-hunting seems a sport without much danger in it, but one day when some Delena women were chasing the crabs amongst the mangroves which come to the water’s edge on one side of the village, they heard one of their party scream, and turning saw that a crocodile had managed to get hold of her. The struggle was desperate, but they could do nothing to help and to their dismay saw their companion carried into the water in a deep hole.

As quickly as possible news was brought to the village, and Ume went out armed with a shot gun. He could see no trace of either the woman or the crocodile, but while standing on a log so as to get a better view of the pool, had a surprise that would have made most men lose their heads. Right at his feet the head of the crocodile shot up out of the water, and the wicked-looking jaws made a snap at him. There was no time to bring the gun to his shoulder, and as he lowered it the muzzle struck the forehead of the crocodile. Ume pulled the trigger and, I should imagine, for the first time a big crocodile was killed by No. 4 shot fired from an ordinary fowling-piece. The discharge blew away the top of the creature’s head, and that accounts for Ume having only part of the top jaw in his hand.

Fire

Think of a cold, raw morning at home and a fire wanted in the kitchen, but before you can have it, or the cup of tea you are after, two suitable pieces of wood have to be found, cut into the required shape, and then the one rubbed on the other till a spark is obtained. The spark has to be transferred to something that will readily burn, and then blown into a flame. Slower work this, even, than the flint and steel and the brimstone match of our ancestors, but it is the way the Papuan has to get his fire, if his own has gone out, and he cannot beg a fire stick from a neighbour.

In the picture you can see Miria going through the first stage of the process, and judging by the tension of the muscles, and the compressed lips, he finds it none too easy.

The story of the origin of fire varies in different parts of the country, but as far as I know, man is always indebted to the dog for procuring it. The Motu people say he got it by swimming out to sea, but at Delena the story is that he had to go inland for it.

Haiavaha was a great creature with long reaching arms, who lived in the hills where he jealously guarded the fire. The men living on the coast knew they could not steal the fire for themselves so called a meeting of the animals. Who the spokesman was is not known, but he first addressed himself to the pig—

“Will you go and steal some of Haiavaha’s fire?”

“It is no good my going. You know I always grunt when I find a root fit to eat as I am walking through the bush.”

“Will you try, wallaby? You can jump well, and when Haiavaha tries to catch you you can jump over his arms.”

“I cannot go, for he would hear me long before I got near the fire. Each time I jump I come down with a thud on the ground. I cannot go quietly.”

“Cassowary, can you help us?”

“No, I cannot, for I stand so high that Haiavaha would see my head above the grass long before I got to the fire.”

As a last hope the spokesman turned to the dog, and appealed to him to make the attempt.

“I will try,” said the dog, “and I might succeed but for my habit of crying out. If I find nothing on the way to make me break my resolve to keep my mouth shut, I hope I shall return with the fire.”

Fortunately he was able to keep his mouth shut, till he opened it to close upon the end of a fire stick. Then Haiavaha awoke, and out went his long arms in a wide sweep to the right and then to the left, but the dog had been too quick, and with a mocking howl (they cannot bark) he shouted out, “I have your fire. You should not have gone to sleep.”

The people on the coast were of course delighted, and told the dog that as a reward he should always live with them in their houses and sleep by the fire. Most seriously they say it must all be true, for to this day the dog is man’s companion and does always sleep by the fire.

Drums

Who knows what led to the invention of the blow-pipe in the old world? Did our remote ancestors want to hollow out a log to make a drum, in the days before Sheffield tools were made, and have to invent some means of doing it?

The Papuan made his drum from the solid log before he had seen steel tools, and now that he has seen them he still uses his blow-pipe.

The picture shows the drum in the process of making, and the completed article.

A piece of a particularly hard wood is cut and stood on end, and on top a few pieces of live charcoal are placed. With the help of the reed blow-pipe the charcoal is kept glowing, and the fire directed, while a shell of water is handy in case the burning proceeds more rapidly than is required in any one direction.

The process is repeated at the other end, and when complete the inside of the log looks like an hour glass. That accomplished, the shaping of the outside is a simpler matter, but, before the introduction of steel, a laborious one, as all the cutting had to be done with stone implements. Hatchets and knives now expedite matters, but the old native file is still used. A strip of shark skin is, while wet, stretched round a piece of wood, and when it has dried and shrunk it looks like an emery stick, and rasps away the wood in fine style. For the final smoothing off nature has provided the Papuan with a complete substitute for glass paper. A long lance-like leaf grows plentifully near the village, and has a surface equal to No. 1 glass paper and just as useful and lasting.

“A Little Child shall Lead Them”

It was just an ordinary stone about the size of a swede turnip, with nothing particular in size, shape or colour to distinguish it from many another in the bed of a mountain stream, but it had held a whole village in terror, and would have compelled all, men women and children, to spend at least one night in the bush but for Matareu the teacher.

The village was Groi at Nara, and late one afternoon Poe Ava, wanting some food, went to his garden, but found some one had been there before him, and had cleared off with what he and his family had expected to eat. Poe had no intention of taking that quietly, so hastening back to the village he began a long oration about the wrong he had suffered, and wound up with the threat that he knew where to find the sorcery stone which had belonged to his family for so long, and he would bring it to the village and call upon its spirit Aikaika. He was the master and maker of the thunder, and would send it with lightning and rain and demolish the village, as a punishment for the theft.

Excitement soon reigned in the village. Women gathered food and valuables into their kiapas (the large netted bag) and got ready to hide in the bush. The children catching the spirit of fright began to cry, and the dogs joined in with their dismal howl. They always do when there is any excitement.

Queen Koloka carried to Matareu the teacher news of the terrible threat, but it made little impression on him, and in a few minutes he was in the village trying to prevent the exodus, and put courage into the people. By promising that he would go and see the stone he so far succeeded that few of the people left the village, but that night there was no laughter, and no children were playing round about the houses.

Poe tried to magnify the size of this terrible stone, as he had the evils that would follow its introduction into the village. He was sure it was far too heavy for Matareu to lift, but when he found Matareu determined to see the matter through, he promised to take him to the hiding-place in the morning.

When the morning came, of all in the village only one, a young fellow who had lived with the teacher for some years, had courage enough to risk seeing the stone. Matareu, Poe and this boy started off, and in time halted near a big tree. Then exaggeration number one was exploded, for the stone was found to be small enough to be put into a cracked cooking-pot.

“There is the stone,” said Poe, “but you must not touch it, if you do your hand will shrivel up; but if that boy touches it he will die on the spot.”

“We will see,” answered Matareu, and going to the pot he turned the stone out on the ground.

That was too much for Poe, and he took to his heels, but from a distance seeing that nothing dreadful happened to Matareu, and hearing him calling, he returned.

Matareu is a real believer in prayer, and, there under the shadow of the big tree, with the broken cooking-pot, and the sorcery stone at his feet, and Poe and the boy standing by, he offered a prayer that light might come to Poe and that he might know there was but one God, not Aikaika, but Jehovah.

The stone came to the village, but it was Matareu who carried it. The people were again ready to run when they saw it in his hand, but he called that it had done him no harm and would do them none, and with that sent it bounding over the uneven ground. He was in his element. Determined to show that the stone was a stone, and nothing more, he put it in the fire where his food was being cooked, and still nothing dreadful happened. Later he placed it on the verandah of his house, but the house remained safe and those in it were not sick, and gradually the fear of the people wore away, and they would sit on the same verandah with this representative of Aikaika, but none would touch it.

Matareu’s baby girl succeeded where her father had failed. She had no fear of the stone, and as it was fairly round she started it rolling along the boards, until it rolled off the verandah. The little one followed it to the ground, and her little playmates there joining in, they rolled that much-feared stone all over the place, and had a grand time. Their parents called to them to leave the stone alone or it would hurt them, but their reply was, “It had not hurt Matoakana, and will not hurt us.”

The little child had led the rising generation at Nara out from the bondage of fear of the stone and its master the dreaded Aikaika.

The Kaiva-Kuku

What would you say if you saw the original of the above picture doing the rounds in your town instead of “The Gentleman in Blue?” and yet I do not know any better description of the Kaiva-Kuku than to say he is the village policeman. It is his duty to look after the cocoanuts when they have been gathered and are accumulating in the village for a feast, and like the policeman at home he has his beat. You could not find him further east than Hisiu, nor further west than Maipua.

But who is he, or what is he? The who is a man. The what is a big mask. The “who” gets inside the “what” in the club house so that no one in the village can identify him. He then struts about armed with his big stick, and uses it freely if he finds any one stealing cocoanuts. The people cannot retaliate for the Kaiva-Kuku is sacred, and they do not know who is inside, and so cannot spot him when he has not got his uniform on.

The women and children are all very frightened when the Kaiva-Kuku is seen, and the men at Hisiu took advantage of this, and sent the Kaiva-Kuku out when they saw women and children coming along the beach from fishing. In their hurried flight the fish was all dropped and Mr. Kaiva-Kuku picked it up and took it to the club, where the men enjoyed it; but that was the end of the Kaiva-Kuku at Hisiu, for the Magistrate ordered the masks to be burnt and no more made.

Native Surgery

For most ailments the Papuan uses the old-fashioned remedy of bleeding. All sorts of pains in all parts of the body are supposed to be relieved by blood-letting, and the operation was usually performed by slightly cutting the skin with a shell, but now they have taken a step in advance and use a piece of glass. For headache, however, another instrument is used. Tima had been walking in the sun all day, and said his head ached, and Aisi acted doctor. He made a little bow and arrow, tipping the latter with a fragment of glass, and then, at very close quarters so that he did not miss his mark, nor lose hold of his arrow, he repeatedly fired at Tima’s forehead. In this case not much blood was lost, but I have heard of cases where half a pint has been withdrawn before the cure was considered complete.