E. Way Elkington

Chiefly historical—Concerning certain discoverers, their aims and ambitions—The story of New Guinea, the Solomons, and New Hebrides, and some things that might be altered.

In these days when distance hardly counts, when the cry is heard that new outlets are wanted for capital, when there are thousands of unemployed crowded in London, and people are anxious to find adventure, eager to see new things, to conquer new lands, exploit new industries and gain more knowledge, it is worth while turning our attention to the South Sea Islands.

It is strange that so little is known of them, and that so few people have bothered themselves to visit them. A few missionaries, explorers, and adventurers have written about and spent a few months on them, but what is this when there are miles and miles of the most beautiful country crying out for people; there is wealth, both mineral and vegetable, waiting for the industry and enterprise {4} of good men to reap, and, above all, there is a delightful climate and a race of savages who in themselves repay the inconveniences of the journey.

The chief island is New Guinea, which is the largest in the world and contains some 340,700 square miles, much of which has never been trodden by white men. There are no sandy, dried-up districts in New Guinea or the Solomon Islands, and no long droughts; but rather a full fall of rain which makes the ground bring forth its produce in abundance.

There is land out there which some day will surprise people, and when one considers the difficulty Australia had to persuade the British Government to annex it, one cannot help laughing at the ignorance and short-sightedness of the men of those times. It was not until 1884 that the Government sent Commodore Erskine to the south-eastern portion of New Guinea to proclaim a protectorate over it, and then only after receiving a guarantee from the Queensland Government that they would undertake to find £15,000 per annum towards the cost of its administration.

The Queensland Government had, a year before this, already annexed it. They knew its value, and had it not been for their prompt action these {5} valuable islands would now all have been in the possession of the Dutch and Germans.

Accounts of the islands date back to 1512, but many things go to suggest that both the Malays and Chinese knew of their existence and had visited them long before that date. The first Europeans we hear of who sighted them were the Spanish sailor, Alvaro de Sacedra, and a Portuguese whose name is not known.

Prior to the arrival of Captain Cook, in 1770, there were numerous adventurers who gave accounts of these islands. Luis Vaez de Torres, after whom the Torres Straits were named, passed them in 1660 and sent to the world a full account of his voyage, but little notice was taken of it. We next hear of De Bougainville, the French navigator who arrived there in 1768; then came Captain Cook, and after him many others sighted the shores of New Guinea.

It was, however, the Dutch who first made any movements to attempt to find out its geographic and scientific value. They began in a neat business-like way by annexing that section west of the 141st meridian of east longitude, and despatching the Dourga, commanded by Lieutenant Kolff, to examine and report on it. He was a zealous man and, like many other enthusiastic sailors who have visited {6} new lands, found many things there which no one else has been able to find, and which have since been proved never to have existed. But some excuse for him can be found, owing to the disadvantages he was under and the savageness of the natives. He probably thought that no one in his time, if they followed him, would live to tell the tale, so he wrote what he thought “might have been.” Then came the Postillion Expedition in 1853, followed by the Trinton Expedition and the Scientific Expedition of Van der Crab in 1871. Dr. Meyers followed in 1873, and many other Dutch enthusiasts came after him during the next few years.

During this time, however, England was not quite asleep. In 1842 H.M.S. Fly was sent on a survey expedition and remained there till 1846, attention being devoted to that part of the island now known as British New Guinea. The Expedition also discovered and named the rivers Fly and Aird, in districts where later on many brave and good men lost their lives at the hands of the natives.

Following this ship, in 1846, came H.M.S. Rattlesnake, and good work was the result of her stay. Captain Moresby visited the island in 1871, and thoroughly explored many parts of it which were {7} unknown before his time. He landed at the harbour now known as Port Moresby, and gave such glowing accounts of the island that it was visited by many eminent naturalists immediately afterwards; and then the work of the pioneer missionaries, who had been busy there for some time, began to be talked about, and considerable interest in these islands was aroused.

Queensland, acting under the advice of Mr. Chester, a prominent man well up in the value of New Guinea, sent out Sir Thomas M‘Ilwraith to take possession of it in the name of the Queen. But the British Government refused to acknowledge this act, and thereby aroused the indignation of the Australians. A conference was held in Sydney and the British Government communicated with, with the result stated, that they saw their mistake and Sir Peter Scratchley was sent to New Guinea to act as High Commissioner.

His term of office was short, as he contracted malaria in 1885 and died. The man who took his place was a Queenslander, the Hon. John Douglas, who understood the position, and did valuable service to his country by making a study of the natives and the possibilities of the country.

In 1888 Sir William MacGregor, M.D., {8} K.C.M.G., was finally appointed Governor, and during his ten years of office showed that he was the right man in the right place. He was succeeded by George Ruthven Le Hunte, Esq., C.M.G.

To-day the affairs of British New Guinea are on an excellent basis. An Administrator is appointed by the Crown, whose duty it is to consult with the Governor of Queensland and report to that Government on all matters of importance. The Administrator is supported by two State Councils, the Executive and the Legislative, the first being composed of the Administrator, the Chief Judicial Officer, the Government Secretary, and a Resident Magistrate. The second is composed of the Executive Council, together with any officers they may appoint.

Petty Sessions Courts are also established and presided over by a Resident Magistrate, who has the same powers as a Police Magistrate in the Colonies. Europeans and natives have equal rights in the courts, and an appeal is allowed under certain circumstances. Native police preserve order in the towns. An amusing thing about them is that they are chiefly ex-convicts, and are given the appointment as a reward for good behaviour whilst in gaol. {9}

The discovery of the Solomon Islands is credited to Don Alvaro Mendana de Meyer, who went out there in the hope of discovering from whence King Solomon’s wealth came—the supposition was that the islands of the Pacific supplied much of it. That supposition no longer exists.

On sighting the Solomon Islands, and believing them to be the islands he was seeking, he named them Islas de Salomon. This was in the year 1567. After this he thoroughly explored many of them and gave them the names they now bear—Guadalcanar, San Christoval, and Isabel. Whilst thus engaged he decided to found a colony, and with that end in view he returned home and gathered together a number of men anxious to make their fortunes. He returned with them, landed at a place he thought was part of the Solomon Islands, and called it Santa Cruz. The colony was not a success, as most of the immigrants, including the discoverer, died, and the survivors returned to South America.

One of these survivors was De Quiros, who subsequently discovered the New Hebrides.

Bougainville and others, many years afterwards, again came across these islands, and later they were identified as those Mendana de Meyer had {10} discovered and thought were part of the Solomon Islands.

In 1873 the Solomon Islands came into notice through the labour traffic. There was at this time a demand in Queensland for black labour, and traders who visited the islands found that they could kidnap strong, sturdy natives and sell them for good prices to the Queensland and Fiji planters, with the result that, unknown to the Powers, a big and scandalous trade was carried on.

The group consists of seven large islands and no end of small ones, which are dotted about over some 600 miles of sea at a distance of about 400 miles south-east of New Guinea.

Great Britain and Germany shared the islands nearly equally until England ceded Samoa to Germany in exchange for territory in the Solomons. Now Great Britain owns the whole group with the exception of Bougainville and Buka.

The story of the discovery of the New Hebrides is also interesting. It was first sighted by Spanish explorers, De Quiros and Luis Vaez de Torres, who set sail from Peru in two ships to seek the Great Southern Continent, which tradition told them was somewhere in the South Pacific. De Quiros, as before stated, came across the New Hebrides group, {11} striking first one of the largest islands in the northern part of it. This he named Tierra Australis del Espiritu Santo, thinking possibly it was an enormous tract of land instead of a small island. Fired with ambition and the example of his late confrÈre, Mendana de Meyer, he also attempted to found a colony there, but, like de Meyer, he had to return with his few survivors and write “failure” across his enterprise.

Luis de Torres left De Quiros at the New Hebrides, and it was then that he sailed through the Torres Straits, which he named and reported on in 1606.

For over a hundred years after the departure of De Quiros from Santo nothing more was heard of the New Hebrides.

De Bougainville then came across them, and opened the way for the ubiquitous Captain Cook, who sighted, made charts of, and named the principal islands and headlands. The Spaniards, though the first to settle there, never laid claim to them, and they are now conjointly owned by Great Britain and France.

Owing to their proximity to Australia they have received more attention than the other islands, and the Commonwealth of Australia has shown {12} considerable interest in them and inaugurated an emigration scheme to endeavour to wrest from them some of their enormous mineral and vegetable wealth. The results of the past few years show great promise of future prosperity. In fact, in these islands, in particular, there are resources which will repay the labour and capital of any enterprising men, and, according to those who are most fitted to judge and advise, the New Hebrides is a veritable Eldorado. But, until the natives are more civilised and certain taxes are altered, men prefer to give them a wide berth and seek their fortunes in lands less dangerous.

Another trouble that has lately arisen, is that France, seeing the great possibilities in this new colony, has inaugurated a preferential tariff for French subjects. Had the same been done in England and Australia no bother would have arisen, but it was not, and, in order to compete successfully with the French traders, the English and Americans applied for naturalisation papers which were granted, and though the Englishmen by birth far exceed the Frenchmen, by naturalisation the French, if not now, will soon be in greater force.

This is a matter of vital importance, and should have the earnest attention of those who are interested in the welfare of British subjects in our Colonies.

New Guinea natives—Port Moresby and its two native villages—Huts on poles and trees—Native superstition and its result on two tribes.

There no islands in the new world which have been the scene of greater adventures, more daring exploits, and more exciting times than those in the South Seas. From the earliest days New Guinea, New Britain, Solomon Islands, and the New Hebrides have been inhabited by a race of savages, on whom neither the efforts of missionaries nor the oaths of traders have been able to make much impression. For years the white man has tried in vain to break the spirit of these cannibals; with fire and sword whole villages have been swept away, but neither by fear nor by kindness have the natives been weaned from their worst customs, and it will take many years and much education, and perhaps the complete extinction of the old generation, before they cease to be savages. For over sixty years {14} the missionaries have been working amongst them and have taught many to read, and sent them out amongst their brethren armed with Bibles and tracts in their native languages, but all this has been of little avail; every day we hear of massacres and risings, and missionaries and traders are pounced on and murdered, and there is no accounting for these outrages which make the problem more difficult to solve. For months or even years men may live on the friendliest terms with a tribe, and then suddenly, and for no apparent reason, the natives will rise up and slay them. The whim of a chief, an angry word, a bad bargain, a superstitious fear, any of these trivialities may be the cause of a rising, and may mean the death of dozens of innocent people.

But with all their disadvantages these islands have a fascination for the traveller that no others have, and when once the taste of the free and adventurous life of the South Seas has been acquired, there is always a longing to return to them which nothing will suppress. Neither stiff joints nor old age make one iota of difference, the yearning will not be satisfied by anything short of a speedy return.

The deep blue of the sea, the clear bracing air, {15} the screech of the wild sea-birds, and the roar of the surf, as it breaks on the reefs, are sounds that echo in the memory. To awaken and hear all these things is the longing that clings to one. To feel a good ship gliding through the still waters on the way to the islands; to rise from one’s bunk and through the port-hole to catch a glimpse of the rugged shores and the dark, shining skins of the natives as they paddle out in swarms from the villages to the ship’s side; to hear them calling to one another and yelling their greetings to the crew, are things which, when once experienced, can never be forgotten, and will ever haunt the memory.

But come, let us see these islands where the sun pours down on bright yellow sands through the long, waving, rustling leaves of the palm trees, and glistens on the skins of the crocodiles basking in the rivers, and on the strong, brown arms and tanned faces of the traders, who have braved all dangers for a life of adventure. Let us look into the quaint lives of the natives—the last relics of barbarism; let us see their huts and join in their weird ceremonies and listen to their songs and learn their superstitions, for in a few years these things will be gone, and the cyclist and the tripper will be crowding these savage islands, whilst the sturdy {16} head-hunters will be dead, and their sons will be cadging pennies, whilst the dark, shy girls will be bold and talk with nasal accents.

Civilisation is coming, coming quickly. Even here, back in the dense bush on a still night when the insects are too lazy to fly and the silence almost speaks, if you listen you can hear the steady tramp of the ghostly army coming nearer and nearer, crushing through everything, sparing nothing—the army of civilisation.

The capital of New Guinea is Port Moresby, a quaintly picturesque village facing a large bay with a natural harbour. In the vicinity are densely wooded hills, which stretch up and disappear in the distance—a dark-green and black mass. But when the sun is on them they dance with colour, and the tints of marvellous brilliancy turn them into a lovely fairyland, full of romance and adventure. It is wonderful what strange tales flit across the mind when looking at these hills; what scenes have been enacted there in times gone by, and now, how calm they seem!

Granville, the small business part of Port Moresby, consists of a few corrugated iron-roofed houses, the head store of Messrs. Burns Philp, the great Australasian Trading Company, and the {17} homes of a few Government officials, and Government House, which lies back a little and looks solitary and out of place in this weird land of pile-built huts.

There is the Mission House also, a low, white wood house with a big verandah running round it and a garden of palms and beautiful flowers.

Hanuabada and Elevera are the names of the two native settlements near Port Moresby. At certain tides Elevera is an island, at other tides it is a peninsula, but at all tides and all times it teems with interest. Quaint huts built on long poles line the shore and look like nothing one has ever seen before. When the tide is high the water washes right under them, swishing merrily against the stout poles, and if you want to inspect one at these times a canoe is necessary, but even then it is a hazardous job unless you are used to it.

No one knows exactly why the natives went to such trouble in building their huts, unless it was with a view to protecting themselves against the attack of an enemy from the land. There were no wild animals for them to fear.

A regular street divides these rows of huts, all exactly alike, but the inhabitants seem to know where their friends live, though I am sure the most {18} experienced London postman would suffer from continual confusion if his services were required in these parts. In the distance these villages look very much like rows of haystacks built on stakes, but on closer inspection they are particularly interesting and have a very imposing appearance. On reaching the piles one clambers up a rude ladder and arrives on a platform made of ordinary poles with gaps of a foot or two between each. Here it is that the natives squat all day and do what work they have, or, more generally, idle the hours away. Above the platform is a kind of porch built on a slant and projecting from the roof, which acts as a protection against the sun or rain. Under this is an open doorway which leads into the house.

From a sanitary point of view, no habitation could be better than these pile dwellings, but for comfort give me a modern hotel.

No furniture or mats are to be seen in these dwellings to catch the dust, and you can squat on the floor and see through the planks the waves washing and swelling a few yards below. The floor consists of the same kind of piles, only flatter and broader than those used for supporting the house. The platforms are arranged like big steps, and many of the boards are beautifully carved. {19} Some of them are immense pieces of timber, which must have required a deal more energy to cut than the Papuan of to-day is capable of exerting—much less would he put them into position.

The wood used for the flooring is the hardest obtainable, and seems to be of a material which takes no heed of wear and tear; the planks are sometimes heirlooms, and have been handed down from father to son for many generations. One log tougher than the rest is placed in position by the door, and on this a fire will probably be burning and a woman squatting by it cooking her lord and master’s evening meal.

The rank yellow smoke which curls round her does not inconvenience her in the least. She takes no heed of it, but blows away at the embers, regardless of smarting eyes and choking throat, probably because she feels neither. She never fears that the fire will spread and burn down her home, but just goes on cooking. If you speak to her she may stop blowing for a second and glance up at you, but never a word passes her lips, and soon she will be blowing again as if it was quite an ordinary thing to have a white man staring at her. But though the smoke does not trouble her a bit, it blinds you, and you soon hurry on to the {20} next hut, and there confine your attention to its outside.

The roofs are thatched with palm leaves which, though scant, keep out the rain and sun. The sides and back are also composed of a kind of thatch on a framework of bamboo or thin wood.

Unlike the habitations of many other branches of this race, these huts show very little artistic work inside. They are quite bare. A few cooking-pots may be seen lying about, and these are the only things which lead one to suppose that the huts are inhabited. The resemblance of the interiors of all of them is only equal to the sameness of the exteriors, which makes it impossible to know which one you have been in and which you have not. This, added to the extreme difficulty a new chum experiences in getting from one house to another, does not add to the equability of his temper. It needs a steady head and good balancing powers to keep footing on these planks, many of which are quite loose and wobble when you are treading on them. After half an hour of such walking a giddiness seizes you, and a strong desire comes over you to kneel down and scramble along on hands and knees to the next hut. But with practice, and a certain amount of patience and indifference to the {21} nasty fall one would get by slipping, walking can eventually be accomplished with ease.

The natives themselves run along the poles as quickly as if they were on paved streets, whilst the little kiddies scramble, and slip, and tumble about as if they were on an ordinary floor. A fall through the piles is almost an unknown calamity to them.

Under the houses, when the tide is out, the natives can be seen cutting out their canoes, making their pottery, repairing their fishing gear and attending to other duties; but they much prefer to loll about on the verandahs of their huts, looking out at the sea, thinking of nothing.

The whole of Elevera only covers about ten acres, but in that space the huts are crowded together, and give cover to hundreds of healthy and prosperous-looking inhabitants. On the mainland the houses are built on small pile platforms, only three or four feet from the ground, whilst others in the back country are built in trees and look like gigantic birds’-nests. This last custom, however, has quite died out, for with the introduction of the axe the protection of a house in a tree would be of little use, for one blow would fetch the whole construction down. Also the introduction of the police and the work of the Government have so diminished the {22} chances of tribal wars that the native no longer goes to such trouble. In the old days the inmates of these nests kept a supply of stones and spears on their verandahs, and were able to use them with great effect on their troublesome neighbours below. Now such a position would only make them good marks for a rifle shot.

The bush men, or “men belong bush,” to speak in native parlance, are far more industrious than the “men belong sea,” they who live by the shore. For besides cultivating the land, growing yams, bananas, and taro, they make a fair living by hunting.

Two distinct tribes inhabit the villages in Port Moresby, the Koitapus and Motus. They live amicably enough together now, but seldom intermarry. The Koitapus were undoubtedly the original inhabitants, and in colour are somewhat darker than their friends, and have narrower heads, otherwise it is very hard to distinguish one from the other; but in their manners, customs, and language there is a marked difference. The Motu tribe consider themselves the superior of the two, though they live in great fear of the mysterious powers the Koitapus are said to possess, and were it not for this superstition the Motus would soon overrule and probably vanquish the other tribe.

So strong is their superstitious belief in the powers of the Koitapus, that directly one of them falls ill, presents are immediately despatched to a Koitapu man or woman with instructions to remove the evil influence that has brought the sickness or calamity. The weather also is supposed to be in the hands of the Koitapus, and be it wet or fine the Motus have to pay up, that is if they want it changed.

As a tribe the Motus undoubtedly are superior, especially in such things as cleanliness, cooking, and eating. The Koitapu natives will devour almost anything with a relish unknown in civilised countries, but the Motu is careful and particular both about the cooking of his food and the article cooked. Most of the Motus have their eatables boiled in earthenware jars, whilst the Koitapu cooks his in an earth oven.

The Motus gain their living chiefly by fishing and making pottery, and they exchange both fish and pots with the Koitapu for animal food, vegetables, and the results of their agricultural pursuits.

The position of the two tribes is summed up thus:—

“Yours is the sea, the canoes, the nets,” says the Koitapu man, “ours the land and the wallaby. {24} Give us fish for our flesh, and pottery for our yarns and bananas.”

It is on this understanding that the two tribes live amicably together in Hanuabada and Elevera.

Altogether Port Moresby is as quaint and picturesque a spot as ever was seen. A bright blue sky and a sea the colour of which is for ever changing, a stillness only broken by the roaring surf, the hum of insects, the occasional cries of the sea-birds, and the chatter of the natives, make up this delightful haven of rest. No roaring train or smoking chimney is there to distract the wayfarer; no newspaper boy yelling out his “disasters” to cause one a sleepless night. A spot in which to rest and dream, ay, and study the curious customs of one of the most interesting savage races in the world, if you like that sort of employment.

Natives who grow crops of hair—A word or two about the women—Duties of married women—How they carry their babes, and the philosophy of childhood.

The natives of New Guinea are fine specimens of human nature, but taken as a race they cannot be compared to the Maoris of New Zealand or even to the Fijians. The men are infinitely better-looking than the women, and their splendid stock of hair, which they wear bunched up all over their head, sets off their appearance in a remarkable manner. The young women are bright and cheerful-looking, and amongst them there are some striking creatures; but there are many sad-looking specimens, some of the old women are veritable hags, and many fine young girls are quite spoilt by the quaint habit they have of shaving their heads, whilst some of the best specimens of men are disfigured by their yellow, bloodshot eyes, so noticeable in contrast to their dark skins. {26}

As workers the New Guinea natives are probably in advance of many natives of the adjoining islands. They are, of course, better than the aboriginal of Australia, who would as lief die as do an honest day’s work, but that does not say much for them. There is no doubt about it, they do not love work, though they get through a certain amount.

In Port Moresby the natives of Hanuabada and Elevera live chiefly by fishing, canoe-building, and pottery-making. The men do the fishing and canoe-building, whilst the women and children loiter over the pottery-making. There is a complete absence of hurry; all the natives work as if they had a lifetime to complete their job; there is a calmness in them that is only rivalled by the sky over their heads and the air that blows over this island, and perhaps it is from nature they have learnt that calm and stolid indifference to just those things over which we believe it is necessary to hustle.

One extremely peculiar trait in the character of the natives of British New Guinea is their dislike to inquisitiveness. You can implore a native to tell you his name, and even offer him coin to pay him for that information, but it has no effect. He {27} will tell you some name, if you press him hard enough, but it won’t be his, as you will discover if you try to find him again. As an instance of this peculiarity, Mr. Norman Hardy was particularly struck by a canoe he saw lying on the sand in the main street of Elevera, and seeing a native standing by, he asked him if the canoe belonged to him, as he would like to buy it. The native smiled blandly and shook his head.

“Don’t you know whose it is?” asked Mr. Hardy.

“Don’t know; man over there, p’r’aps,” said the native.

“What’s his name?” Mr. Hardy pursued.

“No name.” The native shook his bushy head.

“Well, show me which is the hut he lives in.”

At this question the man began to fidget, and then, glancing carelessly at the row of huts, all as like each other as peas, he swept his hand past the whole lot and said:

“That one.”

And that was all the information concerning the name and possessor of the canoe that Mr. Hardy obtained. Subsequently he learned that the owner of it was the very man he had been questioning.

The same kind of reticence has been found by {28} all travellers who have been anxious to find out the ways, the customs, and secret rites of the natives; but, luckily, now and then a man who will talk has been found, and then, by using the knowledge gained from him and showing the others that you know a certain amount about the matter, it is possible to get a fund of information; though it is always necessary to corroborate everything you hear, as the art of lying has been brought to a perfect science in these islands—probably by the march of civilisation and the example the natives have been set by the traders—nearly all natives become liars when they are civilised.

Throughout the island the bulk of the work is done by the women-folk, the men being little less than pampered loafers. There is some sort of an excuse for this, which, it is only fair to state, is the result of altered circumstances. In the early days the men were ever on the watch for enemies, and lived in constant preparedness for a surprise attack. By day they carried their spears and clubs about with them, and by night they slept alongside them. There were very few organised fights compared with those of other islands, except when a big head-hunting expedition was on, but at these times the natives would get wind of it; what they had to {29} guard against were small surprise attacks, and of these they could not obtain information, as they were generally planned on the spur of the moment. Most of these stalking excursions were undertaken to supply a sacrifice for a feast, and a native would be singled out in some adjoining village to fill the want, or else some chief would require the wife of some other chief, and she would have to be stolen, or a child had to be kidnapped to spite its parents, and so the men in every village had to be constantly on the watch, which, of course, hindered them from working, and left the bulk of the labour to the women; but now that civilisation has altered the relationship of the tribes and lessened the chances of these attacks, the occupation of the men has practically ceased; under the new rÉgime they have gradually become loafers, and the women still continue the duties they have performed for generations.

Organised labour is almost unknown, but certain yam patches are owned by certain natives, and the women work them as they do the banana and the cocoa-nut groves. In Port Moresby Messrs. Burns Philp employ a number of men and women for their stores, and for loading and unloading the trading vessels, but even the heavy work of carrying {30} the timber is sometimes done by the women, whilst the men loiter about doing as little as they possibly can. The police, who are clothed in blue with white facings, are perhaps the busiest natives in the township; what is more, they are extremely proud of their clothes and their work, and their exalted position as Government officials makes them scorn their less fortunate brethren. Their duties, beyond keeping law and order, are very slight, and amount to an occasional job of rowing Government men about and mounting guard over stray prisoners.

The native costume of British New Guinea is meagre. With the men, when they are not absolutely nude, a narrow girdle round their waist is considered sufficient, whilst a bunch of dogs’ teeth hung from their ears, a pointed, carved bone run through their noses, and armlets of vegetable fibre, would comprise a big outfit and make its owner as proud as a peacock. At festivals, dances, and funerals their clothing is more elaborate, and they are more highly decorated with masks, mats, and feathers. And when in mourning, they are so over-dressed that it is impossible to recognise that the bundle before you is really a human being. The state or ceremonial costumes of New Guinea vary considerably in the different parts of the {31} island, and each tribe has its own particular fancy as to what ought really to be worn, and what ought not; the only consistency concerning clothes throughout the island is found when the men are either loafing about or working, and then they wear as little as possible.

The women and young girls usually wear fibre aprons hanging from their waists to a distance of about eighteen inches, whilst for dancing and religious ceremonies more luxurious and more lengthy ones, dyed in different colours, are worn. When dancing the aprons of the unmarried women are left open at the right side, so that the tattooing on their hips and thighs can be seen. This bit of coyness is to show that they are ready to be married, and that they are still heart-whole, for directly a girl reaches the marriageable age, and wants all the men to know it, she is carefully tattooed. Another mark of distinction between the married and unmarried women is in the hair: the married ones wear it very closely cut, while the single ones pride themselves, like the men, on their enormous bushy crops. This custom, however, varies in different tribes, and the hair is arranged in numerous ways, according to the fashion of the part of the island in which the native is born. {32}

The Papuan dandy takes no end of care over his hair, which grows to a great length and is frizzled and bunched up all round his head, and some of them, farther up the gulf, arrange their hair in this fashion purely for sale, and when a full crop is ready they shave it off and sell it up country.

What “the man belong bush” uses it for I don’t know, though some kind of string is seen in different places which is probably made from it. As in Fiji and Samoa and Honolulu, it is common to see bleached hair. It is done for sanitary reasons primarily, and fashion has helped the custom. Tattooing, however, is not fashionable amongst the men.

The children, like those of other savage races, are completely nude. They are bright and happy little beggars, and as a rule are free from nervousness in the presence of strangers and whites. They will stand round you in groups, with wide-open mouths and eyes, but they have a tendency to catch hold of each other, and those who are shyest keep slightly behind the bolder ones. They are born swimmers and divers, and seem to spend half their days in the water, prancing, splashing about, and diving, utterly regardless of time or season, and I don’t think they ever catch cold.

Amongst the children’s games there are two at least that look familiar to Europeans—a kind of leap-frog and pig-a-back. The former is played in all the varying ways of the English schoolboy, single leaping and leaping whole rows; whilst pig-a-back riding is quite the same game that our children indulge in. Another game which is interesting to watch is that known as evanena: in this two rows of players stand facing each other at a distance of about a foot apart, and when they are thus arranged each boy catches hold of the arm of the one facing, and grips it below the elbow with one hand, and with the other he takes a firm hold of his own arm with his disengaged hand, thus forming a platform of human arms. A boy then gets up on to this platform and runs forward. Immediately he has passed over the first pair they let go of each other and run forward, and place themselves in front of the others at the end of the row, thus making a continuous passage, enabling a constant race to be kept up with the boy on the platform and those forming it. Roars of laughter greet the youth who is fast enough to reach the end of the platform before another lap is ready for him, and if he succeeds in doing this he is a proud winner, but if, on the {34} other hand, he stumbles and falls he is anything but a hero, and becomes one of the figures of the platform, taking the place of one of the end boys.

Many of the other games are rough, boyish imitations of the sacred ceremonies which their elders conduct with such decorum. Of course they are not true imitations, because many of these ceremonies are secret and none but authorised natives are allowed to take part in them.

The girls have a few games of their own, but very seldom join in with the boys. From their earliest days they are trained to work, and playing is considered frivolous and unwomanly. One sees many more young women paddling canoes than young men; the men prefer to play and watch their sisters work. Chivalry is not a forte of theirs.

As soon as the girls are old enough they are initiated into the art of pottery-making, cooking, and other domestic duties, but what they all take most pleasure in is dancing. Their sole ambition in life seems to be to excel in this art—and become wives; though the latter occupation has few benefits, and, to the outsider who has studied the life of the married women, marriage would seem a grievous calamity to be avoided at all {35} costs—at least a Papuan one. The work of the married women is most arduous, and their whole existence seems to be taken up in waiting hand and foot on their loafing lords, bearing children, and bringing them up. All the cares and worries of the precarious lives of these natives seem to be thrown on to the shoulders of wives, who bear it with a stolid philosophy that defies imitation.

One of the most remarkable things about the mother is her unique way of carrying her child, a method totally different from that of any other savage or civilised race. From its infancy the baby is put into a sort of miniature hammock made of vegetable fibre, with a very fine mesh, through which the little bundle of humanity can be seen kicking merrily. When carrying the child, the ends of this hammock, which are woven together and make a circle of the net, are placed over, and rest on the mother’s head. Thus the baby hangs suspended in this arrangement just below the woman’s breasts or over her back. It is a convenient arrangement, for the mother is perfectly free to walk about and, if necessary, work a little with her hands. As a rule, however, when she is working she hangs her child up on one of the cross-beams of her hut, and many can be seen thus suspended under the {36} verandah-like shades of the roofs, when they look very much like cocoons.

This form of carrying a weight, however, is not peculiar to the Papuan, as instances of it can be seen in Egypt. A native porter will often suspend a heavy portmanteau by straps from the top of his head and jog along serenely with it. Child-carrying in this way is, however, quite original and is, I believe, only seen in New Guinea. The Maori method of carrying them on their backs, wrapped in a shawl which the woman crosses over her chest, is infinitely better in some respects, as it enables her to do hard labour without any inconvenience.

One trait that is particularly noticeable among all the children of savage races is their silent philosophy. No matter what happens these babes remain serenely calm; they may be left for hours without food or drink, they may be hung upside down, dropped, trodden on,—in fact, any calamity may befall them,—but still they are silent. The only difference that is evident is when they have been uncomfortable for hours and are suddenly put right, when they resume their kicking, but very soon even this form of exuberance subsides, and silence, unmoved silence, is restored.

Concerning love and grief—How love is made in New Guinea, and some of the charms used to ensure love and constancy—The grief of a New Guinea widow.

To the marriageable young lady in civilised countries, leap year, and with it her chance of proposing, comes but a few times before she is “on the shelf,” but in some parts of New Guinea the proposal of marriage always comes from the girl.

Some may think that this sort of love-making and marriage lacks romance, but to the Papuan it is the event of his or her life. It is in the hope of receiving a proposal that a man will go through endless adventures; it is to win the admiration of some good buxom girl that he risks his life head-hunting, and it is with pride and glory that he glances at his string of skulls which hangs from the poles of his hut, because he knows how brave the women will think him. {38}

It is for this same object that he studies the art of dancing, that he cultivates his bushy hair (after he is married he often sells it) and the fine, healthy glow of his skin. His lithe limbs also come in for a deal of attention, and, as he struts proudly about, it is always with the hope that his superior charms and manhood may bring him the love and admiration of a young maiden.

When a Papuan boy comes of age an interesting ceremony takes place. At about twelve years old, if he is of good stature, healthy and generally fit, his parents think it is time to prepare him for marriage, or, in their own language, make him ibitoe. The initial stage of this ceremony is merely a form of introduction to youths of his own age who are also ibitoe. In England more or less the same thing happens when a girl “comes out.” She is then supposed to be on a footing with “grown-ups,” and this is practically what happens to the youth of British New Guinea. From the day of his “coming out” he occupies his hours in pleasure-seeking and has a good time generally; this goes on for a certain period and then he sallies forth alone into the bush to make his drum. This drum-making is the most serious part of his “coming out,” and is conducted with a deal of {39} formality and ceremony which is quaintly mixed with superstition.

Drums seem to be the most important possession a young Papuan has; in shape they are not unlike a golf bag on a somewhat larger scale. One end is covered with lizard skin drawn taut and bound round the end of the drum with fibre, leaving a frill below the binding; the other end is open, and at about the centre the instrument narrows off and a handle carved out of the wood protrudes. By this the drum is held when being beaten.

The making of this musical instrument is an arduous task; it is hewn out from a solid block of wood by means of the crudest instruments, the hollow centre is made by burning it out with cinders of red-hot wood.

In order to manufacture one of these the young native retires into the bush, cutting himself off from all intercourse with human beings. His food is brought to him by his friends and left in some secret places which are decided on before he takes his departure. This is done so that the young man can secure it without catching sight of those who bring it, for it is believed by the Papuan that if any human being sees him, or is seen by him, during this period of ibitoe that his drum will {40} be spoiled, or that when it is completed it will sound as if it were cracked. Many other curious superstitions relating to the eating of certain foods are attached to this operation; for instance, if a man who is ibitoe eats food cooked in the wrong way, he will grow fat and be a laughing-stock to the girls; whilst if he drinks fresh water it will quench the fire with which he is trying to hollow out his drum, and other things too numerous to mention will happen if equally trifling details are not adhered to; but provided he comes through this important time without any calamities, and completes his drum to his own satisfaction, he steps forth from his seclusion to conquer the heart of a maiden.

In the different tribes and parts of the country the customs relating to love and matrimony vary. In some the young men waylay the girls they admire, and endeavour, by force or persuasion, or the offering of presents, to obtain their consent. This method often leads to amusing incidents, as the girls have the privilege of scratching and fighting their would-be lovers to any extent, and the lover may not retaliate, or he would bring down upon his woolly head the anger of the girl’s parents. {41}

Sweet music of a sensuous nature is often resorted to by the lovesick swain, and, leaning against a tree, he will stand and play all day long, hoping to attract the attention of his inamorata and bring from her a proposal of marriage.

Tight-lacing and other forms of personal adornment are also indulged in by these amorous youths, and a more ridiculous sight could not be seen than a young native with his waist so strapped in as to form an enormous, ugly bulge above and below his belt, but it is greatly admired by the girls and shows he wants a wife badly.

In those parts of the western islands, already alluded to, where the women propose, directly a girl falls in love with a man she makes him a string armlet, which, according to Professor Haddon, she presents to his sister or to one of his confidential friends. The confidential friend bides her time, and when an opportunity arises she goes to the man and says:

“I’ve got something for you.”

“Show it to me,” replies the young man if he is anxious.

This the friend does.

After learning the girl’s name, and being satisfied that he is not throwing himself away, the youth {42} will accept the armlet and in return make a present of two leglets to his fiancÉe.

Another custom in vogue is for the girl to send food for the young man. At first on receiving it he is generally obstinate and refuses to eat it, as he has no desire to be caught—or pretends he has none—but really he is very proud that at last he has been noticed. The woman understands all this and does not despair, but steadily pursues her course, and day after day sends food to her lover, until her constancy makes the parents of the young man feel satisfied that he is not being led astray or fooled by a changeable woman. As soon as the parents feel sure of this, they go to their son and command him to eat the food.

This is the signal which the girl’s friend has been wanting, and she hurries to bear the news to the waiting girl, who immediately prepares more food which she sends him. Now the critical time is past, and she knows he will be allowed to see her.

All arrangements for the meeting are conducted by the go-between, and when the young man is presented to her, she hands him fresh food which he takes from her and eats. At this act of condescension great joy is shown on both sides, and {43} the two lovers retire to the seclusion of their hut, and without any further ceremony they become man and wife.

The divorce laws of New Guinea are similar to those of America, and a man or woman can get a divorce on the slightest provocation—the general cause is incompatibility of temper. Plurality of wives is allowed if a man be rich enough to support more than one. The first one, however, is chief amongst them all and her word is law; the last one acts as a go-between; she carries the messages of number one to the others and sees that they are properly attended to. If any of the wives refuse to obey her, she and her husband are laughed at, as it is generally considered that he has undertaken more than he can manage.

The following is an interesting sample of a missionary-taught, native girl’s love-letter, or form of proposal. It was shown to Professor Haddon when he was studying in those islands. The letter was written to one Peter by name, whose own translation of it reads thus:—

“Peta, 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.” {44}

Peter’s affirmative reply was:

“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, good for me. Yes all right. Finish. You, Magena. Good-bye. Me Pita.”

The natives of New Guinea, like all other savage races, still have their love charms, and when a man or maid fails to win the heart of the one they love by ordinary methods, they try the sorcerer and, then, if that love they are seeking for cannot be so obtained, their affection turns to hate and a desire for revenge fills them, and they seek the other’s death by resort to magic. There is a wonderful similarity in human beings all over the world, be they white or black, savage or civilised. But the extraordinary part of the magic in savage lands is that it always works, and if men or women are properly cursed and their death prophesied by the magician, they die, and in the way their death has been foretold. The same strange superstition is noticeable amongst the Maoris. I once was at the death-bed of an old chief, who was supposed to be dying of typhoid, but the real cause of his death was fear. In some way he had offended another chief, and that man had him cursed by a Tohunga {45} or priest. I was unable to ascertain exactly what he had done, but the result of it was that an image made of clay, which was supposed to represent him, was placed in a creek, and as the water washed away the figure, so the chief gradually sank; and, when the last particle was softened by the slowly trickling water and vanished down the stream, so that moment the soul of the old chief passed over the border.

So strong is the superstition regarding these things that a man who is cursed never dreams of attempting to overcome the disaster foretold him; he simply goes home and dies, and it is in this way that this particular superstition, and others like it, live. No one has the pluck or the common sense to try and oppose their influence. In New Zealand this kind of witchcraft is termed Tohunganism, and in spite of the civilised condition of the Maoris of to-day, there are still cases of death recorded and put down to it.

In the same certain way that death is brought about by a mental process—cursing—so miraculous cures are effected, and Urio Moquru is one of the most useful gods in New Guinea for this sort of thing. When a person of importance falls sick, food is placed before this grotesque image, and the friends {46} and relations beseech Urio to remove the evil spirit from their beloved one. But should the god fail and the sick one die, the natives do not lose faith in their god, but decide that the patient was either too good to live, or so bad he had to die.

When death does visit a village there is a terrible time of mourning, the women sit and cry round the death-bed all day, and in the streets they can be seen squatting in corners moaning. You can meet women all huddled up giving vent to the most despairing groans, and they look as if they were literally wrapped up in grief; yet they may have never cared a snap of the fingers for the dear departed. But it is the custom for the women to mourn; and a more awful sight and sound than this moaning cannot be heard. The men show very few signs of grief, and evidently trust to their women-folk to do a double share.

When a woman loses her husband she goes into mourning and will on no account be disturbed; for this rite her dress varies; certainly she looks a terrible fright, and I’m not surprised at her shrinking from public gaze. There is a special dress and general attire for this state of grief. They shave their heads completely, cover themselves all over with charcoal, and then put on long petticoats with {47} tassels of seeds. They also cover their necks with necklaces and their arms with trinkets. Having done all this they retire into a corner of their hut and remain there, away from the gaze of the public, until their sorrow is worn out or they are tired of being alone.

One thing noticeable is that, however loud their moaning is, however hard they are crying, they will always stop to answer any question you like to put to them about their “late lamented,” if you have courage enough to beard them and refuse to go away. Then, as soon as you have gained all the information you require, they will quickly resume their tears as if nothing had happened to interrupt them. But this is not unique to the savage of New Guinea. I have met with the same extraordinary species of grief amongst the women of Great Britain,—it is world-wide, this interruptable grief.

Some native dances and queer costumes—Novel blackmailing methods—Woman’s vanity and a censured dance.

For some reason, unknown to the ordinary layman, the Church has taken a dislike to nearly all forms of savage dancing, and many missionaries, brave and good fellows though they be, have seen evil in these performances where other less cultivated men have seen nothing that suggests immorality. But often what appears immoral to the Western mind is quite free from any such suggestion to the mind of the savage. I do not say that these natives are paragons of virtue and morality, but in deference to them it is only fair to say that they stick to their code of morals, though it is not ours and may seem rather lax to us.

Owing no doubt to the missionaries disliking certain dances, the natives are now very shy about permitting a white man to witness them; some, however, can still be seen, and these I will try {49} to describe. There are several different dances in New Guinea, all distinct in their movements, in the costumes worn at them, and the music accompanying them; there are the war dances, the marriage dances, the fishing, festival and agricultural dances, and for all these the costumes vary, some of them being unique, for there is no island in the world which can rival its assortment of ceremonial regalia. In some of the dances the women are most strangely attired, whilst in others the grotesque costumes of the men are startling.

When the fish dance, or any other semi-religious dance is to be held the men wear masks, for the making of which they are famous, and then the performance is indeed weird. In the Mekko district, south-east of Port Moresby, most elaborate masks of hideous design cover the heads of the dancers, whilst their bodies are concealed by capes which are nearly two feet thick and cover the wearer completely, leaving only the lower part of the legs visible, and these, in contrast to the bulk above, look strangely thin and out of place. The heat and weight of these costumes must be enormous, but the natives would undergo any discomfort rather than be without them.

The masks, which vary in shape and size, are {50} generally not shorter than three or four feet, and occasionally they run to six or seven. They are held in position on the man’s head by a cross-bar which he grips between his teeth, and they are constructed on canework frames, and shaped like an enormous hock bottle. A thin bark covering is stretched over the frame, which is then completely smeared with white lime, and a hideous face is generally worked or painted on the front of it, with the mouth and eyes enormously big and distorted. When one considers that these masks and their attendant costumes are also used for blackmailing dances their thorough ugliness is warranted.

Blackmailing is a favourite pastime, and when they are intent on it they don their ugliest masks and steal round to the hut of the man or woman from whom they wish to extort money, or frighten, and in the dim moonlight begin a weird and unearthly dance accompanied by horrible noises, which they continue until the desired effect has been obtained, and the man is frightened out of his wits and ready to agree to his assailant’s proposals. This dance is closely allied to the dook-dook dance of New Britain. In New Guinea when the mask and cape are worn the steps of the dance are slow, and the movements are supposed to be majestic and {51} awe-inspiring, making the performances more like stately processions than dances. One of the most interesting of these is the festival dance for a successful agricultural season. It is considered a kind of prayer to the gods of agriculture, and it generally takes place once a year and is conducted by different tribes on each anniversary.

When the yams and bananas are ripe, the natives hold a celebration, in which as a rule men dance in close formation with the girls on the flanks. Occasionally a girl edges her way in and takes the arm of a man, as is seen in the illustration, where the red head-dresses are those of women. The white plumes of the men denote that they have slain an enemy in single combat. The streamers down the back of the man on the left are those of his head fillet. Behind the dancers are the bananas suspended on a scaffold. The celebration takes place in the summer.

The dancing ground having been picked, the villagers squat by their huts, or form a large ring on the ground, and then when all is ready a troop of men strangely dressed, each carrying his drum, comes prancing on to the ground.

From the back of their heads long waving strings, made of leaves, are hung, flying out behind them and touching the ground. Their woolly hair is gaily festooned with bright-coloured feathers, white and red, pure white, pure red, and reddish brown and green; and above these there is often a brilliant red cockade which stands straight up.

Armlets adorn their arms, and a narrow belt with a scanty attachment suffices for the covering of the lower part of their bodies. Long streamers of palm leaves hang, in some cases, from both armlets and leglets. Their drums are also gaily decorated with strings and streamers.

On arrival on the ground they form up in rows {52} and begin a peculiar crouching movement by bending their knees and rising on toe and heel, to the accompaniment of a monotonous dull thumping on the drums. Every now and then a different beat is sounded, and instantly the men change their positions. Whilst this peculiar shuffling movement is going on a crowd of girls appears and begin to dance in and out among the men, and then vanish again almost as quickly as they appeared. Their costumes are equally quaint, the chief adornment being a mat hung round their waists and open on one side. The remaining portions of their bodies are nude, with the exception of necklaces and curious feather adornments on their heads.

Fine creatures some of them are, and as they prance about in striking attitudes, dodging in and out of the rows of men, swaying their skirts backwards and forwards, they present a fascinating picture and, as they warm to the dance, the continued shuffling movements of the men, the swirling of the women’s skirts, their swaying bodies, and glimpses of elaborately tattooed legs, and the measured beating of the drums, the only sound that breaks the silence, a giddiness steals over the spectators and a weird feeling of monotony takes hold of them.

Then suddenly the whole scene will change, the girls, who a few seconds before were swirling round the men, vanish, the drumming ceases, the long rows are broken up, and the men too disappear, leaving only the crowd of eager spectators who remain gazing at nothing.

A wonder comes into one’s mind if it is all a dream, for throughout the whole dance no sound has escaped the performers, and the silence and the half-darkness produce a scene of peculiar uncanniness. But soon all is movement again and other performances have to be gone through. New figures are introduced as in our round dances, but there seem to be no set places for the girls; they appear and dance independently in and out of the rows of men as if to show off their fine figures, their beautiful skins, and bewitching ways, some dancing and acting more or less demurely, whilst others throw themselves about with an abandonment and coyness that it would take a most practised Western flirt to excel.

Every attitude and every movement seem to be accompanied by an action of the apron or skirt, which is swerving with a perfect rhythm backwards and forwards, or from side to side. But this is not the women’s dance, they are merely adjuncts to the performance and use their admission to it more for {54} love-making than anything else. Their real dance comes later when they mount the Dubu, and this is the dance so strongly objected to by the missionaries, but, strange to say, the natives themselves seem to take very little interest in it; they call it “the dance belong women”; and were it such an immoral proceeding, surely the men would crowd to see it.

The ordinary Dubu is a rough platform about four feet high and built upon stout piles. More elaborate ones are to be seen in some districts, and these are decorated with weird designs and strange carvings, with flanges reaching out right and left and long beams carved like gigantic bullocks’ horns and decorated with gaudy tassels that add a quaintness to them; they stand some ten feet off the ground, whilst others have posts rising fifteen feet above the ground and ending in a half-moon design, but these bigger ones are not used for the girls to dance on, but are kept for ceremonial purposes.

A score of girls, dressed up to the nines in their twine skirts (reaching about as far down as a Parisian ballet girl’s dancing costume) and completely tattooed, suddenly begin prancing through the village, swinging in their hands a long string at the end of which is a ball. By practised movements {55} they make it curve in grotesque shapes around their bodies, and all the time this is going on they are swinging their skirts backwards and forwards by a peculiar movement of their bodies, from their waists. This extraordinary performance of pirouetting maidens goes on for some time to the accompaniment of drums. Then, at a given signal, they mount the Dubu and discard their skirts, and stand unadorned before the spectators who, as I said before, are nearly all women. Then married women anoint them, whilst others bring them baskets of areca nuts and yams. The yams they cut up in pieces, and whilst doing so go through graceful movements which display their figures to the best advantage. Then suddenly, at another given signal, they start pelting the onlookers with the nuts, which are scrambled for by the women amid laughter and screams of delight; they are like children at a fair, and almost as simple. When all the nuts are finished the girls slip on their skirts and jump down, and so ends this, the most terrible dance of the modest maids of Papua. There is another famous dance which takes place on the departure of the Lakatois for the annual trading expedition up the Gulf.

Professor Haddon, in his book the Head Hunters, relates an amusing thing he saw at Veifaa, {56} of which this dress incident reminds me. He says that though the natives in this place are never seen in any but native costume, the missionaries have insisted on the women wearing calico gowns whilst attending divine service, and it was an amusing sight, he continues, to see the girls and women arriving at the church, for—on entering the courtyard—they pulled these European costumes over their half-nude bodies; but it was still more comic to see the way they pulled themselves out of them directly the service was over. He adds, that in spite of their scant clothes and the above peculiarity, the women are extremely modest.

Tattooing cannot be said to be as general in New Guinea as in many other places, but in some districts the women are particularly well tattooed, the whole of the upper part of their bodies being completely covered with intricate designs. The methods of making the patterns vary, but as a rule, the woman lies on the ground whilst two others work them out with a stick dipped in burnt resin. When the whole is finished it is pricked in by means of a sharp thorn attached to a stick and bound tightly to it with fibre. Most of the women have extraordinary designs on their thighs, which they make a point of showing when they are dancing.

Outrigger canoes, their appearance and construction—The famous Lakatois—How the natives catch their fish; and a few words about fish that climb trees—A trip down the coast, and an unpleasant experience.

If you can imagine a cloudless sky of a deep blue colour, a sea so smooth that not a ripple is visible, and so clear that you can look down into it and see the dark rocks and the sandy bottom and strangely shaped fish swimming idly about amongst bushes of seaweed, which wave and curl with the ebb of the tide; and floating masses of jelly which occasionally double themselves into balls and then become floating masses again. If you can picture all this you will have an idea how clear the waters of the South Seas are when the sky is cloudless. The hot sun is overhead, and the still air is full of a sweet fragrance. Just above you you will see a frigate bird sailing lazily about, and by the sea shore just a faint ripple and a line of white show {58} you quaint and picturesque canoes—not the ordinary mere dug-out things which are so narrow in body that there is only room for a medium-sized man to sit, but long curiously shaped ones with poles stretching across and extended far out over the side; they are slightly arched, and at the end there is a log which rests in the water and lies parallel to the boat.

These outriggers are queer constructions, but no sea can upset a boat possessing them, and with the light shining full on the bright skins of their half-naked occupants, they look still more eccentric. To see a dozen of these queer craft being swiftly paddled through the water by men with bushy heads and fine massive bodies, and women more nude than dressed, but with their hair cropped close to their skulls, is not a sight to be seen everywhere, and well repays all the thousand little disadvantages that journeying to these parts entails.

There is a safety in an outrigger canoe that one cannot feel in ordinary native boats. There is not the same swift movement that one experiences when skimming through the water rowed by a half-dozen muscular Maoris in their light-built canoes, or flying down rapids in a Canadian canoe, but in {59} place of it there is the calm repose of absolute security, and at times this latter condition is not to be scorned, especially when every moment you can see the fin of a shark rise out of the water. Clumsy looking as these boats are, it is wonderful what complete control the natives have over them, how swiftly they swing them round or skim them between dangerous rocks, and dash over the surf through waves that would swamp and capsize an average lifeboat. These irresponsible creatures paddle on through the worst of waters, laughing at the spray as it breaks over them, and shouting with glee as they mount the great waves, which carry them high and dry on to the shore.

Then the stately Lakatois with their queer-shaped sails, looking as unlike sails as the body of a boat is unlike a canoe. They resemble an elongated kite with a semicircle cut out of the top, and if you saw one for the first time coming towards you on a dark night, it would give you a fright, so grotesque and weird is it. In daylight, however, its horrors disappear and the ingeniousness of its construction appeals to you; after watching it sailing placidly out to sea, steered as easily as any yacht, a feeling of admiration for the savage inventor of it comes over you. {60}

To explain its construction would be a task too difficult for me, but, roughly, it consists of two or three large canoes lashed together and boarded over. On these boards is a kind of barn cut down and spread out considerably. This is used both for shelter and for carrying the pots and articles of barter. From the centre of this raft-like barge the two enormous sails project straight into the air; the two horn-like points of the top are decorated with long streamers; whilst others ornament the sails, making it look like a carnival barge. How the wind is caught or how the boats are moved about is a mystery to any but those who work them; if you ask a native he will explain it all to you: “He good fellow belong salt water, go easy.” And that is as much information as I can give. So with this vivid, though somewhat technical description of how the boat travels, you too must be satisfied, and look rather at its beauty than its ways of working.

The method of building canoes in these parts is interesting. A log of soft wood is obtained from an up-country tribe in exchange for fish or some other produce, and its outside is shaped by means of an ordinary English axe, while the inside is hewn out with the native stone adzes. These {61} they still prefer for delicate work, though they often attach the head of them to an ordinary axe handle. When a sufficiently deep hollow is made, the native lights a fire in it and works it about until the rough edges are smoothed down and other faults are rectified.

Firing is also used to finish the outside, and if the fire goes out, or anything but a perfect result is finally obtained, they put the cause of it down to some accident, or wrong action which they have done in their youth. Nearly all their calamities are thus explained.

The small canoes when finished often have the outriggers completely boarded over, thus turning them into big rafts, and making them capable of carrying enormous quantities of barter; for it is by boat they carry their goods from village to village along the coast. The Lakatois are always used for long trips, and carry big crews, being often loaded to their full carrying capacity. When leaving Port Moresby for these periodical trips they carry pottery and exchange it for sago and other food.

The pottery industry flourishes at Port Moresby, and at most times it is possible to see the women at work. Men never assist them in this industry; generally very thin old hags seem {62} to superintend all the most difficult part of the work. The clay used for it is, I believe, a natural clay brought down from the interior and exchanged for some other article. Instead of using a pottery wheel, each pot is literally built up from the inside and rounded with a stick or by hand—the sphere getting larger and larger, whilst the inside, towards the top, gets smaller. When finished a fire is lit and stones built up over it, and directly the right heat is obtained, the newly made pot is placed on them and baked.

Nearly all the cooking is done in these contrivances, and they seem capable of standing any heat as well as a good deal of rough usage.

Sago, yams, bananas, sweet potatoes, cocoa-nuts, and fish are the staple foods which the New Guinea natives fatten on. The fish is often smoked and cooked in the earthenware pots or eaten raw. The method of smoking it varies, but generally it is roughly done in a hut.

Owing to the extensive coral reefs all round these islands, fishing by means of nets is a difficult task, and one that does not often pay, as they get torn to pieces on the reefs. Line fishing suffers from the same disadvantage, so that when a big haul of ground fish is wanted a method introduced by the {63} traders is adopted—fishing with dynamite. This sounds somewhat peculiar, but it is most effective.

Directly a shoal of fish is seen a charge of dynamite is exploded in the water, which has a most disastrous effect on the fish, as it stuns all within a tremendous distance of the discharge. Boats are then run out, and with the aid of the natives the unconscious fish are picked up and thrown into them.

The Papuans thoroughly enjoy the sport, and dive and swim after the floating things with great glee, laughing, and the shouting and splashing as they swim through the water with a fish in their mouth and one in each hand, is tremendous. On reaching the boat they throw them in and are away again as quick as lightning after more.

Spearing is another method the natives have, for which purpose they erect platforms in the water. The fisher will stand on this platform with a long spear in his hand attached to which is a long thin cord. Holding the spear in the air, ready to throw, he waits like a statue till his eyes catch sight of a big fish in the clear waters beneath. Then suddenly you see the spear fly from his hand, and the next minute he is yelling {64} with delight and hauling in a struggling fish at the end of his spear.

The young natives are also fond of shooting fish, and go off in parties armed with bows and arrows, seldom returning without a good bag.

One often hears extraordinary tales of fishermen, and perhaps there is none better than the one told by Jerome K. Jerome of the plaster cast that every one claimed to have caught, but even this has to take a back seat when you are first told that a man has seen fish climbing trees. But in spite of the apparent tallness of such a yarn it is nevertheless true. In New Guinea these piscatorical gymnasts can be seen, and Mr. Hardy, when visiting Tupusuli (one of the most unique marine villages in New Guinea, lying a few hours’ sail south of Port Moresby), had the pleasure of seeing these fish at their exercises.

The trip was an interesting one and worth relating. At the invitation of the Rev. Dr. Brown, whose missionary work in these parts is well known, Mr. Hardy accompanied him on a trip down the coast to Tupusuli. Among the doctor’s guests were Dr. Wyllie who was out there on scientific work, Prof. von Yost, a German journalist who at certain times claimed direct relationship to {65} Bismarck, and a few others who also can verify the following, as they too were among the party. It was a jolly expedition, and the yacht, which belonged to Dr. Chalmers the head of the missionaries in New Guinea, was captained by a Raratongan chief who was noted for his enormous strength. The scenery along the coast is wild and broken; here and there little villages backed by palm groves can be seen, and natives running about on the shore add to the beauty of the scene.

Tupusuli lies in a little bay, and is protected from intrusion by coral reefs and mud-banks, but the yacht safely manoeuvred these, and then the village came in sight. At low tide it looks extremely weird, as some of the huts are built on very high piles a considerable distance from the shore, right out in the mud. The village proper is also completely surrounded by water at high tide; behind it is a row of splendid palms, and a broad street dividing some huts where the men are generally seen canoe-making. As the tide was out when the yacht anchored, the party had to be taken off in the gig and landed on the nearest mud-bank, from which they waded into the village.

On the way they passed a clump of mangroves, partly surrounded by water, and it was here these {66} quaint little fishes were seen climbing up the bark of the mangoes. In appearance they look like a very small mackerel, though the head is rounder and more nobby, and from the breast two little legs, like those of a caterpillar, protrude. The tail and fins are exactly the same as those of other small fish. They seemed very shy, and on the approach of the strangers they scuttled down the trunk and sprang back into a pool of water at the foot of the tree, and nothing would induce them to show up again. Here at Tupusuli are the ruins of an old Dubu house, which looks as if it had been an exceedingly large one.

After examining the canoes and many of the houses the party made their way back to the gig, and as the tide was now in they had not far to walk. On reaching the yacht, however, it was found that the anchor had got jammed, and as the wind was blowing pretty hard and the tide running in, the captain feared that they would go aground on a very nasty reef unless they got away quickly. All hands were brought to bear on the chain, but to their horror they found that their pulling was of no avail; all the time the yacht was swinging round and getting dangerously near the reef. Suddenly from the shore a dozen canoes were seen coming out {67} full pelt. The natives had guessed what was wrong and were rowing out to help. Soon the water was black with canoes, and the shouts of the natives were almost deafening. At last they were alongside, and one standing in the bow of his boat looked up at our captain. “Me fix him, captain, you get anchor all right,” he shouted, and the next instant he had dived head foremost under the yacht. No sooner was he out of sight than another followed, and so on till the water was in a regular foam with diving and swimming natives, there must have been dozens of them, whilst crowds of others hung round in their canoes anxiously watching for their comrades to come up and report progress. As each woolly pate shot out of the water the watchers called out questions, but without answering they dived again—they had only come up for breath—and neither the party nor the natives were able to find out what was wrong. After nearly ten minutes’ work they all came up, and their disappointed faces told the tale. It was no good, the anchor was completely jammed, and in spite of all their efforts these good fellows could do nothing.

To save the yacht from grounding the chain had to be cut, and shortly after that the yacht rode out {68} of the bay clear of the rocks, amid the cheers of the natives.

Jamming of anchors in these parts is not an uncommon experience, and to avoid losing them many skippers carry a charge of dynamite about with them, which they slide down the anchor chain at the end of a piece of slack rope. If the charge is timed properly and all goes well, the coral, between which the anchor is fixed, is blown to smithereens. Some skippers, however, have had any but pleasant results from this experiment, and have not only lost their anchor but considerably damaged their boats.