E. Way Elkington

Islands that are advancing rapidly—Native houses with modern improvements—A horrible method of getting rid of the old men, and other burial ceremonies.

There is a remarkable difference between the natives of the New Hebrides group and any of the inhabitants of the adjoining islands. In character, disposition, mode of living and religion, they are in many respects far ahead of their neighbours, and, strange to say, so are the islands. The soil is better and the climate is more to the liking of the European, and, owing to the proximity of the islands to Sydney, they are better served and more up-to-date. Port Vila in Sandwich Island, the chief centre, is only five days’ sail from that city.

Settlement in the New Hebrides has been going on for some time, and the white population has nearly doubled itself within the last few years. In 1901, the French residents and traders far out-numbered the English, but to-day another tale is {144} told, and British enterprise and power of colonisation have made a difference in this group; so much so that they are hardly recognisable, and they only need careful legislation to enable them to overcome the obstacles mentioned earlier in this book.

Where dense, uncleared bush grew a few years ago in tangled confusion, blocking out even the light by its thickness, acres of cultivated ground can now be seen, which bring to their owners results worthy of twice the toil that has been expended on them.

The Hebrides is a veritable paradise for the pioneer settler who loves the wild freedom of island life and is not afraid of work.

A good deal of the prosperity of these islands is undoubtedly owing to the strenuous efforts of the missionaries, the Australian Government, and that gigantic trading firm of Messrs. Burns Philp, who have established a monthly service of steamers, which call at all the important islands to deliver and take away produce. Throughout the South Seas they have trading stations, but in New Hebrides their success has met with better returns than elsewhere, owing to the greater number of settlers who have gone there and made their homes in these beautiful islands.

The chief industry is, as in the Solomon Islands, copra, but coffee, maize, tobacco, bananas, pineapples, and many other tropical products, are being cultivated successfully, and each year shows some new advance in agriculture; it is safe to say that before long these islands will not be far behind the West Indies.

Another feature that has assisted the prosperity of this group is the fact that those natives who have served their three years on the plantations in Queensland have not gone back to idleness, as the Solomon islanders have, but, in the majority of cases, have set to work on a patch of ground of their own, from which they have earned good money and so have assisted the prosperity of their country.

It is needless to say that with all these changes the ancient customs of the natives are fast dying out, which in some cases is rather sad; but, as may be supposed, in others it is a good thing, and the sooner their worst ceremony, that of burying the old men alive, is wiped out the better.

Even to-day, in Malekula, this custom, which has prevailed evidently since the beginning of the race, is only kept alive by the old men; the younger ones show an absolute distaste for it. {146} Directly a man or woman shows signs of decrepitude or helplessness, those who are nearest to that stage themselves tell him that his time has come, and that his burial will take place on such and such a date.

On the arrival of the day, the grave for the intended victim is dug, and, in front of a large crowd, the old man is led or carried to it—if he be too weak to get into it himself. He is then stretched out at full length, and, whilst incantations are sung, the earth is thrown over him, and willing hands soon have the ground level and solid above him, and the old man is left there to die. The spectators of this ghastly scene then adjourn to a feast, which is to many of them the most important part of the ceremony.

In some cases the buried man has had sufficient strength left in him to upheave the earth and rise out of his grave, and has even attempted to join the feast, but he has been still considered dead, and no one has given him food. If he be strong enough and can obtain food for himself, he is buried again and again, until at last he has to die from pure exhaustion, if nothing else. Should, however, a very tough customer be met with, and it is found that he refuses to die, and each time gets out of {147} his grave, he is strangled before being buried again; for once his death sentence has been passed it must be carried out—he is a dead man from that hour and nothing can save him. I may add that directly the man is buried his property is divided amongst the villagers, so that if he were allowed to come back he would be a homeless wanderer, and no one would have anything to do with him.

In deference to the other islands it is only fair to state that Malekula is the most savage one of the group. From a missionary point of view the island of Tanna is perhaps the worst, as it is stated that, after sixty years of labour on this island, the converts to Christianity can all be counted on the fingers of two hands.

Aoba and Sandwich Islands are both beautiful spots and more favoured than any of the other islands, when beautiful scenery is required. There are two fine volcanoes, which add considerably to the interest of the New Hebrides. One of them is at Ambryn, which almost rivals Etna, and is generally belching forth fire and fumes and now and then a heavy stream of lava, which makes it somewhat dangerous—as was proved not a dozen years ago by an eruption there which played havoc with the place, absolutely destroyed a whole {148} village, and discoloured the sea for miles round. The roar of the other one at Tanna can be heard quite distinctly at Port Resolution. One of the peculiarities is that an eruption occurs systematically every five minutes, though it is not a bad one. The walk to the volcano through the dense forest from Port Resolution is very beautiful, and if one keeps on the weather side of it, so as to avoid the fumes, a more enjoyable half-hour’s climb cannot be found. On reaching the top the full view of the enormous chasm is appalling, and the rugged, torn, and blistered sides, the curling smoke and fumes, and the great gulf, present a picture rivalling our worst ideas of the lower regions. The explosion which shakes the whole mountain puts a finishing touch to the scene.

In spite of their more civilised condition the New Hebrides natives are intensely interesting, owing to the fact that they can speak English, and like to boast about their acquaintance with Englishmen in Queensland, and therefore think it necessary to speak the English language to show they have been there. This enables a visitor to get information regarding their customs and ceremonies much more easily than in the other groups.

In the foreground are seated two men, the one on the left with a bow. The women behind them have their heads shaved in the usual way, with only a mane down the top of the head. On the ground are ordinary native pots. The long poles in the thatch are for the purpose of keeping it from being blown off, and the poles in front are a defence against pigs and dogs, one of which is seen coming round the corner.

The natives themselves, taking them as a whole, {149} are better built and of a more striking appearance than those of the Solomon Islands. They resemble more nearly the Fijian type than any of the inhabitants of the sister islands.

A peculiarity most noticeable in the villages is that there is greater cleanliness and order; the houses are mostly built in groups of four or five, and are low, broad, barn-like huts in which you have to climb up a few feet and down again in order to gain admittance to the living rooms. They are built on the ground and not on piles, and each group is surrounded by a coral wall on which are stuck long bamboo canes. These take root immediately, as the wall is built when the coral is soft, and present an interesting sight. The bamboo canes form a fine high fence, which, unfortunately, in time totally obscures the houses.

A gap in the wall is left for the residents of these queer compounds to pass backwards and forwards. Between the houses and the wall a large cleared space is left where the pigs, the dogs, and the babies play.

The interiors of the houses are not quite as pleasant or artistic. The whole place inside is blackened with smoke and soot, owing to the smoke from the fire having no proper outlet. The {150} fire is usually lit as near the door as possible, but as the doors are very low the smoke has first to fill the room before it finds its way out. The thatch being thicker than is usual there is very little room for escape in that quarter. Bamboo is used chiefly to build the frames on which to thatch the grass. Forked sticks of a stouter material bear the main weight of the roof, flimsy bamboo canes are bent right over the ridge pole about six inches apart, and secured to another stout pole near the ground, lathes are then run across the bamboo and lashed to them with fibre, and on this framework the outside of the house is made.

The floors are covered with mats on which the natives squat by day and sleep at night. Screen mats also divide the interiors of the huts and cut off the sleeping apartments. A few cooking utensils and worn-out, soot-begrimed weapons are generally to be seen lying about, but beyond these articles and the natives themselves, nothing else takes up any room in these dark abodes.

Each island has its own particular way of building a house, and those in Malekula are perhaps the best and most modern. Light is admitted to them through a window at the back, which is boarded up at night or in rough weather.

Round these houses are dry-built stone or coral walls. I saw more huts on this island encompassed in this way than on any other. The large shell hanging from the pole is a sign of a tapu.

The usual custom of natives to build near a fresh-water stream is not carried out in the New Hebrides; they seem to object to fresh water and seldom, if ever, drink it.

Occasionally they bathe in the sea; but here again they show a marked difference to the other islanders, for they seldom swim except when necessity compels them to do so, and so averse are they to water that they will actually walk an extra half-mile to avoid having to wade or swim through a creek.

The sanitary arrangements of the village are, of course, conspicuous by their absence, and were it not for the crowd of dogs, pigs, and fowls, no visitor could go near them. The work of the missionaries, however, has done much to improve the home life of the natives, and in many villages their influence shows itself in the better construction of the houses and the greater neatness of the villagers; and much as the searcher after “original conditions” might object to these improvements, he must declare that from an artistic point of view, if from no other, these villages surpass those where the missionaries have not been able to make headway.

The blending of savage ideas and European {152} methods makes a quaint and interesting picture. A thatched squat native house with a neat coral path is infinitely better than the muddy, sloppy places of the past, and a hut where one can see when inside it, and where one is not blinded by the smoking fire, is surely much better than one in its native condition, smoke-begrimed and smelling, however natural its former condition was.

The tambu houses are more carefully constructed here, and are thatched with banana leaves. They are of course much bigger than the living houses, and are to be seen close to the dancing grounds in each place. In them are kept all the accessories to the dances, for dancing plays a more important part in the life of the New Hebridean than it does elsewhere, and very elaborate grounds, houses, and regalias are used. But this side of the life we will leave for another chapter, as to understand it a further insight into their other ceremonies is necessary.

Ancestor worship the religion of the New Hebrides—Temples and strange figures, and some sacred dances.

Ancestor worship was undoubtedly the original religion of the New Hebrideans, and in many islands the present form of worship is based upon it. According to Mr. Macdonald, a resident in Exate, the followers of it believe that after death the soul passes through six stages before it finally dies. When its earthly life is over it goes to the gate of Hades, which is situated at Tukitaki, at the western extremity of the island. Here it meets Seritan the cannibal executioner, and his two assistants Vanas and Maxi. Certain questions are then put by them to the soul, and if it does not answer them satisfactorily it is passed on to Maseasi, who cuts out its tongue, splits its head open, and twists it back. If the questions asked by these officials at the gate are well answered, then the {154} soul is permitted to go on in peace through its various stages.

Seritan in olden days was a noted cannibal chief, hence his work now in Hades seems particularly suitable to his past experience. This idea of the hereafter has a faint resemblance to the Maori beliefs; they hold that there are certain stages to be gone through, and the same belief of questions being asked is adhered to—though their final end, if they be worthy men and true, is not annihilation, as far as I could gather from the older chiefs, but a life of pleasure.

The trouble is, however, that they have undoubtedly got their ideas mixed up—a fault one finds with nearly all the savage races of to-day.

In EfatÉ there are certain classes of people who are allowed to pass unquestioned into Hades—those belonging to the Namtaku tribe, and others who have certain figures carved on their bodies. Why they don’t all go through this operation and escape the chance of having their necks broken is a mystery, but they are not the only believers in certain religious rites who do not bother about testing them.

Modifications of the above belief are also held in other islands, and in Malekula it is supposed {155} that three stages only are gone through before the perfect spiritual condition is reached, and that the soul then fades away into nothingness.

The sacred men of these islands will tell you that they periodically visit the first stopping-place of the departed souls, and they say it is a long way under the ground. In this place all the important affairs of the world are discussed and arranged, and it is from here that the spirits work and punish those who do not follow the dictates of the sacred men. These priests or sacred men in this way have gained a tremendous control over their fellow-men, for superstition is strong and no native dare disobey a sacred man.

Sacrifices of pig and other foods have to be made to inhabitants of the under world, and feasts are laid out for them, which they are supposed to devour when no one is near—a spiritual feast, so spiritual, indeed, that none but those who believe in these things can see the slightest signs of any of the food having been touched. Such incredulity, however, has no effect on the natives, they look at you in a pitying way when you infer that the food has not been touched—such is belief.

In connection with their religion certain peculiarly shaped stones are denominated sacred and {156} are said to contain the spirits of departed relatives. In the case of a chief the stone is placed in a hut to preserve it from rough weather, and round it are arranged effigies of the chief, and perhaps of one or two of his nearest relations.

These images, or demits as they are called, are ghastly looking things, and when one comes suddenly up against them their full horror is apparent. After death the chief is decapitated and the skull is cleaned and bleached, and then, with a preparation of clay and fibre, a face representing his, as it was while he was alive, is modelled on the bare skull; his peculiarities in feature are emphasised to a degree bordering on caricature, but they are not meant as caricatures, but are intended only to bring back to the beholders the characteristic points of the chief’s face.

This figure represents a departed chief who has gone to the under world and become a “Demit.”

The figure is made on a framework of wood or bamboo, covered with clay and vegetable fibre. The head is the real skull of the chief covered in the same way as the body with real hair and beard; the arms, round which are pigs’ tusks, are made from a small plant, the root forming the hands. One of the reasons the natives have for making figures in this way is that the chief may still be able to look upon his friends. At the side of the figure is a bundle of sacred pigs’ jaws; in front is a priest.

The body of the effigy is built up on a framework of wood, and covered with the same preparation of clay and fibre and modelled in a like manner, but, as a rule, it is seriously out of proportion. When this imitation body is finished it is coloured in three shades, red, black, and white (sometimes blue is found on them, but as the natives are unable to obtain this colour naturally it is only used where the traders can supply it). Down the trunk of the body long stripes are made, running {157} vertically or horizontally, and round the legs bands of these alternate colours are painted. The shoulders and knees are decorated with grotesque faces, surmounted by tufts of fibre which often rise to a distance of three or four inches. A bamboo cane is stuck in each of these tufts, and on the top of it splendid specimens of boars’ tusks are sometimes to be seen.

The hands of these idols are made from the roots of a sapling, and add to the weirdness of the picture. Bracelets of boars’ tusks are also found on some of these effigies.

Other sheds and places of worship contain somewhat different things. The sacred stone is guarded by nude wooden figures of men and women, cut in the roughest style and free from ornament. The posts holding up the shed have also elaborate figures of strangely misshaped heads with shapeless bodies attached.

But to the more important part of their religion. In every village there is a “sing-sing” ground laid out—this is the slang term for it, but it is appropriate. These grounds are kept for dancing, not the frivolous dancing of the Europeans, but a sacred, awe-inspiring, religious ceremony. The very idea of frivolity seems wrong in such a place. {158} The cleared space is surrounded by a dense, dark bush, and on the edge of the clearing high wooden posts slanting in various directions are stuck into the ground. These drums, for such they are, are grotesque things, standing from four to six feet high, with a dark slit down the centre, and a fearsome face carved on the front; some are all face and look like terrible nightmares, and each has behind it a carved stone.

Picture yourself on one of these grounds on a warm moonlight night, when a dance is to take place. Dense clouds are rolling over the sky and now and then obscuring the moon or sending fitful shadows across the bare space; beyond is black bush so thick that it looks like a weird inferno. You wait and listen, and hear nothing but the roar of the distant volcano. Presently a crowd of stark naked natives make their appearance and take up their position each by the side of a drum, and begin a dull beating noise to call the dancers. In the centre of the ground is a circle of five or six white poles, some thirty feet long, bent and crooked and leaning all ways.

These drums are made of large tree-trunks, burnt out in the centre through the long slot down the middle; both the slot and the round openings are sound-holes. The meaning of the designs on the drums is unknown. A heavy round drum-stick of wood is used. Every one of the drum-groves I have seen appeared to be haunted by an old man or two. Round the drums the “M’AKI” ceremony takes place.

When deserted these “sing-sing” grounds are uncanny enough, but on a dance night they are worse, and when the drumming commences, which {159} sounds as if it came from the bowels of the earth, and makes the flesh of your back feel as if it wanted to come off, the climax is reached. You become chock-full of the supernatural, and would not be in the least surprised if the earth opened up and the dancers appeared amidst flames and smoke. Nothing quite as bad does happen, but, presently, lights are seen flashing in the bush, and dark objects holding torches come out and calmly take up their position in the circle, till nearly a hundred human beings, naked save for paint and streamers, are moving about.

Suddenly the drumming noise changes to a sort of tattoo, and then a file of men line up and begin to keep time to the drums with their feet; slowly at first, and then faster and faster till the very earth shakes, and the dull thudding echoes through the dark bush. Then a savage song is heard, a low chanting, and the men begin to whirl round and round the posts till the eye becomes glazed and the flickering light from the torches conjures up a thousand things that never happen, but the drumming, monotonous beating of those wooden images goes on and the tapping of the feet. The crowd of women over by the bush stand watching in an almost hypnotic state, their bodies swaying {160} unconsciously to the beating of the drums and the feet—black naked women with vermilion-coloured faces, and white, staring, rolling eyes watching every movement of the dance. Then a sudden dying away of the drums and the shuffling of the feet and silence. It is weird indeed.

The women step forward, it is their turn now, and a wild scene commences. More weird and more noisy than ever. Their shrill voices, mingling with the thumping of the drums and the gruff monotones of the men, make the bush resound. This is kept up for a long time, and then suddenly they all rush off and the place is left in darkness.

On the morrow a big feast is held and the chief kills the sacred pigs. The ceremony attached to this is worth seeing, as it is one of those customs that are so time-worn that both their significance and original meaning are lost and only the outward ceremony remains. For this the natives are highly decorated with flowers and paint, and their frills and plumes are extra well attended to. After a few preliminary canters round the dancing ring to drive away the evil spirits, the chief and sacred men appear, carrying spears. To the accompaniment of drums these worthies pirouette round the ground. When this exercise is finished a band of {161} natives face them and sing a wild song. Girls next appear before the chief, highly be-plumed and be-feathered and with faces stained bright red. They in their turn dance and sing. Next comes the procession composed of men only, who carry the pig, which, like Paddy’s, has a string tied to its leg in case it tries to get away. The procession goes round the whole circle while the drums are beaten in a quick tattoo—the squeals of the pig do not in the least affect these stolid drummers, who ever keep time and never smile. At last, when the circle is complete, the pig is cast at the feet of the chief, who spears it with much gusto and then flings the spear away. The pig is sometimes properly killed afterwards, but it is not considered necessary. It is then carried away to where the spear, thrown by the chief, has fallen. This is the way the pig is sacrificed to the sacred stone. Each stone has to have its pig, so the killing goes on until the right number has been slain. Then comes the cooking of all the dead and dying grunters, and the biggest feast of the season is commenced. So fat is the feast that at least half-a-dozen of those taking part in it have to be removed and rubbed down by their comrades, or the women-folk, to save them from death from over-gorging. {162}

There are many other ways of performing these dance and pig ceremonies, and each island, in fact each village, varies the performance, but they all begin with a dance and end with a feast, which is the usual programme for savage functions.

Concerning witchcraft—More about burials—The gentle art of making love—The rain-makers.

Superstition and witchcraft are strongly in evidence in the New Hebrideans, and the natives have more than their share of both. Besides those things to which I have already alluded, there is a peculiar idea held in some of the islands that certain sacred men have the power of killing by witchcraft. The method adopted by them is similar in many respects to the usual custom, that of making an image of the man or woman whose death is required, and then doing to it what it is wished shall happen to the original. In the island of Tanna the method differs slightly, for here, instead of an image being made, part of the person’s property is stolen and taken to the sacred man who works destruction to its late owner, but he must have this property in his possession, or his maledictions will fail. {164}

The sacred men who are supposed to possess these powers are called Narak-burners, and they hold their position through being the possessors of certain stones known as Narak stones, which they, or their fathers, have at some time found and buried in the vicinity of their house. Some of these stones are in the British Museum and show no signs of anything supernatural about them, but the natives hold them in great dread and reverence.

When a man desires the death of any one, he visits the Narak—he may only desire to give him a disease, but it is usually death he is after when calling on the Narak-burner—and brings with him some hair or food or some particle of clothing belonging to the man he wishes shall suffer. This he presents to the Narak, who doctors it up and then wraps it in leaves and burns it over a sacred fire, lit, it is presumed, over or near the place where the Narak stones are hidden. As the article begins to burn, so sickness falls upon the owner, who goes on getting worse until the article is completely turned to ashes; then death comes.

Such is the superstition, but of its power I cannot speak. A large payment of shell-money {165} or pigs has to be made to the Narak-burner before he starts his work, and if a man hears that his effigy is being thus dealt with, or fancies it is because he feels sick, he will hurry off to the “burner” and offer him a bigger price for his freedom than his enemy has paid for his death. The result of this may be guessed, and a keen bidding often results; if he be rich he is allowed to live, but a poor man has no chance.

It is through the fear of Narak burning and evil wishing that the natives bury their hair when they cut it off, and also take care never to leave any half-finished food about. They throw all their refuse into a stream of water, which it is believed removes the power of the Narak-burner.

There are so many quaint ceremonies connected with the lives of these natives that a whole volume might be devoted to them alone; and even then to deal with them all thoroughly the volume would have to be a big one. In this book I only intend touching on the outskirts of those which affect their lives most closely, and even then many of the details must be left out, partly because they can only be explained in a scientific work, and partly because they are so intricate. The whys and the wherefores would lead into endless paths. {166}

If a native is rich, the first way he shows it is by changing his name, and, as in England, money has to be spent for this privilege; in the New Hebrides it means a feast, and a big one at that. On announcing his desire for a new name to the chief, and proving that he has the means of paying for it, the native goes away by himself for a few weeks, during which time he is considered “duli” and is not allowed to see a woman, and only permitted to eat certain things, as in the case of the New Guinea natives when they become ibito.

After his seclusion he is known by his new name, and attends the big religious feast which he himself has provided.

Other ways are found for changing names, and certain natives are rewarded for their bravery and good deeds by being given a new one, in much the same way as a man is knighted in England.

The marriage laws are similar to those in the other islands; and pigs are often given to the parents in exchange for their daughter. The girl being chosen more often for her working capabilities than for her beauty.

The burial ceremony and disposal of the corpse vary considerably in the different islands, but since the introduction of Christianity they are changing {167} to the ordinary Christian burial. In Oceania the author says that in old days “In EfatÉ the body was carefully prepared for burial and then dressed. The burial was accompanied with much solemnity, and great wailing, and animals were slain in sacrifice to the dead at the grave. It was supposed that the spirits or essence of the animals slain would accompany the souls of the deceased to the spirit-world, the entrance to which was the westermost point of EfatÉ, at a place called Takituki.”

“In Malekula,” says Lieutenant Boyle T. Somerville, “a sort of mummy is made, of which specimens were brought to his ship by a white trader, who had procured them in exchange for a rifle at the conclusion of a ‘sing-sing.’ They are said to be the effigies of the chief, whose skull (the only portion retained of all his remains) formed the head. This is plastered with mud to represent a living face, a body of bamboo twigs and mud, highly coloured in black, white and red and purple stripes, forms the figure. On each shoulder a highly conventional face is moulded, looking to right and left respectively, and in each hand is a pig’s lower jaw.”

During Mr. Hardy’s travels in these islands, he came across a kind of graveyard where chiefs were {168} supposed to be buried underground, and a heap of stones and rocks marked the spots where they lay.

The skull-huts, already alluded to, show that this is still another form of burial—they are innumerable.

Rain-making is almost as universal as feeding, and every race has its rain-maker, who, for a consideration, will tap the cloudless sky and bring torrents of water down to quench the thirst of the dry earth. In the New Hebrides the rain-maker goes into the forest and there collects the branches of a certain tree, which he cuts into lengths and lays a dozen or so of them parallel to each other. He then takes another dozen and threads them through the parallel ones, forming a kind of flat basket-work hurdle. Over this contrivance he mutters prayers, and then buries it in a dried-up creek where the water should be running.

More incantations follow this proceeding, and then heavy stones and rocks are placed over the rain producer, and the inhabitants all wait for the rain, which, strange to say, generally comes.

There is no lack of faith in these natives, and when once they have applied to the rain-maker they set to work to make preparation for the rain, which reminds me of an amusing anecdote I heard in {169} America. In Belmont there had been a tremendous drought, and the farmers were in such a fright that they unanimously decided to appoint a certain day on which rain should be prayed for. On the Sunday chosen, the farmers, their wives, and families rose early and started off to church. Just as one party were leaving home a little child of five or six years old suddenly sprang down from the buggy and cried out for them to wait a minute, as she disappeared into the house. Every one wondered what was the matter, and presently, when the child appeared carrying a great big carriage umbrella, they all burst into roars of laughter. “Why,” said the father, “you silly child, there’s not a cloud in the sky.”

For a moment the child looked perplexed. “But, daddy,” she said in a tone of wonder, “aren’t we going to pray for rain?”

The natives of the New Hebrides are very much like this little girl, and perhaps their faith brings about the results they desire. Who knows? Sometimes, however, they get more than they desire.

One writer gives an amusing description of what happened in 1890, at Ambrym, an island adjoining Malekula, when rain was asked for.

“Make us rain,” said the natives to the {170} rain-maker, “or our yams will not grow and we shall starve.”

The wise man consented, and after the machine, described above, was duly placed in a dry water-hole, the rain came down in torrents and did not cease for forty-eight hours. It was so severe that the entire surface of the harbour was fresh to the depth of three or four inches; and the water-hole, where the machine had been placed, had ten feet of water in it; whilst the yams in the plantation were being literally washed out of the ground. So great was the consternation of the natives that they were beside themselves with fear, and rushing to the rain-maker implored him to stop the rain. This, however, was no easy task, as the old man explained, because his machine was buried under ten feet of rushing water. Being unable to dive he could not get it out, and until it was fished out the rain would continue. The scene can be better pictured than described. At last in desperation the aid of the shore natives, who are good divers and swimmers, was sought, and soon the machine was brought out of the creek, and the rain stopped immediately afterwards.

The most remarkable thing about these and like superstitions is that more often than not they come {171} off as the sages predict they will; and when once one does there is no longer any room for doubt, in the minds of those who wish to believe. That incident of rain-making in 1890 will be talked about for years, and the name of the rain-maker will be handed down to future generations.

Native clothing and ornaments—Their arts and industries, their canoes and weapons, and their way of fishing.

In Malekula, EfatÉ, and Tanna the natives wear as many adornments and cram as many ornaments on their bodies as they can, and since this weakness of theirs has been found out, both visitors and missionaries trade on it, when endeavouring to get on the right side of them. Everybody going to these places nowadays takes with him a good supply of trumpery adornments, and exchanges them for native things of ten times their value. Ivory rings and shell rings were the most precious ornaments the New Hebrideans originally wore, but the less wealthy covered themselves with armlets, fibre belts, flowers, and if they could get a comb to stick in their hair they fancied themselves immensely superior to those who had not such a mark of distinction. Trade beads are now added to their possessions, and they work them into most artistic {173} patterns and wear them round their necks. A small mirror will often be seen hanging from a native’s ear-ring, and many other strange combinations of savagedom mixed with civilisation are met with in these islands to-day. A native wearing a calico loin-cloth and a top-hat poised on his woolly head and kept in position by a string round his chin is not an uncommon sight. Another may be seen wearing a pair of knee-breeches, a tennis shirt, with the collar turned up, and a trader’s hat. Another, perhaps dispensing with the breeches, will wear only the hat and shirt. Altogether they seem to do their very best to imitate an English clown, though of course they are not aware of the fact.

To meet a burly native with elaborate ear-rings, an ivory spike through his nose, and his face well marked, with a collar and dickey hanging round his neck, seems absolutely ridiculous, but the proud possessor of such a costume will strut about as if he were the best-dressed man in the islands. As may be supposed they look particularly coy, some of them, and only require a banjo and a pair of trousers to make ideal Christy Minstrels. The humour of their costumes, needless to say, does not strike them, and their less-clothed neighbours look on them with envy, whilst the girls bill and coo at the {174} sight of them—such is fashion. A tappa loin-cloth, similar to the Fijian cloth, was originally the fashion amongst the women in parts of this group of islands, prior to the coming of the white man, and it was held round the waist by a belt of fibre and ornamented with coloured or stained grass. But, back in the bush, the married women were the only ones who wore anything that could be really called a costume, the younger women’s attire being only flimsy grass mats made of streamers, and tied round their waists—which from a point of decency would be equal to a piece of mosquito netting. The men were always clothed to a certain extent, owing to a peculiar belief they hold that they must not be seen naked.

Feathers play a prominent part in head dress on special occasions, such as at the dance I have already mentioned. The hair is never shaved off the men’s heads but left to grow wild, and some of them possess very fine beards and moustaches, but all cannot boast such growth. I have seen a good few with moustaches like boarding-house tooth-brushes.

Tattooing is not common, but cicatrices are, and most men bear curious marks on their bodies. These are made when they are quite young by cutting a pattern on the skin and then continually {175} removing the scab until a deep kind of scar is formed. It takes a long time to become perfect, but when it is they are exceedingly proud of it.

Paint is sometimes used for decorating their faces and bodies in place of tattooing, but it is very ugly and disfigures both the men and women. Red, black, and white are the chief colours used, and no particular design characterises the work; the painter generally puts what his fancy suggests, and no meaning is attached to it, as is generally the case with the native markings.

The women are the workers here as elsewhere, and at basket-making and mat-plaiting they are splendid hands. Clothes used to be made by them and bartered for food to villagers on the coast. The mats are made from fibre, which in its turn is made from the pandanus leaf by cutting it into long shreds with a piece of shell and then allowing it to dry. Most of the mats have some sort of a pattern on them, and are now greatly prized by collectors. In the New Hebrides they are put on the floor of the huts, and are also used as screens to cut off the sleeping apartments from the day room. Some more artistic than others are fringed with feathers or tassels of discoloured grass. These, however, are generally made to sell to the tourist. {176}

Baskets are also manufactured in some of the islands. Pottery, however, is a forgotten art here, and a legend accounting for the number of old and broken pieces which may still be found in the bush is worth relating.

The natives believe that their islands at one time in the world’s history were brought up out of the sea by a beautiful goddess, Li Maui Tukituki; they say that when the world was quite new she was carrying home some water in jars, but, owing to the rocky state of the land she spilled the water, which made her so angry that she threw the jars at the ground and in that way punished it and made it still. From that day to this it has not moved. So tradition says, and these broken pieces of pottery are known as the water jars of Li Maui Tukituki and are held in great reverence by the natives.

The tools used for hut-building and canoe-building are made of stone, shell, and iron, but there are very few of the real stone adzes to be found now, except in the museums, as the trade articles have taken their place and are in use all over the islands. Exactly the same kind of canoe is made here as in New Guinea, and the same methods of making it are adopted. The largest canoes are made in Malekula, from whence the natives go {177} long voyages to trade with other islands, and, I suppose, in the old days went hunting heads; some of the canoes are made out of the trunks of the bread-fruit trees. The poles supporting the outrigger are run through holes in the side of the canoe and lashed into position. There are no fine lines in the curves of these boats, they are roughly made and have very little decoration about them. The outrigger itself is just a heavy log of wood pointed at each end.

The sails of the larger boats are now made of trade canvas, though they were originally made of matting. The rowers or paddlers sit in the boat upon the cross beams of the outrigger poles which pass through the gunwale. The steersman sits right aft, and can swing the boat round with marvellous rapidity.

On Rano, a little island near Malekula, are three or four very fine specimens of large war canoes lying on the beach. I mention this, as it has been said by many writers, who have visited these parts, that the New Hebrides natives never possessed large canoes, whereas these are far larger than any in the Solomons, but, judging by their appearance, they have not been in use for ages and ages, nor can the natives there tell anything of their history. {178} There is, of course, a possibility that they may have been stranded there in a storm, but it is not likely, as the stern of one of them is protected by a shed, which looks as if it had always been its resting-place, also, the whole construction is of the Hebridean style. The larger of the two is considerably over thirty feet from stem to stern, and the bow rises up to a height of over ten feet, and is made of a solid dug-out log curved and tapering off to a point, where evidently a figure-head of some sort has been, but now only a rudimentary bird’s head remains, and suspended from the bird’s neck are a pair of boar’s jaws.

The boat prow is ornamented and boxed and laced with sinnet. The depth inside allows more room than is usually found in like structures, and to get this depth the sides have been built up by lacing planks to each other in a curious and ingenious way. The crew to man one of them must have consisted of thirty or forty men at the very least. The stem of the canoe is a high peaked one, curving gently outwards and elaborately carved.

The outrigger is an enormous log, and is attached in the ordinary way, though, of course, owing to its great size, nearly a dozen pegs help to keep the poles in position.

Though reliable information regarding these relics cannot be obtained, it is evident that they are highly prized, as periodically they are covered with freshly fallen leaves to keep the sun from warping them. They are evidently the last of their kind, and show signs of having been occasionally used as sailing canoes with a great mat sail, probably after the style of the smaller craft of similar construction often seen around Pentecost Island. Rano Island, where these boats are, is a pretty little place with a fine beach running up on one side to a densely wooded shore. The village lies back behind a line of scrub, and is completely hidden from the view of the sea. This method of building villages is common in the New Hebrides, and is done to enable the inhabitants to get the first sight of an attacking party.

The weapons of war used by these islanders differ in many respects from those in the other groups. Here the bow and arrow play a conspicuous part in warfare and in hunting. The bows are between six and eight feet long on some islands, whilst at Malekula they are seldom more than five feet; most of them are very roughly made, neither the manufacturers nor owners seemed to mind if the curve of the bow was exact or not. {180} But in Malekula, again, both the workmanship and artistic taste are more advanced.

The arrows are similar all over the group, and measure about three feet in length; they come to a sharp point at the end, which is charred to make it harder. They are each composed of a piece of hard wood pointed at the end, about a foot long, let into a cane shaft and bound at the junction with grass.

On Aoba Island the points of the arrows are very long and are composed of sharpened human bone. It was the custom in the old days to poison the arrows before use, but what method was adopted is not known, possibly they were dipped in rotten fish or human flesh, the favourite method of many savages.

The arrow used for fishing is a much longer one and has three prongs, others of different design are used for shooting birds.

Fish, birds, and a few small animals form the only wild diet for which hunting is necessary. Neither lines nor hooks are used in the New Hebrides for fishing, they scorn this method, in spite of the demonstrations by the whites, and the greater chance they would have of securing big catches. Sometimes, however, they use a small hand-net, but {181} only for small fish, and they are not keen on its use. They stick to their spears, and as a rule they choose a bright moonlight night when the tide is going out, and armed with spears, bows and arrows, they crowd down to the reefs with torches, and dart in and out of the pools where fish are sure to be; then, with a sharpness that is almost incredible, the spears are seen to dart into the water, and come out again an instant after with fine, struggling fish on them. It is great sport, and there is little wonder they enjoy it. Both sight and feeling are brought into play during this pastime. The large fish can be seen and are speared easily, but others which just skim past the fisher’s legs are not as quickly taken, and try the skill of the natives. Others occasionally need a deal of chasing, for once a native has felt his prey he will not rest until he has secured it. He seems to be untiring, and does not stop fishing until he has quite a good haul.

Turtle fishing is not gone in for much, as the natives are superstitious about the turtle, and civilisation has not yet been able to dispel their fears. One of the chief ones is that the eggs are sacred and may not be eaten. But one by one their superstitions are going, for they see how the {182} white man prospers in spite of scorning all their sacred ideas, and that now and then makes them courageous enough to break through the barrier, and when once a superstition has been found untrue, they are not slow in testing another, if by challenging it they can see any gain for themselves.

The cultivation of copra—The labour traffic; when slavery really existed, and the traffic in natives of to-day.

Copra is the staple industry of the New Hebrides, as they say in the geography books, but the output of it is about as reliable as the rainfall, for the supply depends not, as might be expected, on the demand, but on the whim of the natives; if they feel industrious, or are hard pressed for tobacco and provisions, they will go into the bush and bring in a sufficient quantity to meet their needs; but as a rule they will only collect it from their own particular trees near their village and will not go far afield, where they could get double the amount for half the labour.

Cocoa-nut palms grow in patches all over the islands, and particularly along the coast, and they make a charming picture viewed from the sea, with their swaying trunks, and the quaint cluster of leaves at the top: storm-tossed as they are, owing to {184} being top-heavy, they all lean in one direction, the way the wind blows strongest, and give the islands a wild appearance. The rustle of their leaves as one walks beneath them makes a strange noise, and the falling of the nuts on a windy day is a thing one has to be careful to avoid, as a good-sized nut would seriously injure, if not kill, the person on whom it fell.

I have seen a natural grove of these trees nearly a mile long; the dark stems and sage-green leaves against a blue sky, a bright yellow road underneath which scintillated in the sun, and at its far end was all blurred by the heat which rose as heat does from a stove making everything quiver, presenting a beautiful picture not easily forgotten.

All along the coast of Malekula and Tanna the cocoa-nuts grow in abundance. At Samari, New Guinea, there is one giant tree standing by two others and away from the rest, the height of which has been the means of many a sovereign changing hands. For the first thing a new chum, fresh trader, or captain is asked is to guess its height, and few ever guess it correctly, for a more deceptive-looking tree was never born. It grows just behind the village and towers over everything, and is a landmark that guides many a wanderer by land and sea.

The copra trade is of course carried on all over these and the adjoining islands, but one sees more of it going on in the New Hebrides than in the Solomons or New Guinea.

Copra is the white of the cocoa-nut and is not eaten by the natives at all; all they do with the nuts is to drink the milk and use the fibre. Nearly everything out there is made either of the leaves or fibre, and even the trunks of the tree come in very handy for manufacturing articles. When gathering copra the natives scale the trees to get at the nuts, and having collected a good supply they sit down, break them open, and lay them out to dry in the sun.

The oil of the cocoa-nut is chiefly made in England and America, and the only process the nut goes through in the islands is that of drying. When the nuts have been collected they are split in halves very carefully with an axe, and then the halves are laid out in the sun. Very soon the heat loosens the kernel, which comes away and is then broken up into pieces. It is again put in the sun on mats, where it remains until it is thoroughly dried; then it is collected in sacks and sold by weight. Some traders, however, go in for making cocoa-nut oil, but not many, and if they do, a different process {186} has to be gone through. The nut, instead of being split open, has the husk cracked on a sharp pointed stake, it is then torn off and the inside split in two. Next the kernel is scraped out on an iron scraper, which is attached to a stool on which the native squats during the operation, and the white part drops from the scraper into a vessel underneath, and is then put into a cask to rot, after which it is pounded and made into a pulp and placed at the end of a tilted trough—a hollowed-out log or old canoe—until all the oil runs out of it. This oil is then strained and put into casks.

The stench of a copra boat is proverbial, and this, without the copra bugs, is enough to make one keep clear of them as much as possible. Each trader has his copra shed and drying ground, and when Burns Philp’s trading boats call, the sacks of copra are taken out by the resident trader’s “boys” and again sold, this time to be shipped home for further handling. When the oil is extracted in England, nearly double the quantity is obtained from the same amount of nuts, and the refuse is made into cakes for cattle.

When the trading steamers come it is quite an event in the monotonous life of many of the small traders. Mails and provisions are sought with an {187} eagerness that is delightful, for when a man has talked nothing but native languages, and seen nothing but black men for weeks, these visits are naturally the important event, and a newspaper or two, if such luxuries can be found, no matter how old, are seized on by traders as if they were gold.

Copra is practically the only industry that flourishes without artificial aid. Even that is now being helped along, as the natives see there is money in it, and some of the thrifty chiefs are making their men plant the trees and look after them.

Traders and settlers now have plantations of coffee, bananas, and a few other profitable products, as I have already mentioned, and this industry is beginning to be successful. Taros and yams are cultivated by the natives, and require a good deal of attention, and so nearly all the work is left to the women. Yams vary from about the size of a small marrow to a much larger affair. The “Chief’s Yam” is pale pink in colour, and the ordinary ones are like a white mealy potato. In taste they resemble a cross between an artichoke and a potato. Nearly all the villages possess a yam-house, which is a sort of platform made of bamboo with a thatched roof over it; the yams are hung from the top or lie on the platform to dry. {188}

There is a kind of arrowroot which grows wild in the bush, besides a few other native vegetables, but the latter are not of much account unless they are cultivated.

The knowledge of agriculture learned by some of the natives who have returned from Queensland comes in useful. Sometimes evidences of it are to be seen here and there, but it is a lamentable fact that they do not make better use of their opportunities.

Whilst in Queensland they work well, especially the women, and nowadays there is no difficulty experienced in getting labour from these islands. When the labour boat calls, the recruiting agent is soon able to fill his vacancies, and the men he brings back laden with goods make an excellent bait for others.

When engaging the natives a small quantity of money in advance is, I believe, paid to them as an inducement to go, and then they sign on for two, three, or more years to work at the Queensland Sugar Refining Company’s places at Bundaberg, Mackay, and elsewhere on the Queensland coast.

When there, they live chiefly in compounds, and seem to enjoy the change of life. Their chief duties are to cut the sugar-cane, stack it, and put {189} it on the trolleys, which carry it to the refinery works.

The tremendous heat of these fields is beyond description, owing to the number of the canes.

Many of the natives who have gone for a term of three years become so fond of the life that they remain on for much longer periods. Many have been known to petition the Queensland Government to be allowed to remain in the country altogether. They mix up with natives from all the islands, and intermarry in quite a friendly way. If by chance a native of Malekula happened to be left, on his return, in the Solomon islands by mistake, he would probably be made into mincemeat: but abroad they get on very well together.

The labour trade in New Guinea was stopped some years ago, partly by Governor Macgregor, and partly through the natives’ objection to work. In this trait they resemble the Fijians, and consider work is a form of slavery and so beneath them.

There is very little real affection between the natives, they part from one another when going to Queensland with hardly any show of regret. Sometimes when a woman is going her companions cry, but such scenes are exceptional.

On their return, however, things are very {190} different, for they come laden with new and interesting goods and money.

The chief immediately appropriates all the best of these articles, and by so doing confers a great honour on the home-comer. The returned one’s relatives then swarm round him, and each takes what he or she fancies; and the welcoming party, consisting of fellow-tribesmen, receive their little lot for having welcomed the returned one home. The remainder of the goods are taken to their owner’s shed, where they probably remain a few days. Other claimants soon come forward, so that in less than a week the hut is empty of all save the worker and his three years’ experience.

In the old days the labour traffic, or “black birding” as it was called, was one of the most disgraceful trades ever carried on by British subjects. So bad did it finally get that the Government stepped in, and warships were kept on the lookout for these slave-traders, and eventually, after a lengthy period and, strange to say, much opposition, the labour traffic was made into an honest business.

The method adopted by the early kidnappers was to fit out a schooner in Australia in much the same way as a slave-boat, with a large hold arranged with tiers of platforms, on which the natives slept {191} at night. The owners would start out, having secured orders from the Queensland sugar-planters for so many natives at so much per head, and with these signed orders they would visit the islands. At first some of them, according to reports, did try persuasion, and even went so far as to barter with the chiefs for a certain number of natives, but if this failed, as it often did, they simply went ashore and carried off every man or woman they could lay hold of, rowed them out to the ship, and then literally pitched them into the hold. Others they would entice on board by offering to give them presents, and when once on board they never saw the shore again.

During the commission of inquiry into the ways of these slave-dealers some ghastly facts were brought to light, not only on the part of the dealers, but also of the planters, particularly in Fiji where many of the natives were sold. Here it came out that two Englishmen, who were in the habit of brutally ill-treating the natives, once overstepped the mark by tying a woman to a tree and thrashing her, and afterwards they rubbed the juice of the Chili pepper into the wounds. This was quite an ordinary form of punishment; but when they cut the same woman’s toes off, the natives banded {192} themselves together, burned down the whole plantation, and killed the planters’ children. The two planters, sad to relate, escaped.

But those days are passed now, and the planters are very different men, and live their lives in peace and tranquillity, and many of them treat the natives so well that they will do anything for them.

A short sketch of the missionary work in the South Seas—Concerning John Williams, James Chalmers, and others.

I can do no better than conclude this short sketch of the three most important groups of the South Sea islands by touching on the work and lives of those brave fellows the missionaries, who have left all the comforts of their English homes—their best friends and everything else that was dear to them—to teach the gospel of their Master and bring peace and happiness to these wild savages.

It is an easy thing to sneer at these “Gospel punchers” as they are so often called “out west.” But in spite of all the little things against them, one cannot help asking: Is it not through the work of the best of them that we are to-day able to go amongst these savages?

The most bigoted unbeliever if he thinks, and if he knows the sort of lives that many of these pioneers have led, must acknowledge their bravery, {194} even if he doubts their beneficial influence; but only the most ignorant could do that.

Mercenary reasons have always been assigned to account for the presence of the missionary in savage lands and all over the world, and particularly in New Zealand, one hears tales of the way the early missionaries piled up the gold. In Australia the same stories are told, but there was little in these savage South Sea islands to attract the seeker for gold at the time missionaries first began their work, for whatever they made would be at such a risk that it would not be worth their while.

In Australia and New Zealand, of course, there is a difference, in the latter place particularly, for there the Maoris were owners of large tracts of valuable land, and, undoubtedly, one or two of the lukewarm missionaries were tempted and fell.

One story I was told by an old Maori of a certain missionary is worth relating, as his acts rather upset the work of many honest men who were really trying to do good to these noble savages.

“Your clergyman be all right,” said the old man, when I mentioned missionary work. “He teach us about God, but He too greedy. He want all the Maori got.” {195}

“Nonsense,” I said; “who told you that yarn?”

A smile went round the little crowd as the old man glanced at his friends. “Mr. —— he told us to look to God and we looked, while we looked Mr. —— took our land. Then one day he come to us and he say, ‘God wants more land,’ and we gave him more land. Then some time soon he came again and he say, ‘God wants cattle to put on the land.’ And we give him cattle. Then he say, ‘God wants sheep.’ And we give him sheep. Then long time after he come again and he say, ‘God want money to keep the cattle and the sheep.’ But we had no money and so we had no more God.”

It is acts like these, committed by a few of the black sheep, that have made the bushmen, the cattlemen, and the traders sneer at the missionary, and in their ignorance they have condemned the whole for a part.

The trader and the kidnapper of the South Seas have for years fought tooth and nail against the missionaries, and it is they who have spread wild tales of the misconduct and strange practices of these noble men. They had an end in view, as they knew their worst foe was not the savage but the {196} missionary; it is the missionary who has been the means of stopping the ghastly trade in black men; it is the missionary again who has seen that the native was dealt with fairly; and these are the sins he has committed and can never be forgiven.

As early as 1796 the London Missionary Society, then the Missionary Society, undertook the work of sending men to these islands in the hope of winning their inhabitants to better lives. At that time the lives they were living were as bad, if not worse than those of savage beasts, and the publication of Captain Cook’s Voyages in these islands aroused men of Christian feeling, and was the means of the Society sending out men to Tahiti; most of whom eventually died of sickness or were butchered by the natives.

For years these men and others worked their hardest against fearful odds, and for ten years they made little or no progress. Reports show that in 1813 one Tahitian had become a Christian. But this was the beginning, and during the next few years progress was as rapid as it had been slow before. Eventually the king of the island acknowledged the Christian belief, and set to work to destroy the heathen gods.

The adjacent islands were next approached, and {197} the Tahitian Missionary Society was formed with the avowed object of devoting all its energies to the conversion of the natives of these islands. Amongst its teachers the Society had a large body of natives, and it was not only assisted in this way but financially also by the very men who a few years before would have nothing to do with it.

Then came one of the greatest of the great men to these islands; John Williams, who was not only a splendid worker but a magnificent organiser. He soon had a boat fitted out in which he was able to visit the adjoining islands; finally confining his labours to New Guinea and the New Hebrides.

In 1823 Williams discovered Raratonga, an island in the Hervey group, and he seems to have devoted more of his time to the natives of this island than any other. It was his island, “dear Raratonga,” as he always called it. The population of it when he landed he estimated as about 7000, and in less than a dozen years he wrote of them in the following way:—

“I cannot forbear drawing a contrast between the state of the inhabitants when I first visited them, and now in 1834. In 1823 I found them all heathens, in 1834 they were all professing Christians. At the former period I found them with idols and {198} Maraes; these in 1834 were destroyed, and in their stead there were three spacious and substantial places of Christian worship, in which congregations amounting to 6000 persons assembled every Sabbath day. I found them without a written language, and left them reading in their own tongue the wonderful works of God.”

And again he said—

“In reference to the island generally, it may be observed that the blessings conveyed to them by Christianity have not been simply of a spiritual character, but that civilisation and commerce have invariably followed in her train.”

Succeeding this noble man in the islands were men of fine characters, the Revs. William Gill, E. W. Krause, and Messrs. Pitman and Buzacott, and then in 1867 came the man whose sterling good qualities will never be forgotten—James Chalmers, or “Tamate,” the name by which he was always known by the natives.

“Tamate” was bred and born in Scotland, and it was there he grew muscular and learned to love open-air life. Quite as a youth he became enthusiastic to devote his life to missionary work in savage lands; but subsequent events, and probably his companions, who were young men keen on {199} mischief and adventure, helped to make him forget his early aspirations. In fact, in that splendid biography of his written by Cuthbert Lennox, it is stated that young Chalmers’ religious ideas went through a period of uncertainty, and it was not until 1859, when he was eighteen years of age, that he had occasion to remember his early vow.

It was during a great religious revival, which was bringing in thousands of converts in Scotland, that Chalmers was persuaded to attend one of the meetings. This meeting he himself said that he and his friends had previously determined to do all in their power to upset. The result of it was that the true James Chalmers was roused, and from that hour he never wavered in his determination to teach the gospel to savages.

For years he worked steadily away at his studies, and in 1861 he was appointed to a position in the Glasgow City Mission. His good work brought him recognition, and finally he applied to the London Missionary Society for a position as missionary. The application was accepted, and Chalmers then went into training and was ordained as a missionary in 1865. He sailed almost immediately afterwards in the missionary boat John Williams II. for Raratonga island. {200}

Prior to leaving England James Chalmers married, and to his wife he gives the credit of half the successes of his life. The passage out to the South Seas was a terrible one, as the following extract shows:—

Whilst still in the English Channel the vessel encountered a terrific storm, memorable as being that in which the London was lost. Three passengers were thrown out of their bunks, the pilot was knocked insensible, the compass binnacle was damaged, the whale-boat was carried away, and the seamen were constrained to ask the missionaries to pray for a change of wind. With difficulty the John Williams II. made the Portland Roads, and escaped the fate of some twenty-one vessels which foundered in the storm.

But this was only the beginning of the trials of that journey. Another storm met them in the Bay of Biscay, and a third one off the Cape of Good Hope, but they reached Adelaide eventually, and were there able to rest.

On the 21st of August the missionary ship which was to carry them to the islands left Sydney, and was in less than a fortnight high and dry on a reef, but she did not become a total wreck. She was taken back to Sydney for repair, leaving there again on the 15th of November, to become a total wreck on the 8th of January; her passengers were landed, minus all their belongings, on an almost unknown {201} and uninhabited island. The notorious Bully Hayes, however, rescued them from this spot and took them to Samoa. Eventually James Chalmers and his wife reached Raratonga safely after a voyage extending over seventeen months—the passage now takes about six weeks.

“Tamate’s” life in the South Seas was a life of sheer hard work, but he always felt, and properly so, that he was making headway. At the beginning of his career at Raratonga he set to work on the young men, as he thought in them lay the future hopes of the civilisation of the islands. When one knows the risks he ran in going back into the bush, where white men were so dreaded that they were often shot on sight, one cannot help feeling that a special providence was looking after him. He took no half measures and made few concessions, but went boldly to work at the start as he intended to go on to the end.

Many of the natives had been in the habit of fancying that the missionaries were weak men, but in “Tamate” they met one who was their equal in most things and could beat them at many.

As a sportsman and a man of pluck he immediately won their hearts, in fact every one who {202} came in contact with him speaks of him as a Man before all else.

One missionary said at the court in Sydney that, in his dealings with the natives, he remembered before all else that he was an Englishman, then a man, and lastly a missionary; but in “Tamate” every one recognised the Man.

From Raratonga Chalmers worked diligently amongst all the adjacent islands, and when later he had his yacht he was able to extend his operations and win many of the worst savages to better ways, and by joining in with the other missionaries some splendid work was accomplished. Throughout he saw the need of native teachers, and it was this branch of the work he set himself to push on, with the result that now there are native teachers and preachers in every island in the Pacific.

The chief trouble with which he and other missionaries had to contend was the climate; the unhealthy districts they had to visit often laid them up for weeks at a time. Finally Tamate’s wife, after a long and distracting illness, died and left him broken-hearted, for through all his difficulties she had been his mainstay. She died at sea on the 25th of October 1900. Her end was a very sad and disappointing one, as is shown by a letter Chalmers {203} wrote to one of his friends at the time. “We had dreamt of a little rest together in a cottage out of London somewhere, before we crossed the flood. We shall dream no more, she waits on the other side, as she said ‘I shall be waiting for you all.’”

It was not long she had to wait either, for on the 7th of April of the following year James Chalmers was massacred in the Aird River district, a part of the islands where he was not well known. The following account of the massacre was written by the Rev. A. E. Hunt, who accompanied His Excellency the Lieutenant-Governor of the Colony on a punitive expedition. “The Niue (Chalmers’ yacht) anchored off Risk Point on the 7th of April, and a crowd of natives came off. As it was near sunset Tamate gave them some presents, and made signs that they were to go away and the next day he would visit them ashore. At daylight the next morning a great crowd of natives came off and crowded the vessel in every part. They refused to leave, and in order to induce them to do so Tamate gave Bob, the Captain, orders to give them presents. Still they refused, and then Tamate said he would go ashore with them, and he told Tomkins (his right-hand man) to remain on board. The latter declined and went ashore with Tamate, followed by {204} a large number of canoes. When they got ashore the whole party were massacred and their heads cut off. The boat was smashed up, and the clothing, etc., distributed. All the bodies were distributed and eaten.”

Chalmers evidently felt that his end was coming, though it cannot be supposed he knew how it would come. A few weeks before his death he wrote to a friend: “Time shortens, and I have much to do. How grand it would be to sit down in the midst of work and hear the Master say, ‘Your part is finished, Come.’”

Some time before Chalmers’ death Williams and many other missionaries were massacred; in fact it is in this way most of them have died, but their work will always remain as a memento. As Robert Louis Stevenson said, when bunching the good and bad missionaries together:

“With all their gross blots, with all their deficiency of candour, honour, and of common sense, the missionaries are the best and most useful whites in the Pacific.”

MAP ACCOMPANYING “THE SAVAGE SOUTH SEAS,” PAINTED BY NORMAN H. HARDY, DESCRIBED BY E. WAY ELKINGTON, F.R.G.S. (A. AND C. BLACK, LONDON).