Head-hunters, black, white, and brown

We arrived at Hall Sound at 6.15 p.m., Thursday, July 6th, and visited the Sacred Heart Mission, where we were cordially received by Archbishop Navarre and his colleagues. Although this Roman Catholic Mission has its headquarters at Issoudun, in Indre, in France, the executive may belong to any nationality, and thus it is not entirely a French Mission, though French is the language spoken among themselves.

After the evening meal I played “ludo” with the Archbishop, and we subsequently played the game several evenings. Ray, by request, had brought the phonograph ashore, and he gave a selection on it in the course of the evening, greatly to the delight of the Fathers and Brothers, none of whom had ever heard one before. Brother Philip, a kind-hearted, merry Dutchman, who is always smiling and laughing, and who is one of the musicians of the fraternity, was child-like in his enthusiastic appreciation of the machine. We persuaded some natives to sing into the phonograph, and, as usual, they were delighted at hearing their own voices echoed from the mysterious instrument.

Monseigneur kindly asked us to stay the night at the Mission, so we gladly sent for our kit bags. After a feverish night I was compelled to spend a quiet day, and Wilkin was only able to walk to the village of Ziria, which he photographed.

Ray was good enough to give another phonograph performance to the Fathers and the natives, and later we went to the nunnery and repeated the entertainment for the delighted Sisters. Ray spent all the rest of the day in philological brain-picking, and was very satisfied with the result of his day’s work.

After another sleepless, feverish night I began to feel better, but decided to remain quiet, whilst Ray and Wilkin went to the village of Mohu on the mainland with Brother Alexis to visit Father Burke, the only “Englishman” (and he is an Irishman) in the Mission.

The day was a sad one for us, as Brother Edmond, who belonged to the station at Pokao on the mainland, and had come here for a visit, became very ill in the morning, and grew worse as the day wore on. Soon after 5 p.m. a little service was held in his room, when the Extreme Unction with the Pontifical Absolution and Benediction was given; the anointing with holy oil, which is performed in the early stages of an illness that may have a fatal termination, had been celebrated in the morning. All through the day we received numerous reports as to the progress of the disease.

The Brother had been in good health the previous day (Friday) and worked hard in the sun, but he drank water copiously, and probably had taken some from an infected source which brought on a malignant enteric disease (hæmaturia).

At 9 p.m., when all lights are put out and the Mission goes to bed, I heard the Sisters who were to keep the night watch arrive, for the patient’s room was next to mine. At eleven o’clock I was awakened by a slight commotion, and turning out found Father Guis reading the prayers for the dying, and whilst they were being read Brother Edmond passed away. I retired again to bed whilst the Brothers and Sisters performed the last secular offices for the dead, and in a few minutes heard the suggestive “pwew, pwew” of the planing of boards, and later the hammering of nails. By 2.15 the body was lying in its last bed.

At 3 a.m., finding a service was about to be held in the chapel, I threw my dark blue bed blanket around me, and in pyjamas and with bare feet I attended the service. It proved to be a Communion service for those who had administered to the deceased. Father Guis, in broken voice, feelingly read the service, with a Brother as acolyte, to a congregation composed of three Sisters clad in their usual blue costume, four Brothers in workaday flannel shirts, and myself, a blanket-clad “heretic.” The moral atmosphere was tense with emotion, and the service appeared to me to be not so much a communion with God, as a sacrament of renewed devotion under the most solemn circumstances. Of course I do not wish to imply that the first sentiment was not present, that is, the essential element in Holy Communion, but the other aspect appeared to predominate. The impressiveness of the ceremony was enhanced by its being held in the depth of night.

Before finally retiring to rest I visited the coffin lying on the verandah of our hostel. Praying beside it were two of the indefatigable Brothers who had worked so hard, and two patient, statuesque Sisters.

The morning bell woke us at 5.30 o’clock, and I dressed in order to attend early morning Mass at six. During that service the sun rose, and a glorious tropical day commenced, joyous physically, but psychically sad. After Mass coffee was served, and at 7.30 the Mass for the Dead was solemnised in the chapel by the Archbishop.

The last time I attended a Catholic Requiem Mass was in Rome sixteen years previously.

There we witnessed the ceremony decked with all the pomp due to the rank of a high functionary of the Holy Catholic Church; here I participated in the same ceremony—the same, but how different!

There, a dignitary trained in ecclesiastical doctrine, dogma, and discipline, had worked his way up in the Church till heaven gave him a preferment. (I wonder whether it was a better one than his last on earth?) Here, a man who for fourteen years was a joint owner with his cousin of a fishing schooner in the North Sea, and who was making money in his venturesome calling, left all, like other fishermen we read of, and became a lay Brother, with no chance of promotion in this world, and volunteered to a fever-stricken country from which he knew he would never return. One day he worked hard, doing his duty heartily and manfully; the next, he was prostrated by a severe illness, and passed away before midnight, dying in perfect peace. His last words were that he was ready to die and be quit of suffering (for death had no terrors for him), or ready to live if God willed, and to continue his labours, although he knew full well that this meant a certainty of renewed sickness and pain.

As the procession was forming outside the chapel after the service, Ontong (who also had attended Mass) and I took the middle places, and helped carry the coffin to the grave, but after a short distance I was asked to desist, as I was taller than the others, and the equilibrium was disturbed.

The grave had been dug by natives, who stood by clothed in their usual fashion and decked with native finery, thus supplying a dramatic contrast between the ceremonial of an ancient Church and the religious and physical nudity of the savage.

At 8.30 a.m. we were back in the house for breakfast. By early afternoon Father Guis was groaning under an attack of fever. He was ill the previous Friday, and thought he was quit of it for a time; but his devotion to the deceased Brother had overtaxed his physical strength, and this, combined with the severe strain on his feelings, brought about a relapse. Truly the Fathers appear to be fighting against fate!

Soon after our midday meal I started on horseback with Father Guilbaud to the village of Ziria, where he was to conduct the Benediction. It is characteristic of the practical straightforward simplicity of this fraternity that the priest wore a large grey wide-awake hat, flannel shirt, corduroy trousers, and carpet slippers. We had a pleasant ride of somewhat under an hour, mainly along the sand beach.

After tea in the Mission house, Father Guilbaud and I went to the chapel, where a chair and prie-dieu were allotted me close to the altar rails, and in full view of the congregation. Opposite sat two Sisters, in charge of some small girls, and a third Sister presided at the harmonium. It was very pretty to see the naked little boys trotting hand in hand up the altar steps, bowing, and then darting to the right and squatting on the floor. Clothing among the males was almost a negative quantity; indeed, there was a marked absence of European dress of any description. Most of the bucks had painted their faces with red, black, and white pigments, the effect of which was certainly grotesque, and some were almost as much decorated with native finery as if they were going to a dance; one or two of the girls had freshly oiled themselves and were decorated with shell ornaments. The women folk all sat on the Sisters’ side of the chapel, and the men on the opposite side. The youngest children sat in the front rows, and in increasing ages further back, so that the old people were near the door.

Father Guilbaud preached a sermon in the native language, evidently on the Communion, and he had on the altar rails a large coloured picture-card illustrating the Last Supper; in the upper corners were two small pictures, one of Elijah being fed by ravens, and the other of a Catholic Communion Service. From time to time the good Father pointed with a small stick to details in the pictures. Believing so firmly as I do in visual instruction, I was particularly pleased with this innovation.

After the sermon came the ceremonial part of the service, and it was charming to see two Papuan lads act as acolytes, with their mop of black frizzly hair, copper-coloured skins, long red cassocks, and short white cotta, going through the service in a most devout and seemly fashion. When service was over the acolytes disrobed behind the altar and stepped forth, two all but absolutely nude savage dandies with shell ornaments and painted faces. It is to be hoped the grace in their hearts was of a more permanent character than the brief adorning of their persons with the garments of Christian ceremonial. A pleasant ride back in the cool of early evening completed a most enjoyable day.

A little later in the week we again visited Ziria, when we took some measurements of the natives and bought a few “curios,” mostly lime gourds. We exhibited the phonograph to the Sisters living in Ziria, and gave one rehearsal in the schoolroom, and another in the marea or club-house of the village, to excited audiences.

Ziria is quite an interesting village; some of its houses are similar to those lower down the coast, but others I recognised as belonging to a type characteristic of the Papuan Gulf. The people here certainly more resemble the coast people further east than those to the west, but they have a character of their own, and some appear to resemble the “typical Papuan” which Guillemard describes, and which he met with in the extreme north of New Guinea. This transitional area between the east and the west is marked, amongst other ways, by the men’s costume more resembling that of the Gulf men. The bark-cloth belt trails behind on the ground, and the young men wear, when they are ibitoe, a rather narrow tight wooden belt. One lad I saw wore his so tight that above the wooden belt and below the breast-bone and ribs the abdominal wall protruded like an inflated pouter pigeon’s crop; about an inch and a half below this belt was the tightly drawn ordinary bark-cloth belt, and in the interspace between the two belts the flesh exuded as a prominent ring. Another example of tight-lacing is given in the accompanying photograph.

When a boy is about twelve years of age, the family council decides that he must be ibitoe, that is, of an age fit to marry, and he is conducted to the marea of the ibitoes, or club-house of the young men. Thenceforth commences for him a life of unalloyed pleasure; nothing has he to do but to eat, drink, and be merry. But it is all harmless pleasure; intoxicant there is none. The only serious thing he has to do is to make his drum. Several lads will go into the jungle without saying anything to their friends, and will remain there, it may be a week or a month, until each has made his drum. A straight branch is selected and cut to the requisite size; this is next scraped with shells till the orthodox shape is arrived at; finally, the cavity is carefully and laboriously burnt out.

During this period the lads are taboo (rove in Roro, ngope in Mekeo)—they must have no intercourse with any man; the friend who brings them food must surreptitiously hide it in a secret spot previously arranged upon. Should they be seen by a woman or girl the drum would have to be destroyed, otherwise it would be certain to split, and would sound like an old cracked pot.

There are also restrictions as to food. If they eat fish, a fishbone will prick them, and the skin of the drum will burst; if red bananas are eaten, they will be choked, and the drum will have a dull sound; if they eat grated coconut, the white ants will destroy the body of the drum; should they cook food in an ordinary spherical earthen pot instead of a small high one, they will grow fat, and will not be able to dance, and the girls will mock them and call out, “Your stomach is big; it is a pot.” Finally, they must never touch fresh water, but they may drink coconut milk, or the water which occurs abundantly in the stem of a banana; should they inadvertently touch water with feet, hands, or lips before the drum is completely hollowed out, they break it, crying, “I have touched water, my firebrand is extinguished, and I can never hollow out my drum.” These prohibitions are interesting examples of symbolic magic: the sight of a woman destroys the tone of the drum, contact with water extinguishes the fire, a fishbone tears the tympanum, so the sorcerer informs them; everyone says so, no one has the temerity to prove it, but no one dares to deny it.

When a boy has been declared ibitoe he is told, “Now you are free look out for a woman and marry as soon as possible.” At first the young man does not think about such things. He enjoys his absolute independence; he goes, comes, plays the fool as he pleases; he dances for the sake of dancing; decorates himself for his own delectation; but gradually other thoughts arise. The girls of his own age also grow up; his parents begin to talk about the girls, about the presents and marriage and so forth. Such suggestions soon have the natural result.

The lad becomes rove. It is difficult to find a proper English equivalent for this term: “holy” or “sacred” originally expressed this idea, now other meanings have been read into them; it is perhaps best to simply appropriate the Polynesian term “taboo.” He ornaments himself more extravagantly, and tight laces till human nature can stand no more; he plays sweet, melancholy airs on his flute in a corner of the village, and the girls creep out to listen to the ravishing music.

The young men waylay the girls and offer presents. The weak damsels may cry out and run to their parents, the lusty will beat and scratch the adventurous youth, who never dares to resist lest he draw upon himself her parents’ wrath. Should fair means fail, recourse is had to the sorcerer, and he generally brings the girl to reason.

It is against custom in the Mekeo district for a young man to make love to a girl of his own village, but each village is affiliated to another from which brides should be taken. In the Roro language the relationship between two villages is called aruabira, “part of our blood,” and in the Mekeo tongue, ufapie, auai. The former word, according to Father Guis, means “the other side of the sky,” in other words, as they would say, “The ufapie are our friends down below; they are like our own souls (auai); we are blood brothers.” This friendship is carried out much further; for example, the people of Veifaa keep pigs and rear dogs for the village of Amoamo, their ufapie, and vice versâ. When there is a death at Veifaa the Amoamo people come and feast reciprocally. When the time comes to go out of mourning the ufapie is invited. They come, dance, eat, perform certain ceremonies, and the period of mourning is over.

There are one or two quaint customs of the ibitoes which may be noted. They must never walk down the main street of a village, though the girls at the corresponding period may do so. I noticed when we walked to Veifaa the young men who were with us slunk round by the backs of the houses in passing through a village or to get to the youths’ marea. They are not constrained to work, but they are tacitly permitted to steal. If they are caught they will be punished, but it is no crime, and is not considered a disgrace, and will never be made the occasion of a quarrel as ordinary theft often is. Sometimes the lads will do a little perfunctory gardening, or if they want to combine amusement with business they will take a bow and arrow and go to the seashore to shoot fish.

It is tempting to go on writing about these interesting people, but those who desire further information are referred to Father Guis’ charming account of them in Les Missions Catholiques (1898), Nos. 1,493-1,512.

Father Cochard gave me the following examples of belief in omens. When the hauba bird comes into a village and cries in the night, someone will die. If a kangaroo hops into a village when the men are out hunting, someone will die. Unfortunately I did not ask whether it was one of the hunters or of the people then in the village that would die, but I expect it was the former, and that the kangaroo was the spirit of the dead hunter. This interpretation is borne out by the following: If men are voyaging and a gale of wind suddenly springs up the mariners know that someone has died, as the gust of wind is the passage of the spirit.

An interesting example of what is known as the “life-token” occurs in Yule Island. When the men go to fetch sago from the Gulf a fire is lit, and if the fire goes out there will be bad luck for the voyagers, consequently care is taken to keep the fire alight during the whole time the men are away.

Very characteristic of this district is the custom of men wearing a large, plain, bark-cloth shawl, and the use of large mosquito nets, or rather sleeping bags (ruru), made from the net-like spathe of the leaf of the coconut palm. These contrivances are about ten to thirteen feet in length, and some six feet wide, and they afford a suffocating shelter from mosquitos for the whole family.

The women of Yule Island dress and tattoo from head to foot in a manner very similar to the Motu women; but in the neighbouring tribes the tattooing is less complete. According to Father Guis, at Waima only the face and breast are tattooed, and at Marehau, the village on the beach at Delena, the face alone; but when at Delena I certainly saw some tattooing on the legs of some women. The village of Delena is said to have a double origin. Some of the people belong to the Roro tribe, who claim to have originally come from Bereina, in the Mekeo district. The other inhabitants belong to the Motu stock, and migrated from Port Moresby. Hence one would expect rather a mixture of customs in this little village. One Nara woman I saw had characteristic tattooing on the body and legs, but not on the face and arms. I was informed that this custom was recently introduced from Delena; the spiral designs on her legs were certainly Mekeo and not Motu patterns.

Father Guis states that the women of Mekeo are not acquainted with tattooing. I do not know what particular villages he had in his mind, probably those far inland, for at Veifaa I sketched two women whose torsos were richly tattooed, and I saw women in Inawa with similar tattooing. He also states that each tribe has its distinctive pattern, and any infringement of copyright would be a valid reason for war.

There are three main groups of people in the region round Hall Sound, which are distinguished by marked dialectic as well as by various ethnographical differences. These are the Roro, Mekeo, and Pokao.

RORO.

The Roro plant their villages on the seashore or along creeks. The men live as much in their canoes as on their infertile soil. These fishermen collect in large numbers at the fishing seasons at the mouths of the Angabunga, Apeo, and other rivers. The fish are carefully smoked, and are bartered for the fine taro and enormous sweet potatoes grown by the Mekeo women.

According to the seasons, with their prevailing winds, these adventurous and trafficking mariners visit the coastal tribes to the north-west or to the south-east. In the Papuan spring, October and November, they repair to Toaripi for sago, which grows in inexhaustible quantity in the neighbourhood of the great rivers. Here they exchange the thin pots of Ziria, the main village of Rabao (or Yule Island), which are celebrated all along the coast, for bundles of sago. On the return journey the packages of sago are stacked in the bottom of the trading canoes, the latter being four or half a dozen ordinary canoes lashed together.

In March or April, after the heavy rains, the annual visit is paid to the jewellers of Taurama and Pari, who excel in the manufacture of necklaces of small shells, mobio (called taotao by the Motu), and of polished shell armlets, hoia, or ohea (the toea of the Motu).

The art of pottery-making was introduced into this district by immigrants of the Motu stock, who appear to have reached their furthest western limit at Delena. Not very long ago only one woman in Pinupaka had acquired this art; now all the women make pottery, but the clay is obtained from Yule Island.

These merchant fisher-folk have the reputation of being roguish and cajoling, and with a pretty conceit in flattery. When boats arrive they are greedy for news. They have been described as the Athenians of Papua. Their language compares favourably with the guttural tongue of the inland folk, being clear, musical, and distinct, with neither strain nor ridiculous contractions.

MEKEO.

The Mekeo group of people live mainly in the villages that cluster round the Angabunga (St. Joseph) River. There are also villages on the upper waters of the Biaru, and on the Apeo, Laiva, and other streams that flow into Hall Sound near the mouth of the Angabunga. They are an intelligent, interesting, and well-to-do set of natives, who present marked differences from their Gulf neighbours.

There are two great divisions, the Vee and the Biofa. The prolific and skilful Biofa have devastated the villages of the Vee, and according to the Sacred Heart missionaries, they have also strengthened themselves by alliance with “the sea-warriors, Lokou and Motu-Motu” (Toaripi), in order to crush their rivals. Unfortunately I have no further information to give concerning these two factions. It would be important to trace out the history and significance of this feud; it rather looks as if the Biofa was an immigrant tribe that was dispossessing the indigenous Vee. I regret I cannot mention which are the Biofa and which are the Vee villages. It is, however, a matter of recent history that Eboa has attacked Inawabui, and later Inawaia followed their example; but these feuds have now been settled by the Government. Inawa, an offshoot from Inawaia, is (according to Sir William Macgregor) the smallest and fiercest tribe in this part of the district. The late Bishop Verjus urged the Inawaia and Eboa to cease their quarrelling, and prevailed on them to build a new village on the left bank of the Angabunga, in which the Vee and Biofa were to live amicably side by side. He named this village “The Peace of Jesus,” Jesu baibua, or Yeku ngangau, according to two local dialects. The village is generally termed Yeku by the Government officials.

The Mekeo people are good agriculturists, and their rich soil yields them abundant harvests. Each of their villages consists of a single wide street, with houses on each side. Sometimes the houses are two or three deep, but in this case they are so arranged as to leave a regular street on each side of, and parallel to, the main street. There are usually two mareas, which are generally placed at opposite ends of the village. The marea is the club-house of the men; often it is highly decorated with carved and painted posts and boards and streamers of palm leaves. The marea, which is the equivalent of the erabo, or eramo, of the Gulf, the kwod of Torres Straits, and the dubu of further east, is the centre of the social, political, and religious life of the men.

The Government has had very great difficulty in getting the people to bury their dead in a cemetery away from the village, as they preferred their old plan of burying under the houses. The people are greatly in dread of the sorcerers, who have the reputation for very powerful magic.

POKAO.

The inland district south of Hall Sound is a dry, hilly country, with sparse woods and green swards, where grow the aromatic plants so dearly prized for personal wear by the natives of the whole district. The physical conditions of this healthy land of eucalyptus and kangaroos do not appear to be favourable to agriculture, and so the inhabitants have become mainly hunters of the abundant game. On referring to a geological map, it is seen that this is a region of old volcanic rocks.

The Pokao people are an instructive example of the economic defects of a hunting existence. The necessity for getting fresh food every day fosters improvidence, for meat cannot be kept like yams or sago in this tropical climate. Hence these hunter folk are too lazy to send their meat to market. If the Mekeo people will fetch the meat they require, so much the better; if not, to use an expression employed nearer home, they “can’t be bothered.”

A hunting population, all the world over, is liable to periodic famines, and the Pokao people are no exception. But so ingrained is their laziness or indifference that they have been known to refuse to send for food which they could have had for nothing. They preferred to go hungry rather than take a monotonous tramp to obtain food.

Probably in no part of British New Guinea are markets so numerous as in the Mekeo district. As markets are important factors in the social evolution of a people, it would be well if some of the residents in this district were to make a special study of the origin and regulations of the various marketplaces.

Markets are held at Inawaia and Mohu every five days on the banks of the river, and at various intervals at Inawi, Inawa, and Jesu Baibua, to which the Bereina, Abiara, and Waima people come. During the crab and crayfish season in the north-west monsoon, these markets are also held every five days. Inawi and Inawa used to fight Bereina, and trouble consequently often arose in the villages on market days. To lessen this danger, the Government appointed a market to be held in the forest between Inawa and Bereina. Roro has no regular market, but there is a great market at the mouth of the little river of Oriki, near Abiara.

Owing to the physical features of the locality, the villages have a superfluity of some food, or have access to a speciality, or are experts in a handicraft; these naturally form their stock-in-trade. For instance, the Roro of the coast from Pinupaka, Rabao (Yule Island), Marihau (Delena), and even the villages of Nabuapaka beyond Delena, trade in crabs, crayfish, and mussels, as well as pottery, for the taro, yams, sweet potatoes, sago, bananas, and areca nuts of the Mekeo tribes as far inland as Rarai, at the foot of Kovio (Mount Yule). Waima trade in coconuts; Waima, part of the Kivori, Bereina, and Babiko provide yams and some sago. If a big feast is approaching, the Mekeo people send for wallabies and cassowaries to the villages of the rich game district on the other side of Hall Sound, such as Pokao, Boinamai, Nabuapaka, and Biziu. Even the Waima and Kivori and Bereina will send to Pokao for game, although wallabies are obtained in the grassy plains round Bereina; sometimes they get game from Kaima.

The natives of Rabao buy nose-skewers and arm-rings and other shell ornaments from the Port Moresby villages, Pari, and other Motu villages; feather ornaments, gourds, and forks from Mekeo; petticoats from Kivori; and large bark belts from Toaripi. I believe these are plain bark belts, as the Toaripi men obtain the decorated bark belts which they wear from Vailala and Orokolo. The bows of the district are mainly manufactured at Kaima.

On July 14th a messenger arrived early in the morning, having very kindly been sent overland by Mr. Gors, of Port Moresby, to say that the Alice May had been delayed on her way to call for us; so I decided to make a trip inland, and had a chat with the Archbishop to arrange details. It was settled that Brother Alexis should take us to Veifaa, and we were to start by boat early in the afternoon with four native carriers, so we hastily got our things together.

Unfortunately there was the usual delay in starting, owing to the carriers not coming promptly from the village, but at last we got away, and then unluckily the wind slackened.

However, in due time we reached Pinupaka, which is the port of this district, owing to the shelter afforded by a sand spit jutting out from a monotonous coast-line of miles upon miles of mangrove swamps.

Pinupaka is a miserable village, and poor Brother George, who had lived in the district for twelve years, looked wan and worn, as well he may, living in this wretched fever-stricken hole. Two months later the devoted Brother died of hæmaturia. At high tide the sea comes up to the mission premises, not a clear healthy sea, but muddy water from mangrove swamps. Brother George offered us refreshment, but being desirous to push on we would not delay, for every minute was precious.

Off we started at a rapid pace along a sand beach flanked by mangroves. The sand was nearly black, and with but few shells or stones. The land here appears to be sinking, as there are stumps of mangroves exposed at low water, and many of the trees bordering the beach are dead. I may say that there are several species of mangroves, and those at Pinupaka are not the kind that encroach on the sea and accumulate land in their wake.

After about three-quarters of an hour we reached the first creek or mouth of a river, but in this part of the world the rivers themselves, far inland, are also called “creeks.” We waded this bare-legged, and continued as fast as possible, for the sun was setting and the tide rising fast, and on a low, sandy, windward shore this combination has a sinister meaning. The second creek was known to be deeper than the first, and the tide was also higher, so we took off our scanty clothing, rolling it up into bundles to hold over our heads. Wilkin and I got along all right, but Ray, being shorter of stature, found himself getting out of his depth, walking on shifting sand and buffeted by breakers; so Wilkin and I each seized one of his arms, and this enabled him to hold his own, and we all safely gained the opposite side. In all these estuaries crocodiles abound, and we were very thankful to have escaped these brutes. In the muddy water their presence could not be seen, so there was no means of escaping them should they happen to be present; but usually crocodiles avoid noisy or numerous parties. By this time the sun had set, and the short tropical twilight was too quickly passing, whilst we still had a goodish bit of beach yet to traverse.

The tide was quickly gaining on the mangroves, and we had now to watch our opportunity to bolt forward as a wave retreated, and dodge up among the mangroves as it advanced; our progress was therefore slow and laborious, as fallen trees put further difficulties in our way. Eventually the high tide forced us altogether from the beach, and we then took to the scrub and wended our way in the dark till we came to another creek. After crossing this we halted and put on socks and shoes, for the swamp was here crossed by a “corduroy road,” that is, a road made of logs placed transversely and kept more or less in position by upright stakes.

It was a comfort to get on firm earth again, and after a half-hour’s walk through plantations we were right glad to reach the hospitable house of Fathers Cochard and Burke at Mohu.

A glass of white wine kept us going till dinner was ready. We had for dinner a mound bird (Megapodius), which Father Cochard had shot that morning, and we all thoroughly enjoyed our well-earned dinner. In the evening Ray gave a phonograph entertainment. On his visit a few days earlier he recorded a speech by Matsu, the chief, in which he exhorted the people to make the Government road, and finished off with a hunting song. This speech sounded very fine; it begins with the customary loud clearing of the throat, and the sentences come in bursts, the intervals of silence being evidently part of the orator’s art.

As soon as it was sufficiently light next morning I strolled round to have a look at the village. There was a wonderful variety in the style of its houses, perhaps more so than in any other village in British New Guinea. On his previous visit Wilkin made notes of these and photographed some of them.

The marea had an enormously long projecting gable, which slants upwards. Suspended from various parts of the marea were long grass fringes, and carved and painted wooden boards.

After an early breakfast we again started on our travels. The path we followed was of dry mud and somewhat uneven, showing that it must be very swampy in wet weather. All the country for many miles round is low alluvial soil.

In forty minutes we reached Babiko, but had only time to glance at the interesting marea. Half an hour later we struck the Government road leading from the sea to Veifaa, the Government station of the Mekeo district.

The road passed over a plain covered with a tall, coarse grass, growing higher than our heads, and preventing any little wind there was from reaching us. Fortunately the sky was cloudy, or it would have been simply sweltering. There were numerous scattered trees, a kind of eucalypt, a few pandanus, and occasional cycads. After leaving this grassy plain our road lay through the forest. On first entering the forest we passed through one of the smaller market places which characterise this locality.

Women from different villages or districts meet at appointed places, usually at the boundary between two tribes, and there barter their specialities for commodities from other localities. The bartering is done by women only, but they are accompanied by a few armed men, who, however, do not go amongst the market women, but stand a little way off. The men bring a drum with them, which is beaten at the opening and close of the market.

The “market-place” we passed on this occasion was only a small one, but round about were remnants of the simple booths that the natives erect when trading. After traversing a small patch of forest and a grass plain, we crossed a river by a good wooden bridge, and shortly came to a large forest. There was another small market-place where the road entered the forest.

It was very enjoyable walking along the shady forest paths, and noting for the first time typical tropical scenery. The trees were tall, but by no means gigantic. Some had slab-like buttresses, which the natives utilise as boards; there were wild bread-fruit trees, with their beautiful foliage of a deep, glossy green, but in this species covered with inedible fruit; half a dozen different kinds of palms; ferns, bamboos, and a great profusion of shrubs and plants.

Our road passed at one point close to the Angabunga (St. Joseph River), a swiftly-running river of dirty water. It is a noteworthy fact that in this district many words have the ng (as in “singing”), but this peculiarity is scarcely found elsewhere in British New Guinea. Although very common in the western tribe of Torres Straits, it does not occur in Murray Island.

We had a short rest at Inawa. Whilst sitting on a platform of a house in process of construction I saw a man cutting wooden arrow points with a boar’s tusk, and bought the lot, much to his amusement.

We reached Inawi at noon, and found there was to be a large gathering of the Sacred Heart Missioners to celebrate an anniversary of the founding of their mission at Inawi. After lunch Wilkin and I went to the village, which consists of one long street, with three rows of houses on each side, and a population of some four hundred people.

There are several different types of houses here. The chief’s house is a picturesque pile-dwelling, built in the form of a cross, and adorned with long fringes of grass and carved and painted boards; from one of the latter, hanging in front of the house, depended a mask. Each chief in the Mekeo district builds a marea, and has his own designs on it, which no one may copy, as this would constitute a valid reason for a quarrel. The chief only has a right to hang a painted board in front of his house; it is, in fact, a sign of chieftainship, since when a chief is appointed he receives a board at the same time.

In the Mekeo district there appear to be two main divisions of family groups, each of which has its chief. I have more than once alluded to a dual division of a community in this part of the world, but here it seems to have been made the basis of a higher social development than has been hitherto recorded in New Guinea. The chief of one division is the war, or administrative chief; the other headman is afu (or taboo) chief. The office of the latter is hereditary.

A somewhat similar division of function has occurred elsewhere. To take two examples only: in ancient Gaul there were war chiefs and peace chiefs; the sachem of certain North American aboriginees was a peace chief. It is not improbable that in the afu chieftainship we have the commencement of a priestly dynasty after the order of Melchisedek, but at the Papuan stage of culture the secret of his power is probably a magical control over harvests rather than the authority due to purely religious functions. The mage has not yet become a priest.

On December 6th, 1897, the afu chief of Inawi put afu (taboo) on the coconuts and areca nuts, as these crops were failing in his district. Brother Alexis, who happened to be there, described the ceremony to me.

A small feast was made consisting of five pigs, five cassowaries, and plenty of native food, i.e. yams, sweet potatoes, taro, bananas, etc.; at about five o’clock Brother Alexis was invited to a place of honour on the marea, and one pig, one cassowary ham, and two banana leaves of native food were given him. The Afu chief of the village then made a speech proclaiming afu, stating that the coconuts and areca nuts would run short if this were not done. A piece of cassowary and pig meat with native food was placed in each person’s oro, or cooking-pot, and then the afu was planted. This consisted of three bamboos, to the lower part of each was tied a leaf of the sago palm, and coconuts were tied to the bamboos. The bamboos were erected, grouped like a “Prince of Wales” feathers, to the noise of conch shells and a wailing shout sounding like a siren. So far as I could discover, the bull-roarer is not known in this district. Leafy fringes, like women’s petticoats, were put round the supports of the bamboos. (This afu still remained on the occasion of our visit, except that the central bamboo had disappeared.) In the evening there was a dance, and fifteen coconuts and a bunch of areca nuts were given Brother Alexis.

For the three days following the ceremony the nuts might be taken, but on the third day a small feast was held, and thenceforth no nuts could be picked.

Another family than that to which the afu chief belongs (there seem to be only these two divisions or family groups in the village) has the responsibility of seeing that the afu is observed, and some fourteen or fifteen men of this group, called fulaari, form a sort of constabulary. Every evening they go round the village armed with clubs, and disguised either in masks similar to that which was hanging up before the chief’s house, or they were so covered with leaves as to be unrecognisable. At Waima all the enforcers (kaivakuku) of a taboo wear masks (Pl. XXI., B, p. 256); at Inawa and Veifaa they paint the face and cover up part of the body, but they sometimes wear masks; at Aipiana they cover over the whole body with leaves. In the Gulf district there are several important ceremonies at which masks are employed; in the Mekeo district this custom is in the various stages of attenuation and disappearance.

All the time the fulaari are in office they may not chew the betel nut, nor drink coconut water, lest the areca and coco nuts should not grow. They may not live with their wives; indeed, they may not even look at a woman, and if they pass one they must keep their eyes on the ground. Women must not go outside their houses whilst the fulaari are going their rounds, but if a woman is seen, the fulaari places his club at her feet, and she must remain standing there until a fine has been paid for her. If the fulaari convict a man of eating the tabooed nuts he is tied to the tree from which he gathered the forbidden fruit, and is only released on the payment of a pig as a fine.

The village from time to time gives presents of food to the fulaari.

When there is again a good show of nuts the afu chief proclaims that on a particular day the restriction will be removed. We were at Inawi on July 15th and 16th, and the 18th the taboo would be removed from the nuts, after an interval of thirty-two weeks.

We saw the preparations for a big feast, for which eighty-six wild boars had been caught, besides numerous kangaroos and a large supply of native food. We were very sorry that we could not stay to witness the feasting and dancing.

During the afternoon and evening the missionaries arrived in detachments, and our unexpected party of four rather complicated Father Vitale’s arrangements, but he was so hospitable and friendly and all were so kind that we did not feel de trop. We had two interesting phonograph exhibitions in the afternoon and evening, and one chief made a speech into it amid great excitement.

During our short stay at Inawi we bought a fair number of ethnographical objects, especially lime gourds with burnt designs and stone blades of the now obsolete stone adzes; no handles of these were to be had. These stone adze heads were ruder than any I had previously seen from New Guinea. The Papuan stone implements are usually characterised by being neatly ground and finely polished. These implements were roughly hewn and polished only at the cutting edge.

We also bought some whipping-tops; these are common here, and the following game is played. Two rows of four or five boys stand a considerable distance apart; each lad spins his own top, and they gradually increase the severity of the lashing, till the tops career in mid air across the space between the two rows, the object being to hit one of the opponent’s tops. When this is accomplished the conqueror cries out, “Ango ango angaia!” (“My top has bitten you”). The tops (ango ango) are conical pieces of wood about two and a half to three inches in length.

The whips (ngapu ngapu) are ordinary pieces of stick or cane to which a lash is attached composed of a three-ply plat of strips of bark-cloth from the ipi tree. It is pretty certain that the whipping-top has not been brought to New Guinea by the white man, for Dr. Lawes has previously found it among the Kabadi tribe, where the natives had not been under the influence of the foreigner.

The following day, July 16th, some of the missionaries arrived, and all went to High Mass in the morning. We had so much else to do that we thought it was not necessary to show our sympathy to the extent of going to the service. We had quite a feast in the middle of the day, and all were very merry. Just before grace after meat, Brother Philip left the table, and in another part of the verandah played the air of our National Anthem in honour of the guests. This act of courtesy pleased us much.

In the afternoon we separated. Our party walked to Veifaa, a distance of forty minutes only, making a slight détour on the way to visit the village Aipiana. Veifaa was reached in good time for the evening meal. The boys’ schoolhouse was placed at our disposal, and three beds were put up for us in the inner room.

Sunday, July 17th.—We all went to early morning Mass, and Ray afterwards exhibited the phonograph to a very large audience of demonstrative, excitable natives and delighted missionaries. I was particularly struck with the calm, strong, sweet face of the Sister Superior. She is a Parisienne, with a narrow face and a finely-shaped nose. The two Savoyarde Sisters contrasted with her in having round faces and snubby noses; their more homely countenances were brimful of simple-hearted kindliness. An instructive demonstration of two European races when I was on the look-out for a lesson in Papuan ethnology! The phonograph selection was decidedly mixed, but that did not matter in the least. The Sisters appeared most pleased with the European orchestral marches.

The people about here wear native clothing almost exclusively, and it is, fortunately, quite rare to see a man or woman in European garments. The men of the Mekeo district wear a wider perineal band than is worn in the other places we visited, and these belts are here prettily painted in a manner quite new to me, and we were fortunate enough to secure several of them.

The women wear short black leaf petticoats, shorter than any we had previously seen. I was informed that their dress in the mountains is even scantier, as it consists merely of a broad perineal band.

The missionaries, wisely, do not care about introducing European clothing into ordinary use, but they expect the women and girls to wear calico gowns when attending the services. It was very comical to see the women and girls, just before a service, go to the girls’ schoolhouse, bring out their gowns, or throw gowns to other women waiting outside, and then proceed to dress themselves in the courtyard. It was still funnier when, after the service, the reverse process was gone through, and their native dress alone remained as the garments of civilisation were doffed. Here, as in most other parts of New Guinea, the women are extremely modest and virtuous, another of the many examples that the amount of clothing worn bears no relation whatever to modesty, though prudery is usually developed in direct proportion to dress.

Our host knew I was very anxious to obtain ethnographical specimens from this place, and made no difficulty whatever about our trading on Sunday, as “ours were not commercial transactions.”

Indeed after service the good Father told his congregation to bring us things for sale, and thus we obtained a fair number of specimens, chiefly lime gourds and belts. Father Bouellat persuaded two girls to stand still whilst I copied their tattoo patterns.

In the afternoon I made friends with the children, who played some of their own games for us. For the first time I saw children playing games that mimicked the hunting expeditions of their fathers. In this instance a pig hunt and a kangaroo drive were very vividly acted. The “kangaroos” hopped about on the grass, some hid under bushes. They were stalked and surrounded by “men,” and a rush was made, and the flying kangaroos were chased all over the ground. “Man” and “kangaroo” would tumble about in a close embrace, the latter giving characteristic vigorous backward kicks with his legs.

The “pigs” walked about on all fours, hands and feet. They were chased by “men” with sticks to represent spears. When the men came close to the pigs, the latter jerked their heads sideways with an upward movement, as if trying to rip up the men with their tusks. One pig was eventually captured, and two boys got a pole and the pig clasped it with his hands and hooked his knees ever it, his body hanging down, and so, like a tied-up pig, he was carried to a place where some boys had laid sticks across one another to represent a fire. The pig was placed on this amid much laughter. The shouting and noise during these games was considerable.