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

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

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

“What’s his name?” Mr. Hardy pursued.

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

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

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

“That one.”

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

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

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

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

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