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.