Following the practice of my authorities I have often in the foregoing pages made use of the expression that the year is ‘divided’ into so many parts. From a genetic stand-point this expression is incorrect, because the time-indications, which relate to a concrete phenomenon of Nature, are older than the year, and, since they are connected only with the single phenomenon, are discontinuous or even indefinite. Only through their union does the complete year arise. Every natural year however offers on the whole the same phenomena following one another in definite succession, and thus the circle of the year has its prototype in Nature herself. Nevertheless the uniting of the different seasons into a complete year only takes place gradually by means of a selection, systematising, and regulation of the seasons. It must be carried out according to a principle—we shall see that this is as a rule the lunar reckoning—but the occupations of agriculture also serve as a handle. The present chapter will shew how the uniting of the seasons into the year is only a late and incomplete development, how originally the year does not exist as a numerical quantity, the pars pro toto counting being resorted to, and finally how the years are not reckoned as members of an era but are distinguished and fixed by concrete events.

The difficulty of struggling through to the conception of the year is exemplified by certain peoples who know two seasons but reckon in half-years without joining them together. Naturally this happens in the rare case in which there is very little difference—or none at all—between the two halves of the year. Thus of the Akikuyu of British East Africa it is reported:—The equatorial year has no winter or summer. Its passage is marked by two wet seasons, which occur in what are our spring and autumn. The planting is done in all cases at the first commencement of the rains, and harvesting as soon as the crop has ripened after the cessation of the rain. There are therefore two seed-times and two harvests in twelve months, and when the native speaks of a year he means six months[346]. This is very natural, since by ‘year’ a vegetation-period is often to be understood: the half-year reckoning however also appears where a difference between the two seasons does exist. In Rotuma or Granville Island the inhabitants reckon in periods of six months or moons. The west monsoon, which blows from October to April, doubtless serves to distinguish these seasons: otherwise the difference between the seasons is hardly perceptible, the island lying near the equator. The half-years each contain six months, to which the same names are given in both halves[347]. The people of the Nicobars reckon in monsoon half-years, shom-en-yuh, the SW monsoon, sho-hong, blowing from May to October, and the NE monsoon, ful, from November to April, so that two of these form one of our years[348]. The half-years are also said to contain seven months each[349]: in reality they must vary between 6 and 7 months, as the year varies between 12 and 13. In New Britain (Bismarck Archipelago) there are monsoon years of five months: the two intervening periods of the variable winds and of the calms, each lasting one month, are not counted[350]. It is said that the Benua-Jahun of the Malay Peninsula have no other division of the year than the natural one of the north and south monsoons, each of which they call a ‘wind-year’, satahun angni; however a word for year, sa taun, is also ascribed to them[351]. In Bali the year is divided into two seasons or monsoons, each of which includes six months; since the months of both halves have the same names it is evident that originally only half-years existed[352]. The greatest unit of time among the Orang Kubu of Sumatra is the six-month mussim (season), which is of Malay origin[353]. The Samoans have a name for a period of twelve months, but they formerly reckoned years of six months (tau-sanga); each of these corresponded to one of the two six-month periods, the palolo or rainy season and the monsoon season[354]. The Moanu of the Admiralty Island name the division of the year according to the position of the sun. When it stands north of the equator, the season in question is named morai in paiin (sun of war), since wars are chiefly fought in this season. When it stands over the equator, the season is called morai in houas (sun of friendship), the season of friendship and mutual visits. When the sun turns towards the south, the cooler season begins[355]. Of the Kiwai Papuans of the islands in the delta of the Fly River in New Guinea, Torres Straits, Landtman writes to me that he cannot say if the people are clear whether they reckon in years or in half-years[356]. The former supposition is really only supported by the fact that they are aware that the same natural conditions recur after the lapse of the two half-years. There is no word for year. On the whole it may be said that they count only the months, and hardly conceive of so great a unit as the year, nor even (at least not everywhere) of the half-year, although there may be a hint of this in special cases.

Not seldom the dry and the rainy seasons are counted without being combined into a year. This is expressly stated of the Tupi of Brazil and certainly applies also to the Bakairi[357]. In Loango there are dry and rainy seasons, and in many districts a third season also, the fruit-ripening. Commonly the people reckon by the two main seasons. A centenarian is therefore fifty years old[358]. In Uganda there are in the course of twelve months two rainy and two dry seasons, although there is hardly a month in which no rain falls at all. The rainy season from February to June is called togo mukazi, since the rain then falls without much thunder: the second, from August to November, is called dumbi musaja, because of the thunder and the frequent deaths from lightning. The dry season about December is more intense than that about June. However the year, mwaka, is composed of one rainy season together with the following dry season, and consists of six moons or months[359]. Their year, corresponding to a half-year, consists of five moons, and a sixth in which it rains[360]. In north Asia the common mode of reckoning is in half-years, which are not to be regarded as such but form each one separately the highest unit of time: our informants term them ‘winter year’ and ‘summer year’. Among the Tunguses the former comprises 6½ months, the latter 5, but the year is said to have 13 months; in Kamchatka each contains six months, the winter year beginning in November, the summer year in May; the Gilyaks on the other hand give five months to summer and seven to winter. The Yeneseisk Ostiaks reckon and name only the seven winter months, and not the summer months[361]. This mode of reckoning seems to be a peculiarity of the far north: the Icelanders reckoned in misseri, half-years, not in whole years, and the rune-staves divide the year into a summer and a winter half, beginning on April 14 and October 14 respectively. But in Germany too, when it was desired to denote the whole year, the combined phrase ‘winter and summer’ was employed, or else equivalent concrete expressions such as ‘in bareness and in leaf’, ‘in straw and in grass’[362].

‘Years’ with less than twelve months are to us the strangest of phenomena. The Yurak Samoyedes and probably the Tunguses of the Amur reckon eleven months to the year, the Kamchadales only ten, of which one is said to be as long as three[363]. The natives of southern Formosa reckon about eleven months to the year[364]. The inhabitants of Kingsmill Island, which lies under the equator, reckon periods of ten months, which are numbered but, in contradistinction to the other examples, are reckoned in cycles[365]. In the Marquesas 10 months formed a year, tau or puni, but the actual year, i. e. the Pleiades year, was also known[366].

The Yoruba reckon in 16-day divisions. Fourteen of these form their old year, of 224 days, i. e. in former times attention was paid to the rainy season only. The first thunder was the signal for the fishers and hunters to come back to their huts and begin farming again.[367] The Toradja of the Dutch East Indies reckon in moon-months: two to three months however compose a vacant period in which they do not trouble about time-reckoning[368]. The Islamite Malays of Sumatra distinguish tahun basar, the great year, or tahun musin, the year of the seasons, both reckoned as 12 months, from tahun padi, the rice-year, which among them counts only eleven months[369]. The Dusun of British North Borneo have two methods of reckoning their longest divisions of time. If the native be a hill-man he will reckon by the taun kendinga or the hill-padi season, six months from planting to harvest, if a plain-dweller by the taun tanau or wet padi season, 8 to 9 months[370]. This incomplete year is therefore a vegetation year in which the vacant period of no work is simply passed over. In this manner may be explained the much discussed ten-month year of the Romans[371], if it really depends upon old tradition and is not a mere creation of spurious learning. It is not a cyclical year like ours: a complete explanation will be given below in the investigation of the manner in which the years were counted.

It is true indeed of most primitive peoples, as is said of the Hottentots, that they are well acquainted with the conception (sic! I should have said rather: the concrete phenomenon) of the year, guri-b, as a single period of the seasonal variation, but do not reckon in years in this sense[372]. That is to say the year is by them empirically given but not limited in the abstract: above all it is not a calendarial and numerical quantity. Of the Waporogo it is said:—Somewhat more difficult (than the times of day) is the conception of the year. Only older, more intelligent people have a clear idea of it, the sowing-time and the rainy seasons constituting their points of reference. But they too can only reckon up a few years (though they certainly do this by counting the seasons, cp. below, p. 92), and for the great mass of the people the conception of the year does not exist[373]. The Bontoc Igorot has no idea of a cycle of time greater than a year, and in fact it is the rare individual who thinks in terms of a year[374]. The length of the year consequently varies. Among the Banyankole it begins with the first heavy rains and lasts until the next heavy rains, so that a year may be longer or shorter by a few days: it is a matter of no consequence whether it is a week or even three weeks that are taken off or added to the length[375].

With the agricultural year it is just the same. For the Dyaks of Borneo the rice-harvest is a main division of the year (njelo); in September after the conclusion of the harvest the year is at an end; a definite beginning, a New Year’s Day, is unknown[376]. The translation of a Ho text runs:—“When the inhabitants of the interior begin to cultivate the yam-fields they begin a new year: when the yams are dug up and the dry grass is burnt away, a year has passed”[377]. Among the Thonga the notion of the year (lembe, dji-ma) is extremely vague: the year begins at two different periods, that of tilling and that of harvesting the first-fruits. They do not make any difference between a lunar and a solar year[378]. A very significant account comes from Dahomey. The word for year does not denote any definite number of months: the sense is rather ‘to plant maize and eat, to plant it again and harvest it’. At the end of the harvest the year also is at an end[379].

Here therefore we have a natural year quite concretely and empirically given. Chronologically it is of no use nor indeed is it used: what method is resorted to will be shewn below. Attention must first be called, however, to an important point. The purely natural year is a circle which has no natural division, i. e. no beginning or end, the seasons following upon each other immediately; not so the agricultural year, which has both beginning and end. Here therefore there is a natural point of division, a new year, which appeared in some of the examples just given, and this is an extremely important point for time-reckoning. The vacant period between harvest and sowing presents some difficulty, and so both of these periods can be used as the beginning, as is done among the Thonga: otherwise the beginning of the year varies considerably, just because it can be arbitrarily determined[380].

The contradiction between length or duration of time and time-reckoning evidently here becomes apparent. The counting is not performed by means of these fluctuating empirical years, but the pars pro toto method is employed, the years are counted by a season. As soon as it is said that some event took place at a definite time of the previous year, or will take place at some point in the following year, a counting of the years is thereby implied, although for an enumeration of this kind the conception of the year is not necessary. When it is said that something happened at the previous harvest, or will happen at the next dry season a counting of the years is no less implied, although seasons are reckoned instead of years, i. e. the pars pro toto method is used. Thus it is, in fact, with all primitive and many highly developed peoples, and that not only when an event that took place at a definite time is spoken of, but also where the number of years alone is in question: in the latter case the reckoning is only performed from a favourite, conventionally selected season. The statement made for the Hottentots is significant for the kind of reckoning just mentioned. They keep in mind the age of their cattle from the calving and lambing periods[381]. Similarly we are told of the modern Arabians that the female camel is covered for the first time when she is four rabi old (rabi = the pasture-season in spring, when the camel foals), so that she foals in the fifth rabi[382].

As a basis for the counting either a longer or a shorter season may serve, or indeed any popular natural phenomenon of regular annual occurrence. Thus of the Chinhwan of Formosa it is stated that they have no calendar: they only know that a new year has come when a certain flower blooms again[383]. The Paez of Columbia have a word enzte, ‘fishing, summer, year’, since a great fishing is only engaged in once a year, in January or February[384]. In the language of the Tupi of S. Brazil the year is always called akayú, cashew-tree, which blossoms once a year, and produces a much-prized reniform stone-fruit which is also often used in the preparation of wine: the word also means ‘season’. This tree bears fruit only once a year, whence it comes that the Brazilians reckon their age by the stones, laying aside one for each year, and keeping them in a small basket reserved for this purpose[385]. The Algonquin of Virginia reckoned in cohonks, winters; the name refers to the wild geese, and shews that these have come back to them so many times[386]. In medieval Swiss charters time is often reckoned in louprisi, ‘leaf-fall’; dri, nün louprisi = when the leaves have fallen three, nine times, etc.[387].

In a later section on the beginning of the year we shall find that the appearance of a certain constellation, in particular the Pleiades, gives the signal for the beginning of the agricultural labour, whence is developed the importance of this date as the opening of the year. The time between two like appearances of the same constellation, e. g. between two heliacal risings, is a year. In this manner the name of the constellation itself can come to denote ‘year’. In many parts of S. America the same word means both ‘Pleiades’ and ‘year’[388]. The inhabitants of the Marquesas call the year of 12 months, as distinguished from the 10-month fruit-year, by the name of the Pleiades, mata-iti[389]. How easily this comes to pass is shewn by a statement made for the Bangala of the Upper Congo. The culmination of the constellation kole gave the principal planting-season. This was so familiar to the natives that the informant used the word kole as equivalent to the word ‘year’[390]. This is in its very nature a pars pro toto designation, since it refers to an annually recurring phase of the stars.

More often the years are reckoned by one of the greater seasons. It is a well-known fact that in Old Norse generally, in Gothic, and often in Old German and Anglo-Saxon time was reckoned in winters. We find traces of the same practice in Greek (χίμαρος, ‘a one-year-old goat’, from the same root as χειμών, winter) and in Latin (bimus, trimus = ‘of two, three years’, from hiems): poets often reckon in hiemes[391]. It is almost the rule among all peoples who live under a climate that has a winter with snow and ice. The Ostiaks reckon in winters, and so do the Eskimos of Greenland[392] and of the Behring Straits[393], and the N. American Indians in general, for instance the Kiowa[394], the Pawnee[395], and the Omaha[396]. The common method of reckoning is not by the season, ‘the cold time’, but by the concrete phenomenon that distinguishes it, viz. the snow. So with the tribes of the N. W. interior[397], the Hupa[398], and the Dakota, who say that a man is so many ‘snows’ old, or that so many ‘snow-seasons’ have passed since an occurrence[399]. The Siciatl of British Columbia reckon either by summers, ‘fine seasons’, or by winters, ‘snows’[400]. For the Algonquin see p. 93. In the tropics to reckon by the cold season is rare: the Guarini of Paraguay however reckon in roi, i. e. ‘seasons of coolness’, ‘winters’[401], and the Bakongo occasionally by sivu, the cold season, though more often by mou, ‘season’[402]. The reason for the reckoning of the years in winters is the same as that for the counting of the days in nights. Winter is a time of rest, an undivided whole, which practically becomes equivalent to a single point: it is therefore more convenient for reckoning than summer, which is filled up with many different occupations. In the south of N. America, in the states on the Gulf of Mexico, where the snow is rare and the heat of summer is the dominant feature, the term for year had some reference to this season or to the heat of the sun[403], e. g. among the Seminole of Florida the name for the year was the same as that used for summer[404]. Here the summer is the time of rest, but in Slavonic also time is reckoned in summers (leto = ‘summer’, plural = ‘years’). We may compare here the English expressions ‘a maiden of 18 summers’, etc. The reckoning in springs is only exceptional. The Basuto word selemo means ‘spring, ploughing-time, year’[405]. At the southern end of Lake Nyassa time is reckoned by ‘rains’, i. e. rainy seasons[406].

Ever since the principal food of man has been the produce of fruit-trees or the corn, the fruit- and corn-harvests and the whole period of vegetation in general have been of decisive importance for his well-being. We have already seen how this circumstance has left its mark upon the indications of the seasons, and in the same way the second most important method of counting years is to reckon by harvests or vegetation-periods. The fellahs of Palestine still do this. Their usual method is to reckon from one harvest to another, or, as they put it, ‘from threshing-floor to threshing-floor’[407]. In modern Arabia rents are hardly ever reckoned for a whole year, but only until the next spring, rabi, when the young animals are sold, or, as by the fellahs, until the next threshing-time, bedar, when the farmer can realise upon his corn[408]. The Negrito of Zambales determine the year by the planting or harvesting season, but their minds rarely go back farther than the last season[409]. In Bavaria in the Middle Ages the years used to be reckoned in autumns. The ceremonial reckoning in the Sanskrit ritual texts is in autumns, Sanskrit çarad, ‘autumn’[410]. The subjects of the Incas had a word huata, ‘year’, which as a verb meant ‘attacher’: but the lower classes reckoned in harvests[411]. This is also done in the district around Mombasa[412]. The Arabs sometimes reckon the years as e. g. 40 charif, charif being the time of the date-harvest[413].

We have already spoken of the rice-year in the East Indian Archipelago as a combination of the agricultural seasons; the period of vegetation of the rice also serves, although seldom, for the counting of the year. Among the Toradja the time needed for a plant to come to its full development up to maturity is called ta’oe, and santa’oe accordingly means ‘a year ago’. Sampae is the rice-year of six months, but santa’oe has practically the same meaning, since the rice is the most important cultivated plant. In general, however, the word is seldom used as a time-indication, but the years are reckoned by well-known events (on this see below, pp. 99 ff.); nevertheless expressions like the following are heard:—santa’oe owi, ‘when last year’s rice-crops still stood on the field’, roeanta’oe owe, ‘two harvests ago’[414]. In the South Sea Islands the bread-fruit is the most important article of food: the people, as we have seen, know a time of abundance of food and a time of scarcity. We are told:—The Malay word for ‘year’ is taun or tahun. In all Polynesian dialects the primary sense of tau is ‘a season’, ‘a period of time’. In the Samoan group tau or tausanga, besides the primary sense of season, has the definite meaning of ‘a period of six months’, and conventionally that of ‘a year’, as on the island of Tonga. Here the word has the further sense of ‘the produce of a year’, and derivatively ‘a year’. In the Society group it simply means ‘season’. In the Hawaiian group, when not applied to the summer season, the word keeps its original sense of ‘an indefinite period of time’, ‘a life-time, an age’, and is never applied to the year: its duration may be more or less than a year, according to circumstances[415]. So far our authority. It seems however to be questionable whether the original sense is not the concrete ‘produce of the seasons’, rather than the abstract ‘period of time’. It is significant that on the Society Islands the bread-fruit season is called te tau, and the names of the other two seasons, te tau miti rahi and te tau poai, are formed by adding to this name[416].

Of great significance are the accurate reports for the Melanesians. They have no conception of the year as a definite period of time. The word tau (a Polynesian loan-word), or niulu, which corresponds most nearly to ‘year’, signifies a season, and so (now) the space of time between recurring seasons. Thus the yam has its tau of five moons, from the planting—when the erythrina is in flower—until the harvest, after the palolo has come and gone. The bread-fruit has its tau during the winter months: bananas and cocoa-nuts have no tau, since they always bear fruit. The notion of the year as the time from yam to yam, from palolo to palolo, has been readily received, but it is very doubtful if such a conception is anywhere purely native[417]. The Melanesians are only interested in the concrete phenomena of the year, and not in time-reckoning as such, and therefore do not in practice combine the period from yam-planting to harvest with that from harvest to planting to form a year. When it is pointed out, however, it is quite clear to them that this is a single period of the variation of the seasons. The Polynesians have themselves noted this fact, and accordingly the sense of the word tau has been extended from ‘season’ to ‘year’.

Whether the conception of the year was known in the Indo-European period is not certain: it is however significant that all the words for ‘year’ of which the etymology is fairly certain either refer to the produce of the year—as ὥρα and its cognates, and also the word ‘year’ itself, Old Scand. ár—or else come from the pars pro toto counting of the year. Thus the Slavonic leto means ‘summer’ and ‘year’. Sanskrit çarad means ‘autumn’: that the corresponding Avestic sared means ‘year’ is explained by the fact that the years were reckoned in autumns. The Greek ἐνιαυτός is unexplained, but in Homer, in the law of Gortyn, and in the inscription of the Labyades it has also the little observed sense of ‘anniversary’[418], which may be the original sense. Further evidence of the lack of an acquaintance with the conception of the year is afforded by the fact that the Germanic peoples render it by periphrases like ‘winter and summer’, etc.[419].

The pars pro toto counting of the year from shorter or longer seasons does not however extend beyond the years immediately following or preceding. It is stated of the tribes living at the southern end of Lake Nyassa that the years are reckoned in ‘rains’ up to three or four years: everything beyond that is kale, ‘some time ago’[420]. In the district around Mombasa, in periods not exceeding five years, the date is usually fixed by the number of harvests which have been gathered[421]. In general the primitive peoples reckon only where an immediate practical interest requires them to do so. The Kiwai Papuans have no word for year, but only for the monsoon periods: they cannot as a rule state how many years have elapsed since a certain event, but only whether it took place recently or long ago[422]. The inhabitants of the islands of the Torres Straits never count years[423]. Individuals belonging to tribes at a low stage of civilisation keep no account of their own age. Among the Waporogo no one can say how old he is[424]. The Edo-speaking tribes have a calendar, but an enquiry as to the age of a man or the number of years since a given event will meet with no answer, or a random one[425]. In Dahomey no negro has the slightest idea of his age[426]. The Hottentots have no interest in their own age, but are interested in that of their cattle, which they reckon by the calving and lambing periods[427]. Few of the Chinhwan of Formosa know their age[428]. The Negritos of Zambales have no idea of their age[429]. No Marquesas Islander, no Oceanian in general, can give either his own age or the time of any event[430]; even the Maoris do not know their age, although they know that the man of forty years is older than the man of thirty[431]. The statements here made obviously refer to the absolute age of a man, not to the relative age; for either it is immediately seen or else easily remembered from childhood who is older and who younger. The Babwende, for instance, never know how old they are, but do know quite well who is the oldest[432]. Since the relative age is thus known, the age of the people and the time of events can be determined by reference to the speaker’s own relative age or to that of someone else. On the same page as that from which the above quotation for the Marquesas Islands is taken, it is stated that in order to determine the time of any event the people indicate how tall a person was, or how long his beard was, at the time when the event took place. The Indians of Pennsylvania temporarily determined an event by referring to their own age at the time of its occurrence[433].

From these indications of relative ages there arises of itself a familiar chronological expedient usually found at the point where history begins, viz. the reckoning by generations, which is common e. g. among the Polynesians[434] and in the older Greek historians. Among the Masai an elaborate system for classifying ages has exceptionally developed. The circumcision takes place in four-year periods with intervals of three and a half years. The circumcisions are known alternately as ‘right-hand’ and ‘left-hand’. Those who have been circumcised at the same time have a special name, such as ‘those who fight openly or by day’, ‘those who are not driven away’, etc.; one ‘right-hand’ and one ‘left-hand’ period combine to form a generation. The ‘those-who-fight-openly’ period is a ‘right-hand’ period, and those who belong to it were circumcised in 1851–5; the ‘those-who-are-not-driven-away’ period is a ‘left-hand’, and its members were circumcised in 1859–63. The two periods or ages together form a generation composed of persons born from 1834–1850. Each age has three divisions, first those known as ‘the big ostrich feathers’, secondly those called ‘the helpers’, and thirdly those known as ‘our fleet runners’[435]. It is evident that an excellent basis for the determination of relative time is hereby given. With time-reckoning per se the system is not concerned.

Common bases for reckoning are afforded by important and striking events which have been impressed upon everyone and are present to all men’s minds: through their relation to the age of some person they serve as a guide to the chronology. The Aino, for example, do not count the days, but always refer to events; if it is asked how old anyone is, the answer will be that he was born after the catching of the very big fish, or perhaps in the year when there was so much snow[436]. Here once more we see how concrete time-indications always precede the abstract numerical counting of time. And where numbers are known they are not willingly used, but the year is referred to as one distinguished by a certain noteworthy event, instead of being regarded as a member of a series. From a year of this kind the natives can only reckon for a few years at most in either direction. Where there are many such noteworthy years the time-relationship is so far recognised that the succession of the events is known, and perhaps in certain cases also forms the basis of calculation.

In the neighbourhood of Mombasa wars, famines, the arrival of white men form epochs of this kind: it is impossible to detect the age of any adult[437]. It is mentioned that the Toradja of the Dutch East Indies sometimes reckon nearly approaching events or events of recent occurrence by the rice-sowing: dates at a more distant past are indicated by mentioning events of most note, such as the death of a great man, an epidemic of small-pox, an important military expedition, a conclusion of peace, the payment of a tax, etc. The people do not reckon their own age, but count that of their children, saying: “When he was born I had my rice-field there, the next year there”, and so on[438]. It is amusing and at the same time instructive to note that precisely the same mode of reckoning was found in Scania at the beginning of the last century. It was a very common thing, says a well-known authority on the folk-lore of this district, for a peasant, when asked how old e. g. his little girl was, to give some such answer as: “She must be four years old, for she is the same age as my brown mare, and she was born when our southern field was a grazing meadow”[439].

The Batak of Sumatra think that a small-pox epidemic returns at intervals of from nine to twelve years, and make use of this belief in reckoning time. On questioning a chief, says a traveller, how old his house was, I was told: “It has existed only for two small-pox epidemics”, by which he meant that it was somewhat more than 24 years old[440]. In Borneo there have occurred two eclipses of the sun during the last half-century. The first of these served as a fixed date in relation to which other events were dated[441].

The Eskimos of Greenland knew up to about the twentieth year how many winters a person had lived, but beyond that they could not go. Sometimes however they used as epochs from which to calculate pellesingvoak, ‘the little priest’, i. e. the arrival of Egede in the country, or the arrival or departure of other well-known Europeans, or the founding of Godthaab and other colonies; they would say that this or that person was born at the coming or departure of such and such a person, or when eggs were collected, seals caught, etc.[442].

The Caffres rarely give the proper length of past or future periods of time, and when they do so the period is never of more than a few months’ duration. Otherwise it is their custom to determine the date at which this or that event took place by reference to a contemporaneous event of greater importance[443].

The Lapps of Västerbotten reckon their age by the reindeer, e. g. when this or that aldo (= female with calf) was born. Formerly they never went farther back in counting than the previous year. When they had to give the date of an important event they referred to the time at which some specially fine female reindeer was born[444].

The Hottentots, as has been said, have no interest in their own age, but keep in mind that of their cattle from the calving and lambing periods. When they wish to date back somewhat farther, well-known events such as the outbreak of cattle-plague, hostilities with neighbouring tribes or with the whites, immigrations, etc. furnish them with satisfactory general indications from which, coupling them in particular cases with the birth of their children or the stature of these at the time, they can arrive at a date[445].

Where the political development has advanced so far that a stable monarchy exists, the succession of rulers offers an excellent means of chronological orientation, and within every reign certain years can be distinguished by special events. But this brings us to the beginning of history, and I desist from following the subject further. One example only:—The Baganda reckon by the reigns of the kings and by certain wars in one particular reign. They say ‘It was in the reign of such a king’, or ‘I was still in arms when such and such a war was fought in so and so’s reign’[446].

Where no reigns furnish a system of chronological reckoning, the concrete references may be systematised until each year is named and distinguished by a definite event. This was the practice of the Arabians before Mohammed. Mohammed is said to have been born in the year of the elephant, or, according to other sources, some years after the year in which the viceroy of Yemen marched against Mecca with an army in which there were elephants[447]. Another year is called the year of treason or outrage, because certain garments which a Himjarite king had sent that year to Mecca were stolen, whence arose a conflict at the feast of pilgrims, in which the young Mohammed is said to have taken part[448].

The Wagogo count the years by important events, e. g. ‘the year when the cattle died’, or ‘two years after the building of Boma (Kilimatinde Station)’[449]. The Masai do not count the years, but rather denote them by referring to the most important events that took place in them, e. g. a murrain, a drought, the death of the chief, an expedition particularly rich in booty, etc.[450]. A fully developed calendar of this nature is possessed by the Herero, and has been published from the year 1820[451]. I give a few years as examples:—1820, ojo (= year of the) tjekeue: from the name of the Matabele chief who in 1820 came to Okahandja with a white peace-ox and made peace with Katjamuaha. 1842, ojohange, ‘year of peace’, the Nama and Herero made peace. 1843, ojomaue, ‘year of the stones’: the Herero as the slaves of Jonker Africander had to build for him a stone wall; or ojovihende, ‘year of the stakes’: the Herero had to build a palisade around Jonker’s dockyard. 1844, 1845, ojomukugu or ojombondi, ‘year of vomiting, of nausea’: the Nama had poisoned Katjamuaha, and the latter vomited and purged. And so on up to 1902 inclusive. There are lacking only the years 1854, 1855, and, significantly, 1891, 1895, 1899, and 1900, towards the end: the reckoning fails under growing European influence. Several years have two descriptions, e. g. 1844 and 1845 (see above); these and 1887–8 are run together, the latter as the ‘year of the red murrain among the cows’.

The same mode of reckoning appears, strongly developed and fixed by the aid of picture-writing, among the Indians of N. America. Heckewelder says of the Indians of Pennsylvania:—“They reckon larger intervals of time by some noteworthy event, e. g. a very severe winter, a very deep snow-fall, an unusual inundation, a general war, the building of a new town by the whites, etc. Thus I have heard more than fifty years ago:—‘When their brother Miqaon talked to their fathers they were so old or so tall, they could catch butterflies or hit a bird with an arrow’. Of others I have heard that they were born in the hard winter (1739–40), or could then do this or that, or already had grey hair. When they could not refer directly to any such distinguishing epochs they would say: ‘So many winters after that’”[452]. This method of reckoning seems to have existed among the Pawnee at an initial stage. Sometimes they referred to a year that had been marked by some important event, e. g. a failure of crops, unusual sickness, a disastrous hunt: this was referred to as a year by itself, but after only a few years’ remove this mark became indistinct and faded away[453]. Among the Dakota and the Kiowa detailed descriptions were given in picture-writings, which are well-known and have been published, for the Dakota by Mallery and for the Kiowa by Mooney. They are painted on buffalo hide, later also on paper, and represent in painting the history of the tribe. They were executed by a specially gifted Indian and were handed down from father to son. When worn out and obliterated by use they were renewed. In winter they were often produced before the fire, and the events recounted. Everyone knew them, however, so that anybody could shew when he was born or when his father died, and some also knew the meaning of the pictures. Four copies belonging to the Dakota are known, which go back to 1800, 1786, 1775, and the mythical period, respectively. Every year is denoted by a picture, without distinction between winter and summer. Some of the terms used are:—1794–5, the ‘Long-Hair-killed’ winter; 1817–8, the ‘Chozé-built-a-house-of-dead-logs’ winter; 1818–9, the ‘small-pox-used-them-up-again’ winter; 1821–2, ‘the star (meteor)-passed-by-with-a-loud-noise’ winter; 1825–6, the ‘many-Yanktonais-drowned’ winter (through an inundation); 1833–4, the ‘storm-of-stars’ winter (so called from the abundance of shooting-stars), etc. Four Kiowa calendars are known, one of which is arranged in months, of which it gives 37; two of the others refer to the years 1833–93, one to the years 1864–93. In the first each month is indicated by the crescent of the moon, and above is the picture characteristic of the month. The Kiowa annual calendars are clearer than the Dakota in that they indicate winter by a thick black stroke signifying that the vegetation has died, and summer by the medicine lodge with its figures, which form the central feature of the religious ceremonies of the summer. Above and by the side of these signs are the pictures, giving the principal events of the seasons, so that the reckoning of the year becomes the history of the tribe. The Indians however were also acquainted with simpler modes of reckoning. Among the Nahyssan of S. Carolina time was measured and a rude chronology arranged by means of strings of leather with knots of various colours, like the Peruvian quipos[454]. The Dakota use a circle as the symbol of time, a smaller one for a year and a larger one for a longer period: the circles are arranged in rows, thus: ȱȱȱ or o-o-o[455]. The Pima of Arizona make use of a tally. The year-mark is a deep notch across the stick. The records of early years are memorised, and there are a few minor notches to aid in recalling them. The year-notches are alike, yet when a narrator was asked to go back and repeat the story for a certain year he never made a mistake. Taking the stick in his hand, he would rake his thumb-nail across the year-notch and begin:—‘This notch means etc.’[456].

The development is clear. Often an important event has been impressed upon the memory and now serves as a landmark from which the few years that it is possible to count are reckoned. Such events multiply, and when their succession is known, a longer period can be mastered. Finally the process is systematised, so that every year has its event (necessarily even if it be an unimportant one), and is named from that: hence the reckoning of the years becomes also the history of the people. This kind of time-reckoning is really used by every one of us. Whoever looks back over his past life sees chiefly the more important events, not the dates of the years, and to these he joins the more peripheral events and so finds his way in the labyrinth of memory. But we mark the events by the dates, and thereby obtain an estimation of the course of time, which is the last acquisition of the human mind in this domain. The mode of reckoning in question penetrates deeply among the culture peoples.

The same method of distinguishing the years from one another was employed in ancient Babylonia, in the days of the Sumerian kingdom of Ur in the second half of the third millenium B. C., and also later under the first dynasty in Babylon, and was only replaced by the reckoning according to the years of the king’s reign under the dominion of the Kassites[457]. For our historical knowledge of the events these so-called ‘year-formulae’ are of extreme importance. They vary in each case according to the towns, and shew that these in some respects maintained an independent position. The adoption of the year-formulae of the main locality implies the complete subjugation of the town[458]. No trace of an era or any reckoning by the years of the reign is to be found. Only the king’s accession to the throne is utilised for distinguishing the years, the first complete year of his reign (not the year of accession, therefore,) being described as the year of King X. As marks of the other years the most important national events in the domain of the religious cult and of politics are almost universally employed. Only exceptionally is the year named after some violent natural catastrophe. Rather, it is a striking fact that in none of the 66 year-formulae hitherto discovered is there any mention of an eclipse of the sun, or a comet or meteor. If no important event has occurred, the year is described as the one following such and such a year, e. g. the year 49 of king Dungi is called ‘the year in which the temple of X. was built’; year 50 = ‘the year following that in which the temple of X. was built’; year 51 = ‘the year following that in which the temple of X. was built, the year after this’. We see the clumsy method used in order to avoid counting, instead of simply saying ‘the second year after etc.’: so firmly is the concrete description adhered to. These year-formulae were however used for the dating of documents, and not simply, as among the primitive peoples with whom we have hitherto been concerned, for the retaining of past events in the memory. Hence arises the difficulty that often an event of such importance that the year can be named after it does not occur until well on into the year, that is, the event from which the year is named does not take place until a greater or smaller part of the year has already passed by. Until the event takes place indications of the kind already mentioned, having reference to the preceding year, are employed, e. g. the year 17 of Dungi = ‘the year after that in which the ship of Belit (was launched)’; when a noteworthy event happens it gives its name to the year: thus the same year is ‘the year in which the god Nannar was brought from Kar-zi-da into his temple’. Hence arise twofold descriptions, and they are indeed necessary in this kind of designation when events of the current year are to be dated by the year. An example containing a political event is the year 36 of Dungi = ‘the year after that in which Simuru was destroyed’, or ‘the year in which Simuru was destroyed for the second time’. It is characteristic to count the destructions of a town but not the years[459]. During the reign of Rimsin of Larsa, a contemporary of Hammurabi, the years begin to be run together into an era: there are many datings from the capture of Isin, up to thirty years after that event,[460] and so under the second king of the first Babylonian dynasty five years were reckoned after the taking of Kazallu[461]. So also under the first dynasty of Babylon the years were described by occurrences, by events in the religious and political life, especially religious acts and buildings of the kings, by wars, and lastly by natural catastrophes, especially inundations of the country[462]. Dates given by events of a previous year are also found. At that period however the year-formula seems to have been given at the New Year’s Day and therefore to have been determined beforehand: when important historical events occurred, the year was given a new name from these[463].

In the older period of Egyptian history each year of the king’s reign is described by an official name borrowed from the festivals—e. g. those of the king’s accession, of the worship of Horus, of the sowing, of the birth of Anubis—from buildings, wars, and the censuses for purposes of taxation. Gradually the simple counting of the years of the reign appears alongside of these names, and from the end of the old empire completely supplants the former method even in official dates. The years however are not calendar years, but begin with the day of the king’s accession: they therefore offer the disadvantage of running from different dates according to this. At certain periods however the reigns, as in Babylon, were counted only from the first New Year’s Day. Of an era there is only a single example[464]. The Egyptians also began with the concrete descriptions, but passed over, at least within the separate reigns, to the counting of years which is so much more suitable for a survey of the course of time. The Assyrian designation of the year after eponyms, limmu, the Greek after archons, ephors, and other eponymous officials, the Roman after consuls etc. are no different. For a people with a fully developed political life and annually changing supreme officials the latter naturally offer a means of distinguishing the years; the life was too regular and too well-established for events of such a decisive nature that they could impress themselves upon the memory of everyone and become available for time-reckoning to be able to happen to the whole people in smaller intervals of time. Here however the system shews a weak point. It is very difficult to keep an arbitrary series of many names in its right order without confusing the names, and only very few persons can do it. The system therefore did not provide that survey over the whole course of time which the awakening historical sense rendered more and more necessary. So men were led to the only practical method, that of simply counting the years and marking them by figures, by which means everyone without more ado became quite clear as to the dates of earlier or later events, whether these were expressed in olympiads, in ab urbe condita etc., or in the countless local eras of antiquity. It was long before it was seen that the starting-point is a matter of indifference, and that the only essential is that all should use the same starting-point. In this respect the old reckoning in epochs long continued to influence the minds of men.