During my stay in Dulukan, Mafel, one of the most popular and respected men of the district, was slowly dying of a malignant cancer of the face, which was destroying his lower jaw and penetrating deep into his throat. Day by day we had reports of his courageous and patient suffering, and of the devotion to him of his only daughter, Gyeiga, who never left his side, doing everything in her power to minister to his needs, trying to give him food, and fanning him night and day to keep the swarms of mosquitoes and flies from annoying him as he lay propped up on his mat spread on the hard floor. He had been treated for some weeks in the government hospital at the other end of the island, but when he found he was gradually becoming worse, he begged to be taken back to his own home where he could see his friends and pass away quietly; he was carried thither and the skill of all the most renowned mach-machs was invoked to dispel the demons of disease and enlist Yalafath’s sympathy and protection in behalf of the patient sufferer. In spite of all their energetic efforts, however, slow starvation reduced him to a mere skeleton, and finally word was brought to us early one morning that poor Mafel’s tafenai had wandered away from him in the night and had gone to Falraman. The devotion of Gyeiga did not cease, even then; she still sat by the side of the repulsive corpse, fanning untiringly, and wailing forth some disjointed snatches of a death song, wherein were recounted the good qualities and kindnesses of him who had been indeed a father to her; the dirge was constantly interrupted with a refrain—O Mafel, O garfuku,—“O Mafel, O poor one!”

A messenger was immediately dispatched to the far-northern end of the island to notify Mafel’s uncle, Livamadai, his nearest relative, an important chief and momok man; on him rested the decision as to whether the body should be buried on the following day, or kept two or three days longer. To defer the funeral is a tribute of honour to the corpse; haste in burial affords the chance of a visitation from the athegith, wherefrom sickness and mishaps surely follow.

Old Livamadai, toothless, bald, and bent in the knees, hobbled down the next day and decided that the following day, or the third day after death, would be a delay sufficient to show respect to Mafel’s remains. Poor Gyeiga had one more weary night of vigil; they said she never left the side of the body and took barely a mouthful of food or a wink of sleep all those three long days and nights. The atmosphere of the house was truly unbearable; I went to ask her if I might come to the funeral, and if she had any objection to my taking some photographs, and, after expressing my deep sympathy and receiving her willing permission, I retired as quickly as I possibly could from that inexpressibly noisome and dark house of death.

On the following day there was a constant procession passing our house on the way to the funeral; each person bearing a gift for the corpse, usually strings of pearl-shell money or single large shells; some of the wealthy and liberal friends brought a fei of such size that it required two men to carry it.

I went to the house with Fatumak a little after noon; they said that Mafel probably would not be buried until late in the day.

When we arrived at the house I noticed that the space about it, enclosed by a fence of light bamboo, was occupied by women only; Fatumak explained to me that he would have to leave me at the entrance, if I intended to go in; it was against custom for any, except women and the slave class, to enter the yard of a dead man’s house while his body was unburied; of course, I, as a foreigner, would not be restricted.

I set up my camera and focussed it on that side of the house where they would probably break through the walls to bring out the body,—through a doorway it is never carried, it inevitably brings ill luck to the living inmates,—then I rejoined Fatumak just outside the fence to watch and wait and ask questions. It was evident from the number of presents deposited at one end of the yard, beyond the group of guests, that Mafel had been very popular and that his friends were wealthy, and lavish withal, both in money and sympathy. “Yes,” whispered Fatumak, “Mafel was truly a fine man; we all liked him; those presents will be pretty nearly all returned after he is buried; they bring them to show their sorrow, but it is always expected that they will get them back again.”

The women, in groups about the yard, had all brought their work with them, and, sitting cross-legged on the ground, from time to time, in subdued funereal whispers wherein sibilants always seem to predominate, they gossipped with one another and kept their fingers busy, some by plaiting little pouches to hold cigarettes and tobacco, some by repairing their leafy skirts, and others by making new betel baskets; but all were solemn and subdued in the presence of death and sorrow.

It was one of those gorgeous, lazy, tropical days when the very air is idle and a sabbath stillness holds everything; there was not even the hum of an insect or the piping of a seagull to break the quiet, and only every now and then was there a breath of air strong enough to make the palm leaves rustle softly. Once, the silence was rudely broken by the thud of a ripe coconut falling to the ground, which for a brief period diverted the solemn contemplation of death to thoughts of commerce. A hush brooded over everything, even the irrepressible “tomboy” Kakofel, sat demurely beside a group of women, rolling a store of cigarettes for herself; Fak-Fintuk, Libyan, Gumaon and the other obstreperous boys were, for once, unseen. The presents consisted of six or more good sized fei of fine quality, six or seven baskets full of shell money, and numerous single strings of the same; really quite a fortune. All gifts were deposited with a good deal of display by the donors at one end of the yard in front of the house; for this service they were allowed to enter the yard, but were expected to withdraw as soon as their offering had been deposited and duly appreciated. After an hour or more waiting, five very solemn men of the Pimlingai tribe filed into the yard and sat down quietly in the background; then there was a little stir among the women as they shifted their positions to get a better view of the side of the house whence the funeral procession was to set out, and after a short pause,—for no move must be made suddenly, the Pimlingai brought forward a litter of bamboo poles covered with matting of woven coconut fronds. This they carried into the house and on it they placed the emaciated body of Mafel with his knees drawn up and tied together and his hands folded across his body. The side wall of the house of reeds and matting was taken down and through the opening the litter bearing the corpse brought out and placed upon the ground. Gyeiga’s chant grew louder and louder within the house and was no longer a mere sing-song, but a passionate wail of sorrow, when, accompanied by her two sisters-in-law (I think), she followed the litter out of the house and took her place beside it on the ground. The eyes of all three women were streaming with tears, but Gyeiga was the only one who wept aloud. The Pimlingai again retreated to the background, and Gyeiga, sitting cross-legged beside the corpse, placed two large pearl shells upon his chest, talking to him in a pleading, plaintive voice and looking directly in his horribly disfigured face. The old women in the listening and sympathising crowd, from time to time seemed to mutter an approval of her sentiments, and the wrinkled, parchment cheeks of many of them were wet with tears. Then she arose and brought two more equally fine shells from the house and placed them on top of the others with another short speech to the corpse. As soon as this was done, the Pimlingai came forward and wrapped the matting completely round the body, leaving only the top of the head bare. Two of them picked up the burden and the third placed a pole on their shoulders and to this tied the sides of the litter so that the weight was distributed evenly between their shoulders and arms. They wheeled around and rapidly walked out through an opening in the bamboo fence back of the house; Gyeiga and her two chief mourners and three or four other women followed, wailing loudly.

With Vincenti (Friedlander’s Christianised servant from Guam) I followed after them, barely able to keep up with their rapid pace over the slippery and irregular boulders of stone and coral with which the side paths of the island are paved. The wailing was kept up continuously by the different members of the party; when one became tired, the next took it up, and so on, until each had wailed in turn, and then Gyeiga began anew.

In and out we wound through jungle paths, now overarched with grey-green bamboos, now hemmed in with hedges of tall, variegated crotons; past small clusters of houses where the people stared to see a funeral party followed by a staggering leather-shod white man and a lad with a queer looking box on a stick over his shoulder. Then down to the flat lands, past the taro patches and plantations of yams, and through a deserted tapal, or village, of small houses used as a maternity-ward,—strange place for a funeral procession to invade. There were no inmates at that time in the little houses except numerous small grey lizards with brilliantly blue tails, that darted in all directions like little electric sparks in the sunshine on the thatched sides of the houses.

We seemed to double on our tracks and zig-zag hither and thither, until at length we passed through a Pimlingai village where three or four more women and eight or ten children of the village silently joined the procession. A short distance beyond this village, the men bearing the litter turned off the path directly into the thick undergrowth, and pushing through after them, we came out into a clearing about a hundred feet in diameter. At one side there were several young coconut palms just sprouting above the ground and scattered here and there were low mounds and piles of moss-covered stones, six or eight perhaps in all, graves of those who had gone before. The Pimlingai put down the litter bearing the last remains of Mafel close to one of these mounds, which appeared to have been very recently made and whereon still rested the decaying remnants of a similar litter; they told me afterward it was the grave of his wife who had died only a few months before.

As soon as the litter rested upon the ground, Gyeiga sat down beside it and tenderly unfastened the matting which covered the body and once more exposed it to view, and with a palm leaf began again her untiring fanning and low wailing, constantly repeating “O Mafel! O my poor one!” The Pimlingai disappeared for a minute or two in the thick jungle and undergrowth, and then emerged with long poles sharpened at one end with which they proceeded to loosen the ground at the far side of the litter with its half reclining corpse.

The chief mourners who had accompanied Gyeiga set to work plaiting rough baskets or hampers of coconut fronds, and in these the loose earth was gathered up in handfuls by the Pimlingai, and piled to one side or carried off and scattered in the jungle. After making these baskets, the women busied themselves collecting stones and flat pieces of coral rock wherewith to line and to cover the grave.

While this was going on, the women and children, twenty-five or more, who had joined the procession at the last Pimlingai village, sat silently, quite far off at the opposite side of the graveyard; I was trying to get my camera in position so as to get a view of the grave-diggers, but the only available spot placed them directly between me and the declining sun, so I was forced to refrain from the attempt. While I was testing my position, I frequently heard the female spectators of the Pimlingai whispering Tokota, Tokota, the name by which I was known to them. It was an attempt at “Doctor,” which they had heard Friedlander call me. Glancing up, I noticed one of the women looking at me and making motions up and down her arm. Then I comprehended that they wanted to see the Japanese tattooing there. I went over to her and, having rolled up my sleeves, received a liberal palming and rubbing; amazed at the various colours, she and the others could not believe they were not mere paint which a vigorous rub, aided by moisture from the tongue, would remove. The sight of a Japanese carp tattooed on the calf of my leg called forth such loud expressions of admiration, that I was afraid I was sadly interfering with the proprieties of the mournful occasion, so I drew up my stockings and hastily retired.

When the grave was dug out about two and a half feet deep, by three feet long, and eighteen inches wide, the Pimlingai lifted Mafel on the mat whereon he rested and placed him in the grave, with his head toward the setting sun. Before putting any earth over him, one of the Pimlingai took, as payment for their labours, two of the pearl shells that had been placed upon the corpse; the other two were buried with him; he must not arrive empty handed in Falraman.

As soon as the body was placed in the grave the wailings of Gyeiga and her chief mourners were redoubled, and over and over again they bade him goodbye and reiterated “O Mafel! O my poor one!” When the grave was nearly filled in, a sprouting coconut was planted at the head and banked round with earth and lumps of coral. It was to provide food for Mafel on his journey to Falraman, and also to furnish oil not only for light, but also for his hair; a coconut is always thus planted at the head of a corpse,—witness the young trees in the graveyard. Slabs of stone and coral were piled up all about the grave for a distance of two feet, and earth tightly packed in the crevices, so that the big lizards,—“monitors,” the only large reptile on the island,—should not disturb the body.

Until the last block of stone and handful of earth was placed on the grave, Gyeiga and the mourners never ceased wailing; but the very minute that all was finished and patted down, they ceased abruptly. Gyeiga wiped away her tears, lit a fresh cigarette and disappeared in the jungle.

It was too dark for photographs, so I packed up my camera and, following Vincenti, I too plunged into the undergrowth, and in an incredibly short time, as it seemed, was in Dulukan. I learned that the route we had followed to the graveyard was as circuitous as could be devised, and that this was always the custom in the burial of people of importance; a poor man is hurried as quickly as possible to his grave, but a wealthy man is taken past as many houses as possible and in a roundabout way, so that the grief of his relatives may be seen and heard far and wide.

On questioning Fatumak after the burial, I found that the manner of death has much to do with the position in which the body is interred; if a man dies of an ordinary disease or of old age, he is buried with his head to the west and his knees drawn up, as in Mafel’s case; if he dies in battle, he is buried with his head to the north and his legs and body are perfectly straight; if he dies of a cough,—consumption,—he is buried with his knees drawn close to his breast, and with his face looking downward. The graves, as a rule, are very modest little mounds in the quiet seclusion of the bush near some Pimlingai village, but when a great chief dies, a large platform of flat stones, such as the houses are built on, is constructed over the grave, and the departing tafenai is speeded on its way to Falraman with feasting and dancing.

Such is life and death on the happy little island of Uap; at least as I saw it in a two months’ residence; they are delightful people to visit now that Germany exerts a truly paternal care over them and perpetuates their naturally mild temper by strictly prohibiting the introduction of alcohol among them.

When, early one morning, I sailed away from Dulukan in Friedlander’s barge bound for Tomil Bay, to meet the steamer and depart for Sydney, all my friends were on hand to see me off,—Migiul and Lemet, who had contributed to my collection of tattoo marks and cat’s-cradle figures; Lian, who had helped in many ways to get specimens for my collection; Tomak, of the strong voice, who had contributed many a song on the phonograph; Gamiau, who had been foremost in getting up the dance; even Kakofel, whose sensitive feelings I had grievously wounded by calling her “Kakofel Kan,” was there, but she stayed in the background and only stared when I shook her hand for goodbye. Little Pooguroo, my earliest and faithfullest wee friend, stood on the very extremity of the jetty, her little brown body glistening in the warm light of the rising sun, and her large black eyes following me wonderingly as we were gradually poled out into the channel of the lagoon.

Just as we made the first turn and Dulukan had faded from sight, we met good old Fatumak on his “barco;” he shouted to me a few of the auspicious phrases which are used to fisherman as they set out to sea, and I shouted back to him goan e gup! which means “I am going, but I shall return,”—a phrase of courtesy when one leaves a party of friends and expects to return before long,—it about corresponds to “Auf Wiedersehn.” Indeed the words were uttered in all sincerity. Who would not wish, at least for a season, to renew, “through the verdurous glooms” of the tropics, a life as simple, as equable, as hospitable as that which I received at the hands of the natives of Uap.