I have previously mentioned that I had engaged two Murray Island natives, Debe Wali and Jimmy Rice, to assist Ontong, our Javanese cook. At first I offered them a shilling a day as wages. This they refused after much consideration, but agreed that they would take a pound a month. Later on, when they had practical experience that one pound sterling a month was not so advantageous to them as six shillings a week, they repented of their bargain, but as it was not to our interest to be hard on them, we reverted to my original offer. Our supply of silver was running short, so after a time we had to pay in half-sovereigns; at first there was some difficulty in making them understand the equity of their having to return four shillings in silver in exchange for the gold coin.

One morning during my temporary absence from the island, Jimmy Rice came up on the verandah, followed by an islander named Gi, and said, “This man want to speak along you, fellow.” Gi said, “Me want sell porslin along you.” My colleagues, not having at that time an instinctive knowledge of pidjin English, and forgetting that f and sh are often transmuted into p and s, awaited with some interest Gi’s disclosure of the porcelain. Gi produced four shillings (por s’lin’) and said, “Me want to buy ten s’lin’.” A light gradually dawned on my colleagues as they recollected the Saturday night transactions with Jimmy Rice and Debe Wali.

The more obvious part of this arrangement had evidently been noised abroad, and Gi came prepared to test our readiness to give a half-sovereign in exchange for four shillings.

After introducing Gi, Jimmy Rice retired below the verandah, where he remained evidently appreciating the humour of the situation. He said afterwards, “I laugh along myself inside. I laugh, laugh, laugh. Gi he gammon.”

This was by no means the only occasion on which we were humbugged, but we did not mind, for were we not studying the psychology of the natives amongst other subjects, and it was most interesting to watch the various idiosyncrasies of our friends and acquaintances.

For example the grey-bearded Ari was somewhat slow and perhaps a little stupid, but he was thoroughly conscientious and always tried to do the right thing. We were never quite sure, by the way, whether the old boy’s name, which was pronounced Ari, was really a native name or merely their version of “Harry.” Pasi was a man of stronger character and more intelligent; he had an alert manner and an abrupt method of speech. Debe Wali was a highly strung, nervous, voluble person, and not averse to thrusting himself forward; Jimmy Rice was much quieter and slower in his speech and thoughts; he was certainly more reliable than Debe Wali, but he had a strong instinct of acquisitiveness, scarcely a day passed without his asking for something. Myers tells me that once within twenty-four hours he asked for a pair of boots, a belt, two empty rice bags, a Jew’s harp, a hat, and of course some tobacco. Jimmy Dei was a thorough gentleman, Gadodo a man of action, Alo a great, good-natured fellow who kept and carefully tended a wheezy old sick man. So I might go on, matching white men known to me with our Papuan friends; few were really disagreeable, but I call to mind one sleek, hypocritical man named Papi, who was always trying to get the better of everyone else, and in this he generally succeeded.

Old Ulai was perhaps the greatest character of the lot, a regular old heathen, who exhibited but scanty signs of grace. He gloated over the past, especially the shady parts of it, and it was this lack of reverence that made him so valuable to us. As he had but little of that reticence that is so characteristic of the Melanesian, we were able to get hints from him that we followed up with our other friends to our great advantage. For, alas! I do not think our friend was very truthful, nor did he know all about everything, and occasionally he was inclined to gammon us even in serious matters; but that did not matter, as we never trusted his word alone. Indeed, the cunning old man was a great humbug, and he seemed to quite enjoy being found out, and never resented the imputation of “gammoning.” He had a craving for beer and grog, and often and often he would sidle up and whisper, “You give me a little grog.” A demand, needless to add, that was never satisfied.

When I went to New Guinea I took Ontong, our Malay cook, with me, and left Rivers, Myers, and McDougall with the two native “boys.” My colleagues have described to me how amused they were in watching the subsequent developments. Rivers did not consider it expedient to definitely appoint one as cook and the other as helper, knowing matters would right themselves.

Naturally, Debe Wali at once took the more important post, and to Jimmy Rice fell the job of carrying water twice daily and getting firewood. Debe’s active mind soon discovered that if he was doing cook’s work he should have cook’s pay, so he wanted a rise in wages. Then it dawned upon Jimmy Rice that he should not be left out in the cold; he argued, “Debe, he now got one job—he cook; me got two job—me cut ’im wood, me fetch ’im water. You give me more wages.”

It did not take Debe Wali long to discover that Jimmy Rice had practically the whole day to himself, while he, as cook, was more occupied, though, to tell the truth, the cooking was of the most rudimentary kind possible.

Eventually an arrangement was made between Debe and Jimmy among themselves, by which they spent alternate weeks at cooking and hewing wood and drawing water. There was always considerable jealousy as to who was the better cook; once, when it was Jimmy’s week to cook, and he had brought up some bread of his own making, Debe came in, looked at it, and sticking his thumb well in, blandly remarked, “I call that damper.”

On another occasion, when the mind of the entire island was absorbed in the preparation of a big kaikai (feast), Jimmy Rice went off into the bush to bring back his contribution of yams, bananas, and coconuts, and there became so absorbed in his work that he did not return until after my colleagues had cooked their own dinner. Debe Wali was furious when he heard of his comrade’s unpunctuality. “When I cook, by jingo, I give you proper kaikai (food); breakfast, sun there; dinner, sun up here; supper, sun over there.” That same evening and the following morning Debe forgot to fill the jugs with water.

One nice thing about our helpers was that they never considered themselves as servants. They treated us as equals, much to the amusement and disgust of Ontong. They would come up from the kitchen, loll on our deck chairs, and chatter away always in the most amusing fashion.

Myers also told me the following:—“Debe astonished us one evening by the calm announcement, ‘Milk he no good. Me suck (chuck) ’im away. He full plenty big black pigeon.’ With no little interest we prepared to make the acquaintance of the big black ‘pigeon,’ ignorant at that time that the word ‘pigeon’ is applied by the Murray Islanders to any living thing that is not obviously a four-footed animal. We found an open tin of condensed milk swarming with large black ants.”

Ten years previously, when in Mabuiag, I sent Dick, the boy who used to fetch and carry for me, to a fresh-water pool with a net and bottle to see what he could catch. He returned in high glee crying, “Doctor, I catch ’im pigeon belong water-hole.” The “pigeons” happened to be some small water-beetles.

Very shortly before we left I invited the Mamoose, Pasi, who is the Mamoose of Dauar, and Jimmy Dei, the Sergeant of Police, to dinner. We gave them soup, curry and rice, rice and honey, and pancakes. Judging from the quantities they ate they enjoyed themselves very much. Afterwards we gave them songs and music on the phonograph, and I obtained their autographs, for it is not often that one has two kings to dinner.

Rivers had asked them twice before, when some of us were in New Guinea; on one occasion when Pasi went home he saw his eldest son nursing a very small infant, and he asked him, “What man belong that boy?” “Why, poppa,” was the answer, “he belong you!” His wife had presented Pasi with a baby when he was out to dinner. According to the common practice of the island, Pasi had promised the unborn babe to a native named Smoke, who, having no children of his own, had expressed a wish to “look out for it,” or in other words, to take care of it; a zogo is said to “look out garden.”

I was informed by Myers that at this supper Harry, the Mamoose, and Pasi each asked for three helpings of curry, and three of rice with jam and marmalade. Pickles and marmalade proved an irresistible attraction. Even Pasi, who has travelled as far as Thursday Island, had never met with marmalade before.

When Harry began his third helping Pasi spoke to him in the Miriam tongue, “Only take a little.” The hosts knew enough of the language to understand what was said, and, to the evident amusement of the two guests, persuaded Pasi also to “take a little.”

Cigars were given them after dinner, which they were polite enough to pretend to relish. Harry’s cigar remained almost unsmoked; a New Guinea boy finished Pasi’s. Although smoking was practised in these islands before the white men came, and they grew their own tobacco, they never smoked much at a time.

The native pipe is made of a piece of bamboo from about a foot to between two and three feet in length. The natural partition at the one end, and the intermediate one, if such occurs, is perforated. At one end of the pipe there is always a complete partition, and near this a small hole is bored; into the latter a small wooden or bamboo tube, a few inches in length, is inserted. The tobacco is put in this, and the open end of the pipe applied to the mouth, and by suction the pipe is filled with tobacco smoke. I have seen them put their mouth to the bowl and blow down it. As soon as the pipe is filled with smoke, the right hand is applied to the open end and the bowl removed. This hole is applied to the mouth, and the smoke sucked through it after the withdrawal of the hand from the open end. The length of the pipe causes such a draught that the smoke is violently inhaled.

When a man has had a suck he will put his hand to the open end of the pipe to prevent the escape of the smoke and pass it on to another, who receives it, and maybe transmits it to a third in the same manner. The women usually prepare the pipes, and pass them on to the men. This method of smoking occurs over a considerable portion of New Guinea, but, so far as I am aware, it is confined to the Papuans.

The effect of this kind of smoking appears to be very severe. The men always seem quite dazed for a second or two, or even longer, and their eyes water; but they enjoy it greatly, and value tobacco very highly, they will usually sell almost anything they possess for some. I have seen an old man reel and stagger from the effects of one pull at a bamboo pipe, and I have heard of a man even dropping down on the ground from its effects.

To return to this supper party. When the guests were trying to enjoy the cigars, Jimmy Dei arrived in a very excited condition, bringing to the chiefs news of apparently no small importance. It transpired that he, in his capacity as Sergeant of the Police, had reported the assault of an islander upon his wife, who had thereupon summoned her husband to appear at the court-house on the following day. Any excitement of this kind is always most welcome to such an impressionable people as these are.

Myers has kindly given me an account of the following circumstance that happened when I was in New Guinea:—“We were awakened one morning by the sound of voices in the ‘kitchen’—that is, the space below the verandah on which we slept. They were the voices of Debe Wali and his wife, between whom short and quickly answered sentences were passing. Louder and louder grew their talk. Suddenly a blow was heard, followed by a metallic noise and the sound of falling water. There was silence for a time, then softer talking, and a woman’s low cry. Up came Debe Wali to us, labouring to suppress the most intense excitement. ‘Woman belong me want me go bush (i.e. to the garden). Me I no go. I cook here. I say to woman, “You go.” She say, “No, you go.” I tell ’im, “You sh-sh.” He no sh-sh. I tell ’im, “You be quiet: you wake ’im white man; he sleep.” He talk on. I hit ’im with saucepan. Hold on. I fetch ’im.’ And Debe vanished below to reappear with his weapon, which, as he put it, he had ‘capsized’ on to his wife. A few minutes later the little woman, one of the hardest-working on the island, came to us to be treated for a terrible gash down to the bone on the back of her head, which had to be sewn up. Debe was much alarmed on the following day, for Kaige, the policeman, insisted on roaming about the verandah and kitchen, mainly occupied in consuming our tobacco. Had Debe not been our servant, he would undoubtedly have been summoned by his wife, and, this being his fifth offence in this direction, he would have been sent a prisoner to Thursday Island. To show his penitence he wore all day a black kerchief round his head; while, to smooth the ruffled feelings of his wife, he bought from us (out of his next week’s wages) some yards of red twill which he presented to her.”

Mr. Bruce has informed me by letter that early in 1899 Jimmy Rice and Debe Wali had, for them, a serious quarrel. It happened in this wise. Pedro, a Manila who had married Jimmy’s wife’s daughter by a former husband, D. Pitt, had given Jimmy a small cutter. Jimmy’s wife considered the boat was given to her as a present for her daughter’s sake, so she began to “boss” the boat and crew. Debe was captain, while Jimmy remained on shore to cook the bêche-de-mer.

Jimmy’s troubles now began in earnest. First his wife thought that, as she was owner of the boat, it was beneath her dignity to cook for Jimmy, and told him when he asked for his breakfast or dinner to go out and eat filth. Poor Jimmy asked Bruce for advice.

Shortly afterwards the “fish,” as bêche-de-mer is colloquially termed, they obtained was demanded by Pedro, as owner of the boat. This Jimmy gave him. Then the crew wanted their wages. Jimmy said he had nothing to give them, that they were all his friends, and had promised to work for nothing to clear the boat. Debe Wali said no; he wanted wages. Jimmy and his wife had a bad time of it, so the latter went to the Mamoose and summoned Jimmy for wages.

The police then told Jimmy he was summoned; and great was the clatter of tongues and mutual abuse. Debe ran into his house and brought out a big rowlock of a boat, and stabbed Jimmy in the chest with it. Of course it did not do Jimmy the least harm, but he commenced shouting “Police! police!” knowing well enough that the police were standing by and witnessing the whole affair. Of course the police had to arrest Debe. Next day there was a cross-summons in the court—one for wages, the other for assault.

We have here an interesting example of the confusion that arises in the transition between one economic condition and another. Formerly communal labour was the rule. If a well had to be sunk or a house built, all friends would lend a hand, a feast with the concomitant excitement being a sufficient immediate reward, the reciprocity being, of course, fully recognised. Pedro’s loan of a boat on the hire system of purchase is well understood. Before the white man came it was customary for the Torres Straits Islanders to purchase their canoes on what was virtually the three years hire system. The crew demanding wages belongs to the new economic custom introduced by the Europeans.

Pedro, the owner of the boat, was drowned in the hurricane that swept across Northern Australia in March, 1899, and Jimmy had to pay D. Pitt the balance due on the boat.

The new Erub (Darnley Island) church was to be opened in September; and when the Murray Island contingent was about to start to take part in the festivities, Finau could not get a passage for himself or family unless he went with the Murray Islanders; so he asked Jimmy to lend him his boat. Jimmy said he could not lend it.

Two months afterwards Jimmy’s cutter went to Garboi sandbank to fish, and the crew slept on shore the first night. When they awoke next morning no cutter was to be seen; she had parted her chain in the night and had drifted away. So poor Jimmy lost his boat and all his labour, and the worst of it is, he has the haunting fear that it was the direct act of God because he did not lend his boat to the South Sea teacher when he asked for it. All the people assert this is the true explanation of his loss.

Jimmy is a happier man since his wife has ceased to be a boatowner, as she now condescends to roast yams and cook fish for him. Debe and he are as good friends as ever, and are always plotting how they can get as many shillings as they can for the least amount of work, and on the whole they succeed very well.

Debe is now the proud father of a pretty little daughter, and devotes a good deal of his time to nursing it. Occasionally he has a row with Kaima, his wife, when he considers she is not doing the nursing in a scientific manner. Then he generally takes the management of the baby for a time, but the infant does not fail to proclaim when it is Debe’s watch on deck.

On Friday, August 4th, 1899, there were two earth tremors on Murray Island. I cannot do better than transcribe Mr. Bruce’s vivid description of the occurrence. “I had just sat down to lunch when the iron roof and the verandah floor made such a clatter that I could not at all make out what was wrong; about five minutes later there came another and stronger shock. I jumped up and went on the verandah.

“There was a great crowd of men playing hockey on the sand beach in front of the house, and at first I thought some of them had been larking on the verandah, but when I went out everything was quiet. They were sitting down; not a word broke the deathlike stillness. I thought at first they were resting after their game, but even then they never sit still. I asked, ‘What’s wrong’? Then some of them came up and said, ‘Why, ground he jump up and down all the same as sea’!

“Then it struck me at once what had happened. I asked them how they felt when the shock came. They said the whole beach was heaving like the sea so that they could not stand. Some said they felt sick and wanted to vomit; others said everything looked blurred and indistinct, and men’s faces were all distorted when they looked at them.

“I was sorry I was in the house at the time, as I should have liked to experience the sensation. I should think each shock must have lasted about two minutes, with an interval of five minutes between them.

“After evening school I saw some of those who had been to their gardens on the top of the hill. From their description the earthquake was felt worse up there. Pasi told me he was sitting down on the ground nursing the baby when the first shock came, and he and the baby commenced to bob up and down, and he felt as if he were sitting on something that was giving way with him. When the second shock came, the coconuts on the trees were bobbing up and down, everything was trembling and swaying; a bucket on the ground opposite him was jumping up and down. He thought it was the devil, and that he was bewitched, so he got up and called his wife to come away. Soon they met other frightened people running home. Pasi said he was ‘very glad to hear all man feel him all the same as myself.’

“No doubt the people received a great scare. They were going about in quite a subdued manner for a few days. When Sunday came they were told by Finau that God was angry with them. God has been very angry with them here this year; they were told the same after the hurricane took place. But then I remember the Princess Alice disaster on the Thames was referred to in the same manner by Mr. Spurgeon at the Tabernacle; so we cannot wonder at the coloured teacher attributing all disasters to the wrath of an offended Deity.

“I had rather an amusing reason given to me why the cyclone of the 4th and 5th of March (1899) happened. There was a crowd of boats anchored in the bay, and a South Sea man wanted to hold a service on the beach, but very few went to hear him pray. Whilst he was praying, some unregenerate nigger had the impiety to play on his concertina. That day the hurricane came. The men who told me this thoroughly believed, since the praying South Sea man had asserted it, that God had sent the hurricane because of that man playing the concertina.

“That is the kind of God they like to have described to them, and no other. Really the South Sea teachers know the kind of God to depict to the native far better than the white missionary does; his God of Love is beyond their comprehension. They look as if they believed in Him, but converse with them, and you find the God of Wrath is their ideal of what God is. He takes the place of Bomai, etc., which they have lost.

“At the opening of the new church at Erub, in September, all the South Sea teachers from the Torres Straits were gathered together. Captain H— had just come across an article in a newspaper, written by some German scientist, that a comet was to appear in the heavens some time in October, and that it would strike our planet on the 5th of November. The Captain described the comet to the Erub Mamoose, who in his turn told the assembled teachers, and they, not unnaturally, went to Captain H— for further information. The Captain, nothing loth, gave them what they wanted, with a practical illustration of how the comet would act when it came in collision with the earth. He got a ball of paper and a stick, making the latter violently strike the ball of paper, which flew some distance away. ‘That,’ said he, ‘is the way our world will go, and I know that Old Nick is preparing his fires for a lot of you fellows now.’

“The teachers held a meeting, and arranged that when each teacher went home to his station he was to appoint three weeks of special prayer, and to beseech God not to allow the comet to destroy the earth. Finau arrived here full of it, and the people with him arrived equally full of influenza through living in over-crowded houses in Darnley.

“On Sunday I went as usual to church. At the close of the service Finau told all the people to remain, as a special service was to be held; so I remained along with the rest.

“After a short interval Finau told them about the comet, and that a very wise man had written in the newspaper that the world was shortly to come to an end. This was true. He then read from the Gospel of Mark, chapter xiii., from which he proved that this was the time all these things were to happen, because this wise man said so in the newspaper.

“He kept on until he had all the people in a proper state of fear. Then he directly referred to me that I knew it was all true, and would happen. I said ‘No.’ He took no notice, but told them that in three weeks’ time, on the 5th of November, if God did not hear their prayers, they would all be destroyed.

“After praying he invited anyone to stand up and pray and speak on the subject of the comet. Immediately all the Murray Herschels and Sir Robert Balls were on their feet, one after another, expounding on comets and their destructive powers, and they also finished up by saying, ‘Oh, it’s true! That wise man said so in the newspaper.’ The subject suited them immensely.

“After they had all had their say, which occupied nearly two hours, Finau told them from that day until the 5th of November there were to be special prayers, asking God to rebuke the comet and make it go another road away from the earth. They would all know in three weeks’ time whether God had heard their prayers. If He did not destroy the world then, that would be a sign that He had heard them, and was pleased with them; but if the comet destroyed the earth on the 5th of November, then they would understand that God was angry with them, and wished to destroy them as a punishment.

“He then again referred to me as knowing it to be true. I had to get up and speak (it was the first time I ever did so on church matters). I told the people that I had not heard anything about this comet, and that they were not to be afraid; that even if there was a comet, it was not likely to interfere with our world, and even if it did, I thought no harm would arise from it. They would all find, on the 5th of November, Murray Island would be quite safe, and everyone would be going about their work as usual. I might as well have said nothing; but there was so much sickness about (mainly influenza) that I thought this frightening of the people would have an injurious effect on them.

“The 5th of November came round, and nothing extraordinary happened. So Finau appointed the 6th to be a day of thanksgiving to God, because He had heard and answered their prayers by turning the comet away from the earth.

“Thanksgiving took the form of prayers in the morning, feasting and games in the afternoon. So you may be sure I had a good time of it in school that Monday afternoon with the noise of the thanksgiving outside and the inattention of the children inside.

“You people in England ought to be truly thankful that we have such effectual fervent prayers in this part of the world. I think this answer to prayer is quite as good as any I read in Mr. Stead’s Review of Reviews last year. All that was wanting to make the wise man in the newspapers and Finau’s predictions perfect was to have had the earth tremors introduced in November instead of August, and then what a tableau!

“Captain H— is delighted at the good work he considers he has done in stirring up the people to such a time of prayer. In his last letter he says he has been the means of leading these South Sea teachers and the natives to more earnest prayer through fear than has ever been done by any individual in the Straits before.

“The Mamoose and Pasi left for Erub to attend the memorable opening of the church a fortnight earlier than the general public, but before starting the Mamoose left strict orders with the sergeant if anyone made a storm of wind while he was away to find him out and have him punished. No sooner did he start than it blew ‘old boots’; no boat could leave the island, and the Mamoose had a terrible passage.

“Kadud, the new Sergeant of Police, came to me and told me he was looking out for the person who had made the wind, as the Mamoose had given him strict orders to have him punished by a fine. One day he came, saying he had found a dry coconut leaf stuck in the creek at Kiam, and thought he would find the party. Another day he would find a similar leaf and a shell stuck in the sand on the beach. Kadud was getting furious, and all the time it was blowing a hurricane. The storm lasted four weeks, so that the majority of the people from Murray Island were late for the opening ceremony.

“For months they tried to find out the miscreant; Wali, being a church member now, is past suspicion. It would make you laugh to hear how seriously the Mamoose and Kadud talk when I ask them if they have found out who it was that made the ‘big wind.’ ‘Oh no,’ they reply; ‘by-and-by we shall catch him.’

“Mappa, a Murray Islander—one of the L.M.S. teachers—is here at present on a six months’ leave of absence; he is a shrewd, sharp fellow, but a thorough native. He brought with him a young fellow named Wai from his station at New Guinea, another sharper, who has already a great reputation on Murray Island of being able to make, injure, and kill, and Mappa backs him up. Tuk is the form of sorcery he is supposed to practise, and the Murray people are terribly frightened of it; they tell me the New Guinea men are very powerful in tuk, and from Kiwai they can kill a whole village full of people on Murray Island, nearly a hundred miles away.

“Wai first began practising on William, the deacon, who lives at Dio. He went with some others to Dio, and showed William two sticks of tobacco, and said ‘Tuk.’ William began to shake when Wai told him to go and look in his box and see if he had lost any tobacco. William, still trembling, got his key, looked in the box, and said, ‘Yes.’ Wai held up the tobacco, and said, ‘This is it.’ William replied, ‘Yes, that’s it.’ Wai exclaimed ‘Tuk,’ and the two sticks of tobacco disappeared, much to the astonishment of the crowd. William pressed a present on Wai, to secure himself against tuk. When William told me about the affair I nearly exploded, trying to keep serious, and endeavouring to sympathise with him. Wai is a smiling, comedian-faced young fellow; he comes along to see me every other day, and to have a smoke. Ulai and Mappa, a good pair, are always extolling Wai’s great powers.

“A fortnight ago Mappa, who is taking Finau’s place, the latter having gone on a visit to Mabuiag, had a crowd round him after a Friday morning’s service, and used some strong language about some men who had not attended church and about Kadud, who owns a well at Kiam, about which he and the South Sea teacher have a dispute.

“A woman named Deau went and told these men that Mappa was speaking ill of them. They hurried along to the church compound, Deau along with them. She then asked Mappa to repeat what he had said, and told him he was bad man, that he thumped the pulpit with his hand when preaching to them, and then went home and thumped his wife. Mappa then began to tell her she was a bad woman, a Samaria kosker—that is, a woman of Samaria. Deau could not stand that, so she went to the police and summoned Mappa for swearing at her by calling her a Samaria kosker. Mappa then threatened the whole of Deau’s friends that he and Wai would put tuk on them all. They were in a great panic; the sergeant, Kadud, was nearly white when he came to see me, with some of the threatened people, and asked if they could not arrest Mappa. They all declared that Mappa had learnt tuk in New Guinea, and could destroy them all if he chose.

“Mappa was summoned for slandering Deau, and dismissed on this count; next he was charged with threatening the people. The witnesses all held that when Mappa went back to New Guinea he would destroy anyone he chose by using the sorcery of tuk. It was tuk, tuk, and nothing but tuk. I asked Mappa if he had threatened the people with this, and he said he had, and that he was angry. I asked him if, when he went back to New Guinea, he or the Fly River men could shoot tuk to Murray Island. He said they could, but he was not sure about himself. I warned him to think about what he was saying, and if he really believed that Wai could do such a thing. He hummed and hawed, and said ‘No.’ That was all I wanted in order to quiet the fears of the people, so I asked Mappa to tell the Mamoose and the people that the Fly River men could not injure them, and that neither he nor Wai knew tuk. He told them so, but at the same time they did not believe him, and would rather have heard him say that he and Wai were au kali tuk le (very big tuk people). Mappa was dismissed from court, and advised not to practise tuk any more whilst on his holidays. The whole tuk affair has been very amusing. Mappa and his wife are now teaching the Murray youths New Guinea dances, so that they may beat the Dauar men on New Year’s Day.”

In a letter dated September 30th, 1900, Mr. Bruce gave us the later history of some of our friends, and as it illustrates the social life of the Murray Islanders in a very interesting manner, I do not hesitate to print the greater part of it for the benefit of my readers.

“This year we are experiencing the results of a big drought. The north-west monsoon, which generally brings a young deluge with it, has been very mild this year, so mild, in fact, that but for the change of winds we might say we had no ‘nor’-west.’ In December of 1899 we had good rains, which gave promise of a good harvest from the gardens this year; but there has been such a dearth of rain in 1900 that all the garden stuffs died off. First the sweet potatoes went (that is, the vines), for they never got to the length of tubers; then the yams died off, but the people managed to get a few small ones out of the crop. So the people are reduced to coconuts and bananas, which are fairly plentiful. The natives are perfectly happy, carrying on play night after night, and their boats lying idle at anchor, instead of being at work getting black-lip shell, which has been a splendid price this year, to buy flour and rice for their families. Douglas Pitt’s son did very well with one boat working from here; he cleared £350 in six months with a crew of mainland boys, whilst the Murray men did not clear as many shillings with seven boats which they obtained from individuals to work out and on shares. They kept on getting advances (‘draws’) of calico and tobacco, and do no work.

“Your two ‘curry and rice chefs,’ Debe Wali and Jimmy Rice, both got boats. Debe obtained all the draws he could out of the owner in eight months, and collected about £4 worth of shell to pay about £10 worth of draws. The consequence was, when he went to Thursday Island for more draws the owner took possession of his boat, and he was lucky to get it, because if she had remained much longer at Murray Island she would have broken up on the beach. Jimmy Rice, poor fellow, has not been quite so fortunate as his friend Debe. In the first place, he could not get so many draws out of his man as did Debe, and he had signed before the Shipping Master, with a solicitor to see that all was fair and square. When Jimmy got all the draws he could from the owner of the boat, he and his crew refused to do any work, and they were taken before the Shipping Master at Thursday Island. The Shipping Master prosecuted them in court. All the crew, beside Jimmy Rice and Toik, decided to go to work and finish the time they had signed for. Jimmy and Toik held out, thinking they would be sent back to Murray Island by the steamer, as she was coming out the day following; but they made a mistake, and each of them got two months in jail to work out their time. One of the young Pitts paid for a boat here in four months with a mainland crew, and although the Murray men have these object lessons before them, they seem to be no incentives to make them go and do likewise, which they could easily do.

“Papi has a boat on half-shares from a Manila man named Zareal, a jeweller at Thursday Island. Like the others, Papi was doing no work after getting what he could out of Zareal; but he was lucky enough to find a good pearl in a shell, so he took it to Thursday Island and sold it for £150, then went flashing about town. Zareal came to know of the pearl, and claimed half of its value for the boat; but Papi objected, and got away from Thursday Island to Murray Island with the cash. Not a bad haul for a Murray man! There is likely to be trouble about it, but I bet my boots Papi comes off the winner.

“You remember old Gasu; his eyes were bad. He is now quite blind; can only tell the difference between night and day. He looks physically well, but takes no exercise whatever, as he tells me he is ashamed to go walking about with a boy to lead him. When I visit him I give him a spin along the road, and he enjoys it immensely. Poor old Gasu! He had not his equal on the island; a thorough, genuine old gentleman, and quite free from all cant, although he had his fears of the ‘White Man’s Zogo’ (the Church) like all the rest.

“The great drought this year has been put down to many causes. Your party came in for some of the blame for taking away the good doioms, so that the rain-makers were handicapped in giving a plentiful supply. But the principal cause for a time was our old friend Debe Wali; he was charged with defiling and throwing down the yam zogo at Dauar, named Zegnaipur—this is the principal yam zogo. Debe’s brother, Komabre, and Harry, the Murray Mamoose, were the two head zogo men who prepare it every year. Komabre died last year, and Debe, of course, believes someone was the cause of his death, and the people say that he was angry at the death of Komabre and knocked down the zogo, hence the drought. Mamoose and Pasi came to me to have a talk about it, and wished to know if they could not prosecute Debe in court. I told them they would have to get proof that he had done the injury, well knowing they could get none. Mamoose said he was certain Debe did the thing to spoil the yams and food, and that the law should punish him. I had to cool him off as best I could. The next one accused was Joe Brown. They said, because he has a quarrel with Jimmy Dei, he burnt the coconut zogo at Zeub by wilfully setting fire to the grass, and that he had stopped rain from coming and blighted all the crops. It was very amusing when I asked Debe and Joe confidentially why they had been and gone and done it. A knowing smile stole all over their faces, as much as to say, ‘I’ll teach them to interfere with me!’ Still, they would never confess to anything, but you could see how pleased they were at the prominent place they held among the people. When I represented to them how they were making me suffer too from having empty water-tanks, old Joe said, ‘By-and-by, Jack, you stop; I make him all right; you see your tank full up by-and-by!’ That ‘by-and-by’ means so much to them, and is such a handy phrase I don’t know what they would do without it now!

“In the early part of the year I was pestered by the men who had boats, and also by their crews, coming every day inquiring when the big blow was to be. I told them it was impossible for me to fix any stated time, but they knew we always had strong winds in the north-west. It was of no use, they kept on coming to inquire. At last I asked if anyone had been telling them there was to be a big blow. They said yes, one man told them; but who he was they would not say. Of course it made a good excuse for not going to work, and they made the most of it and let the boats lie up.

“The following is an example of the power zogo men are credited with. After Debe’s and Joe’s reputation was on the wane and being forgotten, Mamoose and Jimmy Dei were in my house one day, and the conversation turned on the everlasting drought, which both were bewailing. I began to twit them about the powers of the rain-makers, trying to bring them out. Mamoose did not like it, and began to converse with his optics to Jimmy (Murray men do a lot of talk on the quiet with their eyes). Jimmy assented, so Mamoose got up out of his seat, looked out of the front door, then out of the back—to make sure there was no one about who would be likely to hear—sat down again, and after sundry ahems Mamoose whispered to me the real cause of the drought. He said the rain-makers were afraid to make rain and prepare the ceremony, in case they might make too much wind along with it, and therefore cause another big hurricane, like that of last March, and they feared the Government would punish them if many lives were lost; besides, Gasu being now blind, he could not see to prepare the zogo properly, and they were afraid to make it! I had to condole with them on the hard luck of having to risk the chances of either a cyclone or a famine, and agreed with them that a famine was the safest, for, as Mamoose said, the hurricane might smash up the island altogether. But I assured him at the same time that the Government would on no account hold them responsible for any damage done by any cyclone in this part of the world. I never heard of any Murray man getting the credit of making the hurricane last year; no doubt they have been afraid to hint at it, and I have no doubt the people give the honour to some of the zogo le for having caused that disaster.

“I had a gentleman living with me for a month or so; he came from New Zealand, and is travelling all round, doing the ‘grand tour of Australia, New Guinea,’ etc. He was grand company, although a very strict churchman and an extreme ritualist. I had no idea colonial high churchmen could be so high! He out-ritualed everything I had ever seen or heard of, but he was one of the good sort who could give and take a joke.

“We had a trip to Dauar one Saturday; went in the whale-boat, and several passengers accompanied us. We had a walk all round, and had a nice day of it. After we had returned home and had had supper, and were sitting talking and smoking, a deputation headed by Pasi, who is Mamoose of Dauar, came to inform me that those who had accompanied us to Dauar had gone on purpose to see the zogo of Wiwar. This is a round stone (sandstone) about the size of a pumpkin; if it is prepared by a zogo man it has the power of causing constipation, and the person affected will die if there is no antidote used in the form of taking off the power of this zogo. Pasi had a small packet in his hand, wrapped up very carefully, like tobacco, in a dried banana leaf. He asked me if I would examine it, and spread it out, telling me this was the cause of the sickness of an old lady named Sibra. She remembered that the last time she had been over to Dauar she had passed the zogo Wiwar, and now knew the cause of her sickness. Her friends had gone over with us to find out if the zogo was prepared; they were to take away the power of the zogo by cleansing it with sea-water, and placing the leaf of a plant called gebi on top of the stone, and pouring water over the stone. Pasi wished to know if the police could apprehend old Lui, as he was the only Dauar man who knew how to prepare the zogo. I asked Pasi how the zogo was prepared; he said, ‘The zogole, after having a stool, placed the excreta on the stone, using an incantation, in which he referred to the person he wishes to blight.’ To prove the case, the friends went to the stone and found it had been prepared, and brought away a sample of the excreta with them. My visitor could not refrain from laughing, although I warned him to keep serious. Pasi said there was no chance of Sibra’s recovery, as the zogo had been prepared too long. I was giving the old lady medicine, and thought she was going on nicely, but on the Monday afternoon she died. Of course old Lui got the credit of removing her, because they had had a quarrel of words. The friends of Sibra do not consider our law of much account, as Lui cannot be punished, even after the strong evidence they brought to me. When Lui dies, his relatives will charge Sibra’s relations with using a zogo, appropriate to whatever sickness he may have been afflicted with.

“It was too much when Pasi asked my visitor to have a sniff, and tell him if it was the real thing or not. He fairly exploded and roared, and spoiled the whole effect, as I had to follow suit. The deputation did not remain much longer, but carefully rolled up their sacred bundle and left. They are very sensitive to ridicule, and do not like their customs laughed at. The consequence was that they would not for some time tell me anything that occurred of a similar nature. You will perhaps think I ought to rebuke them and advise them not to follow these old customs, but it is of no use doing this, as these are so engrained into their everyday existence that they could not, as yet, live without them. Their disappearance is, I think, only a matter of time.

“It is very seldom that houses are burned down on Murray Island, considering the inflammable material they are constructed of, and the carelessness of the people with fire. This year, however, three houses were burned down. The first one belonged to a widow named Nicky. The people were all at one of their night plays, and Nicky’s house was burned, and nothing saved. The play was a long way from Nicky’s place, but it is considered that the spirit of her deceased husband (Arus) was angry with her for her conduct, and burned her house down. It was a serious loss to Nicky, as she has a large family. I spoke to the Mamooses about getting the people to assist her, and another widow, Anai, whose goods were also all lost in the fire. The poor women had really saved nothing except their petticoats. I gave them a start in goods, and I was really astonished at the manner in which the people assisted; some gave her a camphor-wood box, others half-bolts of calico, plates, spoons, knives, and so forth, so the camphor-wood boxes were well filled with useful articles, and calico galore. All vied in beating each other in the giving line, and of course a ceremony was made in presenting the goods. I only hope the next unfortunate will come off as well, but I fear not, as it is so foreign to the Murray Islanders to give without getting an equivalent in exchange. However, they deserve all credit for the way in which they assisted Nicky and Anai, and ought to make Arus’s lamar (spirit) leave the widow’s house alone in future. The other houses were burned down in the daytime, and all the contents saved.

“This year (1900) has been a fairly healthy year. Up to the present there have been five deaths—two adults and three children. Matey is dead; he was a young man about thirty years old; he died of consumption, I think, and was ill for a long time. I tried to get him to go to the hospital at Thursday Island, but he would not go. There is a Queensland Aboriginal working in the boats at Darnley, who has quite a reputation as a medicine-man. When Matey was very weak he wished to be taken to Darnley to see this mainland boy. He was taken over in a dying state. The mainlander had a look at him and told him, ‘You fellow, you die; no more blood stop along you; two day, three day, you finish!’ This consultation was quite satisfactory to Matey and his friends, so Matey requested them to take him back to Murray Island to die there. They started back with him, and as soon as the anchor was dropped at Murray, poor Matey’s spirit took flight to Boigu (an island to the west of Murray, where spirits are supposed to live in a very happy state without any fears of brimstone).

“Murray Islanders have a great dread of dying anywhere than on Murray, and no people have a greater love of their native land than they have. Since this mainland boy on Darnley gave so good a prognosis in Matey’s case, his reputation has gone up like a rocket, and has not yet come down, several have gone over to consult him.”

The natives of Erub and the Murray Islands frequently used to make mummies of their dead relations. The details of the process are not particularly edifying, and need not be narrated here. The wizened corpse, which might almost have been made of papier-mâché, so light was it, was lashed to a bamboo framework. To be made more presentable it was painted red and pieces of mother-of-pearl from a nautilus shell were inserted in the orbits, a round spot of black beeswax serving for a pupil. Finally the mummy was decked with various ornaments. When it was complete and inodorous a final feast would be provided, and it would be suspended in the house. There the mummy would remain, swinging with every breath of wind and turning its gleaming eyes with each movement of the head, until it fell to pieces with old age.

When the body crumbled away word was sent to the friends to come and assist in cutting off the head. A big feast was held, and a man who was skilled in making portrait faces in beeswax on skulls was also present. Later the artist made the wax model of the deceased’s face; anyhow, the length of the nose was accurate, as immediately after death the length of the nose was measured with a piece of wood, which was safely kept for the purpose of securing the right proportion of the imitation nose.

When the face was finished the head was given to the nearest male relative. The men then cried. Later it was taken to the women, who also had a good cry. The inevitable feast followed, at which the artist received a large share of food.

The modelled and decorated skulls of relatives were kept probably partly for sentimental reasons, as the people are of an affectionate disposition, and like to have memorials of deceased friends, but mainly for divinatory purposes.

A duly decorated skull when properly employed became a divining zogo of remarkable powers, and was mainly used in discovering a thief, or the stolen article, or a man who had by means of sorcery made someone sick. But this could only be done by bezam le, or members of the shark clan, who were also members of the Malu fraternity. All who engaged in this hunt went in the early evening to the zogo house, and one of the zogole took the Main mask and put it on, repeating a certain formula. After leaving the house, the zogole carried the skull in front of him, and all marched with a particular gait till they heard a kind of grasshopper called kitoto, and they rushed in the direction from which the noise proceeded. One particular kitoto was believed to guide the men to the house of the offender. Should the men lose the right direction the kitoto would wait for them to come up, ever and again making its sound, “Sh, sh.” Ultimately they were led to a house, and this must, of course, according to their ideas, be the house of the malefactor.

It was of no use for the man to deny the evil deed, for kitoto had found him out; and, moreover, the bezam le were so powerful that it was as much as his life was worth to resist. If he happened to be a bezam le himself he might try to brazen it out among his friends; but if he was an outsider it would be useless, and he would have to pay the fine.

I was naturally anxious to obtain one of these divining heads; even by the time of my former visit they had all been done away with, at least, so I was informed. I had therefore to be content to have a model made for me. (Plate XII., B, No. 2; p. 139.)

First a skull had to be procured—and for other reasons I was very desirous of making a collection of skulls; but it was long before I could obtain any (I am referring now to my former visit), though I constantly said, “Me fellow friend belong you fellow. ’Spose you get me head belong dead man, I no speak. ’Spose you get him, I no savvy what name you catch him, that business belong you fellow. What for I get you fellow trouble?”

Eventually I came across a man who volunteered to get me some, and I promised to give him sixpence per head; or, as I put it to him, “One head belong dead man he sixpence, one head belong dead man he sixpence; you savvy?” and as I spoke I touched and turned down, native fashion, the fingers of the left hand, beginning with the little finger. He understood perfectly.

Next day he brought me a basket of skulls, and he could tell me the names of some of them, too! As he handed out one skull and mentioned a man’s name, I noticed that the nursemaid of the missionary’s wife, who was standing by, looked rather queer; but as it was none of my business, I took no notice. Later I found that the skull in question belonged to the girl’s uncle! I do not believe she objected to my having the skull, but that the other man should have the sixpence—the money had gone out of the family. When paying the man I ticked off each skull on the fingers of my left hand, and paid for it; but I had not enough sixpences, and so gave him half a crown for five skulls. At this he looked very askance, although I assured him the payment was quite correct. Fortunately Bruce was standing by, and said he would give him five sixpences for it at the store. My friend Baton made me one or two divining heads from these skulls in the “old-time fashion.”

Hearing one day, during my former stay at Murray, that a woman had died, and being grieved at the particular circumstances attending her death, I determined to pay my visit of condolence. After dark I went to the village where she had lived, and found her laid on the beach with her head to the sea, and clothed in her best dress and wearing her new hat, all her fancy calico being laid on the body. The husband was sitting at the head, and close by were several men, women, and children laughing and chattering over their evening meal. Then the brother came up and bent over the body, wailing and sobbing.

Shortly afterwards a canoe was brought to convey the corpse to a more populous village, so that they might have a good cry.

Then I saw one of the most impressive sights it has yet been my lot to witness. It was a beautiful tropical moonlight night, the sand beach being illuminated with soft whiteness by the moon, and countless stars glittered overhead. On one side the strand was bordered by the gently lapping waves of the calm ocean, and on the other by a grove of coconut palms, their grey stems, arising from a confused shadow of undergrowth, topped by sombre feathery crowns, a peaceful adjunct to a scene of sorrow, and the antithesis of the ghastly mockeries of the funeral plumes of the professional upholstery, which have only lately been abolished in England. A small crowd of some twenty or so of us were walking along the beach with the noiseless footfall of bare feet, keeping abreast of the canoe which, with its sad freight, was poled along by the husband at one end, and the brother at the other. As I saw the black silhouette of the canoe and its crew against the moonlit sky and sea, silently gliding like a veritable shadow of death, and heard the stillness of the air broken by the moaning of the bereaved ones, my mind wandered back thousands of years, and called up ancient Egypt carrying its dead in boats across the sacred Nile—there with pomp, ceremony, and imagery, here with simplicity, poverty, and stern realism.

At length we came to the village, the inclosure of which was covered with family groups, mothers with babies surrounded by their families, and many a little one was laid asleep upon the sand, well wrapped up to keep off the flies.

The corpse was carried to a clear space, and again the gay trappings of life were spread over the dead. An old woman, I believe the deceased’s mother, came to the head, and sitting down, bent over the body and commenced wailing. Then on all sides the cry was taken up mainly by the groups of women who by this time had taken their places round the dead. As one dropped out, another would join in, and so with varying accessions in volume, occasionally dying away to all but silence, the mournful sound continued through the night, rising and falling in weird manner, recalling to my memory the keening I had heard in far-away Kerry eighteen months previously.

Then I left them. The dead one surrounded by a changing circle of weeping women; beyond, the family groups each illumined by its own flickering fire, babies asleep, children playing, adults talking, young men laughing, and a little love-making taking place in the background; and above all the quiet, steady, bright face of the moon impassively gazing, like Fate, on the vicissitudes of human life.