The first thing we did after arranging the house was to convert a little room into a dispensary, and very soon numbers of natives came to get medicine and advice. McDougall, Myers, and Seligmann worked hard at this, partly because they were really interested in the various cases, and partly since it brought natives to the house who could be utilised for our other investigations.
The doctors also paid visits to bad cases in their homes. As the former white missionaries on the island in days gone by had been accustomed to dispense, to the best of their ability, from their somewhat large assortment of drugs, the natives took it for granted that we should do the same; hence there were no special signs of gratitude on their part. Bruce, too, does what he can for the natives, but his remedies are naturally of a simple, though often drastic, character.
The medical skill and gratuitous advice and drugs of our doctors did a great deal to facilitate the work of the expedition. Towards the end of our time, hearing Captain H— of Darnley Island was seriously ill, McDougall volunteered to go over and nurse him, and he remained there for a week or two.
It was a great safeguard for us, too, having so many doctors about; but fortunately we only required their aid, or they each other’s, for malarial fever or for minor ailments like sores. Only on three occasions during the time we were away, till we left Borneo, were there sufficiently bad cases of fever to cause the least anxiety. So, on the whole, we came off remarkably well on the score of health.
Although we have a fair amount of information about the external appearance, the shape of the head, and such-like data of most of the races of mankind, very little indeed is known about the keenness of their senses and those other matters that constitute the subject commonly known as experimental psychology. My colleagues were the first thoroughly to investigate primitive people in their own country, and it was the first time that a well-equipped psychological laboratory had been established among a people scarcely a generation removed from perfect savagery.
Dr. Rivers undertook the organisation of this department, and there were great searchings of heart as to what apparatus to take out and which to leave behind. There was no previous experience to go upon, and there was the fear of delicate apparatus failing at the critical time, or that the natives would not be amenable to all that might be required of them. Fortunately the latter fear was groundless. It was only in the most tedious operations, or in those in which they were palpably below the average, that the natives exhibited a strong disinclination to be experimented upon. Sometimes they required a little careful handling—always patience and tact were necessary, but taking them as a whole, it would be difficult to find a set of people upon whom more reliable and satisfactory observations could be made. I refer more particularly to the Torres Straits islanders.
In his work in Murray Island, Rivers was assisted by Myers and McDougall. During his trips to New Guinea, Seligmann made some supplemental observations of interest. The subjects investigated included visual acuity, sensitiveness to light, colour vision, including colour blindness, binocular vision, and visual space perception; acuity and range of hearing; appreciation of differences of tone and rhythm; tactile acuity and localisation; sensibility to pain; estimation of weight, smell, and taste; simple reaction times to auditory and visual stimuli, and choice reaction times; estimation of intervals of time; memory; strength of grasp and accuracy of aim; reading, writing, and drawing; the influence of various mental states on blood-pressure, and the influence of fatigue and practice on mental work.
The visual acuity of these people was found to be superior to that of normal Europeans, though not in any very marked degree. The visual powers of savages, which have excited the admiration of travellers, may be held to depend upon the faculty of observation. Starting with somewhat superior acuteness of vision, by long attention to minute details coupled with familiarity with their surroundings, they become able to recognise things in a manner that at first sight seems quite wonderful.
The commonest defect of eyesight among Europeans is myopia, or short-sightedness, but this was found to be almost completely absent amongst savages. The opposite condition, hypermetropia, which is apparently the normal condition of the European child, was very common among them.
The colour vision of the natives was investigated in several ways. A hundred and fifty natives of Torres Straits and Kiwai were tested by means of the usual wool test for colour-blindness without finding one case. The names used for colours by the natives of Murray Island, Mabuiag, and Kiwai were very fully investigated, and the derivation of such names in most cases established. The colour vocabularies of these islands showed the special feature which appears to characterise many primitive languages. There were definite names for red, less definite for yellow, and still less so for green, while a definite name for blue was either absent or borrowed from English.
The three languages mentioned, and some Australian languages investigated by Rivers, seemed to show different stages in the evolution of a colour vocabulary. Several North Queensland natives (from Seven Rivers and the Fitzroy River) appeared to be almost limited to words for red, white, and black; perhaps it would be better to call the latter light and dark. In all the islands there was a name for yellow, but in Kiwai, at the mouth of the Fly River, the name applied to green appeared to be inconstant and indefinite, while there was no word for blue, for which colour the same word was used as for black. In Torres Straits there are terms for green. In Murray Island the native word for blue was the same as that used for black, but the English word had been adopted and modified into bŭlu-bŭlu. The language of Mabuiag was more advanced; there was a word for blue (maludgamulnga, sea-colour), but it was often also used for green. In these four vocabularies four stages may be seen in the evolution of colour languages, exactly as deducted by Geiger, red being the most definitive, and the colours at the other end of the spectrum the least so. As Rivers has also pointed out, it was noteworthy, too, that the order of these people in respect to culture was the same as in regard to development of words for colours. Rivers found that though the people showed no confusion between red and green they did between blue and green. The investigation of these colour-names, he thought, showed that to them blue must be a duller and darker colour than it is to us, and indeed the experiments carried out with an apparatus known as Lovibond’s tintometer afforded evidence of a distinct quantitative deficiency in their perception of blue, though the results were far from proving blindness to blue.
Numerous observations were made by Rivers on writing and drawing, the former chiefly in the case of children. The most striking result was the ease and correctness with which mirror writing was performed. Mirror writing is that reversed form of writing that comes right when looked at in a looking-glass. In many cases native children, when asked to write with the left hand, spontaneously wrote mirror writing, and all were able to write in this fashion readily. In some cases children, when asked to write with the left hand, wrote upside down.
Experiments were made on the estimation of time. The method adopted was to give signals marking off a given interval; another signal was then given as the commencement of a second interval, which the native had to finish by a similar signal when he judged it to be equal to the previous given interval. Rivers found that this somewhat difficult procedure met with unexpected success, and intervals of ten seconds, twenty seconds, and one minute, were estimated with fairly consistent results.
The conditions for testing acuity of hearing were very unfavourable on Murray Island, owing to the noise of the sea and the rustle of the coconut palms. Myers found that few Murray Islanders surpassed a hyper-acute European in auditory acuity, while the majority could not hear as far. No great weight, however, could be attached to the observations, because all the men were divers, an occupation that certainly damaged the ears to some extent. To investigate their range of hearing a Galton’s whistle was used, and it was found they could hear very high notes. Twelve Murray Islanders were tested for their sense of rhythm; this was found to be remarkably accurate for 120 beats of the metronome to the minute, and somewhat less so for 60 beats.
Myers tested their sense of smell by means of a series of tubes containing solutions, of varying strength, of odorous substances like valerian and camphor, and the results, while not altogether satisfactory, tended to show that they had no marked superiority in this respect over the members of the expedition.
With regard to taste it was very difficult to get information, as the natives, naturally enough, did not like strange substances being put into their mouths. Sugar and salt were readily recognised, acid was compared to unripe fruit, bitter is most uncertain, and there is no distinctive name for it in the Murray Island vocabulary.
Numerous time reaction experiments were made by Myers. The time of the simple reaction is not sensibly longer, but probably in many cases even shorter, than would be that given by a corresponding class of Europeans. Myers points out that the experiments clearly showed the great difference of temperament among the individuals investigated. There was at one extreme the slow, steady-going man, who reacted with almost uniform speed on each occasion; at the other extreme was the nervous, high-strung individual, who was frequently reacting prematurely.
There is a consensus of opinion that savages are less sensitive to pain than Europeans, but there is always the doubt whether they are really able to bear pain with fortitude. However, the conclusion McDougall arrived at, that the Murray Islanders were distinctly less sensitive than the Europeans in the expedition, was supported not only by their statements, but also by tests depending on simple pressure of the skin made by a small piece of apparatus. It should be understood that the degree of pain produced was in all cases so slight as not to spoil the pleasure and interest of the subjects in the proceedings.
It was found that the natives had points on their skin specially sensitive to cold, exactly as in the case with Europeans. As to touch, when tested by McDougall to see how close the points of a pair of compasses must be put on the skin before they cease to be felt as two, their sensitiveness was in general better than that of the members of the expedition.
A series of tin canisters of the same size and appearance, but variously weighted, was prepared by McDougall; another series having the same weight, but of different sizes, was also provided: the first experiment was to test the delicacy of discrimination of the differences of weight, and the second to determine the degree of their suggestibility by the effect of size, as appreciated by sight and grasp, on the judgment of weight. It was interesting to find that although the abstract idea of weight seemed entirely new to the minds of these people, who had no word to express it, and who, moreover, could have had no practice, yet they were more accurate than a practised European.
It would be tedious to recount all the work that was accomplished in the psychological laboratory; but it was most interesting to watch the different operations and to see what earnestness, I may say conscientiousness, most of the subjects exhibited in the performance of the tasks set them. We never knew what they thought of it all, or of us—perhaps it was as well that we did not.
In the preliminary report Rivers has published, he notes that our observations were in most cases made with very little difficulty, and, with some exceptions, we could feel sure that the natives were doing their best in all we asked them to do. This opinion is based not only on observation of their behaviour and expression while the tests were being carried out, but on the consistency of the results; the usually small deviations showed that the observations were made with due care and attention.
Attempts were made, but with very little success, to find out what was actually passing in the minds of the natives while making these observations.
One general result was to show very considerable variability. It was obvious that in general character and temperament the natives varied greatly from one another, and very considerable individual differences also came out in our experimental observations. How great the variations were as compared with those in a more complex community can only be determined after a large number of comparative data have been accumulated.
Another general result pointed out by Rivers is that these natives did not appear to be especially susceptible to suggestion, but exhibited a very considerable independence of opinion. This observation is of importance, as there is a widely spread idea that the reverse is the case for backward peoples. Leading questions were found not to be so dangerous as was expected.
Whenever possible I spent the mornings in measuring the natives. In this I was helped by Wilkin, who also photographed them. It is not always easy to obtain good portraits when the accessories of a well-lighted studio are absent, but the expedition is to be congratulated on the success of Wilkin’s labours. Most of the Murray Island photographs were developed on the spot, and in a considerable number of cases copies of the portraits were given to the sitters in consideration for their submitting to be psychologised.
Nearly all the Torres Straits and New Guinea photographs were taken by Wilkin, and it is greatly to his credit that there were very few failures.
Wilkin also paid some attention to native architecture in Torres Straits and on the mainland of New Guinea, and to the laws regulating land tenure and inheritance of property in Torres Straits.
As Seligmann did not return with Ray, Wilkin, and myself after our trip to the Central District of British New Guinea, he had only two and a half weeks on Murray Island. During that time he collected some natural history and botanical specimens, and paid attention to native medicine and surgery as well, and he also made some clinical observations on the diseases of the natives. During his New Guinea trips, and when he rejoined us in the western islands of Torres Straits, he continued on much the same lines; so that in the end he gained a very fair insight into “folk-medicine.” He also at various times made some interesting ethnological observations and measured some tribes I was not able to visit. Frequently he assisted Rivers and myself in our investigations in Mabuiag.
Myers and McDougall left Murray Island on August 24th, so as to get up the Baram River, Sarawak, before the north-east monsoon set in. The work carried on in Kiwai and Mabuiag and other of the western islands of the Straits was very much of the same character as that which we did in Murray Island. Fewer psychological observations could be made, owing to the fact that most of the apparatus had been taken on to Borneo. The subjects investigated were chiefly visual acuity and colour vision, auditory acuity, smell and touch, writing and drawing.
Ray was engaged practically the whole of every morning in studying the Miriam language with Ari, the Mamoose of Mer, and Pasi, the Mamoose of Dauar. He worked them very hard, and often I had to go into the inner room in which he studied and liberate the poor chiefs, who frequently were quite done up, while Ray himself was as keen and fresh as ever. The good men conscientiously turned up regularly, though I am sure they must often have been heartily sick of the whole concern. Giving the names of things is one matter, but it is quite a different affair to plod through empty phrases in all their possible moods and tenses, hour after hour, day after day, and week after week. They were not the first, nor will they be the last, to feel repugnance at the study of grammar.
The construction of the language was found to be very complex, modifications of sense in the verb being expressed by an elaborate system of prefixes and suffixes, for example:—
Nouns are declined through several cases by means of suffixes: e.g. tulik, a knife; tuliku, by means of a knife; tulikra, of a knife; tuliklam, from a knife, etc.
Ray distinguishes two groups of languages in British New Guinea, which he has termed respectively “Papuan” and “Melanesian.” The former he regards as indigenous to New Guinea, or at all events it may be regarded as such for all practical purposes. The latter group of languages bears such close resemblances to the language spoken in the great chain of islands in the Western Pacific (or Melanesia) that there is no doubt they are all derived from the same source. A third group of languages, current in this part of the world, is that spoken on the Australian continent. It is thus a matter of some interest to discover to which linguistic group we must assign the languages of Torres Straits.
I have to thank my colleague for giving me the following information, which will sufficiently explain the differences between these three groups of languages.
The Papuan languages agree with one another in very few characteristics, and totally differ in vocabulary and constructive particles. Consonantal sounds are very fully used, but closed syllables are not common except in the western languages. Demonstrative words indicating the place or direction of actions are numerous. Nouns and pronouns are declined through various cases by means of suffixes. Adjectives precede substantives. The pronoun in some languages has a trial as well as a singular, dual, and plural; but the inclusion or exclusion of the person addressed is rarely indicated. The verb is very complicated, and is modified by prefixes and suffixes, its forms indicating the number of subject and object, as well as tense and mood. Numeration is limited, and rarely goes beyond two. Parts of the body are much used in counting.
The Melanesian languages have a very general agreement among themselves in grammatical construction and vocabulary. They use consonants very freely and have some consonantal sounds which are difficult to transliterate. Many syllables are closed. Demonstrative words pointing hither and thither are much used. Nouns are divided into two classes, with or without pronominal suffixes, according to the nearness or remoteness of the connection between possessor or possessed. Words may represent any part of speech without change, but the use of a word is sometimes shown by prefix or affix. Number and case are shown by separate words preceding the noun. Adjectives follow the noun. Pronouns are numerous, and often of four numbers—singular, dual, trial, and plural. The first person always has forms including or excluding the person addressed. Any word is made into a verb by the use of a preceding particle, which usually marks tense and mood, and in some languages person and number. Verbs have a causative, reciprocal, frequentative and intensive form. Numeration is extensive, and there is counting up to high numbers.
The Australian languages are in some respects similar to the Papuan, though prefixes are not commonly used. Certain consonantal sounds are rarely heard. Nouns and pronouns are declined by means of suffixes through various cases. Adjectives precede the noun. The pronoun has no trial number, and some languages have the inclusive and exclusive forms in the first person. The verb is modified as to time and mood, and sometimes number, by suffixes, and has numerous but, as a rule, simple forms. Numeration does not proceed beyond two, or three at the utmost.
The grammar of the Murray Island (or Miriam) language bears no resemblance to the Melanesian, and but little to the Australian. It must therefore be regarded as belonging to the Papuan group. The speech used by the Mission is a debased form of the original, as Pasi told Ray “they cut it short.” Ray is of opinion that as most of the young people know English, it is very probable the pure language will die out with the older folk.
Several of the elder men used to come and talk to me at various times, but they came more regularly after we had witnessed the Malu performances, and while the excitement about them was still fresh. Baton and Mamai were the first to come, they were policemen during my previous visit, and were consequently old friends. I obtained, however, more valuable information from Enocha and Wano, who were pillars of the Church, but being old men they also knew about the past; unfortunately there were very few alive at the time of our stay in the island who knew first-hand about those matters that interested us most.
These good people enjoyed describing the old ceremonies. Often they brought me something that was formerly employed in their mysteries or a model of it.
When any action was described the old fellows jumped up and danced it in the room, sometimes two or three would perform at once. I always had a drum handy to be in readiness when they broke forth into song, and for the dance they took bows and arrows or whatever may have been appropriate from the stack of implements that was in a corner of the room.
We had many interesting séances, and it enabled us to get a glimmer of the old ceremonies that was most tantalising. If only we could have seen the real thing, how different would the description be! How little, after all our efforts, could we accomplish by mere hearsay! But even an undress rehearsal or an imperfectly performed representation was better than nothing at all.
For example, Bruce and I were independently trying to work out the rain-making ceremony or charm. We obtained more or less full descriptions that agreed on the whole and which supplemented each other. He got some zogo mer, or “sacred words”—that is, the magical incantation employed—from Gasu, a noted and credited rain-maker. I tried these on Ulai, a somewhat disreputable old man, who has been of considerable use to us, and who at the same time gave us much amusement; he immediately reeled off a lot more words. Gasu then admitted that most of these were correct. I next tried Enocha, who had the reputation of being a great master in the art of rain-making. He passed most of Ulai’s words, denied others, and gave me fresh ones. Eventually we arrived at a version that may be taken as authentic; but doubtless each rain-maker has his traditional formula, which may differ in details from that of a rival magician.
A little incident was rather curious. Late one evening, when Gasu was teaching Bruce the zogo mer of the rain charm, a smart little shower came suddenly and unexpectedly from an apparently cloudless sky. There was not a native next morning who had not his own opinion as to the origin of the shower.
It seemed very strange to us that our informants, however friendly and anxious to help us, so often kept back something till their hands were forced, so to speak, by information gained from another source. Then it became possible to go one step further. I think this was due in many cases simply to a lack of appreciation of what we wanted to know; in other instances there appeared to be an ingrained reticence which prevented their speaking freely about sacred or magical ceremonies. When, however, it became evident to them that we already knew something about the ceremony or formula in question, there was but little reluctance in giving information, especially when they did not know how much or how little we knew.
I mention these details in order to give some idea of the method we adopted of gaining our information. It is comparatively easy to get an account of a ceremony or custom from one man, but we invariably checked this information by inquiring from other men, always selecting the oldest men available. Even amongst ourselves no two people will describe any occurrence in the same manner, and one will emphasise a certain point which another may omit. Hence, in collecting from natives, we were very careful to obtain as many versions as possible and to sift the evidence. The results often appear meagre for the really considerable amount of time and pains we spent on attaining them; but, on the other hand, we feel fairly confident as to their accuracy. Interesting as all this was, it involved a great deal of very tedious work. One had to let the old men ramble on, and it often happened that they got on to side issues and barren narrations; but even so our patience was occasionally rewarded by a hint of something which we would not otherwise have come across, and which, followed out later, led to a really interesting record. Tact and patience are necessary in extracting reliable information from primitive folk.
I should perhaps add that although we communicated with one another in jargon, or pidgin-English, we used native words whenever there was a possibility of a misunderstanding arising, and by the context we could usually make certain as to the significance of new or obscure native terms. If the context failed to elucidate the meaning, we arrived at it by questioning all round the subject, or by allowing our informant to give his explanation in his own way. I have given several examples of the pidgin-English spoken, in the Torres Straits in the course of this narrative. It is a quaint, though not an ideal mode of communication of ideas, but with practice and the employment of suitable illustrations and similes, one can get along fairly well. I found, too, one could often elucidate a statement by acting it, or by using sticks and stones as dummies; it is remarkable what can be done in that way, and the natives quite enter into the spirit of the thing.
One day Bruce surprised me by showing a minute bull-roarer that was hung round the neck of a doiom, A doiom is the stone effigy of a man that is used in the rain-making ceremony. I had all along felt that a bull-roarer should appear in the performance, but I could not hear of one. Well, here it was, worn as a neck pendant, with two seed rattles. I showed it to Ulai; he said it was not correct, and brought me another model, which was much larger. Then I showed them both to Enocha. He scoffed at Gasu’s little bull-roarer, admitted that Ulai’s was more correct, but added that Ulai didn’t know about it. He then promised to let me have the correct thing. This was probably little more than professional jealousy, as Gasu was noted as a successful rain-maker.
That same morning Enocha and Wano were alone with me, and I turned the conversation to rain-making; then a happy inspiration seized me, and I asked them to give me a demonstration. They agreed. I provided one of the several doioms I had already collected, and we adjourned to the shade of a neighbouring tree, where, hidden by bushes, we would be quite unobserved and undisturbed. Although we had not the proper appurtenances, a pantomime was gone through, and I jotted down full notes. It was strange to see these dear old men doing everything half seriously, and at the same time laughing as if they were truant schoolboys at some forbidden pleasure. By a strange coincidence the school children were singing “Auld Lang Syne” in the schoolhouse down the hill, whilst the old men were rehearsing “old-time fashion” a short distance off.
A couple of days later Gasu gave us a complete demonstration at the other end of the island, with all the accessories. Four large plaited coconut leaves were erected to represent rain clouds; there was a blackened patch on each of these to mimic the blackness of a rain cloud, and one or two pendant leaves imitated the falling rain. The four screens inclosed a small space in which a hole was made in the ground. The doiom was decorated with certain leaves, and packed in a banana leaf with various minced leaves and numbers of red seeds; the leaf was filled with water and placed in the hole, the rain-maker all the while muttering the magical formulæ. During part of the performance a lighted brand was waved about, and at another a bamboo clapper was rattled. Thus were simulated the lightning and thunder. Several instances came to my notice during my recent and earlier visits to Murray Island of the employment of this ceremony.
When I was arranging for the purchase of Gasu’s doiom, Jimmy Dei, the sergeant of the police—a very intelligent man and a devout churchgoer—objected to the transaction, as they might not be able to obtain rain in the future when they required it. The very day after I had bought Gasu’s doiom he wanted it back, and would gladly have returned the goods I gave him in exchange, for his was a very famous charm, and it even had the proud distinction of having a name of its own. Sometimes even a potent charm like this will fail in its function, and once this mischance befell this particular doiom, whereat Gasu was much enraged and threw it on the ground, and, alas! the head broke off; then Gasu repented, and fastened the head on again with wire. I must confess I felt very sorry for Gasu when he regretted having yielded to my importunity and wanted his doiom back, but the collecting instinct was stronger than pure sentiment, and I had to inform him that it was then too late. Recently I have had a letter from Mr. Bruce, in which he says, “Gasu is always speaking of you and his doiom, and adds, ‘Mind you, if he had not asked for it, I would not have given it to the Professor.’” Poor old Gasu! he was half blind when we were there, now he has completely lost his eyesight, and I am afraid he does not bear a pleasing memory of our visit, but still mourns the loss of his old and powerful charm.
PLATE II
RAIN SHRINE
DOIOM WITH BULL-ROARER
In the same letter Bruce writes: “We have still some very powerful doioms left on the island. The new church was badly injured last year by the foundations settling, owing to the rain of a very heavy thunderstorm, but all the natives maintained it was the thunder that did the damage. But the storm must have been made by someone. Enocha was first suspected, but he denied his ability to do so, as he says he does not make thunder and lightning to spoil things; he only makes good rain to make men’s gardens grow, and ‘besides,’ he said, ‘I am an ekalesia, I did not spoil the sacred house.’ So they had to fall back on Wali, as he was not an ekalesia, or member of the Church, and he had been angry with Finau, the teacher, about something. They have now made Wali an ekalesia to protect the building from further damage.”
The worthy Finau never appeared to realise the nature of our work or its effect upon the natives. He evidently thought that the interest we took in the old customs and ceremonies would tend to a recrudescence of paganism, and there is little doubt that he intentionally hindered and hampered our investigations. He was not sufficiently alert to appreciate the fact that we were really playing into his hands. We bought and took away many legendary and magical stones, including a large number of rain charms, and in having representations of the Malu ceremonies we must have stripped off some of the glamour that ignorance throws round the unknown. We doubtless revived impressions in the memory of a few old men, but the younger men would be disillusioned by what they witnessed. It is needless to add that we never undermined his influence as a teacher, nor did anything that would be a stumbling-block to the feeblest of his adherents.
Finau often preached loudly against native dancing, and consigned those who attempted a little of it to hell, where, he informed them, they would have kerosene poured over them, and then they would be burnt; but, perhaps as he was himself a Samoan, he allowed certain South Sea dances, which the natives constantly practised under the tuition of a native of Rotumah who was living on Murray Island. These dances were to be performed at the opening of the new church in Darnley, which was to take place in several months’ time, and doubtless the opening of the church Finau was building in Murray Island would be commemorated in its turn in a similar manner.
In the Rotumah dances that we saw the men stood side by side in three or four rows, and went through rather graceful movements with heads, arms, and legs. Most of the movements appeared to be conventionalised representations of hauling ropes and other nautical actions. After a series of evolutions had been performed the front rank retired behind, and the second rank took its place. All was gone through again, and so on in succession until the last rank had danced in the front row.
One evening soon after our arrival there was a “play” in a village close by. It now seems to be the fashion for the people on one side of the island to learn new songs from Thursday Island or from the crews of fishing-boats. When they consider themselves proficient they go to other villages on the opposite side of the island and there sing them. Shortly afterwards a return visit is paid.
This custom of one side of the island challenging the other in friendly rivalry is apparently an old one, and seems to point to a dual division of the population such as we found later in the western tribe, and which is of fundamental, social importance among the Australians and many Papuan and Melanesian peoples. Dr. Rivers has gathered a good deal of information on this point, but he has not yet had time to work up his material. This particular performance was certainly trivial and mean; but surely the white man and not the native must be criticised for this. The visitors from Las and other villages were all dressed in their Sunday best, the girls stood in a clump in the middle and sang Japanese and other songs. Then a man blowing a whistle walked round and round and called out, “Twenty-five cents a ride,” or something to that effect. Next a number of men ranged themselves in pairs, like the spokes of a wheel radiating from a hub of girls. The latter sang, and the men walked round and round the girls, gradually going faster and faster. This was in imitation of a merry-go-round which had paid a couple of visits to Thursday Island. So popular was this merry-go-round that I was informed the owners made a profit of £1,600 for three months’ work!
To a sing-song tune of “la, la, la—la, la, la,” sundry very solemn couples of girls separated themselves from the throng and danced a polka—of a sort—slowly and carefully. One or two pairs of men danced more vigorously. I saw only two couples of opposite sex dancing together, and though these good people are considerably emancipated from the past and were actually copying a white-man’s dance, still their feeling of delicacy was too strong to permit them to indulge in promiscuous dancing.
One funny man, dressed in a long figured-calico dressing-gown, danced by himself; his antics were greatly appreciated. Some of the girls had covered their faces with white, and had painted a dab of red pigment on each cheek, perhaps in imitation of the Japanese women of the settlement in Thursday Island, which goes by the name of “Yokohama.”
A few days after our arrival we gave an evening entertainment in the schoolhouse, at which there was a large attendance. I opened the proceedings with an address in jargon English, and referred to my last visit and told them what we wanted to do this time. Ray next gave a couple of tunes on the phonograph, Myers was to have performed on his violin, but unfortunately the violin had suffered from damp, had become unglued and had fallen to pieces. I showed a number of lantern slides of local interest by means of a lantern Wilkin had brought out at my request. I commenced with a copy of the plate in Juke’s Voyage of the “Fly”, which illustrated Captain Blackwood’s reception at Murray Island in 1845. In this interesting picture the ship’s boats are surrounded by a noisy, gesticulating crowd of naked savages. The second slide I showed was the present of fruit which they themselves had given me four days previously, and which Wilkin had photographed and made into a lantern-slide. After showing photographs I took ten years previously of a congregation in the building in which we were then assembled, I showed a photograph of a wedding that had taken place in the same room two days previously. Several other slides were shown made from the photographs I had taken on my last visit; these were received with great excitement, and the audience quickly recognised the various views and people, many of the latter were actually present, a few were dead. When a group of children taken ten years before was thrown on the screen I asked if any of them were present, and a lad and a lass came before the screen and stood beside their portraits. Then followed a phonographic interlude, and I gave a second lantern show, mostly of slides of native decorative art and native drawings of animals. Wilkin, who kindly acted as “operator,” then showed a number of his comic slides which were much appreciated, finishing off with the children’s perennial favourite of rats running down a snoring man’s throat. I made a point of procuring this slide before I left England, and my anticipations of its popularity were not unfounded, it simply brought down the house, and “Man he sleep, he kaikai mokeis,” was always vociferously welcomed. A couple of phonograph records concluded the performance.
Our friends were greatly pleased, and all behaved remarkably well. Of course I expected them to behave properly, but I did not think they would have so much control over their excitable feelings, and I suspected they might be carried away in the exuberance of their joy. Continually the more uproarious were called to order by various members of the audience.
Every now and again we ran one thing hard on Murray Island; for example, for a week or so some of us studied “cat’s cradle” games. McDougall soon became fascinated by these, and Myers eventually succumbed. But kamut, as the natives call their string puzzles, is a very different matter from the uninteresting and simple performance to which we were accustomed as children.
Two distinct kinds of operations may be performed with string, namely, tricks and puzzles. The former usually are movements which appear to form knots or ties, but which really run out freely. The puzzles are complicated figures which are supposed to bear some resemblance to natural objects. Our “cat’s cradle” belongs to the latter category, but we have also numerous string tricks.
Some of the string tricks are the same as those practised at home. One was intended to represent some food held in the hand which was offered to the spectator, but when the latter attempted to take it, saying, “You got some food for me?” the food disappeared as the player replied, “No got.” A similar, apparently knotted puzzle terminated in two loops, which represented a mouse’s ears, but on attempting to catch it the whole ran out.
Some of the string puzzles represented divers objects, as a bird’s nest, coconut palm, the setting sun, a fish spear, a crab, a canoe, and many others. Quite a number were moving puzzles—working models, in fact; such were, for example, a sea-snake swimming, a man dancing, and so forth. Some of these were indelicate. The most interesting was a fight between a Dauar man and a Murray Islander. In this kamut, by working the strings, two loose knots collided in the centre and became mixed up, but eventually one knot returns with a loop on it, which is the successful Murray Islander returning with the head of his adversary!
Little songs are sung to many string puzzles as they are being played, which may be the relics of some magical formulæ. Several kamut puzzles illustrate legendary beings such as Geigi, the boy king-fish, or his mother Nageg, the trigger-fish. One represents the taboo grounds of Gazir and Kiam, where some of the Malu ceremonies were held.
We learnt a good many of these kamut, but they were very difficult to remember, owing to the extreme complication of the processes in making the figures, and we had to practise them constantly. Eventually we invented a system of nomenclature, by means of which we found it possible to write down all the stages of manipulation; and we found as a rule the more complex the figure the easier it was to describe. By rigorous adherence to our system it will be possible for others to reproduce the Murray Island figures and to record others from elsewhere. Generally Rivers and Ray first learnt a particular puzzle, and gradually worked out the description by slowly performing the movements and dictating the processes to me, but I did not watch what they were doing.
Then one of them read out the description while I endeavoured to reproduce the puzzle from the verbal description alone. We were never satisfied until it can be so done without any possibility of mistake. We had many fights over the descriptions, and always felt very proud of ourselves when one account was satisfactorily finished. But I can very well imagine that had we been observed some people would have thought we were demented, or, at least, were wasting our time.
One afternoon some of us went to a kaikai, or feast. The word kaikai means food, a meal, a feast, or to eat. It is in use all over the South Seas, and is derived from the Polynesian kai (food). The Miriam (i.e. the Murray Island) name for a feast is wetpur. This was a funeral feast for the son of “Captain Cook,” of Erub; the boy had died about a year previously.
The proceedings opened with a kolap, or top-spinning match. Top-spinning was a great institution in Murray Island during the time of our stay there. On one occasion there were thirty tops spinning at the same time. The men sang songs, and there was great cheering-on of slackening tops, and shouting and jeering when one stopped. At the critical time, as a top was dying, great care was taken to shelter it from the wind so as to prolong its “life” a few seconds longer. At one match we timed the four best tops, and found they span for 27½, 26¾, 25¼, and 24 minutes respectively.
The tops are made of a fine-grained volcanic ash, and have the shape of a split-pea, with a diameter of from about 4 to 7½ inches. There is a long palm-wood stem. The flat upper surface of the top is almost invariably painted in coloured rings or with various devices, red, white, yellow, and blue being the usual colours. Objects or incidents of everyday life are often drawn, but not infrequently their legends are depicted.
The top is spun by repeated slow, steady, sliding movements of the outstretched palms. Formerly the tops were spun on pieces of shell, now pieces of broken crockery, or the under surface of a cup or saucer are usually employed. The tops are kept in specially made round baskets, in which a nest of calico is often placed as a further protection to the top. It is very amusing to see grown men gingerly carrying with both hands a top ensconced in its basket, with at least as much care and seriousness as a young wife carries her firstborn. We have seen men of all ages engaged in these matches, the grizzled taking as much interest in the performance of their tops as the young men. Usually one section or side of the island is pitted against another.
There is a decided tendency for the enthusiasm of the natives to carry their amusements beyond bounds. One time it will be Tamar, and the good people will so impoverish their gardens by vying with one another in heaping up food that scarcity often results. During our stay top-spinning became almost a debauch, and the men played kolap so assiduously every weekday that they had no time to attend to their gardens, and on Saturdays they did not bring in enough food to last till the Monday. The Puritan Sabbath is in full force, and none would dream of breaking it by getting food on Sunday, consequently numbers of children came to school on Monday morning without having had any breakfast. This made them peevish and inattentive, so Mr. Bruce had to complain to the Mamoose, and an edict was issued prohibiting the kolap matches on Saturday, and the men were told to go to their gardens on that day as heretofore.